#I know sun bears are technically called the dog bears
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Sloth bears are the most doggable of all the bears
#fight me on this#i will die on this hill#I know sun bears are technically called the dog bears#but sloth bears are the most dog bear#sloth bears
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Chapter One: Swallow
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Masterlist | <- Prologue: Godlings | Chapter Two: Anything, Everything -> | Read on Ao3
Pairings: Satoru Gojo x f!reader
Summary: And the form leans down, closer, as their voice drops to a murmur, all honey and thorns, the promise of something far greater than you. A storm to come. The future that you will bear upon the slant of your shoulders. And when they speak, you know they’ve cursed you;
“I will teach you how to make a God.”
(Arranged marriage, angst, hurt/comfort, dark content)
Warnings (specifically for this chapter): Parental abuse (emotional and physical), possessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, toxic dynamics, and manipulation. Please be wary of overarching story warnings, too. Let me know if you think I should add any other warnings! **Please mind warnings overall and for each chapter**
Word Count: 10k
A/N: well, here is chapter one (two technically but you get it!) i hope you enjoy! another deep thank you to @lorelune who beta read this chapter as well and has been SO helpful!! i really would love to hear your feedback, questions, gripes, predictions, anything! thank you so much for reading!
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Satoru stands lonesome against the sky, head haloed by the last rays of golden sun.
He is only fourteen but holds all the world on his shoulders. He’s growing into his sharp tongue and wicked smile. His eyes are too bright, hopeful for a future he thinks he can still change and shape to his own vision.
He visits you weekly. You’re confined to your family’s grounds. You’re kept on a tight leash by your father as per requested by the clan. They can’t have you running off or forming your own thoughts quite yet.
You train your technique with other members of your clan, you learn from your aunt on how to be a good wife, your mother tries to shield you from it all. You wander around the garden when you want peace.
Satoru always meets you in the garden.
He has become your friend. Perhaps your only friend at this age. Perhaps yours, only.
He doesn’t greet you with a kiss (you are still twelve, still so young and clueless in so many ways), he doesn’t hug or reach for you.
But he does walk with you, follow you around trees and stone, dogs your steps. He does sit beside you, knee to knee, elbow to elbow.
You call him Satoru by this age. He calls you by your first name.
(By fifteen, you will start shortening his name to Toru. When he is sixteen he begins to call you darling, dear, honey—a joke, in the beginning, for your ever approaching marriage, but then not.)
You go to him now, so he isn’t so lonely against the massive sky behind him.
“You walk so lightly. Like a rabbit. Or a doe.” He says when you brush up against him.
“My father says I should wear a bell.” You reply, “did I startle you?”
But you know the answer before you even ask it. You just want to see his lips lift at the corners.
“No, but you would be cute in a bell.”
Heat engulfs the round slope of your cheeks.
You slug his arm hard enough that he gives an undignified yelp.
He never puts up his guards around you. He lets you hit him and push him and pinch him and tug on his hair. He lets you nudge him and lean against him and play with his hands. At this age, it is still a little childish, rounded with playfulness–flirting, perhaps, but in the way children do, uncertain and wobbly and with a pinch of pain.
You wonder if he’ll bruise beneath his sleeve. You think about leaving a mark on him.
“You’re getting meaner,” Satoru tells you, rubbing his arm, “sharper. More prickly. You’re going to be absolutely evil by the time we’re married–”
“I thought I was a sweet, little rabbit? Or a doe?” You counter, moving past him to the stone steps that will lead down to a small, winding path. He watches you for a moment, before following.
“I take it back. You’re something mean and vicious and quiet.” He says, shoving his hands into his pockets. He is boyish at this age, a little gangly, not quite grown into his ears or his hands. “A fox or a leopard. Something with teeth.”
As you walk ahead of him, you smile, feeling your own teeth emerge behind a tender lip. You turn to stick your tongue out at him from over your shoulder.
He picks up his pace to finally fall into step beside you.
A small stream of water bubbles softly. Koi swim lazily in the wide dip of water.
“I start school in a few weeks.” He says, “I’ve decided I want to move into the dorms to get away from my family a little.”
Your face twists, unsatisfied, a pinch of irritation.
The idea of losing him to high school–to new friends and somewhere further away, where you certainly won’t be able to visit per your father’s strict rules—is horrible to you.
You feel jealousy rise in you like a mountain at the thought that others will have him day in and day out. Jealousy that he will go and you will not; that he can escape his family and you will never be able to. The freedom of a man.
(Of a god–)
More than that, possessiveness steals your breath for a moment. At this age, you can’t name it.
Later, it will sink its claws into you; mine, mine, mine. He is only mine.
“I’ll still visit you,” Satoru says quickly, attempting to soothe you, appease whatever beast he’s awoken in you.
You think he must’ve done this with his mother, too, you think that’s why he knows how to do it.
You’re young and not quite done being hurt. You want to pout. You want all the world to know your pain. You turn away from him, walk a little further off. He follows again and it begins a chase that you lead.
“It’s not too far,” he says, and you continue to wander from him. A sigh leaves you. You pass over a small, wooden bridge.
He follows.
“I said I’d still visit you–”
You lope around a willow tree, careful of its roots.
He cuts to the other side. He stops you from running.
He catches you.
“Every week.” He adds.
You look up into his face, eyes flitting along the glasses over his eyes. He rarely takes them off. In fact, you’ve only seen his eyes a handful of times as he’s gotten older. You know them more from your dreams, from memories that you hold tight to, from the sky at a particular point in the day.
You lift your hand and without a second thought, you tug on the glasses until they fall into your waiting hands.
“Do you promise?” Your voice has an edge that he might catch himself on.
His eyes are all cosmic sapphires, too blue, too bright, too beautiful.
White lashes flutter. He is so soft looking at this age, pretty, with a dash of pink on his cheeks. His wind-chapped lips. Your boy. Yours.
“I promise.”
The world turns, but you think time must stop for you. For him. For just a moment. And you wish it always would, wish you could just keep him and trap him for yourself.
(Time must stop, for gods–)
He encircles your wrist with a big hand and you let him pull you towards him.
