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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

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OPEN WOUNDS.

Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes x Reader

Anon asked: how about an imagine in which you an ez fight because of emily

Chapter index

Chapter three ; part one

Word count: 3k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. I have to divided it in two parts 'cause this chapter has 5k, so the second part while be posted tonight. Gif credits: @angels-reyes.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @wrcn9fvlcver 💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

“What's a ‘Samcro emergency’?” You ask, sticking your head out the door.

“Shit, (Y/N)! You scared me!” Taza is breathing fast, leaving in the background his task of packing some clothes. He frowns at you, trying not to laugh whilst sitting on the bed with crossed legs. “Sons of Anarchy”.

“I know them”.

“We have to go to Charming. Some days. Maybe three”. He explains continuing with his bag and his stuff.

You sigh nodding without asking any other question. Taza pulls apart the bag, sitting close to you with an arm on your shoulders. You know you can't go, and it's not about feeling helpless or scared, but somewhat lonely even with all the animals around you in the ranch.

“EZ isn' comin'”. Che finally says.

He doesn't like the idea of you two being somekind of friends again. He doesn't like the idea of him trying to recover you. And he doesn't like the simple idea of him being next to you. But Bishop took the decision of letting him take care of you, while they were in Charming. Taza leaves a kiss on your temple, surrounding your neck with his forearm to put you closer.

“Usually we don't text or call while we're on the road, but I'll. I'll, at least, send you some messages, okay? And if anything happens I wan'ya to call me”. You nod with pursed lips in a soft smile. “I would take you with me, if I could”.

“It's okay, Taza. Club decision”. You joke on him with those words that Bishop always says.

“Yea', club shitty decision”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Yes, you were expecting something like that to happen. Taza is hitting Ezekiel's back against the wooden wall, with the cuffs tangled in his shirt. Nose almost touching nose, and EZ's hands raised to head height on air. Gaze away. Waiting for the threat and maybe a punch.

“I'm gonna tell you something, prospect. If you bother her, annoy her or make her cry, I'm gonna stab you so many times that you will look like a strainer and then, I'll use your blood to make an Apache ritual”.

You're rubbing your forehead heavy with eyes closed and an arm crossing in the other. You know he's talking serious. He will do it without doubting or feeling bad. It's been two months, but Taza just was trying to protect you at his own way.

“You're a prospect, taking care of the Vice's kid of your club. Not the miserable ex-boyfriend who broke and buried her heart without giving a shit”. Without let him go, the oldest turns to the huge doberman sitting on a corner. “If he comes closer, you fuck him up, Rico”.

“Taza, I'll be okay”. You say, when you know it's enough for both by placing your hands on his shoulders to pull him away. “You're gonna be late”.

EZ puts his clothes on well, licking his lips whilst picking up the plastic bag on the floor, to walk towards the kitchen and run away from him. You help the vice-president to wear the vest, making sure he has everything that he needs. Then, he leans to you cupping your cheeks on his hands as he always do before leave the ranch.

“Call me whenever you need it”. He says, keeping your gaze with his. You nod, before being kissed on your forehead by him. “I'll be back in three days. Juan, Alonso and José will come to help you with the animals. And you also can call Vicki, if you can't find me, okay?”

“Okay... It's okay, go”. You chuckle nodding again, hugging him for some long seconds.

The dog follows you to the porch, supporting your shoulder against the white wooden column, with a melancholic smile on your lips watching how the man gets ready to leave. Turning on the motorbike and looking at you one last time, before go. When he's far enough, you make a sign to Rico to go back inside.

Closing the door with a heavy sigh, you walk towards the kitchen where EZ is. You want to tell him that you're sorry about Taza' attitude, but you're not and also you're not the type of girl who lies. Opening the fridge, you grab a beer with your gaze on the prospect placing the food on the counter to prepare lunch.

“You don't have to cook fo' me, Ezequiel”. You say softly, opening the bottle to have a sip.

“I wanna do'et”. He shrugs, turning at you with a dearly and ravishing smile that makes you spit out the beer, starting to cough with an evident lack of air. “Hey, hey! You okay?”

Rico starts to growl showing him his sharp teeth, when the prospect comes more closer than the dog thinks is necessary, standing between both. EZ walks away with hands raised whilst you recover, nodding energetically.

“Do—Don' worry”. You say finally having a deep breath. “So... What 'you gonna do?”

“Best veal ribeye from pops”. He answers opening the paper to show you. “He said it's your fave'”.

“Pops knows me well”. Supporting your forearms against the counter you have a look of it. It's huge. Enough for both.

“So do I”. EZ adds, taking off of the bag a small glass jar with some kind of sauce. You know what it is. Sweet tangerine compote. The last time you tasted it you were still going to high school.

With pursed lips, you take from his hand to open it, smelling it with eyes closed. The aroma brings you back too many memories. The prospect is staring at you, adopting the same position as you, but with an elbow nailed on the counter and his cheek resting over the fist. Your eyes meet his, with the same goofy smile on your face.

He's trying. He's trying to be the man who you fell in love with. The last two months have been like a little odyssey between Ezekiel trying to please you constantly, and Taza silently judging. At least, you know that Emily has not approached him again, nor have they had any contact. She tried. Angel told you. And his little brother blocked her number and told it to Miguel. That's why Taza let him be around you. Because he's really trying to get you back.

“I thought you could like it”. EZ says getting up to find a pan.

“Yea', it's... a great surprise”.

“What if you set the table in the meantime?”

“Sure”. Clearing your throat, you nod.

It's the first time in almost three months that you're alone in a house. Doing everyday task as if you were a couple again, but you're not even sure when it's going to happen. It's kinda painful and stressing, 'cause you would like to give him a hug at least, as you used to do before he fucked up everything.

“(Y/N)?”

“Uh?” You ask shaking your head going back to reality.

“The table”. He laughs, making you blush.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

The day has been something strange. You can't remember when was the last time you laughed so hard, after seeing EZ running away from some rebels chickens, who tried to bite him for catching an egg. Between beers you shared some old memories of your childhood and it was really like if nothing bad happened. But the reality was that you were falling into pieces internally the whole time, remembering the words that Taza told you the night he found you. “No men deserve your tears, unless they are of happiness”.

It's half past eleven when the movie ends. Rico is sleeping next to your feet, resting on the table. Your shoulder is touching EZ's softly and you're about to fall asleep too. He gets up of the sofa, grabbing the empty bottles of beer to clean the little mess you two did between drinks and popcorns. Rubbing your eyes with your knuckles, you lie down placing your hands over your stomach with a loud yawn coming out from your lips.

“You sure you wan' me to leave?”

“Umpteenth, I'll be fine, EZ. I have Rico and I'll set the alarm”. You nod rolling your eyes.

“Okay, but call me if you need it”.

“I will”. Getting up, with the dog imitating the move, you guide the prospect to the front door. “Good night”.

“Good night”. He says doubting for a second, till he finally leans towards you placing a hand on your back to press his lips on your temple.

He close his eyes as you do, focusing on the gesture. Getting longer than expected. One of your trembling hands travel to his nape, surrounding it tightly with your fingers. EZ takes another step closer to you, wrapping your back with his arms. And you want so bad to run away from him, but you also want to stay 'cause it feels like you're at home again. His smell melting with yours, your breaths matching. Sinking your nose on his collarbone and his fingers getting tangled on your tufts, Rico starts to growl. Saved by the bell.

“Fucking dog...” EZ snorts pulling you away so slowly that it hurts.

“Fucking Emily”. You reply with a jolly smile, raising both eyebrows.

“See you tomorro'”.

“See ya', Ezekiel”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

The sun hasn't even risen when you hear the doorbell ring. Rico barks at you, licking your face as you can wake faster. You growl at him getting up by your hands and pulling away the hair in your face. The dog runs out of your room, listening his paws going downstairs. You follow him, turning on all the lights on your walking, till reach the entrance. Setting off the alarm, before it can start to sound loudly, you open the door. EZ is back and your heart jumps, hoping that nothing bad happened.

“Is Taza okay?” Your voice sounding desperate. He nods to calm you, coming in.

“But the club needs us. Well, they need me, but you can't stay here alone”. He says carrying a huge and black cloth backpack in his left hand. You notice then that he isn't wearing the Mayans' vest.

“What do you mean?”

“Take some clothes, we're going to Charming”. EZ replies, leaving the bag on the sofa and having a seat next to it.

You don't know if you're excited or scared. Eight hours of a motorbike trip. You're not ready for that. But again, club decision. So you go back upstairs to keep some clothes and necessary stuff on a bag, hanging it in your shoulders after changing your pajama for some comfy jeans and a long shirt. Before go, you also check that Rico has food and water, till the day laborers come to the ranch to take care of the animals.

Putting on your jacket, you walk towards Ezekiel bike, tying your hair in some kind of unmade braid. He whistles at you, making you turn confused.

“We're going in your car, we can't get the attention of cops”.

You sigh somewhat relaxed, nodding and running till you reach him, guiding the prospect to the garage where your old Mustang is parked. Throwing the plastic cover to a corner, you unlock it with the control. But before you can sit on the pilot seat, Ezekiel takes the key.

“I drive, you sleep”.

“Bu—”.

“You don' know the road”. Good point.

Once the Mayans' backpack is kept on the floor of the back seats, the younger Reyes turn on the car. You know how much he likes to drive it and he's gonna take advantage of it. He steps the gas, enjoying it like a child, while you turn the radio looking for some music. It's going to be a long trip and you know you won't cross big talks, so you suppose it's gonna help. Even so, you fall asleep faster than you thought, lying on your seat with both legs curled on it.

A finger tours your temple down to your cheek, in a soft and slow touch, pulling a brist of hair behind your ear. You stir gently on your seat feeling how your body starts to awake, licking your lips sleepy and opening gradually your eyes. EZ is staring at you with no gesture on his face, lying on his own seat, till his smile appears as a flash.

“Where are we?” You ask getting comfy, covering your mouth to silence a yawn.

“Next to Lost Hill”.

“What time is it?”

“Almost nine. I have to put gas and I thought maybe you wanted to eat something”. He answers you, taking off the key from the groove.

“Yea', sure”. You nod opening the door, letting the fresh air bristle your skin. It's a little cold, but nothing that you can't handle with.

Walking inside the fuel station, you continue through the hallways till the fridge grabbing some prepared coffees, before looking for something to eat. Choosing some sandwiches and two bar of chocolate, you continue your steps towards the counter.

“This and... forty dollars for the Mustang”. You say picking up your phone to pay with it.

Cleaning a small rheum, the prospect throw over the counter a big packet of Skittles. You turn at him, who has a big smile on his face. It's been almost five years since you've eaten them again. The first time and the last was with him. In Santa Madre. Clearing your throat, you put the phone above the dataphone, while EZ takes the bag.

Even if the coffee is cold, makes you feel better, lying on the hood of your car against the front glass. The youngest Reyes is standing close to you, doing the same and smoking a cigar, while he has his eyes on the road.

“How much is left?” You ask giving a bite of your sandwich.

“Five hours, more or less”. He says sitting on the hood with crossed legs, throwing away the cigar and giving the last sip to the cup.

“I know how to get to Stockton”.

“I drive, (Y/N). Don't insist”.

“You can't drive for eight hours, EZ”.

“Who says, uh?” He asks turning at you with an eye almost closing because of the sun.

“I don't know. Maybe the cops? The doctors?” There's sarcasm in your voice, making him laugh lying his back next to you.

“What do I win?”

“Don't punch you”.

“It's an offer I can't refuse”.

“I know, I'm irresistible”.

“That's true”. He agrees, getting up to give you the keys. “The charter of the Sons' in Stockton will escort us. You drive till then”.

“What about Oscar?”

“He's already at Charming”.

“Oh... Okay”. You nod getting up and throwing into the trash the food packaging.

Even if you know the road to that city, you use the gps on your phone to avoid rush hour traffic jams and maybe finding a shorter way to go to. It's been a long time since you drove your car for more than thirty minutes, that you forgot how good it feels. The windows down, the fresh air stirring your hair, with an elbow nailed on the door and your cheek above the palm of your hand. Some latin and soft music sounding, evolving the Mustang, and EZ humming the lyrics to avoid the silence between both, even if sometimes seems like he want to tell anything enough to break it. It's the first time, without counting the last day, that you two are together and alone since three months ago. And you have a lot of words stuck in your throat, but you're not capable of saying something. You love his voice, he loves yours, and you used to talk for hours. You missed that.

Sideways, you can see EZ opening the Skittles, making you smile for a thousandth. He throws a few in his hand, offering you as many. Changing your arm to hold the steering wheel, you raise yours on air. All the candies go straight to your mouth, chewing them.

“Do ya' remember that tim—”.

“That time you almost die”. You can't help but laugh hair, putting on your sunglasses well, nodding with your chin. “Jesus Christ... I didn't know if I should cry, laugh, or what”.

“Angel was scared as fuck!” He breaks in laughter too, shaking his head after that. “Good times”.

“With you almost dying?”

“You understand me, baby”. He says, knowing instantly that it wasn't the most appropriate word to use, by the gesture on your face. “Sorry, I...”

Silence. You sigh licking your inner lip, biting it gently. It doesn't make you feel uncomfortable, but you're trying to take your time till your heart is fully healed to let him come in again. Turning up the volume of the music a little, you focus all your attention on the road, only talking to him if you need to drink water or check something in your phone.

And, by following the instructions that Bishop gave to Ezekiel, you stop on the first fuel station of the town. The seats change, sitting back on the other to let him continue to Charming being escorted by the SOA charter of Stockton. You're pretty excited, looking on your phone how you're getting closer to your destiny so you could see the crew, but most important, Taza and Angel. Shit, you need them right now a lot.

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes x reader #ez reyes #ezekiel reyes x reader

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violetwolfraven · 3 years

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It’s A Romcom Cliche

@gendistic42 here’s something I wrote as a Christmas present for you! I’m a bit swamped right now as far as writing projects but I may expand on this later. For now, enjoy a holiday piece. :)

I’ve never written from Mike’s perspective before, so this should be interesting.

Tw: underage drinking, general teenage chaos, vomit, who knows how to write that kind of party that doesn’t actually exist anywhere but in movies? not me!

Mike was definitely a bit drunk right now, but in his defense, he didn’t actually know the eggnog was spiked until he’d already had a huge cup and Ike told him matter-of-factly that he was going to throw up later.

In hindsight, Mike really should have seen that coming, but honestly he probably would have drank it anyway. It wasn’t like he didn’t usually leap before he looked.

That was what made life fun, after all. Taking risks without thinking. Thinking just lead to doubting yourself and doubting yourself just lead to not doing fun things and not doing fun things meant you were wasting your life. You had to seize the days you got, because otherwise why even live?

That was most of Mike’s friend group’s philosophy. Their little (junior, according to Elmer’s big brother who claimed they were too young to be a real motorcycle gang) motorcycle gang was full of impulsive, slightly-eccentric kids who lived in the moment. Of course, they looked out for each other as much as they could, confirmed excuses and alibis when necessary, but none of them worried much about their own safety.

Hence why they were having a huge party with spiked eggnog in December, meaning there was a likely possibility a lot of them would be staying overnight. Not that it mattered much.

Spot’s dad was at a conference in Boston and wouldn’t be back for at least a few more days. And if he did come back early for some reason, he’d probably just give them a lecture and then not tell anyone’s parents. Denton was cool like that. As long as nobody died, ended up in the hospital, or got anybody pregnant, he favored having the group’s trust over busting them, probably so he could be sure they’d come to him for help if there was a serious problem.

So far, through taking care of each other as best they could while having fun, there hadn’t been a serious problem.

Mike jumped as a tipsy Elmer grabbed his arm.

“Mike, buddy, this song fuckin’ slaps!”

Mike hadn’t noticed what song was on, given that his reaction time was currently a little slow, but he had to admit that Turn Down For What would always be a banger and being drunk just made it better.

He didn’t know how long he was bopping to the beat among his friends before he stopped, realizing that Ike’s prediction was about to come true, and barely made it to the toilet before puking his guts out.

Mike groaned. This was already becoming very un-fun, but throwing up was making him think about the killer hangover he was going to have in the morning. Also about how Ike had probably been drinking, too, so they’d need to stay the night at Spot’s. They could get a ride home, but hiding two drunk twins was significantly harder than just one.

In short, he was thinking ahead, which was reminding him why he didn’t like thinking ahead.

“Whoa, Mike, are you okay?”

Someone was rubbing his back as he retched, and Mike was officially shitfaced, because he could swear when he looked up that was Jojo de la Guerra.

He’d been joking when he invited Jojo. Not because he didn’t want Jojo to come, but because he’d never in a million years thought he’d actually show up.

“Did I pass out?” he groaned, hoping his words weren’t too slurred, “Am I dreamin’? Is that what’s happenin’ right now?”

“No?” Jojo looked confused, “You invited me.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Wait, are you drunk?”

“Yeah, that’d be accurate.”

Jojo now looked extremely nervous, “Ain’t everyone at this party underage?”

“Uh... I thinks one of Albert’s older brothers stopped by, so no. Wait, he left a couple hours ago, so yes.”

Mike was a little surprised when he slipped standing up and Jojo had to catch him. That was, he was a little surprised that Jojo could catch him. The nerd didn’t look like he had that much muscle on him.

Well, Mike was sure he was blushing, it wasn’t just the alcohol making his face flushed, but he wasn’t sure if the pink in Jojo’s cheeks was his imagination or not.

“Uh, do you need a glass of water or somethin’?” he asked nervously, “Why is there alcohol at a party where everybody’s underage, anyway?”

“Cause it’s fun,” Jojo said simply, “Ya think Mush and Blink’d be makin’ out against a wall in front of everybody if they wasn’t absolutely sloshed?”

“Okay, well, do ya need water?”

Mike thought about it, and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t take him so long to decide if he hadn’t drank so much.

“Nope. But I could do with some air.”

None of the others were sober and/or focused enough to notice as they made their way through the party to Spot’s back porch.

The air was icy cold, but Mike was overheated, so it felt good. And the snow was beautiful, reflecting light from the windows of the house. A few small icicles were hanging down from the roof above.

He wasn’t quite drunk enough that he didn’t notice when Jojo leaned against him, just a little, because of the cold. After all, Jojo was beautiful, too. Probably more beautiful than the snow.

But he didn’t say that.

“I love winter,” he said instead, “Ike and I used to play in the snow till we damn near froze to death. Or until one of us got a headshot in a snowball fight.”

“Sounds fun,” Jojo muttered.

“Oh, it was. And we’d stir our hot cocoa with candy canes when we went inside, so’s it’d be all minty.”

Mike smiled at the memory. They never did that anymore, whether it was because they were busy with homework or because they just... forgot, what with TV series to binge and Among Us games to win and friends to meet up with for a big snowball fight.

He liked their life now. He really did. Mike wouldn’t trade his friends for anything. But he had to admit, it had been simpler back when the only people he and Ike had were each other.

“And here you are now,” Jojo noted, “Drunk at a high school party on a back porch with that nerd ya partnered with for a science project once.”

“Well, that nerd happens to be my friend, so I counts that as a win.”

Jojo didn’t respond for a few seconds, and Mike realized.

“Wait, are we friends?”

They were close enough together that he could feel Jojo take a deep breath.

“I thinks so.”

That felt nice. And he could tell now. Jojo’s face was definitely flushed and it had been since before they came outside, so it couldn’t be from the cold. That sent a pretty clear signal, and...

“Mike, stop. What’re ya doin’?”

“I was gonna kiss you,” Mike said. He’d been pretty sure it was obvious.

Had he... been reading Jojo’s signals wrong?

“Mike, you’re drunk. Ya probably ain’t gonna remember this tomorrow. You don’t really care, it’s just that I’m here and no one else is. You don’t mean it.”

“I do mean it. Jojo—“

“You’re a boy in the biker gang all the girls and gays swoon over and you’re goin’ for me, the nobody from science class,” Jojo scoffed, “Sounds likely.”

“Jojo, it don’t matter who my friends are,” Mike tried to insist, “I like you. Like, like like you.”

“Even if I could believe you, there’s no way I’d kiss you while you’re drunk.”

That was worse than straight up rejection. Because Jojo was kind of saying that he did have feelings for Mike and just wouldn’t believe that Mike had feelings for him.

Mike had to focus on not crying for a good few minutes before he started realizing just how fast the snow was coming down.

“Hey, Jojo, how deep do ya think that snow is?”

“Shit.”

That made Mike laugh. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Jojo swear.

“It’s gotta be at least a foot, and still comin’ down. There’s no way anybody can drive home through that. Most of you’s is on motorcycles, and—“

That was when the lights inside went out abruptly, and more than a few people screamed.

Mike got up carefully, trying not to stumble too much, “We should find out what that was.”

They made it inside just in time to hear Spot holler, “A fuckin’ power line went down! And that don’t just mean no light and no WiFi—that means no heat! We ain’t got long before it starts to get real cold here!”

“I found the candles!” Hotshot (Spot’s little brother) yelled.

“Oh, that’ll help a ton,” Jack said sarcastically before Davey ran up.

Naturally, Mike’s mind chose that moment to go off on a tangent of how if Jack Kelly could get a smart boyfriend who was way too good for him, maybe he could too if he could just get Jojo to see that he really liked him, but he still caught what Davey said.

“There’s a foot of snow on the hood of my car. Nobody’s goin’ anywhere, so everybody text your parents before your phones run out of batteries.”

“What if my mom can tell I’m drunk?” Romeo shouted.

“I’m textin’ Mom, dumbass!” Jack shouted back, “For all of us! I’m the soberest person here!”

Race, Romeo, and Crutchie all called their thanks to their big brother.

“I think that’s me, actually,” Davey pointed out, “Soberest ain’t even a word, Jackie.”

Mike cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled into the darkness, “Ike, ya wanna text Mom and Dad, or should—“

“I’ll do it, moron! You’re shitfaced!”

“Shit,” Jojo was muttering as he typed a text, “Shit, shit, shit, I told my dad I’d only stay for an hour. Shit.”

“It ain’t your fault ya got snowed in,” Mike pointed out.

“No, but if my parents find out there was alcohol at this party—“

“Good news, y’all!” Spot hollered from the stairs, the multiple phone flashlights pointed at him the only thing making him visible, “Me and Hotshot’s dad has a big stash of blankets and sleepin’ bags and stuff, so we’s all gonna make a big nest and huddle together in the living room. Hopefully nobody freezes to death. If anybody don’t wanna sleep in what they’s wearin’, come find me!”

With that, he disappeared to go grab blankets.

“My parents are gonna kill me.”

“Don’t let ‘em,” Mike said, “I’d have to avenge you. Then I’d go to hell and I wouldn’t see ya in the afterlife! Plus you’d hate me for killin’ your parents, so—“

“Mike, please stop talkin’.”

“Wanna sleep with me?”

“What?!”

It took Mike a full 10 seconds to realize.

“Not like that!” he exclaimed as soon as he did realize, “Like if we’s all makin’ a nest to keep warm, ya wanna sleep next to me? For not freezin’ to death?”

Jojo was still looking at him pretty weird, and that made Mike sad.

“I’m sorry. Ya don’t have to. That was stupid. I’m stupid. I shouldn’ta said that, but I did cause I’m stupid. I’m sorry for everythin’. Like, everythin’. Everythin’ I’s ever said and—“

“Stop,” Jojo interrupted, “That’s... this is just gettin’ sad. Mike, it’s fine. Just... I guess I can’t expect ya to say things in a less weird way—you’re drunk.”

He didn’t seem especially annoyed or even uncomfortable. Just... blushing. Definitely blushing.

Mike could barely see him in the dark, but he still was pretty sure Jojo de la Guerra was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll sleep with you. Next to you. Ugh. Just don’t barf on me.”

“Okay,” Mike mumbled. God, now that it was dark, he was already yawning. He didn’t remember where he’d left his hoodie. He should probably ask Ike about that.

It was already getting cold in the house, and the candles Hotshot was lighting definitely weren’t helping that much.

Mike didn’t mind how Jojo was sticking close to him even if it was probably just for warmth.

#newsies #jomike #jojo de la guerra #mike newsies #fluff #modern au #violet’s writing

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mamabearcat · 4 years

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Daddy Inuyasha

This doesn’t really have a title yet; I’ll think of one later! Written for @dangerouspompadour after this morning (or evening’s) conversation about kids needing to be fed every single night. A Papa Yasha story.

---

“You’re only gonna be gone for one night right?”

“Inuyasha, you’ll be fine”, soothed Kagome, stuffing more clothes into her bag. “I’m really sorry to have to leave like this, but Mama sounded so ill on the phone. I just want to check up on her.”

Inuyasha snorted, continuing to walk around the room with Izayoi’s tiny hands held in his, while their toddler squealed in delight, her little feet balanced on his larger ones.

“And Sango has promised that she’ll come pick her up early tomorrow and take her to daycare”, she continued, “so you’ll be able to get off to work in time. You just have to make sure to pick her up by 6pm, otherwise daycare will charge extra.”

“That’s good. And yeah, I can do that.” He had a meeting with an architect for his current construction project at 7.30am tomorrow morning; they’d only spoken on the phone as yet, but the guy already sounded like he had a stick firmly wedged up his arse.

His head was still swimming a little. Kagome had got off the phone with her mother, booked a flight, texted Sango and then told him she’d be coming home Monday night all in under half an hour. He knew he’d be fine; Kagome did this all the time when he was called away for work. And he adored Izayoi. Maybe it would be fun? Some Daddy daughter time?

A loud beeping sounded outside the door. “Oh, that’s my taxi already”, squeaked Kagome, shoving her feet into her shoes. She picked up Izayoi and gave her a squeezy hug, smothering her round cheeks in raspberry kisses. “Be good for Daddy baby girl. Mama will be home at bedtime tomorrow okay? I’ll call you tonight.”

Inuyasha bent down to kiss his wife before she could run out the door. “Be safe, okay. Text me when you get there. I love you.”

“Love you too.” The horn beeped again loudly, and Kagome rolled her eyes. “I gotta go. Be good you two. I love you!”

They all moved out onto the verhandah, Inuyasha and Izayoi waving as Kagome ran down the path with her bag and climbed into the taxi, shutting the door behind her. All of a sudden Izayoi’s bottom lip trembled and her soft pointed puppy ears lowered. “Mama go?”

Inuyasha squeezed her tightly against him, dropping a soft kiss onto the dark curls between her ears. “Mama is visiting grandma. So it’s just us for a little while Princess. It’s gonna be fun right?”

The taxi drove away.

“I wa-want Mama!” Izayoi’s soft sobs escalated quickly, and the sound of her heartbreak pulled at Inuyasha’s gut. He hated Izayoi’s tears almost as much as Kagome’s.

“Hey, hey, c’mon now. We’re gonna have fun.” He bounced her a little in his arms, racking his brain for something that would take Izayoi’s mind off Kagome for a moment. “Do ya wanna watch Ponies with me for a little while?”

He braced himself for the usual loud squeal of excitement she let out whenever her favourite show was mentioned, but instead she tucked her head under his chin and hid behind the curtain of his long silver hair. He watched as she silently placed her thumb into her mouth, slow tears trickling down her cheeks.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

---

Eventually Izayoi fell asleep on his lap, and he gratefully changed the channel. There was only so much pink and purple and magic of friendship he could take in one sitting. She’d watched the show with her cousin Rin, and she loved it. Kagome didn’t mind it. Him, not so much.

His stomach grumbled, and he angled his neck to look at the clock on the wall. Shit, it was nearly Izayoi’s dinner time. She usually ate earlier, and he and Kagome ate after she was in bed. When it was his turn to cook for him and Kagome he made steak. Or ramen. Both of those weren’t really toddler friendly. Cooking for Izzy was definitely Kagome’s thing. He though back over recent meals he’d seen Izayoi eat for dinner. Pasta. He was perfectly capable of cooking pasta, and he knew Izayoi liked it. Phew, crisis averted.

-----

“No!”

Inuyasha was taken aback. As far as he was concerned, he’d cooked a perfectly acceptable dinner for a toddler. Pasta with peas and corn, and some fish fingers he’d dug out of the bottom of the freezer. “Izzy, c’mon, you like pasta. Daddy even cooked the ones that look like little bows!”

“No!” she growled, glaring at the plate in front of her.

“Izayoi!” he barked. He took a deep breath. “What’s wrong with the food on your plate.”

“Don’t like red!”

“Red?” And then it hit him. Kagome usually served Izayoi’s pasta with pesto, not tomato sauce. “Uh, we were all out of green. Why don’t you try it Princess, it’s yummy. Look, Daddy will eat some.” He picked up her tiny fork and took a mouthful of pasta. Not his favourite thing in the world, but perfectly fine.

Izayoi’s eyes looked like they were filling with tears again. Oh boy. His mind whirled frantically, trying to avert the tears.

“Hey, do ya know what else you can call fish fingers? Dippy sticks! Look!” He picked up a fish finger and poked it in the napoletana pasta sauce, then took a bite. “Mmm, dippy sticks, my favourite!” He made sure to scrunch up his eyes and twitch his ears for her, and his heart swelled in relief at the tiny giggle.

“I know, let’s have a race and see who can eat their dippy stick the fastest? I bet I can eat mine faster than you Izzy! Ready…”

“Steddygo”, squealed Izayoi, clutching a fish finger in her little fist and mashing it into the sauce. She took a mouthful and smiled at him. “Yummy Daddy!” She eventually ate most of her dinner, leaving the peas. Inuyasha couldn’t blame her, he didn’t think much of peas either. It was his job to put green things on her plate, he wasn’t going to force feed them to her if she didn’t want to eat them.

He scraped the peas into the bin and dumped the dirty plate in the sink, then piggybacked her to the bathroom. “Bath time for my princess. Do ya want bubbles?”

“Yeah!” She threw her arms out as wide as she could. “Lots and lots!” He chuckled.

“Okay squirt, you got it. Toilet first while Daddy runs the bath. You need help getting those shorts off?” he asked, pointing to the button and zipper.

She shook her head. “Nu uh. I a big girl.”

Just for a second, his eyes misted over, remembering the day she was born only three short years ago. One of the happiest days of his life.

“Do you think you could slow down the growing for me just a smidge, Princess?” he asked, watching as she flushed the toilet all by herself and then managed to finish undressing without help. The tiny underpants were a new thing that she was very proud of, because Mama had told her only big girls got to wear them, and she stroked them lovingly as she put her dirty clothes in the hamper. He snorted when he noticed they had purple and pink ponies on them.

She shook her head and stood on her tiptoes with her arms raised up high, grinning cheekily at him. “I bigger than Daddy!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Aw, that’s a shame, I guess you’re too big for me to do…. This!” And he picked her up and blew a huge raspberry on her stomach, then dropped her into the bubbles as she squealed with laughter.

When she was squeaky clean, and Inuyasha had been decorated with a variety of bubble beards and bubble hats, he helped her into her thicker overnight underpants and PJ’s, and snuggled her into her little bed with her favourite white dog toy tucked into her elbow.

“Story and song!” Izayoi demanded.

Inuyasha cringed a little. He’d forgotten about the song part of the bedtime routine. Kagome had a variety of songs she sang, and her voice was pleasant and mellow, perfect for lullabies. His, not so much. “Uh, I’ll do you a deal. How ‘bout, Daddy reads you a story, and we call Mama and she can sing you a song over the phone. How’s that.”

Izayoi blinked at him slowly. “Okay”, she said finally, with a skeptical look on her face, like he was trying to renege on a deal.

“Which story do ya want Princess. Eggs and ham? The one with the baby and the lion?”

“Witch and cat!”

“Room on the Broom it is then!” He grinned, because he liked doing the voices for this one, especially the dragon. He was halfway into the book when she crawled out of bed and into his lap.

“I am a dragon, as mean as can be, and I’m planning to have WITCH and CHIPS for my tea!” Inuyasha growled.

Izayoi clutched onto his shirt. “Dragon scary!”

Whoops. Maybe he’d gotten a little too into it this time. “Hey, it’s okay. We know the witch is gonna be fine because all her friends are gonna scare him away. He’s just a big scaredy dragon!”

Izayoi nodded, the soft pointed ears on top of her head flicking sleepily. She popped her thumb into her mouth as he finished the story, snuggling against him. By the time he was finished, her eyes were blinking slowly. He put the book back on the shelf and tucked her back into her little bed.

“Song”, she whispered.

“One song, comin’ right up.” He fished his mobile out of his back pocket and called Kagome. “Hi love. I have one sleepy princess requesting a bedtime song.”

“What. You’re not going to sing one?” she giggled.

“I think we both know that my talents in the bedroom lie in other areas.” She snort laughed and he grinned. “I’m putting you on speaker.”

Kagome’s soft voice cooed into the bedroom, and both Inuyasha and Izayoi sighed, ears twitching. “Hey little pup. What song do you want Mama to sing for you sweetheart?”

“Mama!” Izayoi said sleepily, her ears twitching towards the phone. “Love you Mama. Train whistle.”

Kagome laughed softly. “I love you too baby. Okay, are you listening?”

Izayoi nodded, and Inuyasha said softly, “Yep, she’s ready.”

Train whistle blowin' Makes a sleepy noise Underneath the blankets For all the girls and boys

Rockin' rollin' ridin' Out along the bay All bound for Morningtown Many miles away

“She’s asleep”, whispered Inuyasha softly, taking the phone off speaker and backing slowly out of the room. He sat down with a thump on the sofa. “How’s Mama?”

“They did some blood tests at the hospital, and apparently she’s really low in iron. They gave her a blood transfusion and she has an appointment to see a heamatologist next week.”

“Shit. Do they know why?”

Kagome sighed. “You know what she’s like. I doubt she’s been looking after herself properly, now that she doesn’t have Grandpa to look after. I was hoping now that she’d retired from the shrine that she’d do things that she loved to do, but I don’t think she’s doing that well Inuyasha.” Kagome’s voice sounded a little wobbly.

Inuyasha swallowed. He adored Kagome’s mother. He’d been a brash belligerent teenager when he’d first started going out with Kagome in senior highschool, and Kagome’s mother had seen it for the front that it was. Kagome had known that he was hurting after the sudden death of his parents in a car accident, and so had she. It was a situation the Higurashi’s were all too familiar with, after the loss of Kagome’s father.

Mama had refused to allow him to push her away, even though shrine families weren’t usually accepting of demons, and had loved him like a son. No one had been happier for them when he and Kagome had decided to get married. He loved her almost as much as he’d loved his own mother. He pictured the once bright eyed, busy woman sitting by herself in a small apartment. She was probably so lonely.

“Kagome. Do ya think she’d live with us? I mean, if she wanted, I could even build her a little house in the back yard. Then it wouldn’t be like she was livin’ in our back pocket. She could visit us when she wanted, and we’d be close by if she needed us. And Izzy would get to see her every day.” Kagome’s quiet sob on the other end of the line startled him. “Hey love, you okay?”

“I’m fine”, she sniffed. “I… I’m gonna ask her, okay?”

“Don’t cry! Dammit, I didn’t suggest it to make you cry, I thought it would make you happy! If she’s not lookin’ after herself, I want her to be closer!”

Kagome giggled. “I’m not really crying, I’m just… you are an amazing husband, do you know that?”

“Shut up.”

“You are! And an amazing Dad. How did dinner go?”

“I stuffed up a bit. Made her pasta with red sauce instead of pesto. But she ate most of it.”

“Good job Daddy.”

He could practically see the beaming smile on Kagome’s face on the other end of the line and he sighed. “I miss you Kagome.”

“I miss you too. Only one night, and then I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you bring Mama too, if she’ll come. We could probably get her an appointment here, couldn’t we?”

“I’ll ask her. You know how stubborn she can be some times.”

“Yeah”, he chuckled, “I know. I got two stubborn reminders that live in the same house as me.”

“Hey!” He heard a soft voice in the background. “Okay Mama, be there in just a moment.”

Inuyasha sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you want us to pick you up at the airport?”

“No, it’s okay – it’s usually crazy at that time of night, and it’s too close to Izzy’s bedtime. I’ll just catch a taxi. Good luck with that meeting tomorrow.”

“Thanks”, he snorted. “Can’t say I’m lookin’ forward to it. Guy sounds like a first class prat.”

“Just… hold your temper”, Kagome soothed. “Bottle it up, and you can grump about him to me when I get home.”

“Oh no. I got other plans for you when you get home.”

“Oh really?”

Inuyasha lowered his voice to a rough purr. “Maybe I can get you to sing a bedtime song for me. Last time I went down on you I’m pretty sure you hit a few soprano notes”, he grinned.

“Shut. Up!”

“You love it.”

“You just wait until I get home mister! No mercy!” She paused for a moment. “I’m sorry hon, I gotta go, Mama’s calling. Love you.”

“Sweet dreams, sweet cheeks.”

Inuyasha ended the call despondently. The house just seemed empty without Kagome in it. He traipsed into the kitchen, opened the fridge, then shut it again. He looked in the cupboard, and there was one packet of ramen left on the top shelf. He couldn’t be bothered cooking anything else.

He slumped down on the sofa, clicking through the channels and then snorted in disgust, turning off the tv and his attention to his dinner instead. He may as well go to bed early without Kagome here, just in case Izayoi woke up during the night.

He dumped the plate in the sink and went and had a quick shower, groaning as he wondered if Kagome was in the shower at the same time as him, picturing her generous curves soaped up under swiftly falling water. Gods, he was pathetic. It wasn’t like they had sex every night, but now she wasn’t here, he missed her presence like a physical ache. He was away for work sometimes, true, but it seemed different somehow, when she wasn’t home and he was.

He dried himself off quickly, pulling on his soft grey sleep shorts and falling into the bed that seemed way too big without Kagome in it. He went over his meeting plans in his head, staring at the ceiling, wishing his wife was curled up next to him.

---

“MAAAAMAAAAA!” The high pitched scream had him bolting upright, and he flung himself out of bed, bashing his shoulder on the door frame as he careened down the hallway towards Izayoi’s room.

He kneeled down next to her bed. Her tear filled eyes were easily visible in the soft glow of the night light, and shuddering sobs shook her little body. “A Mons-ster!” she sobbed, trying to get her little arms free of the quilt. “Want Mama!”

“Hey baby, it’s okay, it was just a bad dream”, he soothed, stroking the sweaty hair back from her forhead. “There’s no monster here.”

“He ate Mama!” she sobbed, launching herself at Inuyasha. “Mama gone!” Her hiccuping sobs pulled at his heartstrings, and he picked her up, cradling her against his chest so that she could hear the solid beat of his heart.