He isn’t so tall yet. It’s easy for you to get up into his face.
“Repeat after me,” you say.
And he smiles, “repeat after me.”
“I will always have you,” you say and it’s almost a hiss, almost with teeth. A little heat. Maybe it’s a threat, halfway to a vicious promise.
And he soothes, “I will always have you.”
You feel him squeeze around your wrist, anticipating your next words, craving them, “you will always have me.”
And he promises now, voice gaining a stronger note, “you will always have me.”
You sniff, as if you’re deciding whether to accept him or not. Then;
“And I’ll never forgive you if you don’t keep your promise. I’ll bite you with the sharp teeth you think I have.”
Satoru tosses his head back and laughs, the sun slipping through pearl locks, drenching him in its light. Always so light. His laugh so full and blooming that you want to hold fast to him, to cling to his shoulders, dig your nails into his chest. You want to hear his laugh forever. You want to shout at him because it makes heat blot your cheeks. Because it makes you angry. Because it makes you unreasonably happy.
You push him again. He laughs harder. Chases you when you dart off.
And he never misses a week–but he’ll still let you bite him with your sharp, sharp teeth.
***
Your training intensifies. So does Satoru’s in preparation for school. When you see each other, it’s a brief reprieve. Bags grow beneath your eyes. You don’t think you’ve slept well in days but everything begins to feel like a dream.
Satoru comes up with bruises and scrapes and things his mother says–
“She told me I should be untouchable without my technique.” And, “it’s just the way she shows her love–she says, sometimes it hurts a little. She says, you hurt me, when I gave birth to you, and I still love you.”
And you tell him things your father tells you, “he says it’s all I was born for. All I was made for, was to decipher Time. To know it.” And, “he’s harsh because he has to be, because the world is, and Time will be harsher still.”
But Satoru can make you laugh at least, until your sides hurt. He can drive you crazy, too, until your head spins. At least you are young with him, though, at least he makes you feel your age.
Your mother tells the two of you, watching as you shriek and chase each other in the garden, that it’s good.
That no one should take youth away from young people.
But they will anyway, she knows, they always will anyway.
***
You scour time with your amulet. Some days, you think you are mindless with it, the shell of a girl with swimming eyes that keeps darting in and out of the past. You push for the future and come up empty handed. You push for–
You can’t seem to find the person you first found. They’ve slipped through your fingers, through time.
Still, you’re relentless.
Your mother tries to pull you from your trances. Yanks the amulet from your hands until your eyes clear. You become stronger, though, unwilling to bend to her. Even when she pulls the amulet from your hands, you can still see it, time, swimming in front of you and you hold fast to its untempered currents.
It’s so old, has such a large future, too, that it is nothing like looking into a human’s lifespan. Humans become so quick for you. A blink and you’ve swallowed their whole life.
You snap at your mother, sometimes, wrench the amulet back into your clutches from her.
“It’s mine,” you seethe, “it’s mine.”
She looks as if you’ve struck her, when you act this way. Sometimes she yells back until all the house is filled with it. Until your father intervenes, until he hands you the amulet again.
Until he says, leave her.
(Hindsight is a funny thing. But you’re just a child now and you don’t understand half of it.)
You spend your days in and out of dazes, fever dreams of the past, of the haunting future. Some days you can hardly speak, your mind on fire, your eyes burning.
You cry out of frustration. Your temples throb. Some days you vomit, wretch because you’ve hardly eaten. Some days you end up barefoot, in the back garden, while it storms, staring into this amulet endlessly.
On one of the worst days, your mother calls for Satoru.
And he is the one to pull you from your stupor, yank you from all of time only for you to be met with the skyblaze of his eyes.
And you hiss at him, too.
“Don’t you understand?” You crow, “you know what this is like!”
He pulls the amulet clear from your neck and keeps it from you. You scream and shout and throw a fuss.
The one time he uses his Infinity on you to hold it far from your grasp, your sudden shouts of anger go unearthly quiet.
Tears well in your eyes.
You must look betrayed, because he drops it immediately. But it’s too late and you’re crying like a baby and he’s trying to coo and shush you.
You’re crying like your heart has been broken, like something inside of you, huge and otherworldly, has just split open and ruptured. It gushes, overflows, nearly drowns you at the idea that he would–
That’d he’d use it on you.
Untouchable.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry–look, it’s down.” And he touches your shoulders. Your arms. He lets you take his hands as if to prove to you that you are above his Infinity, you have collapsed it.
You sink your claws into his wrists, dig into them until blood wells to the surface and say through your hitching sobs, through your bared teeth;
“Don’t ever do that to me again.”
***
Your father is desperate for you to look into Satoru’s future. Everyone expects you to. Including Satoru, you think. Especially his mother, who watches you with all the contempt in her heart. Your whole family awaits it, the card you could hold above him, above everyone, all of the world. Your mother, who defends you at every turn, is the only one who does not press you for it. She has never pressed you for dealings of the past or the future.
You can hear your parents argue for the thousandth time about you.
“She has every right not to, if she doesn’t want to.” Your mother’s voice is strong. It’s always been strong. You hope you’ll have her voice one day.
(But you’ll realize no one listens to her still, that it doesn’t matter how great the bark if–)
“Don’t be naive.” Your father snaps.
“Do you want her to go insane?” You can hear your mother’s low hiss of a threat. “She’ll go insane if she sees too many peoples’ future–if she sees his–”
(If there isn’t any bite.)
“I told you she shouldn’t be spending so much time with him.”
“Don’t you want her to be happy?” Your mother pleads, “don’t you want her to be as safe and cared for and loved as she can be with him?”
“I keep her safe here!” Your father’s voice raises. “She has a responsibility!”
“She’s a child!” Your mother shouts back. You can hear the tears in her voice. “She’s just a child! So is he!”
There’s a slam. The pictures on the wall of your room rattle. You have already seen this. And all of their fights, you have seen your mother’s fate.
(He didn’t hit her, if it soothes you, just the wall beside her head. But it scares her enough into quieting, into hiding her teeth–all bark, no bite.)