“No monster”, he repeated firmly, as he carried her down the hallway towards his and Kagome’s bedroom. “Mama went to visit Grandma, and she’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yup. Sango will take you to daycare tomorrow, then Daddy will pick you up, and by the time you’ve had dinner and bath, Mama will be home again. I promise Princess.”

“Pinkie promise?”

It was a concept he had only recently educated in, but he nodded solemnly, viewing it as the sacred pact it was. “Pinkie promise”, he said, hooking his larger pinky finger around her smaller one.

His sleepy brain engaged a little more, and he walked them back towards the bathroom. “You wanna try goin’ to the toilet before you hop into Mama and my bed?”

“Okay.” She stood sleepily in front of the toilet and gazed at him without moving, so he turned her around and helped her pull down her PJ pants and underpants and plonked her on the toilet. He waited silently for a minute, then looked down to notice she was actually asleep sitting up. Chuckling as he fixed her clothes and picked her up again, he padded silently back to his bedroom, carefully placing her on Kagome’s side, hoping her scent on the pillow would help Izzy sleep.

He gazed at his little girl as she sprawled herself out like a starfish, her nose and ears twitching for a moment before she settled back into a deeper sleep. There was a time when he’d thought he’d never want children, because life had seemed to be determined to keep him alone. And then he’d found Kagome, or rather, Kagome had found him, bossing her way into his life and not taking no for an answer. And now they had this beautiful child together. His princess. He dropped a soft kiss onto the dark hair between her pointed ears and then settled back down to sleep himself.

---

“Daaaaadddyyyyyy!”

Inuyasha grunted as he felt the full weight of a solid three year old landing directly on his bladder. He opened one sleepy eye. “Yeah?”

“The door!”

“Fuu—iretruck!” he groaned, leaping out of bed at the sound of knocking on the front door. Had he slept in? Nope, 6.45am. He usually got up at 7. He opened the front door a crack, poking his head through. “Yeah?”

“It’s just us!” grinned a smiling Sango, holding Shinzu on her hip. “Miroku’s going to drop off the girls at school, so I thought I’d come over a little early and help you get Izzy ready for daycare.”

“Uh, okay?” said Inuyasha with a puzzled expression.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kagome texted me and told me you had an early meeting. Did I get it wrong?” She laughed at the suddenly panicked face Inuyasha made as he opened the door wide to let her in. “I take it you do have an early meeting?”

She stepped inside, then grinned teasingly at Inuyasha, pointing at his sleep shorts. “Is this a really informal meeting? Because I don’t think those are going to cut it.”

“Shut up”, he growled.

Izayoi ran towards Sango and hugged her legs. “Saaaango! Baby Shiiizuuuu!”

Sango ruffled the dark hair on Izayoi’s head, being careful of her pointed puppy ears. “Hey Izzy – you had breakfast yet?”

“No. Daddy asleep.” She held her hand over her mouth and giggled. “Daddy snores!” She stuck her fingers in her ears as if to emphasise how loud it had been.

“Way to rat me out kiddo”, muttered Inuyasha, raising an eyebrow at her. Izayoi hid behind Sango’s leg, then giggled some more.

“Go get ready Inuyasha, I’ll get Izzy off to daycare. I’m pretty sure I know where everything is.”

Inuyasha jogged towards the bathroom, then paused. “Thanks Sango, I really appreciate this.”

“Enough to babysit and give me and Miroku a night out?” she asked with a hopeful air.

Inuyasha thought for a moment about wrangling the twins, Shinzu and and Izayoi combined, then shrugged. “I’ll talk it over with Kagome, but yeah, sure.”

“Done. Stop talking and go get ready!”

He was back twenty minutes later in his business clothes, long hair neatly braided and the tie he only wore for meetings with clients already choking him. Izayoi was seated at the table, happily eating yoghurt and fruit. He dropped a kiss on her head. “Be good today Izzy. I’ll be there to pick you up from daycare, okay?”

“Okay, bye bye”, she said happily, making a funny face at Shinzu so the baby squealed in delight.

Inuyasha rushed out the door. “See you later Sango! And thanks!”

“You’re welcome!” she sang out, her voice punctuated by the loud slam of the front door.

---

Inuyasha growled as he gripped the steering wheel, glancing again at the clock on the dash. 5.55pm. He’d already called ahead to tell the daycare director that he was stuck in traffic and should be there soon, but that didn’t make him feel any less guilty.

The whole day had been a write off – filled with pointless meetings with pencil pushers and government know-it-alls that wouldn’t know good construction timeframes if they bit them on the arse. And thanks to them, he was late picking up his daughter, the very first time he’d been asked to do it. Shit.

It took another five minutes to find a parking spot, and he ran the rest of the way. The lights in the centre were off, but he knocked on the door, bouncing nervously, and a smiling lady let him in.

“Izayoi’s in the director’s office doing some colouring – right this way.”

“I am so sorry”, he panted, and the lady smiled at him, holding up a hand.

“It’s okay, you called and let us know what was happening. We let Izayoi know you’d be a little late, and she seemed fine. These things happen.”

Inuyasha poked his head around the office door. “Izzy?”

“Daaaadddy!” She vaulted herself into his arms, and he picked her up, giving her a squeezy hug.

“I’m sorry I was late baby. The car got stuck in traffic on the way here.”

Her bottom lip trembled a little. “Everyone gone home.”

“All the other kids have gone home?” She nodded. “I’m sorry you were the last one here Izzy.” Inuyasha turned his head towards the director. “I really am sorry for my lateness. I got caught up in meetings at work, and didn’t leave early enough to avoid the traffic.”

“That’s quite alright Mr. Takahashi. These things happen”, the director said, making a shooing motion with her hands.

They stopped to get Izayoi’s little backpack, then walked out of the centre.

“You know what?” said Inuyasha, swinging Izayoi’s little hand as they walked side by side towards the car. “Daddy had a grumpy day. And do you know what would cheer me up?”

Izayoi’s ears pricked up hopefully, and her eyes widened. “Ice-cream?!”

“Ice-cream”, he agreed, nodding seriously. “Should we eat it in a cone, or get some to take home?”

“Cone!” squeaked Izayoi, almost dancing on the spot.

Pretty soon they were sitting in an ice-cream parlour, Izzy with a small vanilla cone, napkin tucked into her shirt to save it from the drips, and Inuyasha with a towering triple scoop waffle cone monstrosity with extra fudge. Izayoi sighed happily as she licked, not quite fast enough to stop it dripping down her arm.

“I sticky.”

“Gotta keep licking!” said Inuyasha, turning her cone to the other side so she could lick the drips. If Kagome were here, she’d produce some of those wet wipes that seemed to fix a multitude of problems. Inuyasha snagged a couple more paper napkins from the paper dispenser and wrapped them around Izayoi’s little wrist, tucking the ends in. “There, that might help a little.”

“A bracelet! Thank you Daddy!”

Inuyasha snorted. “Glad to see my Princess is so easily pleased by paper jewellery. Keep licking Izzy, or it’ll fall.”

Once the ice-cream was eaten, it was time to go home. There was a short argument about keeping the soggy napkin bracelet, but after Inuyasha had promised to replace it with a real one when it was her birthday, she finally stopped stomping her small foot, and smiled. Crisis averted.

---

Inuyasha felt slightly guilty when he realised that Sango had done the washing up for him. Whoops. Oh well.

“You wanna help me make dinner Izzy?” he asked, hoping that would ward off any dinnertime disputes.

“Yeah!” She was rubbing her eyes a little sleepily, so he knew it would have to be something quick.

“How about boiled egg on toast?”

Izayoi looked at him quizzically, and Inuyasha remembered it was something she usually only ate for breakfast.

“It’s been a topsy turvy day. Let’s have breakfast for dinner!”

Izayoi snorted then giggled. “Silly Daddy!”

“Hey, it’s okay to be silly sometimes. Let’s boil an egg!” He let Izayoi pick an egg from the carton, then helped her place it carefully into the cold water in the saucepan. They put a slice of bread in the toaster, and she pushed down the lever herself, and then looked at him proudly.

“My princess is getting to be such a big girl!”

She nodded excitedly, then yawned.

Inuyasha buttered the toast and fished the egg out of the saucepan, peeling off the shell quickly and mashing it onto the toast.

“You want fingers or a squash sandwich?”

“Squash.” Her eyes blinked sleepily. He’d cut it pretty fine by taking her out for ice-cream; it was just about her bedtime now. Inuyasha picked her up and put her on her seat at the table. He folded the toast over carefully, making it like half a sandwich.

“Just eat a few bites princess, and then you can have a quick bath, okay?”

Izayoi nodded sleepily, then munched her way through the middle of the sandwich leaving all the crust.

“All done? Let’s go take that bath.” He ran a small bath, and washed her quickly; the fact that she wasn’t wanting to play told him exactly how tired she was. He lifted her out of the water and she stood on the bathmat as he rubbed her dry.

“Where Mama?”

Shit. Kagome had texted him that her plane had been a little delayed and she was just getting in a taxi, hopefully she would be home any minute.

“She’ll be here soon, Princess. How about Daddy will keep reading stories until she gets home?”

The bottom lip trembled a little. “Want Mama.”

Inuyasha helped her into her night time underpants and pj’s. “She’ll be here soon baby. Let’s go read those stories, okay?”

“Want Mama.”

Her little nose rubbed against his neck, ears flicking against his chin, and he felt a few warm tears slide down. Shit. C’mon Kagome. He carried Izayoi down to her bedroom, but instead of sitting on the chair, he sat down on her bed with her still cradled in his lap. She stayed curled up, her little thumb firmly in her mouth.

“Sad.”

“You’re feelin’ sad, cause Mama isn’t home yet?” Little nod. “I miss her too when she’s away. I love you and your Mama sooo much. All the way to the moon and back.”

“Moon story.”

“Goodnight Moon?” Izayoi shook her head.

“Rabbit.”

“Sorry kiddo, you’re gonna have to give me more than that. There’s a rabbit and a moon in the story?”

“Big Rabbit. Daddy Rabbit. And Little Rabbit. Izayoi Rabbit.” Inuyasha heart swelled and he dropped a kiss to her head. She was worse at tugging on his heartstrings than Kagome. Or better. Probably both.

“I think I know the one ya mean.” He reached over to her little bookcase carefully, and got a small battered boardbook. The first book they’d ever bought her, when she was still in Kagome’s womb. They’d bought it on the way home from the hospital after the ultrasound at twenty weeks. There were still little teeth marks around the edges where she’d bitten it as a baby.

“Guess how much I love you”, he began. A key clicked in the front door lock, and Kagome’s voice called out.

“Helloooo, I’m hoooome.”

“We’re in Izzy’s room”, he called out quietly, turning the page. “Little Nutbrown Hare, who was going to bed, held on tight to Big Nutbrown Hare’s very long ears.”

Kagome walked quietly into the room, leaning down to kiss Izayoi’s cheek.

“Mama”, Izayoi sighed sleepily.

“You want Mama to finish the story for ya Izzy?” asked Inuyasha. She shook her head.

“Daddy Rabbit.”

Kagome smiled at them both, and sat down on the chair. “I’ll listen too, if that’s okay.” She stroked Izayoi’s hair as Inuyasha read, and the little eyes drifted closed as he finished the last page.

Inuyasha rumbled a pleased sound through his chest. He couldn’t help it. Kagome was home, Izayoi was asleep and no longer sad. All was right in his world.

“Need some help escaping?” Kagome smiled. She helped lift Izayoi up gently so Inuyasha could slide out from underneath her, and Kagome pulled the quilt up over her, tucking her dog toy into her arms, and kissing her forehead. “Sweet dreams, Izzy.”

They tiptoed out of the little bedroom, and back down the hallway. Inuyasha picked up Kagome’s suitcase and carried it to their bedroom, Kagome following behind him.

“Mama didn’t want to come with you?”

“No. She was very definite about seeing the specialist there. Souta is taking the day off to go with her.”

“What did she say about our idea?”

“I think she might say yes. She’s thinking about it at the moment, but the idea of seeing Izzy everyday was very appealing”, smiled Kagome. She curled her arms around Inuyasha’s neck and hugged him tight. “I missed you so much! Did everything go okay with Izzy while I was away?”

“Pretty much. She missed you a lot. I did too.” His hands drifted down her back and over her bottom cheeks, suddenly wrapping around her thighs and lifting her up, snorting in laughter at her sudden yelp of surprise.

“We still haven’t finished the bedtime routine Ka-go-me”, he purred, walking over to their bedroom door and closing it firmly. “You owe me a song.”

#inuyasha fanfic #inukag fanfic #inuyasha family #papayasha #daddy inuyasha #pure fluff #Bearpluscat fanfics

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shield-agent78 · 5 years

Text

Alpha Team

Pairing:* Bucky x Reader, Steve x Reader, Sam x Reader

Warnings:* Fluff

Word Count: 1387

Square Filled:* Meet Cute

Summary: A chance meeting with a handsome brunet occurs while you are waiting for a meeting wth Steve. This just may turn out to be your chance to find romance or is Steve playing matchmaker?

A/N: @star-spangled-bingo Reder's thoughts are indicated in italics.

“Do you want to keep staring at the wall or do you want to go to work? I mean it’s a pretty interesting wall.” Steve asked Natasha as he entered the waiting area outside of the large training room.

“I thought you and Tony were still gazing into each other’s eyes. How do we look?” Nat asked him strolling out of the common area heading to the training room.

“Well we’re not the 27 Yankees,” he retorted.

“We have some hitters,” Natasha smirked back as they walked by me. I leaned back on the bench that ran the wall of the waiting area and pulled out my earbuds.

Well, that means that they didn’t need me for a while. My job had been slow for the last several weeks. Now with training starting, it appeared like it would be picking up soon enough. So why not take advantage of some quiet downtime. One of my favorite places, the common area close to the offices. It was actually peaceful, well decorated and natural light. I still had no idea why Sam had convinced me to move up here in the first place; oh that’s right my ex-boyfriend turned out to be a HYDRA agent and wanted me dead. Good enough reason. He had tried to sweeten the offer by “Come on girl, it will be fun. You will have me. You will meet New people to meet, and see the world.” I told him he sounded like an airforce recruiter. He just laughed. Nevertheless, I was here and had been for two years. The idea of wanting something more in my life wasn’t new, it was more of an attitude. Always grow. Always change. Keep moving up. Don’t let your life turn into a hurricane.

I turned up my headphones while internally rolled my eyes. I knew that Steve was going to be late for our meeting so getting lost a little in my music until then was a great distraction until I felt the bench shift as a tall burnt sat down next to me. Looking beside me I saw a Greek god; tall, muscles to die for, shoulder length hair and blue eyes looking at me intensely. Sam hadn’t told me about him. Wow! Ok, stop gawking at the stranger, Y/N. Just because a hot guy is staring at you doesn’t mean for you to lose your. . . .

“So what’s your story, I mean why aren’t you in there with them?” He questioned.

I removed my earbuds and gave him a slight smile. “I’m not the superhero type I guess.” He tilted his head as a small chuckle erupted from his mouth.

“Why aren’t you in there?” I sassed. Great insult him why don’t ya. Do you have any idea how to act around a cute guy? Yes, it’s been a while but come on. Besides look at his tattoo arm and muscles, he should be in there. You're trying to justify your actions.

“That’s only for the new ones.” He retorted back in a cool tone.

Oh, so he isn’t new.

“Why are you here? Running from someone?” He continued his authoritative tone. Wonder if he is CIA or military. Sounds like one.

“No. I don’t run,” my tone as cool as his. My new friend shifted where now his hands rested on his lap with his feet slightly apart. He took a deep breath with his nose and locked his eyes upon mine. Dman his eyes are intoxicating.

“Sorry I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. Let’s try again ok?” I gave him a slight nodded. “I’m Bucky Barnes,” his New York accent came out thick and strong. Yep, he is defiantly the alpha male type.

“Nice to meet you Bucky. I’m Y/N.” My southern accent flooding out of my mouth. Well, that hasn’t happened in a while. Bucky just smiled at me before speaking again.

“So where you from?” He gave me an amused cocky grin.

“California,” I teased. I knew he didn’t believe me one bit.

“No, I don’t think so,” he teased, “try the south.” His smile is intoxicating too. It just made me smile wider. Relax. Say something cute. . .

“That easy to tell?”

“Well maybe.”

“Louisiana. I’m in linguistics. He raised a curious eyebrow at me. "Primarily German, French, Italian, code-breaking and I’m learning Romanian. So how about you?” Don’t ramble. He gave me an amused smirk.

“An assassin from Brooklyn. Sorry, excuse me Ma’am for a moment.” He pulled out his vibrating phone to answer a text while I shifted nervously in my seat tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Figures all the cute ones have something up with them.

Steve: Well, what do you think of her?

Bucky: I like her. Seems sweet. She rambles when she is nervous.

Steve: And?

Bucky: Beautiful. Have you seen her eyes, Rogers? May have to consider asking her out

Steve: Told you. I’ll be there in 5

“Sorry, doll.” Bucky snapped me out of my thoughts as I looked back up at him.

“I ugh like your tattoo,” I motioned to his arm. It looks like golden strips on your forearm. Reminds me of a wolf. Bucky looked amused and then chuckled.

“Tattoo?”

“Ya, I augh…” I blushed with embarrassment. Haven’t known this guy but for like ten minutes and go and offend him Y/N. Great.

“No, no it’s fine. I had forgotten with this new nanotech that it looked like.” I gave him a curious look. “I just got back from Wacanda. Here let me show you.” His arm began to change from flesh tone to vibranium reviving the Wolf markings. I looked on speechless for a moment. Realization hit me. This is Steve’s friend. The Winter Soldier aka the White Wolf. Wow, girl! Damn!

“Oh wow; that’s really cool,” I said typing to play it off. “Ugh you’re the Winter Soldier aren’t you?”

“Back there I was called the White Wolf but ya that’s me,” Buck said sheepishly rubbing his neck. I folded my hands in my lap. All this time I’ve been making moves and talking to the Bucky Barns. Howling Commandos. save the universe, snap Thanos in half, serve your country, ok the brainwashing but no one is perfect; veteran, and handsome Bucky Barnes!

“Thank you for your service Sergeant,” Buck gave me a huge grin.

“Your welcome.” His blue eyes sparkled with appreciation over my words.

“Buck, Y/N you’re with me.” Our heads snapped up looking at Steve. I felt like I had got caught red-handed making out with his friend.

“Ok. Comin’ Steve,” Bucky answered as he stood up. “After you doll,” he motioned with his hand for me to go first. I stood up smoothed the bottom of my red dress. We walked down the hall to Steve’s office. I caught a glimpse of him in one of the mirrored office doors as we passed. His eyes running over my legs to my behind. Did he just check me out? Ok, just breath. Meeting that's right.

Steve sat down at his desk as I took a seat in front of him. Bucky leaned against a table behind my chair. “So a linguist agent is needed on each team. As you know, Agent Malone was retired and I am looking for a replacement for Alpha team. Interested?”

“Of course! Thank you, Steve. However, whose team is that?”

"Mine. Sam and Steve are also on the team but with Steve’s other duties I’m led,” I heard Bucky grumble behind me. Of course the one with a hot assassin super soldier, Sam, Steve and now me.

“One more question why me? I mean for the team. Just seems like you all are the top dogs.” I said waving my hand for emphasis. Steve gave me a smile. His blue eyes shown brightly.

“Let’s just say that I believe the two of you have more in common than you know. You make a good fit. Both determined to make a difference, and hard-headed.” He said glancing behind me towards Bucky. Buck gave a little chuckle. Just like I thought all the good ones have some type of issues, but man this could lead to something big.

@star-spangled-bingo @buckmesideways22

@jewelofwinter @teamcap4bucky @verygraphicink

#starspangledbingo #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #buck #steve rogers

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gaudeixcc · 6 years

Text

Peleton news – Butter knife.

This week, RTA and Moley went off to enjoy the cycling somewhere. We were all invited (eventually) and what an evening it was. JT, like a foreign benefactor blessing his adoring public with little leather pouches containing silver coins, sent £7 to our hapless duo for them to buy some fizzy lager. It’s not all champagne and strawberries in his Munich Penthouse you know. The fact that he can risk his children’s breakfast by dipping into the pension pot to pull out 7 whole pounds just to buy Bert and Ernie a beer speaks volumes.

JT has changed. I remember years back on a drunken night out, James threw 10p at my head after I had suggested his Golf (2.3V5) was not quite in the same league as my BMW 635 Csi (shark-nose). The shot caused a small dimple on my temple. Later that night in my taxi ride home, I spotted him shining a torch in the gutter in a lame attempt to locate the said coin.

He never did find it…. But the story doth not endeth there… many many years later, last year in fact, when JT paid for coffee one morning on our Malaga trip and shared the bill with the Peleton, the eagle eyed amongst you will have noticed that everyone got charged £3.20….. everyone except me… my bill was £3.30….. I looked at my screen… I looked up at JT… I looked at my screen again…… I didn’t move my head this time, instead slowly raised my eyes to his. There was much hub-ub at the time with the rest of the group teasing RTA about careless bicycle leaning (bike on wall.. bike off wall… bike on floor…. Damo summoned to fix)…..but JT met my eyes with his icy stare. We said nothing….. JT tapped his temple….. and we both knew…. That 10p was lost no more. The Trusler balance sheet was restored.

Half an hour later I glanced over JT’s shoulder as he was texting the lovely Mrs JT…. All I could read of JT’s message was;

‘Close the 2004 accounts. Balance now received. Nobody makes a monkey outta……’ and that was all I glimpsed….(although I later saw Karen’s reply ping through…’Well done love, nobody out-cunts the cuntmaster general…ps. Bring home some schnitzel x’…)

So in summary my advice to RTA and Moley is…. Send the money back…. You might as well…. And probably before the 2018 accounting period is over.

Sunday came this week and for a change some of the Peleton managed to ride together.

There has been much press speculation of late concerning G19. The big fight in town being DripHop….. a little less Wiggins v Froome.. a little more Fury v Wilder.

This was the first press conference Drip and I have done since James ‘Frank Warren’ Trusler had the contracts drawn up. It could have been a frosty affair, but luckily, we had Macca ringside to keep things on the straight and narrow.

Macca, not one for riding off ahead and leaving every other fucker in his wake, rode off ahead and left every other fucker in his wake.

Drip and I made a sufficient meal of riding in mud and also managed to embarrass ourselves with many a stranger before the day had concluded.

It didn’t start well.

We rocked up in Cricketers close in my second-hand bargain Range Rover (blacked out windows, natch).

I wound down the passenger window when we saw a cyclist and immediately struck up a conversation with the fellow rider as he was Macca’s mate and was due to join us on our ride. Being Macca’s mate, he was dressed in hugely expensive gear, had an expensive (but sensible) car and spoke with an accent that has probably had money thrown at it at some point. (He really was grammatically flawless). Drip and I were dressed in trackies and trainers and looked like a couple of pikies who had lucked-out and found a brace of bikes outside the local newsagents.

Anyhoo…. After much jolly banter, our riding partner disappears and Macca arrives on the scene.

‘Who was that?’ asks Cricketers favourite pilot (there are 14 of them on the close).

Turns out the fella had fuck all to do with Macca and us….. ffs…. Sometimes I do feel a complete pillock.

Anyway, it comes time to trundle off and Dawn waves from the upstairs window… well, it was either a wave or a furious ‘get the hell out of the street with all ya noise and bafoonary, people are trying to sleep’…. I think it was just a wave.

The ride itself was tough. It’s been a while since either of the two Crawley boys have troubled mud on a bicycle and the long, slow climbs took their toll.

Overall though I was quite pleased with the days riding. Macca was like a wheeled London city guide…every hill, climb or manoeuvre was teed-up with an introduction.

‘Slow climb coming up… steepens after the turn….. then steady to the top’

‘Tough climb… looks easy… is surprisingly hard and into the wind’

My favourite of the lot was when we were about to conduct a tricky gnarly and rooty left/right bend.

‘I’ve only every completed this a couple of times without having to walk the bike round’ says Macca… clearly expecting Drip and I to be walking bikes around.

I follow Macca. Macca clears the tricky section without stopping. It’s the first time he’s done it in years. Now it would take a complete twat to show-boat and go around like a hot knife through butter making easy what had been positioned as hard. It would have been like a giant ‘fuckyoumotherfucker’ whilst giving the finger behind poor Macca’s back.

Clearly Drip and I are two proper gentlemen who don’t just rock up at this sort of event looking like Vince and Jules at the end of Pulp Fiction only to embarrass our host by deploying rarely seen cycling talent to cast shadow over his own.

Who do you think we are…? We’re not monsters you know.

Anyway, I went round that corner like a knife though hot fucking butter….. but boy did I pay the price later….

The promised post-ride breakfast was a dish of revenge…. Served piping hot.

Drip, who had the courtesy to put his foot down and pretend that it was too hard, got Avacado with his bacon, two cups of coffee… TWO!!!... double toast…. DOUBLE TOAST…all served up within minutes of his arse touching a McEvoy perching stool.

I had to wait….. a loooong time……. And then……. I got a piece of toast (un-buttered).

‘Er…. ‘ I said.

‘What?’ squawked Macca

‘Butter?’ says I.

Macca pushes it my way…. And adds a ‘would you like a fucking hot knife with that?’

Now I may be seeing shadows, but I think Macca might have had the hump. It was either my wizadary on two-wheels that hacked him off…. or it might have been the fact that on entering the McEvoy kitchen I immediately commented on the picture of Mark and the budgie (now ex-budgie) on the fridge.

On mention of the cheeky chappy Dawn cried for a solid 20 minutes…. How was I to know?

All-in-all though, a successful ride out. Fury vs Wilder looks set to be a thriller. Training has started in both camps and ahead of us lies many a press conference.

So finally, I’d like to end on an unusually positive note. Our 2018 pink cap, RTA, has been shamed by Damo into action and will shortly be sending out invites (printed on heavy-weight fine china-white stationary) to his inaugural 2018 pink cap social.

It will be lovely to see you all. We can expect a contribution from our Munich benefactor no-doubt, in line with the precedence he set last weekend.

So for those in any doubt, I’ll wrap up with this little thought. Never in the history of Gaudeix tours, has training started so early for so many. G19…. As Moley would no doubt say…. This shit just got real. Get on your turbo’s boys…. The Pyrenees are a comin’ and the butter knifes are being warmed.

#PeletonNews

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ladyseaheart1668 · 6 years

Text

Endless Summer Fan Novel (Book 2, Chapter 14)

We stand together in heavy, stunned silence, looking out over the fiery hellscape.

“Oh, god...” Diego whispers. “You're saying this is...”

“...Yeah.” Sean's voice is hoarse, his expression twisted with agony. “...It's Hartfeld.”

“No,” Raj growls through gritted teeth. “Nah, man. No way!”

“Yeah, last I remember, there wasn't a freakin' volcano in the middle of Frat Row!” Craig declares angrily.

“I don't understand!” Quinn whimpers. “What happened?”

“Surely this is the distant future,” Aleister says uncertainly. “It must be...”

I dare to turn slowly. The lava stretches as far as I can see.

“What the hell are we supposed to do here?” Michelle cries.

“...We have to figure out what happened,” I murmur.

“Good point,” Zahra agrees. “We have no idea how to stop this if we don't know what it is.”

Sean wheels on me, his eyes flashing. “There could be people out there right now, suffering!” he snarls. “Don't you care?!”

“We do, Sean,” Michelle says gently. “We're just trying to save everyone instead of however few have lived this long.”

One by one, we make our way down the building's creaking fire escape to the street level. Magma bubbles up from cracks in the asphalt, but there is miraculously enough room to walk.

“Let's look around a little, see what we can find. But everyone be careful.”

We spread out, carefully picking our way through the dead, burning streets.

“Hey, guys!” Diego calls. “Come check this out! There's something stuck in the lava over here!”

We make our way over to join him and Grace at the edge of a lava pool near the foot of the fire escape. Something is gleaming golden in the red light.

“Is that...armor?” I dare to look a little closer. “It is! It's a cuirass!”

“Cuirass?” Craig repeats.

“Yeah. Chestplate. This one also has a backplate attached.”

“I am impressed that you know that word,” Aleister allows. I roll my eyes.

“As I keep telling everyone, I'm a history major. I know things about history.”

“This armor looks ancient,” Diego observes. “Look at the engravings. Must be from a museum or something.”

“How in heaven's name is it intact?” Aleister wonders. “The lava should have melted the gold instantly.”

“I don't think it's gold,” Quinn answers. “I think it's amber.”

The armor shimmers enticingly, drawing me in like a magnetic force. Acting on pure instinct, I squat down and reach out to touch the gleaming surface.

“Allie, don't!”

“What on earth are you doing?!” Aleister cries.

“It's...it's cold!” I gasp. “It's not hot at all! Feel it!”

Diego gingerly brushes the armor with one fingertip. When it doesn't burn him, his eyes widen.

“...Okay, that's not normal.”

“Sadi Carnot is rolling in his grave,” Aleister mutters.

Gripping it by the cool, exposed edge, I draw the chestplate out of the lava pool. Molten rock drips off it like water off a duck's back.

“What's the engraving on the back, Alodia?” Grace asks. I trail my fingers over an intricate engraving running down the spine of the armor.

“It looks like a DNA helix...that...turns into a chain...” I swallow hard. Andromeda. But...how can the sign of the chained woman find me so far from La Huerta?

“There's a blue crystal at the nape of the neck,” Diego observes, frowing. “What could that be for?”

There are a few more pieces of armor sticking out of the lava pool. I gingerly fish out faulds, pauldrons, spaulders, gauntlets, cuisses, tassets, and greaves. They're all cool to the touch, not retaining any heat from the lava. Zahra snorts, shaking her head.

“Man, Alodia. You've got a serious death wish for touching those things.”

I open my mouth to respond. On the edges of my vision, I am suddenly aware of vague, fuzzy auras hovering around each of my friends, pulsing in unearthly colors.

“Some risks are necessary,” I answer.

Even before he does it, I hear Craig laughing appreciatively. “Man, you're more of a daredevil than me!”

I can almost mouth Michelle's reprimand along with her: “Why are you saying that like it's a good thing?”

I look down at the amber armor, my fingers still lingering on the engraving. ...Was it the armor? Is that how I knew what they would say? This armor that somehow bears the sign of Andromeda, even though I was supposed to have left La Huerta behind?

“It looks about your size,” Jake remarks. “Made for a tiny knight. You wanna try it on?”

With Jake and Diego's help, I fasten on the amber pieces. They feel crafted for my body, which somehow does not surprise me. Grace shakes her head in dismay.

“I do not understand how you are alive right now.”

“It's...actually pretty breatheable,” I remark.

Diego steps back to look me over and smiles. “Nice. Legendary armor unlocked.”

“You look like an ancient hero,” Quinn agrees.

“It is certainly a handsome set,” Aleister concedes, “but none of this explains how it came to be sitting here!”

A sudden shriek from Grace makes us all jump. Her hand flies to her mouth, and she points with a trembling finger. I follow her gaze to an ash-covered pile of debris.

“Grace? What's wrong? It's just...” I trail off as I step closer and I realize what the pile is really made of. It's not debris. ...It's bones. “...Oh, my god...”

“Oh, man...” Zahra says softly. “That is not a good way to go.”

I hear Raj retching behind me. Everyone backs away from the skeletons. Everyone except for Michelle, who pokes around the pile.

“There's gotta be a dozen of them,” she murmurs.

“Those poor people,” Quinn whispers, choking on a sob. “They were probably classmates. Hartfeld students just like us.”

“Did they die quick and painless, at least?” Raj asks weakly, not bothering to hide his tears.

“Quick, yes,” Michelle answers grimly. “Painless...no.”

“...Let's leave 'em be,” Sean says flatly. “And make sure we don't join 'em.”

We pick our way through the streets of our college town, climbing over hills of smoldering wreckage. The world is dead silent, save for the distant, sustained rumble of the mega-volcano.

“There's the coffee shop I would always code at,” Zahra observes distantly. “Everything looks pretty much the same. Except, ya know, on fire.”

“How far in the future are we?” Diego wonders.

“Do you think most people evacuated in time?” Grace asks.

“Evacuated to where?” There is a note of helpless frustration in Estela's question. “Looks like this goes all the way to the horizon.”

No one answers. There is nothing to say to that. She is terribly, horribly right. We all press a little closer together.

“This cannot be,” Aleister whispers finally. “We did everything, everything we were supposed to.”

“Dude, look.” Raj gestures ahead of us. “This was Andrews Field. Used to play Ultimate out there every weekend.”

“And there's Greene Library,” Grace adds. “That was like my second dorm room.”

Quinn sobs softly beside me. “No...” she whimpers. “No...”

“There's gotta be a way to prevent this from happening,” Michelle says. I can't tell if the conviction in her voice is real or if it's just desperation. “There just has to.”

“I thought I was numb to death,” Estela says ruefully. “But this? This is just...”

“I can't believe this,” I whisper. I feel Jake's hand on my shoulder. I cover his hand with mine.

“Can't imagine how hard this is for you,” he says softly. “To see your home like this.”

“I don't even recognize it anymore...”

“Craig?” Diego calls. “You comin'?”

I look back. Craig is lingering behind, staring up at a huge billboard. I can still make out some of the text advertising season tickets...and pieces of the two men photographed side-by-side, the numbers 5 and 68 emblazoned on their jerseys. I grip Jake's hand a little tighter, feeling my dread grow.

“...Yeah,” Craig says. “I'm comin'.”

We move on. “...Hey, Diego,” I murmur. “Remember when we saw The Avengers at Movies on the Quad last year?”

He grins at me. “Barely. I drank way too much moscato that night. But I remember it was fun.” His smile slips, gesturing in the direction of the quad. “It was right over there. And now it's...it's just gone...”

“It's not gone,” I say softly. “We remember it.”

“Hey,” Estela says gently but firmly. “Come on. You're lagging behind.”

“Sorry.” We pick up our pace a bit. Sean suddenly stops walking. I look over and see him swallowing hard. “...Sean?”

He doesn't acknowledge me. He breaks off from the group, marching forward across the crumbling street.

“Where is he going?” Michelle asks.

“I don't know,” I murmur. “I'll follow him. Make sure he's okay.”

I break off and hurry after him, stepping carefully on the disintegrating street. I follow him into a half-collapsed building, up a charred staircase to a second floor apartment. I find him standing in the middle of soot-covered living room.

“Sean? What are we doing here?”

“...This is my mom's place,” he whispers. “Was. Was my mom's place.”

“Oh, god...Sean...” I come up beside him to wind a comforting arm around his waist. He puts an arm over my shoulders.

“After we finally managed to get away from my dad, she wanted to stay close to me. And I wanted her close. She got this apartment when I was a freshman. Closest building to Hartfeld Stadium.”

He withdraws from my embrace and walks up to a cracked photo frame barely clinging to the wall. He wipes away the soot on the glass. Beneath it is a faded photo of a boy in a peewee football uniform. The smile is unmistakeably Sean's. On either side of him are his parents, proud and smiling.

“...I always hated that she kept this photo up,” he mutters. “She still loved him. After everything. After everything that bastard did to us, she still loved him. At least...she loved the old him. But that man was dead.”

“...Love is weird,” I mumur.

Sean lifts the picture from its hook and slumps down against the wall, staring at it. He blinks, and a few tears slip down his cheeks. I come to sit down beside him.

“...I wasn't here, Alodia. I told her I'd always protect her, and I wasn't here...”

I put an arm around him. “It's not your fault, Sean.”

“...That's all I was ever good at, you know? Taking the punishment so someone I care about doesn't have to. And for my mom, for the person that mattered most...I couldn't even do that.”

“We'll fix this. That's a promise.”

“You say that with such certainty. I don't know how you do it.” He looks at me and laughs, ruffling my hair. “Only you could make me look at the end of the world and think, 'Yeah, this is fixable.' It seems completely nuts. But I look at you...and I believe it.”

“I believe in us. All of us.” I chuckle a little to disguise the sob that bubbles up in my chest. “I don't even really have anyone out here to be worried about. You eleven...you're the most important people in the world to me. I haven't known any of you except Diego for very long, I know. ...But you don't go through what we've gone through without forming bonds.”

“Not usually,” he concedes.

“...We'll fix this. I promise we'll fix it. And you know I'll keep that promise, because I'm making it for you and all our friends. And I would crawl through hell for any one of you.”

“...Yeah. I believe you would. ...And every one of us would stand behind you.”

I stand and offer him a hand up. “Come on then, Heisman. World needs saving.” He takes my hand with a feeble smile and stands. Together, we head back down the street.

We return to the group to find them arguing amongst themselves.

“That's total conjecture!” Michelle protests. “You don't know that!”

“Since when are you the authority on what's possible on Loco Island?” Craig retorts.

“Guys, please! Let's not fight!” Grace pleads.

“Listen to Grace, you imbeciles!” Aleister snaps. “We must do whatever we can to prevent this future from happening.”

“Yeah...” Raj says. “...Uh...one problem. I don't think we're in the future.” He points with a trembling finger across the street to the entrance sign for Hartfeld University. In faded marquee letters, it reads: '2017 Summer Session begins this Monday, June 5th!'

“June fifth of this year?!” Zahra whispers.

“Oh, my god...that means this eruption would've happened around the day we...” Quinn trails off, gulping.

“The day we flew to La Huerta,” Michelle finishes.

“We're not in the future.” Sean lays it out in front of us, his voice low and quivering. “Distant or otherwise. We're in the present.”

“...The world ended six months ago,” Zahra says. “...We just got the memo.”

“But...how?”

I think back to the transmissions we heard at the observatory, to what Rourke said in the jungle as we marched towards Elyys'tel: “I strongly suspect that was an echo from our planet's likely future. Right now, we are in a bubble of time, safe for the moment. But an eruption of Mount Atropo risks plunging the planet itself into a prehistoric time, when all the world was lava. Civilization would immediately be engulfed in the fire of a bygone era.”

“The storm.” Jake's voice draws me back to the present. The dead, hellish present.

“You mean, all that turbulence on the way in?” Raj asks, his voice shaking. “The sudden dark clouds and the lightning?”

“Holy crap!” Diego runs his fingers through his dark hair. “That was Mount Atropo erupting. We flew straight through it into some...time bubble or something!”

“The island alone stayed safe,” Estela says grimly. “While the rest of the world burned.”

“Hold on!” Jake exclaims. “How does one volcano thousands of miles away do this?”

“All we know is Atropo's no ordinary volcano,” Grace answers. “It was a massive build-up of energy that tore space-time. Honestly, what this Earth reminds me of most...is when it was first forming. Before the crust cooled.”