Your father will lecture you again tomorrow morning. You will bow your head and lie, tell him that Satoru doesn’t let you touch him yet, that he always keeps up his Infinity still. It will buy you time.
Oh, time.
***
“I can’t stand you!” You scream before lobbing the apple in your hand at Satoru’s head.
It doesn’t touch him, thanks to his Infinity.
“You’re so touchy today.” Satoru muses.
“And you’re so annoying!”
“That’s right, because you’re such a dream to deal with–” he says before he can stop himself.
You freeze and he can tell he’s said something he perhaps shouldn’t have. You can tell he regrets it, by the way his mouth opens, then shuts. He’s always been good for this, little one liners that are snippy, snarky.
He’s like his mother in that way.
You have tea with her, on occasion.
And she’s beautiful like him and untouchable. She says things like, you’re a scrappy little thing, aren’t you? Like, your hair could use a trim. And, didn’t your mother teach you to dress?
You can feel tears welling in your eyes. But before they can fall, you snap at him, “get away from me.” Before he can see you crying, you turn away from him and storm off, deeper into your garden. Your garden that has always cradled you.
Instead, he lurches towards you, “don’t be like that–”
You can feel him hot on your heels, taking quick strides to try and catch up with you.
You want to make it hurt worse. You want to reduce him to these tears that prick your eyes. It isn’t fair, you think, to have this heart, and this boy who you’d do anything for–
You turn sharply and he almost runs into you, hard stops and comes up short. And before he can open his mouth again, you hiss, “it’s not a dream being stuck with you, either.”
He rears back a little.
“You’re being mean.”
“I’m being honest.” You sneer.
So fast your eyes don’t even catch it, he’s got your wrist in his hand, pulling you towards him. “Then let’s break the vow,” he threatens, “if that’s how you feel. I’m sure I could figure it out.”
You squirm in his hold, pull a little, but he tightens his grip. The look in his eyes, above his glasses, is strange. Otherworldly. Challenging in a way that makes a thrill go up your spine.
“Is that how you feel?” You demand, all teeth.
He softens a little, and then;
“I haven’t figured it out yet, have I?”
You glare up into his face, “have you tried?”
“A little.” He admits and it hurts worse than it should, a wound to the chest, a sudden stinging in your eyes.
“Because I’m just so awful–”
“Because I’m so awful.” He says softer than you anticipate, “I’m not stupid–we’re both young. Neither of us had much of a say in it. And I know–I know your life would be easier without being tied to me.”
You glance down at your wrist still in his hand. You don’t try to fight him anymore, though.
“Do you want out?” You ask tentatively, terrified of the answer, your heart like glass in his hands, ready to be shattered.
“I don’t try very hard,” he admits, “selfishly,” he pulls you a little closer to him and perhaps it’s the first time you’ve been this close to him. “I want to keep you. I don’t want to be alone. And I don’t think–”
His thumb, tender, gentle, rubs against the pulse point of your wrist. You hold your breath.
“I don’t think there’s anyone else.”
You sink your nails into his tender hand, stilling his movement, and look up at him with all the venom in the world. And you vow, voice sweeter than the look in your eyes, disarmingly so;
“There isn’t.”
***
“It’s you.”
The person who greets you in the amulet this time is different from the first one, you can tell by their voice, by the shape of them that slowly comes into focus.
You clutch your amulet tight.
Their face is clearer, a man that must, in some way, be an ancestor of yours. You can tell because his eyes are like yours, the base of his are brown, but then a slash of silver in one, a speck of gold in the other.
You are peering into the past at someone who is peering into the future at you–it makes your temples throb to think about.
“I don’t understand how you know me–” You get out, “I don’t understand how we can speak to each other.”
The man eyes you, brows furrowing, almost into a glare. “You’re the only one who ever figured it out,” his voice is smoky, soft and old. “You’re the one that figured out we could communicate by finding the exact moments in time when we peer at each other; right now, you are looking into the past, at this exact moment, at me through the amulet, while I look into the future at this exact moment, at you through the amulet.”
“But I didn’t–”
“Imagine folding paper in half and stabbing your pen through both sides at once.” He continues.
“I didn’t figure that out.”
Your voice is quiet. Just a child’s voice.
“Not yet.” He says and it’s accusatory. In the tense silence, you feel guilt for something you have not yet done. You can feel his judgment. Eventually, his face softens fractionally, “you’re still young now. Still innocent, huh? I forget–”
His voice catches.
“I forgot that you were once this young and unknowing.”
You don’t know what to do with that, how to feel. “So you know me differently?”
“Very differently.”
“When I’m older?” You ask, “can you tell me more?”
He shakes his head, “I don’t think I should.”
“You’re supposed to teach me.” You respond and perhaps it is accusatory. His eyes flash, a flickering of recognition. As if to say there you are, the one I know.
Regretfully, he nods. “I will. We all will. Until you surpass us and then we’ll spend the rest of our days peeling through time to try and catch up to you.”
You aren’t sure what to say or how to respond, you’re not sure what you should feel or do. You frown.
“Do you ever catch up to me?” You ask when you can think of nothing else.
He smiles now, a little bitterly, but almost fondly, “no. You leave us all in the dust.”
“Does that make me your best student, then? Out of all the other Hindsight and Foresight users?”
A laugh is startled out of him and the hand that is holding up the amulet, the same hand of yours, lifts so you’re both eye to eye. Amulet to amulet. Hand to hand in two different places and two different times.
Past to future.
“The very best of us all.”
***
Satoru begins school.
He upholds his promise and tells you about his new classmates. He gushes about their potential; a girl with the ability to reverse her cursed technique and a boy who can swallow curses to control them.
Not to mention his seniors, all so shiny and exciting to him.
Jealousy curdles inside of you, bubbling and ugly. You can’t quite swallow around it. You can’t quite stomach it.
But he wants you to meet his other first years, Ieri Shoko and Suguru Getou. He wants them to know you, he wants you to know them. He wants those important to him to get along.
He brings them to you in the garden and you can’t help but feel as if they’re intruding on this little world you and Satoru have created since you were young. Since you first became engaged.
When you see them with Satoru, flanking his sides, you have to fight the urge to glare, to bare your teeth to them.