“You're saying that the eruption somehow sent the planet back into...”

“...The Hadean Eon,” Aleister finishes.

“And everything and everyone was suddenly living on a molten rock,” Sean adds.

Quinn shudders. “That's...so horrible...”

“Worst game of 'The Floor is Lava' ever,” Diego declares without a hint of mirth.

Sean's head drops, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Okay then. There's no one left. There's nothing we can do here.”

Raj looks sharply at him, eyes going wide. “Aw, don't say it,” he moans. “Don't say it, dude--”

But Sean says it. “We have to go back.”

Raj shakes his head wildly. Throwing up his hands, he stalks away, muttering to himself. “This can't be happening! It can't be happening! It's a nightmare! I can't deal with this! I can't!”

“Guys, I think we finally broke Raj,” Zahra deadpans.

I cautiously approach Raj, who is gripping fistfuls of his hair, tears streaming down his cheeks. I keep my steps gentle, as if he were a particularly skittish horse. As soon as I'm close enough, I leap at him, throwing my arms around his neck. He stops pacing, stunned. I hang there, my feet not even touching the ground, dwarfed as I am by him, feeling him tremble in my embrace.

“We're here, Raj. We're here with you,” I murmur.

He lets out a shuddering breath and finally grips me back. “...Okay. I'm okay. I'm good now. Thanks, Alodia.” He snuggles me against him, and my breath comes out in an inelegant honk. “You're a good hugger, by the way.”

“You too, big guy.” Hearing the strain in my voice, he sets me down and ruffles my hair.

“Good hugger, but teeny tiny.”

Together, we head back towards the dorms. Just shy of the fire escape we climbed down, Diego stops and squints.

“What's up?”

“So, this might sound weird, but...does the horizon look...closer?”

We all stop and look out, following Diego's gaze.

“...That ain't right,” Jake says lowly.

“That's not the horizon,” Zahra exclaims. “That's a tsunami!”

“You know what? Hot take here, but a giant wave of water sounds pretty refreshing right now. I think the whole planet could use some--”

“It's a tsunami of lava, Craig!”

“Oh! Okay, yeah, that's bad.”

“Run!” Estela cries. “Up to the roof! Go!”

We scramble up the fire escape as the molten tsunami oozes toward us from a mile away, its progress slow but unrelenting.

“The Gate!” Quinn cries. “It's gone!”

“How the hell do we get it back open?!” Zahra shrieks.

I turn and see the wave of lava cresting, a churning wall of molten rock consuming everything in its path.

“Varyyn!” Diego cries. “He must've taken the Island's Heart out of the machine to get back to Elyys'tel!”

“So we're totally screwed then!” Michelle moans. “Great!”

“No!” I snap. “We're not! Not yet! Everyone shut up for a second!”

I close my eyes, desperately searching for Varyyn's presence in my consciousness. Varyyn! I call silently. Can you hear me?

I open my eyes and find myself back at MASADA, seeing through the elyyshar's eyes. He presses himself against a wall, concealing himself from patroling Arachnid soldiers. He checks the Heart in his satchel, secure among the eleven idols. He watches a patrol pass by and prepares to make his move forward. Suddenly, he freezes. He senses my presence, though he can't yet quite identify me. I wrap mental fingers around his presence, reaching back into my own body at Hartfeld and opening my eyes.

“I can reach him...I think...” I say, my voice strained with the mental effort. Diego clasps my hands and looks into my eyes.

“Help me, Varyyn,” he says, squeezing my hands. He can't seem to resist adding, “You're my only hope.”

I feel my consciousness pulled back into Varyyn's body. ...He hears Diego's call. Not in words, but the message gets through. Through our psychic link, through Diego, who is the link between our hearts.

“...Diego,” Varyyn whispers. “He's in danger...”

He whips around to go back the way he came, only to run straight into two Arachnid mercenaries. They raise their weapons.

“Freeze!”

Varyyn's hand shoots forward and clasps the nearest guard's throat in his powerful grip. With a low growl, he lifts the guard clean off the floor and slams him like a doll into the other guard. They both crumple and lie still. Varyyn sprints back to Theoretical Prismatics, not looking back. I hear the desperate prayer echoing in his mind. Diego...please be all right...please be safe...

He digs the Heart out of the satchel and places it delicately between the electrodes. Nothing happens.

“...No...” he whispers. “No!”

The wave of lava is surging ever closer. It will be on top of us in five minutes at most. Diego shrinks, staring at it. “Oh, holy mother of...”

“Something's wrong with the Gate!” I cry. “The Heart's in, but it's not turning on!”

“I...I think I can help,” Quinn says softly. “Maybe. I don't know what I can do from so far away, but I'll try...”

She closes her eyes, focusing. Scraps of debris start to swirl around her, lifting into the air.

“Here we go again,” Craig murmurs.

Quinn opens her eyes. They burn unearthly green, but her expression is grim. “No...I don't sense it...” Then she gasps. “Wait...There!”

I feel Varyyn desperately tapping keys on the command panel. Suddenly, he leaps back as the Heart begins to radiate a blinding light. The sphere splinters open, revealing the portal within.

“It's open!” Michelle cries.

I dare to detatch from Varyyn, teetering a little with the strain as a sphere of purple light materializes on the rooftop. The lava tsunami's shadow darkens the sky, towering over us.

“Go!” I scream. Everyone runs for the portal, leaping through one by one. Behind me, Grace stumbles, falling hard to the deck. An eroded crossbeam falls across her ankle, pinning her down.

“Grace!” Aleister cries

“Go!” Sean orders. “I've got her!”

He runs back and heaves the crossbeam off of Grace. Lifting her easily into his arms, he runs back to the portal, diving through. Diego grabs my hand.

“Allie, come on!” He pulls me through the portal just as the wave descends onto the rooftop. It leaves a blast of heat in its wake that follows me into the portal. The world flashes white, and suddenly I faceplant into cold, rusted steel. For a moment, I lay flat against it, relief flooding through me at the blessed coolness. I'm not the only one.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Craig cries. I'm not sure who he's thanking, but he's kissing the floor.

“...Considering how many pairs of feet have probably walked across this floor, that's a little disgusting,” I say wryly.

“Totally don't care!” he retorts.

I slowly push myself upright, counting my friends off as I see them. Craig, Zahra, Jake, Sean, Estela, Raj, Michelle...Aleister is cradling Grace...

“Quinn? Are you--”

“I'm okay,” she assures me. “And I'm me.”

Diego picks himself up and runs into Varyyn's waiting arms. Varyyn holds Diego tightly, kissing his hair.

“You are all right,” he whispers, a quiver in his voice. “I-I came as quickly as I could...”

“Did ya miss me?” Diego quips.

Varyyn pulls back just a little, cupping Diego's cheek and searching his face. “Why did you come back? What did you see?”

Together, haltingly, we fill Varyyn in on the details. He frowns deeply. “...This does not make sense. Perhaps Uqzhaal will have answers. We must return to Elyys'tel.”

“The gondola,” Quinn says. “We can get out that way, if we hurry. Security's still scrambled, right? Maybe we can get across before they realize what's happening.”

“Agreed. That's the plan, then. Find our way back to the gondola, get back to Elyys'tel and regroup--”

“No. No, enough!”

Everyone falls silent, looking over at Aleister where he sits cradling Grace on his lap. For the first time, I realize that there is smoke rising from her singed hair. Her face is flushed, her breathing shallow.

“Aleister...”

“Enough plans! Enough adventures! Enough!”

Jake comes to put a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, Malfoy, just--” Aleister swats his hand away sharply.

“No!” he snarls. “We almost lost Grace! Do you fail to realize that?! She almost died just now! And we all could have joined her! Why? We are fighting against something we cannot possibly understand, and we will all die!”

“...We'll be all right, bro,” Craig says gently.

“Aleister, I promise you. I won't let anything happen--”

Aleister wheels on Sean. “Ah, of course! And you've never failed to keep a promise, is that right, Sean?” Sean recoils as if stung.

“Hey!” I bark. “That was totally uncalled for!”

Aleister turns his wrath on me. “Don't you understand?! He can't promise that! No one can promise anything anymore! The world is gone! The future is gone! We've lost! It's over! It's all over!”

I meet his furious gaze with my own, but around me, everyone is silent, looking uncomfortably at the floor.

“...What are you thinking, Allie?” Diego asks softly.

“All I know is that I'm not quitting,” I say fiercely. “As long as any of us are alive, I'll give my last breath to keep it that way, if that's what it takes.”

“I couldn't imagine anything less from you,” Sean says with a weak smile.

“You're a damned fool, Alodia Chandler,” Aleister declares flatly. Grace's moans a little, her eyes fluttering. She still looks flushed, but she has managed to catch her breath. She focuses on Aleister above her.

“Aleister...” she croaks. “I know it looks bad...unfathomably bad...But there's always hope. There has to be.”

Aleister's lips quiver. “I wish I could believe that...”

“Okay, so are we making a run for the gondola or not?” Zahra asks. “Clock's ticking.”

“It always is,” Aleister mutters. But he helps Grace to her feet. “...Let's go, then.”

Varyyn returns my backpack to me, still containing the Heart and the idols. I slip it on, but after a moment, I pass the Heart back to him.

“Hang onto this. It belongs to your people.”

He regards me thoughtfully for a moment, and then nods, slipping the Heart into his own satchel. We make our move, carefully avoiding the patrols as we scurry through the corridors of the MASADA complex. To my relief, the Andromeda armor doesn't seem to make a lot of noise. Almost none, in fact. If I were less distracted, I might wonder about that. But right now, all we can focus on is getting out.

“I think we're almost there,” Zahra whispers as we near the entrance. Beside me, Quinn walks with a stoic expression on her face.

“Quinn? You holding up okay?”

“Hmm? Oh...I think so.”

“You saved us back there. Somehow you were able to connect with the Island's Heart, even from thousands of miles away. So...thank you. I know it's scary to let that...that thing take over.”

“Not as scary as losing you guys. ...I know this is serious. Each time I do it, I feel it lingering more and more. But in a way, I'm used to it. I'm used to knowing something in my body will eventually destroy me.”

“The same goes for all of us,” I say softly, taking her hand and squeezing it. “All of us are temporary. Every last one of us is a physical thing that weathers away...killed by the very thing we were trying to keep alive. It's unfair that you're facing this so young. But I don't want you to feel like you're alone in this. Because you're not.”

“I guess you're right. This is a part of life. And my time is now.” She sighs. “So nothing's changed from before I came here. If my own body is still going to erase me, then I'm going to do all the good I can with the time I have.”

“Good for you. And in the meantime, you have a damned fool like me who's going to fight tooth and nail to keep you all alive for as long as humanly possible.”

She manages to crack a smile. A clattering from up above catches our attention. Aleister has tripped over a pristine white trash can, spilling its contents to the floor.

“Are you trying to attract attention?!” Estela hisses.

“Oh, gross!” Raj exclaims. “Get away from that, yo! That bin says 'Biohazard Disposal' on it! That means poop! Or blood! Or blood poop!”

“Nasty, dude,” Craig says with a shudder. “Please don't use those words together.”

Aleister and the others continue walking, but I pause by the overturned bin. I don't see anything gross in there. Just some crumpled paper and...

“Oh, shit!” I hiss.

Lying among the discarded balls of paper is a small amber statue of a man in priestly robes, bearing the head of a cobra. This is it...the final idol...

“A catalyst idol!” Quinn gasps. “Are you gonna take it?”

I delicately pick up the idol with two fingers and lift it out of the garbage pile. I close my eyes, bracing myself for visions. But nothing happens.

“...Are you okay, Alodia?” Quinn asks. “You're making a funny face.”

I open my eyes. ...Right. Aleister and I both need to be touching the idol to invite the visions. I glance at Aleister, walking ahead with the rest of the group.

“...Yeah. I'm fine. Just...distracted.”

“Come on. Let's catch up with the others.” I slip the idol into my bag with the others and follow Quinn down the hall.

“What was something so important doing in a trash bin of all places?” Quinn muses. “And why a biohazard one?”

“Maybe someone was trying to hide it?” I suggest. “Rourke was so keen on getting these. I can't believe he'd just throw one out.”

Up ahead, Jake reaches a closed automatic doorway and hits the touch panel. It beeps and flashes.

“Access denied. Crap. Looks like we hit a dead end.”

“Let me try,” Aleister says softly. “I was able to activate my father's computer at The Celestial...” He presses his hand to the panel. It flashes green and the door slides open.

“Nicely done! I knew you'd come in handy.” Jake pauses for a reaction, but Aleister just stares at him. “...I'll stop.”

“Puns aren't really your strong suit, Top Gun,” I quip. “Stick with giving out silly nicknames.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “Your wish is my command, Princess.”

We continue through the winding halls of MASADA. Presently, a set of video monitors along the wall flickers to life. On every screen, Everett Rourke smiles serenely.

“Hello, Aleister.”

“Dammit,” Estela hisses. “He's onto us.”

“I received an alert that my DNA signature was being used to access restricted areas,” Rourke explains. “Finding this curious, as you are to be in custody, I reviewed my security systems, only to find a very subtle worm manipulating its data. No doubt the work of Zahra Namazi. My dear guests, you are every bit as resourceful as I could have hoped.”

“Ignore him,” I murmur. “Keep moving.”

We pick up the pace, threading faster through the halls. But around every bend is another monitor showing Rourke's unnatural grin.

“Oh, Junior, how your recent cleverness makes me regret all the time we spent apart. Perhaps you would've been a worthy successor after all.”

“Does this guy ever shut up?” Michelle growls. I see Aleister slowing down slightly.

“He's messing with you, Aleister,” I remind him.

“Sure, tell him he's his father's puppet,” Estela mutters. “That'll help.”

“No, Alodia is right,” Aleister says flatly. “My father manipulates everyone around him.”

“Aleister, look!” Grace exclaims.

Straight ahead is another hallway connecting two wards of the complex, with sealed hatches at each end.

“The security station is here. I'll try to override using my father's ID.”

“I must admit I was wrong about you,” Rourke continues on the monitor. “The way you've handled yourself. The way you've defied overwhelming odds. After all this time, you've come into your own. You remind me...of myself.”

“The cretin thinks I'll fall for this,” Aleister growls through clenched teeth. He taps through several screens, then presses his hand down. The first door slides open, and we run inside.

“We're in! Just one more hatch and we're through, Aleister!”

“On it.”

“I handled this all wrong,” Rourke confesses on the screen. “I discarded you, and now you will be my undoing. But that is not what breaks my heart. What breaks my heart is knowing how this will end. Knowing that I drove you to this. Knowing that I drove you to get your friends killed.”

Aleister hesitates a moment. “...What...?”

“You're more like me than either of us ever wished to admit. Too stubborn to admit when we're in over our heads. All I can do is think about what we could have accomplished together. Together, we could have restored the world. We could have undone the harm of the terrible eruption. How we could have built a paradise for us...for your friends...For Grace...” Aleister freezes. “We could have even saved your mother. And now, because of what I've done to drive you away...my son, you're going to erase the only chance we had at bringing her back.”

I watch Aleister's expression settle into a cold, emotionless mask and I feel my blood run cold.

“Wait!” I scream. “Aleister! Don't!”

He meets my eyes for just an instant. “...I'm sorry.”

His hand moves. I rush towards him. The first hatch slams shut in front of me, trapping us all inside. I throw myself against the door, pounding it with my fists. “No! Aleister!”

“What the hell?!”

“He locked us in!”

“Aleister!” Grace cries pleadingly. “What are you doing?! Let us through!”

Aleister steps up to the small porthole in the hatch. His voice is only slightly muffled through it. “This is for your own good. I know you'll see that one day.”

“You slimy son-of-a-bitch!” Jake roars. “You've got five seconds to rethink this!”

“Open the hatch!” Estela snarls. “Now!”

Grace steps up to the glass, just inches from Aleister. “How could you...?”

“Don't you understand? My father's right. He's always been right.” He shakes his head mournfully. “If we keep running, we'll all be killed. We'll be as dead as those skeletons back in Hartfeld. Jake? Sean? Estela? They can't protect you. Not from this. So if they won't keep you from getting killed, Grace...I will.”

“By selling us out to your father?!” she cries, tears shimmering in her eyes.

“He's a genius. He built this facility. Built that Gate. If there's anyone who can fix this...anyone who can protect us...it's him.”

“Dude, he's evil!” Diego protests.

“You don't think I know that? But right now, he's our only chance. You'll thank me one day. You'll live to thank me. That's what counts.”

The doors behind Aleister open, and several Arachnid troops surge through. I slump against the wall, barely keeping upright for the despair flooding through me.

“...You're wrong, Aleister,” I growl. “You're so, so goddamn wrong.”

“I'm not stupid, Alodia. I don't expect you to understand this yet. You will.”

“Oh, but you are stupid, Aleister,” Estela says flatly. “You just signed your death warrant.”

“Stay back!” an Arachnid soldier barks.

Aleister turns away, letting the troops close in. When they have us covered from every angle, they open the hatch.

“Out! Slowly! Hands in the air!”

We raise our hands, cautiously stepping out into the control room. A dozen submachine guns are aimed point-blank at us.

“Any great ideas about now, Cap?” Jake murmurs to Sean.

“I've got nothin',” Sean admits.

The soldiers part to allow Rourke through, followed by Lundgren and Lila. Rourke smirks at us.

“I must say, I'm getting quite the sense of deja vu at the moment,” he drawls. “Then again, we all know how this place plays tricks with time.”

“That's the last time you make me chase you, Wolf,” Lundgren growls, pinning Jake with a hateful gaze.

“Gettin' tired?” Jake spits. “I could do this all day, you mechanized sack of--”

Rourke holds up a hand. He looks over at me, Zahra, Sean, and Craig. “So. You four entered disguised. Quite brilliant. Was this your plan, Alodia?”

“We're a team,” I answer flatly.

“How delightfully humble. Now then...” He steps up to Varyyn, who is barely being restrained by three soldiers. Ignoring the struggle, he reaches into the satchel at Varyyn's waist and withdraws the Island's Heart.

“No!” Varyyn snarls as Rourke turns the shimmering orb over in his hands, marveling at it.

“It's beautiful, isn't it, Lila?”

“Yes, Mr. Rourke. It is.”

“So much energy in such a small thing. It seems I've never been more wrong in my life.”

“You talking about the day you picked out that suit?” Jake sneers.

Rourke ignores him. “For years, I believed that the eleven of you would lead me to the Endless. That you were the key to unlocking its secrets. But all this time, your destiny was to lead me to this.”

“Father? I don't understand.”

“I no longer have use for the Endless. I no longer have use for any of you. I must thank you, frankly.”

“So you'll keep them safe?” Aleister asks anxiously. “As you said. You will not harm them?”

Rourke raises an eyebrow at his son. “Are you kidding? Of course I won't harm them. I've no reason to.”

“Tell that to your rabid dog,” Estela growls.

“Easy, pipsqueak,” Lundgren snaps.

“I'm talking about her, dumbass!” Lila shrinks under Estela's furious gaze.

“I've no reason to harm them at all,” Rourke repeats. “Provided they don't give me one.”

Aleister looks from his father to me, stepping close to me. “Well?” There is a plea in his eyes and his voice. “Will you let me keep you safe? Will you surrender peaceably?”