Satoru sings your name, though, excited, so you slip out from your hiding place among the trees and flowers. You’re quiet as you approach, one foot carefully over the other, like a predator watching. Waiting.
It is only Satoru who senses you behind them, who turns sharply and laughs when he finally spots you.
“Trying to surprise us?” He asks.
“Something like that,” you answer, eyes flickering over the two beside him.
He smiles nonetheless and introduces you proudly, introduces you as his fiance.
“So strange to think you have a fiance at your age.” The girl, Ieri, says.
Satoru shrugs, “we’ve known since we were young–plenty of time to accept our fates, huh?”
You hum, “funny choice of words.”
The dark-haired boy who's been watching you a little too closely finally says, “your technique is with time, isn’t it? Satoru was telling us–”
You finally approach and it’s a little too close, enough that it makes Ieri shift uncomfortably. But to his credit, Suguru doesn’t budge, even as you look up into his face and ask, “what else does Satoru tell you?”
Suguru smiles slowly, disarmingly so, like a cat. “That you’re pretty. And smart. I can tell he likes you a great deal.”
And despite it all, you can see Satoru’s cheeks flush darkly out of the corner of your eyes. He fidgets, “I think I said–”
“What has he said about me?” Suguru asks and the darkness of his eyes is mesmerizing. The exact opposite of Satoru, where his eyes seem to reflect light, Suguru’s consume it.
You hold his gaze for a fraction more before severing it. You turn away, wander a little further off as you say over your shoulder, “he hasn’t.”
Suguru laughs as Satoru squawks, beginning to deny you but Suguru interrupts him cooly, “you’re a poor liar.”
“He’s mentioned Shoko, though–you can reverse your cursed technique, can’t you?” You respond, just to get under his skin. This time, it’s Ieri that laughs, an amused huff.
“That’s me.” Her eyes, sly and tired, slip to Satoru, “anything else he’s said about me?”
“That you smoke too much.” You say and this time, you’re being truthful, perhaps too truthful. Enough that you can feel Satoru’s eyes on you. You’re trying to cause trouble and he can tell. Your smile is knowing, just a little too barbed, “those things’ll kill you, ya know.”
The irony is not lost on them.
You wander further away to test Satoru, see if he will follow you or stay with his friends. You can feel his draw, his uncertainty for a moment. But surprisingly, it is Suguru who moves after you first.
“Will you come to school with us? When you’re old enough?” Suguru asks and Satoru is on his heels. Ieri lollygags behind.
You can feel the heat and attention of Suguru and for whatever reason, it makes warmth bloom deep in your cheeks and for all your trouble and bravado, you are perhaps still just young. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling at his attention, at the way they follow you. You face resolutely forward and don’t allow them to see the full scope of your face.
“No, my father forbids it.” You tell him, leading them through a maze of lush flowers and small trees that lope over your heads.
“I told you, I’ll fight for you to go.” Satoru pipes up and because he knows the garden well, he takes a sharper left, beats you around a hedge to stop you in your tracks. Suguru almost runs into you. “I’ll tell him I want an educated and trained wife.”
“Gross,” Ieri scoffs, and then she says dryly, “who knew you were such a traditionalist, Gojo?”
“I’m not! But I have to speak his language!” Satoru protests, “you two don’t know her father. The clans. They’re impossible and archaic.”
You think of your mother, at one point, in your position; betrothed to a man at your small age. But she didn’t know the future and your father was no revolutionary. No, he didn’t shake heaven and earth with his birth. He was not meant for greatness.
The only greatness he would achieve is you. You think he resents you for it, you think that is why you are kept so firmly beneath his thumb.
You think your mother should resent you for getting more, for being her warped reflection of could’ve been and should’ve beens. You wish you saw more of yourself in her, sometimes, that you weren’t growing into such a beast. That you weren’t so gifted or strange or burning.
You have learned, though, that the difference between you and your mother will be her life. Lamb-hearted woman she is, you resent her for not being you. For not having bigger teeth, for not resenting you more.
“But you’re going to change it all, is that right?”
Suguru’s voice slices through your thoughts, cool and cleanly.The way he says it, like it’s hardly a question but an accusation, sends a shiver rippling through you. There is an undercurrent to his voice that makes you go completely still, the way a predator does when it senses danger. “That’s what you said, isn’t it?”
You know now that you will have to lay your hands on Suguru. For Satoru, you will dig into the pits of his future and pull it out with your own trembling fingers.
Satoru looks at you, “I’m trying to. We’re trying to.”
“We have our work cut out for us.” You tell Satoru and with your back to Suguru, you mean it only for him.
We, as in just us. Just us two, always.
You try to shut Suguru out, maybe, you try to shut them both out. But it is hard and as they talk and joke and amble with you in your garden, as you watch them interact with Satoru and with each other, you understand horribly what it is that Satoru likes so much about them.
Unfortunately, there will be no ridding Satoru of them. Unfortunately, they will stick and stay and bleed into your life.
So unfortunately, you will get attached. And worse than that, you will then need to learn how to get unattached, because you will know exactly the path they will walk and it isn’t one you are interested in enduring to love them.
But still you will love them.
Even though you know.
You will always know.
***
When you are fourteen and it comes time for you to enroll in school, Satoru fights tooth and nail to get your father, your clan, to allow you to join him. He hems and haws, he bickers and makes scathing comments, he acts out. He tries to pull every card that he has.
None of it works.
And for the millionth time, Satoru comes storming out of the room he’d been speaking with your father in again. You are never allowed in, even though all they do is discuss you. You are their centerpoint and yet you remain outside the doorway, lingering, listening faintly to your name pass between their lips.
They are very naive, to think you don’t know all of this already. For how miraculous your technique has been treated, they have the strangest tendency to forget how it works, what it implies for you. Even Satoru at times forgets, perhaps purposefully, what you know, what it must mean. You don’t think he wants to think about what it might imply about you or who you are becoming, at least not yet.
Still, you follow after him quickly, leaving your father behind, “I told you—“
“I’ll keep trying.” He clips, heading through the winding halls, towards the front entrance. You want to reach out and grab him, stop him in his tracks, force yourself in front of him, but you wouldn’t dare touch him where you know your father watches closely.