I look around at my friends, one by one. I see Varyyn straining to reach the Island's Heart, Lundgren looking at Jake like he's a meal. I see Estela glaring at Lila, and the vision of the Draco idol flashes in my mind, her helpless rage as Rourke pressed the barrel of his pistol to her forehead. I feel my heart sinking. More of the terrifying visions granted by the idols flash through my mind. So many of them seem destined to die at MASADA. Craig, killed by Tetra covering our escape. Diego, gunned down by Iris trying to free Varyyn. Jake and I seem to spend five years imprisoned here, he in a cell and me in a stasis pod, both of us powerless to save anyone. Zahra will free Jake in time, but she'll be murdered by Rourke in the end. And Jake will free me, only to be gunned down in front of me.

...Will I even be burying bodies in that cave? Will my friends keep burying each other until I can complete the task, the last one left alive?

Eleven graves. Only one left alive. Alone. ...And it all begins with Aleister. I feel rage bubble up in me, and I glare up at Aleister. I gave him my trust. I gave him my care and my friendship. And he spat on it. I spit back, directly into his face. He flinches, wiping away the glob.

“Boom!” Craig snickers. “Got 'im!”

“My turn next!” Zahra declares.

Aleister sighs. “Making this easy on yourselves, I see.”

I lock my gaze with his. “Did you expect anything else from me?”

He regards me angrily, but I can see the desperation behind his eyes. “...You're a damned fool, Alodia Chandler.”

“Well, well,” Rourke murmurs. “Perhaps they are still a problem.”

Aleister wheels to face his father. “No! They're not! They can't do anything! Just lock them up until this is over!” His hands ball into fists. “Father, please...”

Rourke regards his son for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Very well,” he says at last. “We shall imprison you in moderate comfort until the conclusion of this...experiment.”

“We had a deal, Rourke,” Lundgren growls.

“And I will keep my bargain, as I said, at the conclusion.”

“Better hope you do.”

Jake laughs bitterly. “Look at you taking orders, Lundgren. I see a spot on Rourke's shoes that could use a licking.”

“Your time's comin', Wolf,” Lundgren sneers. “Sooner than ya think.” He turns on his heel and marches out.

“Relieve them of their belongings, then take them below,” Rourke orders.

Aleister grabs for my bag, but I hold fast to it, pulling sharply back on it. The snake-headed idol, sitting on top, tumbles out, clinking on the floor. We both reach for it at once, and our fingers brush it at the same time. MASADA dissolves around me before I have a moment to prepare.

I'm in an unfamiliar auditorium. Men and women in expensive business attire fill the seats, regarding the speaker with serious expressions. On the stage, pacing back and forth in the frame of a bold white spotlight is Everett Rourke.

“...Which brings us to my final point,” he is saying. “That, in the end, for all our technology, for all our progress, we are still collectively bound to the same wheel as our ancestors were, ten thousand years ago. We are born. We age. Sometimes, we breed. And then, we die. For all our acheivements, all our victories and defeats, all our moments of joy and sorrow, we end up nothing but dust. We have shattered the atom, set foot on the moon, built networks that instantly connect the whole world. And yet, we are still slaves to time. This, then, is the true final frontier. Not space. Not life. But time. And Rourke International, as always, will lead the way.”

The audience bursts into applause. But Aleister, seated in the audience, keeps his arms crossed, his expression skeptical.

The conference ends and Rourke makes his way off the stage as the audience begins to disperse. He shakes hands with a few colleagues, but as he steps out back, Aleister is ready to meet him.

“Father.”

Rourke raises an eyebrow. “Aleister. This is an unexpected surprise. What are you doing at RourkeCon?”

“I was in town for an interview, and I thought I would stop by. ...Had to buy my own ticket, of course.”

“Invitations are for Rourke Employees.” Rourke makes a show of looking over the front of Aleister's shirt. “...And I don't see your badge.”

“You know damn well I don't work for you,” Aleister snaps.

Rourke shrugs. “I only hire the very best.”

“And I...” Aleister trails off, taking a deep breath to collect himself. “...I thought you should know. I've been accepted into a Master's program. It's at the Hoffman-Conahan School for Business. The most prestigious business program in the country. They've offered me a full scholarship.”

“Hm. Is that all?”

Aleister visibly deflates. “Well, I...I just thought you should...”

“By the time I was your age, I'd built a prototype jetpack with my bare hands. I'd climbed Kilimanjaro. I'd made myself a millionaire. And you expect me to...what? Pat you on the back because my name got you into some fancy little grad program?”

“It wasn't your name!” Aleister protests. “I did it! I earned it!”

“Tell yourself whatever you want, son. Come to me when you've actually done something worth praising. Now, if you'll excuse me, I do believe I have a jet to catch.”

Rourke does not wait to be excused before turning on his heel and striding away from his fuming son. Aleister grits his teeth, curling his hands into fists.

“I'll prove you wrong, you bastard,” he growls under his breath. “I'll make it all on my own. ...I don't need you.” …

… The auditorium washes away and I find myself in the master bedroom of the Elysian Resort. Aleister sits alone on the bed, gazing out the window at the snow-covered mountains. Shadows underneath his haunted eyes stand out starkly against his pale skin.

“Well, well,” he murmurs. “So it's come to this.”

There's a knock at the door. Aleister rises, steadying himself with the help of a polished wooden cane, and turns toward the door.

“Come in.”

An Arachnid soldier enters, holding a report. “Sir.”

“Well?” Aleister asks impatiently. “Don't dilly-dally. How bad is it?”

“Namazi's Killswitch virus has decimated our operation, sir. MASADA, the Observatory, the Daedalus station...they're all gone. Our force is down to less than a dozen men. We're on the ropes.”

“...The Celestial?”

“Still ours. But the Hostiles are on the march. They'll retake it by sunrise.”

“And...my father?”

“I'm sorry, sir. He's dead. Namazi shot him.”

“I see...So what did you add up to, old man? What did you end up in the end? Nothing but dust.” He turns to the window and stares out at the snowy landscape, and the towering columns of smoke reaching up from all over the island. “...Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair. ...But enough self-pity. Time to work.”

He turns back towards the door, but the soldier isn't there anymore. He's lying on the floor with a knife in his back. I realize that I am looking straight at Aleister now. I look down and see the soldier lying at my feet. There is blood on my hands. On my clothes. I look back up at Aleister.

“You. Traitor.” My voice is somewhere between a hiss and a snarl.

“Alodia!” Aleister staggers back, pressing against the glass. “H...how are you...you're supposed to be...”

I pace towards him, trembling hands clenched into fists. Furious tears clog my throat, making my voice into something inhuman.“You lied to us, you bastard. You sold us out. To Rourke! And for what? A seat at his table? A pat on the back?”

“I did what I had to do. I don't regret it.”

With a wild cry, I charge across the room, cornering him against the glass, pinning him with a forearm against his throat.

“They're all dead, you son-of-a-bitch!” I scream. “Everyone I love in the world, and they're all gone! Because of your father! Because of you!”

“You can't blame me for every single thing that went wrong on this island!” he protests.

“I can blame your father! And instead of standing up to him, you took his side. You chose him over us.” I name my losses out loud, punctuating each name by slamming him against the glass, which starts to crack with the force of my fury. “Over Raj! And Michelle! Over Zahra! And Craig! And Diego! Over Jake! And Estela! And Sean! And Quinn! Over Grace!”

Each blow makes Aleister grunt through clenched teeth, but at the last name, his eyes soften, filling with tears. He takes a deep breath. “...Whatever you're going to do, Alodia, do it. Otherwise, you're just wasting time. And time is all we have.”

“...In another life, Aleister, I think you could've been a good person,” I say softly. “...But not this one.”

I shove him hard with both hands. He falls backwards, the window shattering behind him. He screams as he plummets, only silencing when he finally smashes into cold, hard earth below...

… Back in MASADA, Aleister tears the idol from my grip and stuffs it back into my bag.

“Stop,” he says firmly. “It's over, Alodia.”

I meet his eyes, glaring at him. All I can see is the shocked look on his face as he fell, dead by my hand.

“...Not yet it's not.” For a moment, I could swear he looks afraid of me. Then he joins the guards in piling our things in the corner. Rourke smiles approvingly.

“Good work, my boy. Meet me in my office.”

“Wait! I...I don't want Grace to be imprisoned.” Aleister moves towards Grace, holding his arms out to her. “I'll make sure you're treated well and--”

The crack of her palm against his cheek rings out like a gunshot. Aleister recoils, clutching the stinging red mark on the side of his face.

“Don't you speak to me ever again!” she screams, tears streaming from her eyes.

Aleister regards her for a moment, without anger or surprise. He simply nods. As he goes, he pauses. “...I still want her kept in her own residence. Not a cell.”

“Very well,” Rourke agrees. He snaps his fingers at a mercenary, who grabs a weeping Grace and drags her off after Aleister. The rest of us are left alone with Rourke, Lila, and enough Arachnid troops to keep us all restrained. They grab us by the arms, holding us still.

“So are we back to the Ghostbusters part now?” Diego asks.

“You mean the containment pods?” Rourke asks. “Oh, no, no, no. That's no longer necessary. Lila?”

Lila steps forward. “Yes, Mr. Rourke?”

Rourke smirks at us, and turns his gaze to Lila. “Kill them all.”

#play choices #choices stories you play #pixelberry choices #Endless Summer #Diego Ricardo Ortiz Soto #jake mckenzie #sean gayle #estela montoya #quinn kelly #raj bhandarkar #craig hsiao #aleister rourke #michelle nguyen #zahra namazi #grace hall

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deactivated4179291 · 7 years

Text

Star Crossed - Part 2 (H.S AU)

Maddie’s POV

The rest of my day was pretty uneventful. Grab the clothing item, fold, put in the box, repeat. Packing was tedious, to say the least. At dinner, I took note of Chuck’s absence. Did he just pack up and leave us? God, you really do exist. I’m sorry I haven’t been to church in like….9 years..oops? But hey, shout out to you homie for sending away all that is wrong in the world. Or, well..this house. My little prayer is cut short when my mom finally interrupts the only sounds that can be heard which are forks and knives knocking against our plates.

“Chuck won’t be joining us tonight, he’s on a business trip for the next few days.” WOO! This day just get’s better and better.

“How long is a ‘few days?’’ I gesture air quotes and raise an eyebrow at my mother.

“Until Saturday.”

I hum in response. On the outside I am calm, but I know that on the inside I am jumping up and down and spraying champagne everywhere. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic – but whatever it takes I am going to make the most of the time my family and I have without him in the house. As we finished dinner, plates ended up in the sink, and after my nightly routine, I had been reunited with my bed, before sleep spread throughout my body.

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

After waking up at 11 AM, and panicking because I was supposed to meet Niall at Starbucks at 12, as we agreed on once I was awake, I somehow ended up with some makeup on, as well as a cute outfit. I wore black jeans, black ankle boots, and a gray v neck shirt. I threw my hair up into a ponytail and pulled some little strands out in the front before grabbing my keys to my car, I drove off towards the Starbucks. The only Starbucks anywhere close to the pair of us was the one inside the neighboring city. We both lived in one of the suburban cities, called Adelton. Luckily, Dalton, the neighboring city was a short drive.

It didn’t take me long to get there because everyone was probably working so there wasn’t any traffic. I had made it to the door of the café by 11:56 and took a deep breath before slowly pushing it open, scanning the room for blonde hair and blue eyes. And then I saw him. He was sat at one of the little tables by the window, watching the cars go by in the heart of the city where we were. Eventually, his eyes met mine and a warm, welcoming smile made its way onto his face. I gathered up all the bravery I could muster before slowly walking towards him. He was quick to stand up, pushing his chair back, causing it to squeak as it skids across the floor.

“Hey! It’s nice to meet ye, Madeleine,” he offers, his arms stretching out for a hug. His accent is pretty interesting. I’ve never really heard accents apart from the ones here in the states. I awkwardly accept it, as strange as it may feel.

“You can just call me Maddie,” I pull back and force a smile back to him. He nods his head toward the chair as if he is asking me to sit, which I do.

“Crap, I’m sorry, you said that yesterday didn’t ye?”

“No, it’s no big deal, no worries Niall.” I offer him another smile, only this time it’s real.

We spent the next hour going over plans for our relocation day. As it turns out, Niall already lives in the house we’re expected to occupy together. Not only that, but he has three housemates. I was not just going to be living with Niall…I was going to be living with three other strangers. Not once have I heard of newly crossed pairs having housemates. I would say four strangers, but after talking to Niall even just for a few minutes, I felt it was wrong to address him as one. He was…kind.

“If ye want, and ye aren’t busy, you should stop by later and meet the lads. We’re having some friends over for a li’l get together tonight. It’d also be good for you to see the house so you have an idea of where you want to put yer stuff.”

I laugh a little. “Trust me, I have nothing to do other than pack my clothes, and I am really great at procrastinating, I’d be happy to stop by.” I smile.

“Great! I actually gotta go, ‘gotta start helping the boys get the house cleaned before people start comin’ over, they keep texting me – telling me to ‘clean my damn room,’” he chuckles, “but I’ll see you there at 5:30?”

“Ya, I’ll see you then.”

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

“There’s four of them?! How is that even possible?!” My mother scowls confusedly. Robin just giggles, from her spot next to my mom on the couch. I had to ask my mom if I could borrow her car because mine was running low on gas, and I forgot to fill the tank on the way home. Good job Maddie, 10/10.

“Don’t know, but I guess I’m gonna’ find out” I shrug, chuckling.

At that point, it was almost 4:30 so I had a little less than an hour to throw something together. Now, I am sat inside my mom’s white Volkswagen Touareg, parked in what’s supposed to be my new driveway. My fingers tap the steering wheel nervously. The house was huge and extremely beautiful. I had never seen a house this big, so I don’t know how in the hell my mom is helping pay for this. I don’t know what I did to deserve to move into this gorgeous house, to be honest. Sighing, I unbuckle my seatbelt and step out of the car, closing the door behind me and locking the vehicle, leaving it with the slew of cars in the driveway.

I walk up towards the mahogany double doors. The sun hasn’t quite gone down yet, but it leaves an orange glow across the white concrete of the walkway, and the white house itself. I knock lightly on the door, and tug on my olive green jacket lightly, then fidget with my keys while I wait for a response. I decided to just wear what I was wearing earlier, but threw on a little more makeup, and a jacket, because there was a bit of a breeze outside today. I’ve never really been one for first-encounters. In fact, I’m actually quite shy when meeting new people. What if they didn’t like me? What if they were annoyed that someone like me was getting to move into their nice house? I really hope no one is giving their room up for me, but I also don’t want to share a bed with someone I just met…

The door opens to reveal a giggling, crinkle-faced Niall Horan. Seeing him smile so big makes me break a small closed mouth smile on my own face.

“Hey! Glad you could make it!” He pulls me in for another hug, with one arm.

“Thank you for inviting me,” I chuckle, smiling and mumbling into his shoulder. I slide my keys into my jacket pocket.

“No, of course! I mean, after all, this is yer house too in a few days, so make yourself at home!” his tone is kind and welcoming. I guess living with him might not be as sufferable as I suspected. He nods his head towards the inside of the house and holds the door open for me.

I mumble a quick thank you as I step past him. Wow…the outside of the house was gorgeous, but the inside definitely has it beat. The walls are a shade of gray so light it almost looks white, and the floors a dark chocolate brown shade of wood paneling. Directly to the right is the kitchen – all white cabinets, and counters, white marble countertops, and an island much like the one in my childhood home, only the stools are metal, with light teal cushions. To the left, in the middle of the large open space, there are three gray couches with red square pillows surrounding a white marble coffee table – across from which is a fireplace, with a large tv mounted on the wall. Next to that, on the left are the stairs, which I am assuming lead up to the bedrooms. On the right of the fireplace is a large hallway, which Niall leads me through.

“The lads just went back outside to the backyard,” he scratches the back of his neck, as he walks backward whilst holding our conversation. I slide my hands into my back pants pockets and follow, “I figured it would be kind of intimidating if you walked in, and ‘dey were all just sitting around staring.” Wow, was it that obvious that I was socially awkward? I still appreciate the gesture though.

The heels of my boots click against the floor ten more times, and we’re in front of the glass doors that lead to the backyard. People are scattered at the bottom of the porch steps, in front of a large pool. The sun causes the water to glisten as it ripples. Fuck I have to talk to people. I compose my inner thoughts when Niall opens the door for me. Immediately all of the heads – male and female turn and look at us as we step out onto the porch. My eyes land on one guy in particular - whose long brown curls reach just above his broad shoulders. He’s wearing a white tee shirt, with tight black skinny jeans, and tan brown boots. I look back up at his face only to see him smiling lopsidedly, only making him even more handsome. Shit..He knows I was staring. I avert my gaze quickly and just look down at my feet until Niall speaks.

“Lads come here!” Niall chirps. My head pops back up into its natural position because within an instant, three guys are making their way over to Niall and me – handsome stranger included.

“Lads, this is Maddie, Maddie, these are your new housemates,” he nods towards the three people before me, standing at the bottom of the porch steps, smiling up at us. They seem friendly enough. I walk down, step by step.

“Nice to meet you, Maddie, I am Louis,” The one with light brown hair and blue eyes says. When he extends his right hand, I take it shaking it gently. My eyes flicker over to the next guy.

“Liam, good to meet you,” he offers a smile just as bright as Niall’s, shaking my hand just as Louis did. And then I look at him. He’s smiling, only this time it’s warm and inviting.

“Harry,” he says, shaking my hand. For a few seconds, I just stare, taking in his green eyes. They’re beautiful, almost a forest green, but slightly gold in the middle. I return a smile. Someone fake coughs, making me realize I am still holding his hand, I drop it quickly and wipe the awkward smile off my face. My hands make their way into my back pockets again as the nerves settle in once more.

Harry…I thought…not a bad name

Little did I know that very name and the face behind it would change my life forever.

#hs1 #Harry styles album hs1 #hs #harry styles imagine #harry styles preferences #Harry Styles #one direction #one direction au memes #harry styles aquarius #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfiction

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leatherjacket-lovesong · 7 years

Text

leather jacket love song - part four.

You don't think about it.

It's easier than you expected.

Just the usual routine of work-eat-gym-wank-sleep that's sustained you for years. No interruptions. No intrusive thoughts. Elvis, now and again at the end of the phone -- wanting a lift, or to borrow money you'll never get back -- but you've grown to expect that. He's part of your routine too. Scratched himself a jagged little hole to nest in your life long ago.

Julian, though.

Julian. No.

You don't miss his daily text in the form of a political joke.

You don't miss his daft knitted jumpers or poncey art gallery shows.

You don't miss the warm, woody alcoholic scent of him. Tree bark. Cedar wood sap.

You don't.

You don't miss the sound of breaking glass - water jars, paintbrush pots.

Or the thud of his body against his worktable - he'd been viscous, you'd both fought.

(For everything you needed, he'd made you /work/.)

But you especially don't miss his swearing - sharp little outbursts, gasps licking the dark with a foreign tongue.

Or the murmur of your name.

So fucking quiet.

Just one wretched, half-whispered syllable, barely a minute in, that caught you off guard and ended up too much.

"It happens to everyone their first time, it's nothing to be embarrassed about."

No, it doesn't, not like that, fuck off.

Fuckoff-fuckoff-fuckoff.

So you don't think about it.

Bury it deep in the back of your mind and carry on. (Because you were built for that. Your Dad made sure you were.)

And he's silent.

And that's fine.

That's good.

Until... 1 new message - Julian.

"It's been two weeks, Dominic. We need to talk."

-----

You meet up with him.

Because you're not ignorant. Because you're not a cunt.

You don't wanna go, you don't wanna see his stupid face, but he's got a point. You agree with that much. The two of you do need to talk.

Because it won't be long until Julian chats with Elvis, or Mattie, or Specks, or — heaven forbid — Noel.

And you need to make sure this whole thing is kept quiet. Make it crystal clear it can't get out.

Nobody can hear of this. Nobody can know.

So you sit across the table from him in a far corner of Costa on your lunch break, your hands leaving guilty fingerprints on the saucer and the spoon and the cup. Like a criminal, implicating yourself with everything you touch.

For a long time you sit in silence. For a long time you both wait for the other one to talk.

And when the quiet's finally broken — not by you, but by Julian — it's not the first time you wish you'd been the one who spoke up first.

Because when Julian opens his mouth his voice is too tender, his cadence too soft, and his carefully handpicked words only succeed in riling you up.

"I'm sorry, Dominic. I should've kept my distance. Should've been a better mate. Should've actually thought about what was happening. You were mad drunk."

"Don't." You flinch away when he settles a hand on your arm. "Don't make it sound like that."

"Like what?"

"You know."

(Like you took advantage of me. Like I'm vulnerable. Like I'm too stupid to make decisions on my own.)

You stare into your cup of tea. Try not to choke on all the unspoken words piling up in your throat.

Try to forget the way his body had felt when it had moved underneath yours. Hunched low over the table, you feel your chest vibrate against the wood as a vicious growl builds power behind your breastbone.

"I'm not gay, Julian."

You're not. You know you're not. You don't exactly make a habit out of going round fancying other blokes.

And Elvis doesn't count. Because Elvis is your best mate. And with Elvis it's not like that.

"I know." Julian's flippancy makes your fist clench.

"I'm not bi, either."

"You don't have to be." He shrugs.

And when you glare, your top lip curling up into an impulsive snarl, Julian lowers his body and lowers his voice and reaches out to touch your arm one more time.

"There is more than just straight, gay and bi, you know. Sexuality's a spectrum. A huge, incredible spectrum. There's all kinds of weird and wonderful inbetweens. Fucking hell, man, I can help you work it all out, if you just give me some time, if you just open up and talk—"

"I DON'T NEED YER FUCKEN HELP." You're on your feet before you know it, his wiry wrist clamped in your fist. And if you hadn't been so focused on the shock and the fear widening Julian's eyes, you'd have noticed the sudden eerie hush cutting the coffee house's chatter apart. "I DON'T NEED YER FUCKEN 'SEXUALITY SPECTRUM'. I NEED YOU TO KEEP YER FUCKEN MOUTH SHUT. UNDERSTAND ME? JUST SHUT. THE FUCK. UP."

You square off for what feels like hours but must really be seconds. Turning away only when Julian surrenders. When his shock gives way to weakness, and he ducks his head in retreat. Pulls his hand from your grasp. Screws his eyes closed and mouth thin, like he's fighting to suppress a comeback, but says nothing.

Thank fuck.

You grab your coat. Your phone. Catch the sudden whipping of a dozen heads turning in the opposite direction when you spin round.

Shit.

Fuck.

You pull your hood up over your head.

Sink deep into the funnel neck of your parka.

Begin your long walk of shame through the whispering crowd.

----

You remember how it starts.

You're six.

Sat on a dining chair in the middle of the kitchen with a near painful buzz vibrating through the back of your skull.

Wincing, hunched, flurries of fluffy black hair peppering your Mum's freshly mopped laminate floor.

She's not happy. You can tell. And not only because of the mess.

You can't see her — she's across the room — but the loud crashing close of the cutlery draw says enough.

"Fuck's sake, lad. Will you keep your head up." Bearish voice in your ear. Tattooed hand crushing your jaw.

You flinch.

Wince against the tufts of hair that keep finding their way into your eyes, your mouth, your nose.

On the other side of the kitchen, your Mum pipes up, "Careful with him, John. Don't be so rough."

Your Dad scoffs. "He can 'andle it. He's not soft."

Clippers raising all hell round your temples.

Clippers feeling like they're drilling into bone.

Your Mum again, something hinting round the edges of her voice that sounds a bit like concern, "I don't like it. I really don't. It's too short. He looks like a thug."

Your Dad, determined, something in his voice that you want to believe is pride, but know is not, "And? What's the matter with that? Rather him look like a thug, than a puff. He's gonna look ace on Sunday at the rally. 'Ardest little skin in the north."

"For God's sake, don't call him that! And you're not taking him on that horrible bloody racist march. He's six years old!"

"Better to start 'em off young. Before the school starts puttin' fucken ideas into their 'ead. Equality — my fucken left nut. He's comin' to the rally, whether you like it or not."

Your jaw yanked to the side.

Clippers accidentally catching at an earlobe.

You yelp.

He swears.

Belts you round the head with an open palm.

"What did I just say about ya not bein' soft?"

----

You're a hundred and twenty miles North of Manchester, pushing ninety on the M6 with your foot crushed into the accelerator, destination-fucking-nowhere, when you realise you're 'doing an Elvis'.

That is, disappearing. Running away.

You've bunked work. Couldn't face going back in after your public stand-off with Julian. Just got into your car, then threw the rattling piece of shit onto the motorway. Ground the pedal into the floor until you were snarling over the speed limit.

Now it's two and a half hours later and the sign for Carlisle is quick closing in.

You don't feel any better.

You're still raging, still on edge. You still wanna slam Julian against a wall and break his face with your fist.

But at least you're half a country away from him, now. And at least neither of you can do any more fucking damage.

It's not Julian you want to hurt, after all.

(It's you. It's him.)

Your phone's been going on one for the last full hour, having an epileptic fit at the bottom of the little hollow Elvis' arse has dug into your passenger seat, but you only bother to check it when you finally pull off into a service station, desperate for a piss.

You're not sure why you expect it to be Julian.

And you're not sure why the absence of his name tugs a raw nerve in your chest.

It's Elvis.

It always fucking is.

Over fifty notifications. Missed calls, voice-mails, texts.

The famed words, "Mate, come pick us up?"

Over and over and over again.

Halfway across the car park you pause in your step.

But it's not to answer.

It's to press the little 'delete all' icon, then jam your thumb against the power button until the screen falls dead.

(I'm sorry, man. It's not you. It's me.)

----

You're sixteen when you give it to him.

The two of you hanging out in your bedroom after school. John Lydon's ground down, teething snarl blocking out the caterwauling of your sisters arguing over clothes, or make-up, or something equally uninteresting in the room next door. You're sat on your bed, surrounded by textbooks, doing your GCSE English Language homework so Elvis can take it home with him, in order to copy it down word for word.

(He's not lazy. He's just absolutely shit at the subject. And you don't mind letting him copy all your work so he can keep himself afloat.)

Elvis himself is being kept busy by the contents of your wardrobe. Standing in front of your mirror. Trying on all the stuff he finds cool.

Like the vintage leather jacket you bought in the Northern Quarter nine months ago and haven't yet worn.

He's in love with it. You know he is.

He was in love with it back then, and he's still smitten by it now. Admiring the way it hangs off slowly sloping shoulders, rolling the too-long sleeves to his elbows and flipping the collar up.

You've got your attention fixed on the essay, but you can see him there, in the periphery of your view. Posing. All loose stripy school tie and creased white shirt buttoned up wrong. Scruffing his hair, perfecting his scowl.

Your leather jacket looking a thousand times cooler on him than it ever did on you.

"Keep it, if ya want." You tell him, without looking up, "Take it home with you. It's not doing anything other than collecting dust in my wardrobe."

"Yer what?" He spins, something a bit like hope pulling at one corner of his mouth.

"You 'eard. Have it. Fits alright, does that."

It doesn't. It's massive. But you're just kids. He'll grow.

"Ya sure, man?"

"Aye. Course." with your pen wedged between your teeth you flick him an admiring glance, "looks better on you."

And so he takes it.

And he wears it.

And in his excitement he never says thank you.

Just rocks up to school in it the very next day.

And the one after that.

And the one after that, too.

Wears it every waking second of his life until Elvis and leather jacket are synonymous.

Until it's littered with shabbily sewn patches and the elbows are half worn through.

Until he looks like a completely different person without it — without /you/.

And when you buy your first car — an old cherry red BMW, he throws himself down in the passenger seat, then shoves a mixtape in your stereo.

It doesn't surprise you when the first track turns out to be The Cribs 'Leather Jacket Love Song'.

Because this is Elvis.

Your cocky, sweary, slightly bow-legged best mate.

Useless at the English language.

But not unappreciative.

Never forgetful.

Just secretive.

Subtextual.

Just Elvis Ianson.

Who never got any pocket money from the toothfairy for that one missing milk tooth.

Now smoking in your new car with his boots on the dashboard.

Boyish and beautiful.

And two years too late with his wordless, musical thank you.

----

You don't know where to go from here.

You don't even know where you're supposed to start.

As steam rises from your service station coffee, you slump over the table, cradling your head in your hands.

Somewhere on the ceiling, Radio One are playing Sterophonics' 'Maybe Tomorrow' from a crackling speaker that keeps shorting out.

You don't want to go home tomorrow.

You're not sure you ever want to go back at all.

Because every time something good walks into your life, you fuck it up with either your heart, or your cock.

And you wonder if this is what Elvis always feels like. If this is the reason he could win a gold medal at pissing off.

Because his head's always too chaotic. Too messed up. Too filled with self-doubt and self-loathing and all the impossible masculinity you've both been force-fed since you were born.

As exhaustion sets in, you press your eyes closed against the burn.

Try your hardest not to drift off.

Fall into a confused state of semi-sleep, clouded with fragmented memories — part real-part dream — hunkered down in a corner of a deserted motorway cafe, half way between everything that was and everything that might be.

"I should be the one walking you home, the state you're in." Julian.

Julian, outside Trof on your birthday. Pulling on his jacket. Laughing when the fresh night air makes you feel a bit dizzy and you lean into him.

"M'alrigh'. Sober up inna minute. S'not that bad. Walk on."

Words sticking in your mouth. Treacle-thick.

His arm around your waist. Anchoring you against his hip.

"Hope you don't think you're sleeping on my couch again. I've got a lecture at eight. I'm not missing it."

"Don't wan' yer couch. Jus' makin' sure ya get in safe."

Safe.

Julian.

Unlocking his studio door and gesturing you in.

"I'll bell you a taxi. You might as well wait about a bit."

"S'alright. I'm feelin' better now. I'll just go flag one down outside, innit."

You, turning to leave.

You, halted mid-step.

You, with Julian's hand encircling your wrist.

"Come on, don't be daft. Wanna make sure you're safe as well. Told Elvis I'd look after you. I promised him."

Julian, sincere.

You, hesitating.

Words you hear which neither one of you speak, "What are you afraid of, Dominic?"

----

You regret it.

Waking up in the grim service station cafe with cramp in your neck.

Conjuring a smile for the waitress when she strikes up conversation.

Feeling lonely. Feeling weak.

"Where you heading?"

"I'm not sure, yet."

"Where you come from?"

"You don't wanna know."

Laughter. Blue make-up creased on her eyelids. "Mr. Mysterious. I like it."

(You don't.)

You regret it.

Her gold hooped earrings and yellow-blonde ponytail.

Tired eyes that say three kids at twenty.

A direct view into her ample cleavage when she leans over the table.

Big looping handwriting left on your napkin.

'I get off at midnight x x'

(You're not into other guys. You're not gay.)

But you regret it.

As soon as you get her into your back seat. As soon as it begins.

Not because of her. No. Because it's not her fault. She's doing everything right, with her head in your crotch.

There's just nothing happening. Nothing going on at your end.

You think maybe it's because there's not enough room, so you push the front seats forward a bit.

You think maybe it's because there's no background noise, so you stick the radio on a bit.

And when she's got her mouth on your neck, and hand round your dick, trying different tactics, you think maybe you just need to think about something else.

Grasp for anything even slightly arousing in your desperation.

Julian on the phone with his Nanna, talking an incredible, fluent puzzle of Mancunian accented Polish.

Elvis plucking strings on his guitar, hands crooked from early onset arthritis, but eyes narrowed, determined.

A glorious FA Cup win for Manchester City.

They're all great thoughts, they should all get you going.

But when all you manage to will up is a half-cocked semi, you think maybe your imagination isn't really helping.

You need something else. Something real. Something intellectually stimulating.

And you realise, later — when your car smells like cheap perfume and you're using your wing mirror to examine the damage on your neck — that suddenly blurting out "hey, wait, what kinda music do you listen to?" just as she was guiding your hand between her legs, probably wasn't a very sexy moment for her either.

You regret it.

But not as much as you regret fucking off and doing an 'Elvis' in the first place.

----

You get home at six o'clock the next morning. Running empty on an hour of cramp induced sleep behind the steering wheel of your car. You intend to get back, jump in the shower, then head off straight to work — show up early with your excuse for yesterday's missing afternoon promptly in tow.

(I'm sorry. Didn't feel well. Started throwing up. Must've been something I ate. Won't happen again.)

But when your legs forget how to walk as soon as you pull into the driveway and you have to focus way too hard on just putting one foot in front of the other enough times to get yourself near the front door, you think maybe it's better to ring in sick.

Have a day in bed. Catch up on sleep.

Start again.

It's not like you make a habit out of bunking off. The last time you took a non-sick sick day you were sixteen and slamming school with Elvis.

(Scrawling your name on the backs of train seats. Hanging out in Macclesfield crematorium. Sharing cheap fags and bottles of blue WKD.)

Your mum, sat drinking a cup of tea in the living room, watching morning telly, wrapped up in the fluffy ASDA dressing gown and matching slipper set you bought her for Christmas, lifts an eyebrow as you slope in.

"What kinda time d'ya call this, mister?"

"Sorry..." You know she's only messing, but the apology falls out of your mouth anyway. You feel fucking sorry for everything lately. "Got talkin' with mates and lost track of time."

She nods. Once. Up.

(I see...)

"Did Elvis manage to catch up with you?"

Shit.

Elvis.

The text messages. The phone calls.

You'd almost forgotten about him.

"Nah, 'aven't seen him. Why, what's up?" You feign ignorance as you shrug out of your coat. Try to repress that horrible growing feeling that you've fucked up.

Again.

"I dunno, he wouldn't talk to me. Just came round last night looking for you. A state and a half, he was though."

"Yeah? He not say anything at all?"

"No. Just asking where you were. Said he'd been trying to get a hold of you, but your phone was off." She gives you a look that's part confusion part concern and wholly disbelief.

Your mum knows just as well as anyone that Elvis /always/ has you on call.

You've woken her up enough times fumbling about with your keys in the dark at three in the morning.

"Shit yeah... my battery died. Left the cable in my room."

"Well make sure you call him or go see him or something. He was a mess, the poor sod."

"I will, I will. I'll give him a bell."

"Good."

You turn to head off upstairs. Ready to crawl fully clothed into bed and give the fuck up.

"Oh, Dominic?"

"Hm?" Your head peeking back round the doorframe.

Your mum looking a bit skeptical over the rim of her cup. "You were /careful/ weren't you?"

"With what?"

Chipped polish nail tapping at her jugular.

Chipped polish nail suddenly making you burn up.

You duck your head. Instinctively cover your neck with your hand.

It's gonna be turtlenecks for a fortnight. You're gonna get ripped into by the lads at work.

"Course." You mutter. "Always am."

And it's true.

Kind of. In a way.

Because she certainly doesn't have to worry about you producing any little baby Woods.

(Not with what /you/ like to do...)

----

You're thirteen when Elvis gives up the glittering promise of a brighter future for you.

It's unexpected. (Like everything else he does.)

An important decision at an unimportant moment, chirped up out of the blue.

You're on your knees in the back garden, installing wheels on the wooden go-kart you've spent half the summer trying to build. Elvis is supervising (as always) his long rail-thin shadow doing its best to block out the orange glare of the sun.

He wants to help, you know he does. Frustrated by the limitations of bad eyes and bad hands, he's resigned himself to fetching everything you need and telling you where you've fucked up.

You don't mind, though. It's still a build that belongs to the both of you. And, considering neither of you can figure out how to fit any brakes, you're ninety-nine percent certain it's gonna get you both killed.

"Me Dad's moving to Blackpool. Got managing position at a pub. Says I can go live with him, if I want."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah..."

Focused on screwing the wheel to the steering crossbar, you don't look up.

Elvis carries on, "I wanna go, but..."

"Go. You should. I would. You could go down the fair and the beach every day and that."

"Yeah... I know..."

"And I could come see you. 'Ave a free 'oliday." You grin away to yourself. Imagining summer holidays spent darting in and out of arcades and eating fish and chips on the sea front. Going crabbing on hot days. Coming home with socks full of sand.

(Driving your mum mad.)

But when Elvis doesn't make any sound of approval and you finish tightening the last bolt on the wheel, you can only ask, "What's up?"

For a minute he doesn't say much. For a minute he just stands there, looking down at you, all peeling sunburn and scabby elbows and a fake shagger on his left forearm that he did to himself. And you know. You know he wants to go. You know he really does.

Elvis lives for excitement. For the unknown. He fucking /loves/ the idea of just packing up all his shit and running off.

Plus, he's always been closer to his old man. Ever since he caught meningitis at four years old and nearly died there's been this odd distance between him and his mum.

(Elvis is convinced she never wanted him - his dad was the one to name him, after all. You wonder if maybe she's just trying to protect herself from the ticking death bomb of a son she loves too much.)

So you don't understand, when Elvis just shrugs, then reaches out a hand to help you up.

"Bit far away, innit." He reasons. Like he's telling the truth. Like the non-obstacle obstacle is big enough.

"In't that kinda the point, though?" You gesture for Elvis to help you get the kart back onto four wheels. "Gettin' as far away as possible from this shithole?"

You stand back, hands on hips, proudly surveying your handiwork.

Elvis slides himself onto the karts 'driving seat'. A grubby 'welcome' mat you found in his dad's garage nailed down onto a wooden pallet.

"Yeah, but..." He plonks his feet onto either side of the steering crossbar, takes the accompanying rope in his inflamed hands, tests the turning, "...it's /our/ shithole, innit."

(Me and you.)

Then, before the topic can go any further, he throws you a devilish, dangerous smile, sudden fever lighting his eyes up, "Bagsy the first go?"

You hear them all before you see them.

While standing outside the hospital room. Gathering up the balls to go in.

"Did you even stop to think about this for one second?! Did it ever cross your mind how it might affect me??"

"You? What about /me/? Fuck's sake! Not everything's about you, Elvis!" Mattie's shout is shrill and aching with sobs, but the fact that she's even shouting at all puts you at ease.

(It's alright. He's alright. It's not the end.)

"Guys, maybe you should take a breather for a second. Shouting's not solving anything." Julian. The calm voice of reason. It's always him.

"You keep that nose out. It's got nothing to do with you." Specks.

"Oh fuck off, sis. It's nowt to do with you either. But you still can't help sticking your bleeding oar in."

It continues.

The bitching.

The bickering.

Until you realise there's no sign of it calming down any time soon, so you might as well just waltz right into the middle of it.

You've got no idea what the hell's got under everyone's skin, but Specks' outburst as soon as you crack open the door, gives you a bit of an inkling.

"Oh great! Misogynist bastard number three is here! Hip hip hooray, we're all saved!"