Instead you say his name, sharply, a little ringing.
It has the same effect. He stops. His back is to you, shoulders raised slightly in tension.
“I told you, my father will not change his mind. He never will.”
Satoru’s shoulders drop with a hard exhale.
“Do you know this for certain? Is this—“
The future?
“Yes.” You respond coolly, “I will never go to school with you. I have known this for a while.”
“Well, now it must be a self-fulfilling prophecy because you told me this. If you’d never have told me, would it still happen? Or would I keep trying until they let you come to school with me? In telling me this, does it make me give up? So you never do?” He asks, turning finally to face you. “Why tell me this? Whose future did you see to know this?”
So many questions. You can feel the sudden tension between you—the surge of distrust or inkling in the back of his mind about you. It must be all of his doubts rushing forward.
He must be wondering why you told him this, why you won’t tell him more then.
“My mother’s.” You respond, “she argues with my father about this, too, and to no avail.”
Satoru stares hard at you. And you hate the look on his face, the sudden unease as he gazes at you, like he doesn’t quite recognize you. Upset and anger prickle inside of you.
“Why do you look at me like that?”
“Like what?” Satoru asks.
You narrow your eyes, “don’t play dumb.”
He pauses. And then, as if hesitantly, he decides to ask, “can you change the future once you know it?”
And right now you are only fourteen, still rather naive, if not growing sharper and quicker, slicker. You have an inkling. You could share it with him; I think you can. I think, if I play everything correctly, I could. I think if I–
Instead, you say, “I’m not sure yet. I’m still learning.”
“Are you experimenting with me?” He asks and it surprises a laugh out of you.
“Well, now that you say it–”
Finally, his smile crooks up in the corner. The tension in him snaps and gives out, deflating him. He takes a few steps towards you. He is lanky at sixteen and stands a head over you (he’ll keep growing, taller and a little broader, muscled beneath your future hands).
“You’ll tell me, won’t you?” He asks, “when you figure it out?”
Now it’s your turn to stare hard at him.
“Of course.” You say and instantly, you recognize it for what it is;
The first lie you’ll ever tell Satoru Gojo.
***
Over the years, Ieri and Suguru will visit you frequently. With Satoru and without. With each other and without. Ieri will let you take drags of her cigarettes, put it up to your lips, let her fingers press there, too. Suguru will wander around the garden with you aimlessly, he will playfully flirt, he will tease you. Both will confide in you. Both you will love and hate; love them for who they are, who they could be and hate them for having pieces of Satoru. Hate Suguru for who he will become.
You hate him for what he will do to Satoru.
You decide relatively quickly that on an instance where one of them allows you to touch them, or touches you, that you will peer into their futures.
Ieri’s comes easily, she is always leaning and draping herself over you. She is always sharing candy and cigarettes and swigs of alcohol she sneaks past your father to you. You have learned that if you don’t want people to suspect you have peered into their future, you must do it at a time that seems light-hearted, simple, fleeting.
She leans her head on your shoulder one night as the sun slips easily beneath the trees. It’s a Friday night.
She says, “I wish you could come out with me. The boys are pissing me off.”
And you are barely able to get out a very plain, far away, “me, too,” before your vision tunnels. You are careful to breathe through it. You are careful not to make a sound as her life begins to play out in your mind’s eye. Cursed energy that takes her shape shimmers to life in front of you.
At once, you see her very plainly.
But what you care about most, is that she will always be loyal to Satoru. That is what you sought and what you found. A knot unravels inside of you, unspools easily and your suspicion of Ieri dissipates. Momentarily, you sink into the feeling–but in peering into her future, you’ve caughten another glimpse of Satoru’s.
Another piece to the puzzle of his future that you are slowly attaining.
(One day, you will know all of it, one day you will guard all of it, one day you will swallow all of it and stomach what comes with it.)
But today, you sink into Ieri’s side, back in the present, and let the smell of smoke cloud your mind. You breathe it deep, only for her to press the cigarette up to your lips, soft fingers and all. You inhale and let it burn.
You sputter out a cough, which gives way to Ieri’s rough laugh, her head tipping onto your shoulder, and the sun drenching you in its last light.
You’ll let her curl herself around some part of you. She’ll ask you one day, as everyone does, “did you ever look into my future?”
And they’re never sure if they want the truth.
You’ll smile, though, an asp’s clever grin, and drawl, “we’re still friends, aren’t we?”
***
Nanami Kento and Yu Haibara are your age. You would be in their grade, if Satoru had gotten his way and your father had allowed you to attend Jujutsu Tech. You meet them only briefly, but even then, Satoru catches the way you create a reason to touch each of them. For Haibara, it is just to brush past him, knocking elbows a little.
(At the time, it wasn't so bad. It doesn’t startle you. He is not a domino effect. But he can be–you know he is the perfect sacrifice.)
For Nanami, you are braver. You sweep his hair from his face, “I want to see your eyes.” You say boldly and though Nanami recoils back slightly, glancing quickly at Satoru, you have already gotten what you need.
(Nanami, you think with a slight sigh, you like a great deal. Both loyal and caring. Enough so that he would give his life for Satoru, for what Satoru wants. Martyr-boy, golden-hearted, he is perhaps the best of them.)
Afterwards, you can tell Satoru is displeased in some way, prickly.
“You’re upset,” you say when it is only the two of you in the garden again.
He opens his mouth to deny you, you think, but then promptly shuts it.
“Do you do that with everyone now?” He asks carefully.
Your eyes flash to him, “do you want the truth?”
He stutters a step towards you, but holds himself back, careful, unsure. “Always.”
“Then ask again, as if you actually want it.” Your voice doesn’t sound quite like your own. It’s beginning to slip from you, become someone else’s, you think. You’re losing whatever cadence you had as a child, losing the tone that used to reflect your mother’s.
You see the furrow of his brows, but don’t see his eyes behind the wrappings. He frowns. “What has gotten into you?”
You, something inside of you hisses, but it’s older, a little foreign. It almost sounds like–
“Do you want to know or not?” You ask instead, flippant, but your eyes burning, hot.