"Excuse me?" Your eyes case the room. Specks and Julian by the window, both glaring. It's the first time since you met the two that you can tell they're twins. Mattie in a chair in the corner, curled up into a tiny ball, tight as can be. "Elvis?" Your mate doesn't even spend the energy in acknowledgement. Just remains stood in the centre of the room with his arms folded and feet firmly planted like he owns the place. "Anyone wanna bother filling me in?"

It's not 'That'. But from the tension stretched all the way across the room you know it might as well be.

"Why don't you ask Suicide Sally, over there." Elvis snarls, practically spits.

You follow his gaze to crumpled little squeezed small Mattie, who looks like she wants nothing more than to escape.

"Aw come on, Elvis. You know that's not what this is." Julian. Again. Forever trying to talk shit out. Forever compelled by the urge to /verbalise/ things.

Elvis bristles. "Whose fucken side are you on, mate?!"

Julian shakes his head. "This isn't about taking sides, for god's sake. It's about what's best for Mattie."

"Oh yeah? And withdrawing from life saving treatment is best for her, is it? Just giving in?"

"She's not 'giving in'. She's not getting any better, mate. And the treatment's just making her sick. She's withdrawing because she'd rather spend her last months at home, comfortable. Not pumped full of chemicals in a hospital bed." Julian's speaking as much to you as to Elvis. "And rightly so. I don't blame her. I wouldn't wanna spend the rest of my life trapped in this place."

Elvis steps towards him, "You won't have a choice if that cock loving mouth of yours keeps on talking—"

"Oi." You're winding an arm round Elvis's chest before you know it. Gently easing him back. Reminding him who's he's threatening. Reminding him where he is.

Only as quickly as you diffuse the bomb between him and Julian, he spins, lit up and sparking again.

"And I don't know why the fuck /you/ came." He scoffs. You flinch. "You're a bit fucken late. Would have been useful if you'd bothered to turn up /before/ she signed her life away."

So that's what it is.

The bombardment of texts and calls and voice-mails.

(Come pick us up? Come pick us up? Otherwise known as 'I need you. I need you' in Elvis-speak.)

He'd thought you could talk her out of it. Believed you could be the one to make her see 'sense'.

You don't know why you feel like you've /failed/ him.

"I know. I'm sorry. I really am. It's just, I just, I went..." You flounder. Before you walked in you'd practiced all your excuses, got your story sorted out straight in your head. Now, standing in front of him — and Julian, and Mattie, and Specks — you can't remember a single fucking word of it. "I had to go pick up a thing, a delivery, for work. But it was way out. Up the M6. And I had to take the van. But it broke down. And I couldn't—"

Elvis holds up his hand. Cuts off your anxious verbal scrambling. "Save it, mate." He tells you. His words softer now. /Disappointed/. And you catch the momentary flick of his eyes to the side of your neck. To shifted fabric and a slither of exposed bruised up skin. "I just hope whichever slag you spent the night with your dick inside was /worth/ it."

Feeling yourself burning up for a second time today, you wince. Divert your attention to the floor. Avoid eye contact with Julian who's just on the edge of your peripheral vision, /frowning/.

"And you..." Elvis goes on, now addressing Mattie, "Fine. You go right ahead and kill yourself if that's what you want. Nobody's stoppin' you. But don't you /dare/ expect /me/ to stick around and watch you do it."

You struggle to keep your feet still, but you don't go after him.

You know Julian and Specks are waiting for it. Mattie too, probably.

But you can't do it.

Not when he's being this much of a dickhead. Not when you know, instinctively, that it's all just going to end up in fists.

You know he's spouting shit and doesn't mean a word he said. Projecting, most likely. And hurting, definitely. Leading to him dealing with it all the only way he knows how, you bet.

Elvis has never exactly possessed the most acceptable coping mechanisms.

But as you sit with Mattie sniffling into the broad arc of your shoulder, the glint of a diamond reflecting on the floor where she'd thrown her ring in rage, you can't help but feel like you're just /conditioned/ to make excuses for him.

"Take it." She says, later on, when you bend to rescue the ring from getting lost (or stolen) and turn to place it on the windowsill. "Take it, please. I don't wanna look at it."

And when you take no notice of her, placing it on the sill anyway, because it was bloody expensive, she yells, "I'm fucking serious, Dominic! I want it out of here. It's yours anyway, innit?!"

You glance down.

At the three hundred pound car fund sparkling on the tiniest gold band you've ever seen.

Technically, yes, it is.

Honestly, though, you don't want it.

(Why would you?)

Elvis will come crawling back (you hope) and the two of them will sort things.

But when Mattie looks like she might fall out with /you/ if you don't take it, you have no choice but to drop it into your pocket, muttering, "I'll give it back to Elvis..."

On your way out, Julian -- returning from a coffee run with a Costa tray, side-eyes you but says nothing. Nothing other than a silent 'you better fix this' or alternatively 'you're a prick' — you're not sure which.

And when you reach your car, your day just gets all the fucking better, when you find a far too familiar and viciously loved leather jacket hanging off your wing mirror, but absolutely no sign of Elvis.

Another tragic-romantic gesture.

Another fanciful unspoken message.

'Fuck you, Dominic.'

You wish you knew what went on his head. You wish he came with some sort of manual that could help you troubleshoot him, like your car did.

You're great at working out problems. Fucking brilliant at fixing shit. But it's starting to feel like every time you mend all of his fractured parts, Elvis just breaks again in a completely different place.

Because he's fantastically fragile in a way that nobody else sees. A heavily armoured, heartrendingly vulnerable, destructible-indestructible being. A walking contradiction. Determined to map out his life in poetry. Create some kind of idealised, ill-starred narrative in a world full of meaningless, painful coincidences.

He's playing a role. You know it. And it kills you a little bit every time you realise that you romanticise him.

Because that's precisely what he wants.

(And precisely everything you've always wanted to be.)

And it's precisely why you're always on the receiving end of gestures like this.

You're the one and only person in /deep/ enough to play his games. The only person who understands that every move he makes has some kind of sentimental hidden meaning.

You just wish, sometimes, that it was easier to read him. To find out what he needs.

And you just wish, sometimes, that he could find a way to act the theatrical rockstar without being such a dickhead.

Elvis doesn't answer your phone calls or your text messages.

When you go round his house carrying jacket and ring, his mum — appearing short-tempered and frustrated, informs you he isn't in.

You consider leaving the jacket with her, until you remember all of the comments she's made throughout the years about how much she hates it. And so you're destined to hang onto the damn thing.

Your entire friendship with Elvis passionately sewn and scuffed, and beaten and /bled/ into a physical object.

An object you have to store in your sister, Chantelle's, old room, because after three days of hanging in your wardrobe all your clothes stink of him.

And when he shuns all your repeated attempts at communication, you take a step back.

Anticipating his next move.

Waiting for him.

It only takes him a grand total of three weeks...

#ljlsdom #ljlspartfour

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riverofmemoriesft · 7 years

Text

. Between the Lines . 162

Somehow, Lucy wasn’t surprised when she discovered that Cobra was with Rogue and their cats. Lucy was somewhat relieved that it was only the Twin Dragons of Sabertooth. At least it was less people to laugh at her for biting Sting.

Sting was pouting a little as they approached, and Rogue turned thoughtful crimson eyes on him. He studied him for a few moments and shook his head with a snicker. “Really? Who hurt you?”

“Shut up,” Sting grumbled. “Lucy’s a biter apparently.”

Cobra cackled under his breath and Lector and Frosch giggled to themselves. Lucy smiled a fraction. “It’s alright,” Cobra ratted out. “She’s bitten her Spirit a couple times when he surprised her.”

“Shut up,” Lucy copied, elbowing the venom dragon slayer. She turned her attention back on Sting and Rogue. “What are you two doing here?”

“Job request,” Rogue explained. “We were summoned to deal with some rogue mages.”

Lucy furrowed her brow suspiciously. “Hm…interesting. Fairy Tail received a message about the same thing.” She hadn’t dealt with many jobs, but she was aware that multiple guilds very rarely received the same job requests. The Council was very careful in dealing them out, and clients often times had specific guilds they used.

“Very interesting,” Sting agreed, rolling his shoulders. “So from what we saw, I doubt this is gonna be an easy job. I don’t think payment will be coming our way, so wanna work together?”

Lucy blinked once, and then nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed, “That might be smart. I’m going to call Mira or Erza and see if they can figure out anything about this. I think the requests might have been a lure to drag us all here. Hopefully they can send word to other guilds about the matter.”

“I’ll text Yukino,” Sting agreed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Lucy copied him, both typing furiously for the next few moments. Cobra eyed them as he suddenly spoke.

“The guy who was tryin’ to blow the building up has been arrested. Kept him there until some police guys came and got him. The stupid Council’s gonna have to come and pick up the rest of ‘em. From what I could hear, they’re all - stop the goddamn insults, you blue-eyed freak,” he suddenly growled, glowering viciously at Sting. Sting stopped squinting at him and smirked.

“Sting,” Rogue said warningly.

“Sorry,” Lector said honestly, his eyes stretched wide. “Sting doesn’t know what manners are.”

“Fro think he was raised by a wyvern,” Frosch said innocently, and Lucy choked on nothing at the look of horror that flashed over Sting’s face.

“Weisslogia was a great dad! He taught me how to be polite, I just…why bother?”

“No one’s saying he wasn’t a good father,” Lucy soothed and then shoved her phone away. She planted her hands on her hips. “So where do we start? We found their camp…there’s a lot more of them there than we originally thought.”

Rogue thoughtfully studied the blonde for a few moments and then turned his gaze on Cobra. Cobra glared at him as if he’d heard his thoughts. Lucy was pretty sure he had. “It’s not very well-known that Cobra, Angel, and Meredy of Lamia Scale have turned to legal guilds,” he said slowly. Rogue glanced at Sting. “Perhaps he could infiltrate the camp? Supposedly help them? He could gather information over a day or two and report back to us through Lector.”

“Why not Frosch?” Sting muttered in annoyance. “He’s just as useful.”

“Fro will get lost,” Rogue argued.

Lucy couldn’t help but agree with him. She’d heard stories of Frosch’s habit. Pressing her lips together, the blonde looked to Cobra, who looked anything but pleased. “It’s up to Cobra,” she said simply.

“No,” he said gruffly. “Ain’t happenin’, Blondie. Somethin’ happens to you, it’s immediately gonna be my fault and I’m gonna go back to prison.”

“Alright then, we’ll figure something else out,” Lucy said thoughtfully. She narrowed her eyes in silent contemplation before sighing, “We’ll just have to go after them directly, I suppose…”

“Directness might work if we ambush them. They’re not really knowledgeable about our presence,” Rogue agreed. He waved a hand thoughtfully, shadows flickering around his fingers. Cobra gave them a curious look, tilting his head a fraction. “How many Spirits can you summon? Yukino can summon one.”

“Two Zodiacs now,” Lucy mused. “But not for too long. They can only be out for under an hour before I start tiring.”

“Shouldn’t take that long,” Sting said firmly. “So that’s me, Rogue, Lucy, crabby face over there, and two Spirits. That’s six of us against however many rogue mages were in that camp.”

“If need be,” Lucy said, “We can call for another mage or two. We’d just have to wait some time…and that’s not so good, I suppose. They could have killed us all and torn up the town by the time someone else arrives.”

“We’ll have to make this work.” Cobra shifted his weight. “My venom doesn’t have to kill. It depends on how potent I make it. I can make it potent enough to knock 'em all unconscious. Or at least I can do it to the majority. Occasionally there’s a bastard that somehow resists.”

Lucy’s lips twitched in amusement at the way he put it and he glared at her for her laughter. “That’s perfect, Cobra,” she promised. “I think that’s what we’ll do. So Cobra can deal with the majority. Anyone else who doesn’t get knocked out, the rest of us can deal with. Lector and Frosch can maybe fly above and keep an eye on things. If someone gets seriously hurt…”

“They can get them out of the way.” Rogue looked pleased that his cat wouldn’t be in the middle of the fight.

“Well, we can’t do the ambush tonight,” Sting said, cracking a massive yawn. “I need sleep. Had paperwork to do last night and haven’t slept more than six hours in the last three days. I can’t be fighting as well as I should be if I don’t sleep a good solid twelve hours at least.”

“Sleep is a necessity.” Lucy made sure she had their numbers in her phone. “I’ll text you two tomorrow and we can figure out where to meet up and at what time. Make sure you’re ready for an attack at any point.”

“Got it.” Sting gave her a mocking salute of sorts, smirking. “See ya, Lucy, Cobra.”

They turned to leave, but Cobra surprised them all by stopping them with a grunt. Sting glanced back and Rogue patiently waited. “How’s Angel?”

Sting gave him a huge grin, showing off his sharp fangs. “Sorano’s doin’ great. Yukino’s excited that she’s hangin’ around and they’ve been working as a team for a while now. Sorano’s been cleared entirely by the Council to come and go as she pleases. I’ll let her know you’re doin’ good, too, when Yukino calls to check in tonight.” He gave a final wave and then they were off.

Lucy gave him an amused look. “You’ll be going freely, too, if this goes well.”

Cobra shrugged with a bluntly stated, “I don’t give a damn if I’m able to go freely. I just want Cubelli - Kinana.”

That only made Lucy smile more.

Lucy went to sleep as soon as they got to their hotel and when she woke up a good while later at eleven in the morning, she was greeted by a missed phone call from Natsu and a decided meeting time for the Fairy Tail and Sabertooth members. Yawning, she decided to call him back as she made coffee in a coffee pot in the room.

“Hello?” he rasped when he answered.

“Hey, Natsu,” she greeted warmly. “Just waking up, too?”

“Ugh,” he slurred, and she grinned when she thought she heard him tell Happy to shut up under his breath. “Was up late. Couldn’t sleep and Happy and I were comin’ up with a routine for this evening.”

“Look at you, planning ahead,” she teased.

“Tch,” he grumbled back, and then demanded, “What’s happened with your work?”

“A lot, actually. Sabertooth showed up. Just Sting and Rogue and their cats.” Natsu grunted in surprise and she explained, “We’re working together. We think it was a trap to lure us in for some reason. We stopped them from blowing something up last night. I think we’re going to start a plan later.”

Natsu’s voice filled with alarm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I bit Sting when he scared me though.” Lucy rolled her eyes when he cackled, declaring he was proud of her for doing so. “Shush, I apparently bite when people scare the hell out of me. Anyways, we’re going to be careful. When I get back, we’ll go out.”

“Good.” Natsu seemed to perk up. “I like going to dinner with you.”

Lucy felt a flash of affection for her dragon slaying partner. “I’m glad. I better go see where that eavesdropping idiot’s run off to. See you soon, Natsu.”

“Bye, Luce!”

She hung up, humming under her breath.

A moment later, she saw something move in the window. Lucy dropped a hand to her hip instinctively, sensing that something was off, and summoned the first Spirit she touched. Virgo appeared beside her in a flash of light. “What can I do for you, Prin-”

She hadn’t even finished her question before the wall suddenly imploded. Lucy threw her hands up to cover her face, thrown back by whatever had done it. Virgo took up a protective stance in front of the celestial mage and narrowed her sharp blue eyes.

A cackling woman climbed into view, her green eyes blazing. “Look who we found…just the one we were hoping for. Miss Lucy Heartfilia, celestial mage of Fairy Tail and princess of Bosco…ooh! Look, she’s got herself a boyfriend, too!”

Lucy bit back a scowl. Not daring to question how she knew what she did, Lucy snarled, “Yeah, and he’s Fairy Tail’s Salamander, Natsu Dragneel. So you better have a damn good reason for this.”

“Oh, I do. You see, we need your keys. Orders, you know?” The woman bared her teeth in a grin and then wordlessly lunged at them. Virgo didn’t flinch, catching the woman’s wrist when a dagger came out of nowhere at her. She shoved back with ease.

“Do not touch the Princess,” Virgo said, her tone holding a bit more anger than Lucy had expected. Lucy reached for another key and summoned Taurus, who came bellowing out of nowhere with an axe. Lucy heard commotion from the wall beside hers.

Cobra must have been attacked, too, she realized silently, her eyes widening in alarm. There was a shout and then the wall was gone, a cloud of what looked like poisonous gas filling the room.

“Get down!”

Cobra came out of nowhere, crashing into her. He slammed her to the ground just as a blast of black magic soared over their heads and struck a wall. He snarled, good eye darting up and teeth bared. “Keep your head down, Blondie. Don’t breathe in my venom. It’s set to kill.”

“Go it,” Lucy muttered, reaching for the whip she’d put on the floor beside her bed with her left hand.

A loud snap followed by a scream was heard as a foot descended on her arm as hard as physically possible. Tears sprang to Lucy’s eyes at the agonizing pain that raced up her limb. She lunged and caught the whip’s hilt with her good arm and let it whirl and snap around her as the woman from before grinned down.

“Hand over the keys,” she ordered.

“Leave me alone!” Lucy cried back and snapped the whip. She caught the woman’s wrist and yanked as hard as she could. The green-eyed woman gasped as she hit the ground. Within seconds, Virgo was there, tying her up with cold blue eyes.

“How dare you hurt our Princess,” she said in a low voice that sent chills down Lucy’s spine. “She is under the protection of the Spirit King. He will see to it that proper punishment is dealt at the time of your demise.”

“Let’s tone down the threats, Virgo,” Lucy croaked.

“Yes, Princess,” Virgo said grudgingly. She turned her attention back on the fight, and both were relieved to discover that it had begun to come to an abrupt end. Police sirens filled the air and several people had been knocked out. Taurus snorted furiously as he returned to Lucy’s side, and Cobra wiped his mouth.

“That should be the majority of 'em. One or two got away.”

Cradling her arm to her chest, Lucy went to join him. “What happened?” she demanded as she sent Virgo and Taurus back to their realm. The Spirits looked worried as they disappeared in a flash of light. “Why the hell would they want my keys?”

It had been a long time since people had come after her because of her magic - not since Oracion Seis months before.

“I don’t know,” Cobra grunted, eyes blazing as police began to enter the room, guns at the ready. One woman began to approach them and he raised his chin proudly, making sure that the maroon emblem he now supported on his bared forearm was showing.

“But I can tell ya one thing. It can’t be a good thing.”

Emerald eyes shone with suspicion as Mavis stared over the peaceful town of Magnolia. Her eyelids lowered a fraction, and then sprang open. Her blonde hair waving in a soft breeze, Mavis stepped off of the roof of the guildhall and landed lightly at its doors, her expression one of concern.

Something is not right.

“Holy shit!”

Her gaze darted over to Gajeel, who’d been preparing to enter the guildhall. His crimson eyes were full of shock as he stared at her, and then narrowed irritably. “Can you not fucking drop out of nowhere? Almost impaled you on an iron spear!”

Mavis’ lips twitched and then tugged into a frown. “Prepare yourself, Gajeel Redfox.” He frowned and she lifted her worried eyes to they sky, pressing a hand over her heart.

“I believe there may soon be a war that speaks of life and death for Fairy Tail.”

Gajeel gave her a long look and then nodded silently. “Got it.”

She listened to him enter the guildhall, and then clasped her hands as if in prayer, biting the knuckles of her thumbs gently.

Our end is nigh.

#fairy tail #fanfiction #au #between the lines #riverofmemoriesft #nalu #natsu x lucy #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #frosch #lector #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #cobra #erik #gajeel redfox #mavis vermillion

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