“I don’t like what you’re becoming,” he says suddenly, and once he’s said it, he doesn’t stop, “I knew you should’ve come to school with me, I knew it wasn’t good for you to be stuck here with your father and the clan–is this their doing?”
Your laugh is sharp, tittering, almost, a little off-kilter.
It’s so ironic, isn’t it? To think he knows what’s best. People think they know everything and they think you know so little.
You step towards him, have to tip your chin up, rock onto the tips of your toes just to get into his face now.
“You know what’s best for me now, do you?” The wind picks up like your voice has agitated it, rushing past, between, around you two. “My fiance knows what’s best for me?”
“I didn’t say that,” he replies and the sudden inability to see his eyes makes your anger spark and break into a fire.
You reach up, snatch the bandage from his eyes so quickly that your nails catch the delicate skin of his face. It unspools around his neck. He doesn’t flinch, though, his eyes now finally finding yours without the barrier, looking you over like he’s trying to root around inside you.
The wind is sharper this time, colder, it whips past both of you, pulls at your clothes.
“Ask. Me. Again.” You bite out, the flash of your teeth make his eyes skip down to your mouth, back up.
When he asks, something in his voice has changed. It isn’t the voice of the boy you grew up beside, but someone stepping into godhood. Satoru Gojo the Untouchable.
Regret pulls inside you like a dog at the end of its leash, don’t be untouchable to me. Not me. Never me.
“Do you do that with everyone now?” He asks again and he needs to know.
“Yes,” you breathe, just a hiss of your breath through your teeth. And because he suddenly feels far from you, you reach up, and lay your palm to his cheek. He never put up his Infinity, he never blocked you out. Your shoulders ease, you can feel relief hit you like a rush of cool water.
Still yours. Still close.
He swallows hard, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with that information. You know he is weighing his next question carefully.
You thumb the little scratch you left on his cheek, streaked pink against his pale skin, let your nail drag featherlight over it again, like you’re thinking of making it deeper. Oh, to scar the Untouchable.
“For your clan?” He forces himself to ask.
You shake your head fractionally, make an irritated little noise, “you think so little of me? I thought you knew me so well? We hate the clans.”
Satoru finally brings his hand up to cradle yours, lets his cheek sink into your palm, even with the threat of your nails. Maybe especially.
“Then for who?”
You, a voice inside of you howls like the wind, oh, you, you, you.
“For us.” You say instead, “for our future.”
When he remains silent, you press on, “isn’t this what I’m supposed to do? This is my technique–should I never use it?” You turn on him, and then when you’ve got it between your teeth, you shake hard, “are you scared of it? Scared of me?”
“No,” Satoru says quickly, “never you.”
“Then why are you upset?” You snap, low and hot. Your fingers begin to dig a little more desperately into his skin, angle his face so he can’t look away, so he can’t run, “why do you look at me like that?”
Satoru is silent for a long moment.
You let him be.
Eventually, he turns his face into your palm and you feel the brush of his lips, soft, a little shy.
It brings a surge of warmth to your cheeks.
(You’ve never even kissed yet, only poked and prodded and tickled and held and brushed and scraped. Never felt his lips like this. Never felt his words on the inside of your wrist–)
“Would you tell me? If what you saw was–” he won’t finish the sentence.
“Do you want to know?” You ask again. “Do you want to know the future?”
He weighs it, you can feel the way he gets heavier in your hands with the decision, let your fingers slip down his jaw, brush over the pulse that thuds at his throat.
“Say I did,” he murmurs, “would you tell me?”
“Yes,” you answer, but as you study his face, you know he doesn’t want it. “If you could stomach it.”
“Can you?”
“I was fed it until I could.” You let him go finally, “I can tell you can’t.”
You turn away.
The wind rushes through you, carves its distance between you two.
When you move to walk away, Satoru follows you as if compelled, jerks forward to you as if pulled by a string. “Do you want me to?”
“Would you learn to stomach it for me?” Make yourself sick with it? Make yourself mad with it? Would you do it all for me, too?
“You’ve learned to stomach it for me.” He answers and so you pause to let him catch up to you as a reward.
When you look at him this time, something inside you softens, “I will only feed you what you can stomach, if you want it.”
You are not lying.
Satoru lets out a slow breath and chooses to allow you to decide what he can swallow around. He decides he can trust what you feed him, that it will go down easy and not poison him, that you won’t make him regret it.
He nods, agreeing.
His trust blossoms hot and sweet inside of you. You have to hold back a satisfied grin; a cat with a canary, beautiful white feathers fluttering by your feet.
You look ahead, let the wind catch your hair, cut across your cheeks.
You summon the vows that now feel like an ancient part of you, old words, soothing words;
“Repeat after me.”
As if possessed, he says, “repeat after me.”
You smile, slow and knowing, “I will always have you.”
He leans into it, takes it easily from you, “I will always have you.”
“You will always have me.”
Like prayer, he finishes, “you will always have me.”
And after, when the wind gusts and pulls at you, you dare to admit to him, “Keep Nanami close. He will always be loyal to you.”
You don’t turn to look at him, but you can tell he has gone inhumanly still. After a moment, he dares to ask, “and Haibara?”
Your lips twist, just a flash of a grimace like the quick arch of a bat’s wing.
You refuse to look at him when you say, “just leave Haibara to me.”
When he swallows around that, too, you know now that you’ll always have him eating from the palm of your hand.
***
Suguru only visits alone at dusk. Twilight suits him in the same way that you think dawn suits Satoru.
Usually, Suguru comes to you pensive, almost irritable. You imagine he can’t decide what to do or think of you, you imagine he can sense your animosity or jealousy, you imagine he is too clever to not know what it means if you, a user of Foresight, do not like or trust him.
You know his future intimately. You see it behind your eyelids at night, hot and simmering, too brutal, too brilliant. You have memorized it the moment that you saw it, replayed it over and over and over until it no longer made you sick. Until you could look him in the eyes again. You know it so well that you think you could recite it to someone who asked, could say Suguru’s words to him before he ever even thinks of them himself.
You think that must mean you know him intimately, too.
When he finds you, you frown, and then ask, “what are you doing here?”
“Delightful, as usual.” He responds lazily.
You grin at him, “where’s Satoru?”
“Mission.” He responds a little too bluntly.
You sink your claws into it, “without you?”
He doesn’t rise to your bait this time, “your father’s in a bad mood.”
You pause.
Your father isn’t happy with you. He never is, though, he never will be.
“Why are you here, Suguru?” You ask instead, drifting around the trunk of a tree to emerge on the other side of him.
“I can’t visit a friend?” He counters.
“Are we friends?” You ask. “I don’t like you.”
He laughs then, warm and low and in a way that reminds you that he is just shy of being a man. “You wound me.” He says, turning over his shoulder to face you, to let you come up to his chest.
There is something magnetic about Suguru, you can feel the pull of him, like he’s ready to swallow you whole, too. Ingest you if you aren’t careful.
He reaches out suddenly and you force yourself to remain very, very still. Suguru’s hand, careful, graceful, tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear.
“Satoru asked me to check on you while he was away.” He admits and at the mention of his name, you allow Suguru’s fingers to linger at your jaw.
“When will he be home?” You ask instead, uncharacteristically subdued for the moment. Suguru must realize it, because he becomes bolder, steps closer.
You let Ieri touch you and wrap her arms around you, lean her head against your shoulders and pull you into her lap. You let her drape herself across you, crawl over top of you. Tuck up against you. Satoru knows. He doesn’t mind, rather, you think he’s pleased that you’ve found a friend in Ieri.
But with Suguru–
“When will he be home?”
“You don’t know?” Suguru asks and something in your expression must give you away, because it is his turn to dig into wounds, “he didn’t tell you?” Faux sympathy touches his voice, like you’re a cat to coo at. His knuckle traces lightly along the line of your jaw.
His brow arches fractionally as his thumb traces over the line of your chin, to your bottom lip, “or better yet, you didn’t look into his future? Know when he will return to you? That he would return safely?”
Anger is a slow rumbling beast inside of you, raising its weary head, cracking open an eye.
“I thought you knew everything.” He insists.
When his thumb parts your lips, you sink your teeth down onto his thumb, hard and quick.
But he laughs again, surprised, delighted.
He squirms his thumb out from between your teeth, wretches it away, letting you swallow around the faint taste of his skin once it’s gone.
“It’s always been so amusing to me, to see bruises and scratches and bite marks in Satoru’s skin. He is supposed to be untouchable and yet–”
“What do you want?”
(You know what he wants.)
“–he isn’t. Not to you.”
“Never to me.” You agree, if only to spite him.
“I’m only here to check on you,” he says, but his voice is strange, always setting off alarm bells in your mind. “Just as he asked.”
“Aren’t you a good friend?” You sneer, because you know what he will do, you know how this ends. You know because–
“The very best,” he answers and it is almost sad, voice losing some of its bravado, its oil. All water now. It pulls at you. You swallow hard. “I only came to check on you.”
He means it this time.
You look at him, hard and long, before you say, “did you enjoy it?”
“What?”
“Walking in his footsteps? Coming here like you’re him? Trying to touch me like you’re him?” You ask and your voice isn’t mean, but honest, genuinely curious. “Do you want me to treat you like him, too?”
Surprise parts his lips, rounding out his eyes fractionally.
“Do you want to be him? Or have him the way I do?”
But then his surprise sloughs off, melts away into a slow revelation. His face transforms, suddenly open.
“You’re jealous of me,” he realizes.
“In the same way you’re jealous of me.” You answer him and his smile is a slow, confident curl.
“In the same way that we’re both jealous of him.” Suguru says and his voice is just a rasp, caught somewhere in the space between you two, in the horrible truth of it all.
You turn your head away from him, give him your profile, but he snatches your jaw back quickly and forces you to look at him.
“If I was him, I would marry you and make another garden to keep you trapped in. I would perfect a veil you could never get through. I would keep you safe somewhere. I would keep you on a leash somewhere.” The admittance frees from his mouth and makes you squirm and fuss, suddenly struggling in his hold, “I would never let you out of my sight.”
You claw a little at him, jerk your head free enough from his grasp to bite out, “it’s a good thing you aren’t–”
“I think he underestimates you. I think you’re his blind spot.” Suguru says, eyeing you, almost glaring at you, trying to unravel you with his gaze alone and pull you apart. “I think you have something horrible inside of you.”
It’s your turn to laugh, wildly, letting your head fall back a little in his grasp. Crowing up to the sky.
“Suguru,” you say his name, “Suguru,” you sing it, clawing at his clothes, his arms, up to his chest and shoulders, “Suguru,” you purr, laughing again, looking up into his face until the clash of your eyes could have sparked and burned a whole forest down. You look at each other, horrid reflections of one another, a wretched mirror, and smile the way he does, like a lazy cat that’s caught the truth between its teeth;
“I think the same of you.”
***
Your amulet winks in the sun. You let your eyes flutter, let it pull you throughout time.
One of your ancestors is on the other side; the man who you’ve seen several times. Who sees you now and frowns as if you’re a bad omen.
“Hello, again,” he still says.
“You don’t look pleased to see me.” You say, and then before you can stop yourself, “my father looks at me like that.”
His face instantly crumples, “I’m sorry–I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, “sometimes, I think you just needed someone to treat you like your age, to treat you kindly.”
“My mother does.” You say, almost defensively. Infinitely, you are defensive of your mother, you wish you could covet her. You wish you could be her. You wish the world hadn’t been so cruel to her. And then you speak, “but my father will kill her.”
You think about Zeus, sometimes, and how his father swallowed him whole. How he had to gut him to get out.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, “we’ve tried countless versions to–”
Slowly, you realize, “you’re trying to save me.”
He looks too guilty for that.
“No,” you say carefully, “you’re trying to stop me.”
You wonder if they should’ve stopped Zeus, too.
Formidable you are, they can’t quite seem to do it, though, somehow, someway, it is always you.
“I often think it’s the same thing.” He says gently, “but at every turn, we’re stopped.”
“By who?” You ask.
He goes silent now and the vision begins to bend and run, like watercolors washing together on a page, it’s all going sideways.
“By the person who orchestrated this all from the beginning, the one we can’t–”
Stop.
***
You plant seeds now.
You begin to throw fits, as your clan calls them. Whatever that means.
Tantrums, is what your father bemoans about, warning your mother that if you don’t cut this shit out, he’d do it for you.
But you have days where you won’t stop screaming and crying. When you start, you realize sometimes it just won’t stop, like there is a beast howling inside of you. Agonized. It burns and aches in the pit of you, to get on all fours and cry and cry.
To sob wretchedly. To wail until it fills your whole house with that sorrowful noise.
You thought, at first, you were only doing it for yourself. For what you needed. It’s realer than you can understand, the tears are real, cutting down your face, the anger is real. The heartbreak.
You break things. You and your father scream at each other.
He slams hands against walls beside your head.
He grabs you too harshly, shakes you so hard that your teeth click in your head, and all you do is fight and kick. Moan and cry. Growl and hiss through clenched teeth.
At some point, you always beg for Satoru.
And at some point, your mother always sends for him.
And he always comes.
Always.
It happens once, twice, three times, until there are too many to count.
He always comes.
Your father won’t hurt you in front of him. Your clan, everyone, leaves you to him, since he is the only one who is able to calm you.
(You plant the seeds now, so when you need them–they’ve already grown.)
Behind closed doors, he holds you, cradles you to his chest and coos until you can calm down. You’re reminded of being children like this, puppying up next to his side, against him.
You think he loves it, being needed by you. Being the only one who could soothe you.
(The only one who can ruin you.)
Possession blossoms in him and tenderly, you nurture it.
Until one day he looks at you, with your tear stained face and sniffling nose, thumb brushing beneath your eyes, along your faded little scars, and says;
“I think I owe you an apology.”
You pick your head up a little, tilt it to the side.
He gives you a sad smile, loving, and doting, but infinitely sad.
“I think I made you–” he murmurs, “I think I made you like this.”
And when he says he’s sorry again, you can’t help but feel he isn’t that sorry, after all.
You know you aren’t, at least.
***
Your side is slammed into the wall, hard enough to make your teeth clink together, but slow enough that you knew it was coming. You know how this argument goes. You know everything your father is about to say before he even says it.
Your mother is pounding on the locked door. It is best she doesn’t see this.
She screams and scratches at the wood for you, wailing, begging him not to hurt you in any way. Her whole life she has begged for you.
You think Rhea must’ve begged Kronos like this, too.
A knot aches in your throat, tears blurring your eyes as you listen to her scream, and scream, and scream. You refocus on your father.
He approaches you again, lifting you by the front of your clothes, up from the ground. “I’m sick of your excuses,” he hisses to you. “I know you have had opportunities to look into this future.”
“He keeps his Infinity up around me–”
“Bullshit.” Your father slams you again against the wall, the back of your head colliding hard enough with the wall that it leaves a dent. Pain radiates up the back and you think you can feel the slow warmth of blood blossom there.
Something inside of you goes completely still and quiet.
Then it roars forward like an animal at the end of its leash.
“You refuse to look into his future–I will not have raised a weak, sentimental–” Your father drops you in a heap, turns away from you as he rakes a hand through his hair, “you’re just like your mother.”
You can feel blood slide down the back of your neck. You reach around to touch tentatively at the wound, your fingers returning to you slick and shining with it. You rub it between your fingers before peering up at your father.
With everything inside you, you wish you were like your mother.
“I am not,” you say simply and he rounds on you again.
“Then prove it to me that–”
“I will kill you one day.” You tell him and there isn’t a threat in your voice.
He freezes, hovering above you.
You smile at him, slow, all teeth.
“What did you say?” He asks and maybe he’s trying to intimidate you, but you can hear the note of fear in the question, the tremble that he can’t contain.
So you say again, slowly, so he can understand you perfectly, “I will kill you one day.”
“How dare you threaten me–”
He raises his hand like he will strike you.
“It isn’t a threat, father.” You tell him, “it’s just the future.”
The slap stings but it only makes you laugh. Barking. Hysterical. Your mother has gone quiet.
All the world has gone quiet, you think, with what you’ve said.
You pick yourself up from the ground and rise, a little unsteady, as more blood rushes from the wound in your head. But your father doesn’t move, doesn’t budge, frozen in shock, maybe fear, as you return to the door and open it slowly.
You will gut him one day, crawl out of his belly victorious.
Your mother falls into your arms in a heap. You hold her, let her hold you, let her fold you into her arms and cradle the wound at the back of your head like you’re a child again. You look at your father over her shoulder and the look on his face is nothing short of horror.
You must have proved to him that you are nothing like your mother, after all.
***
Masterlist | <- Prologue: Godlings | Chapter Two: Anything, Everything ->
#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#gojo satoru x you#gojo x you#satoru gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo x y/n#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#cielo writes#cielo’s writing#godmaker
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Meus ex Machina, Chapter 13: Taking Turns
Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.
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Late at night, long after the others have gone to bed, Logan returns to the basement to see Remus. But first, Janus teaches teenaged Virgil how to play chess.
“Are you sure this is a real game, Jan?” Virge had protested with a laugh, smirking down at the pieces Janus laid out. “The horse can’t even move in a straight line!”
Janus merely shrugged and advanced a pawn. “Quite. And that ‘horse’ is called a knight.” He hid his smile better than Virge hid his eye roll. “My grandmother first taught me how to play when I was half your age. This had been her set.” With Luc and the twins out on a training excursion in the drowned coast, the house had been quiet. After helping Patton bake for as long as his attention span would allow, Virge had meandered into the common room and pulled down the old set.
Despite his protests, he’d taken to the game faster than Janus had. And certainly faster than Janus had expected him to.
Chin pillowed on the backs of his hands, Virge now sat slouched in front of the chess board, scowling lightly. Janus’ black knight made no sound as it captured Virgil’s queen. He hummed and sat back, waiting as Virge assessed the changed board. The boy had been over-reliant on the overpowered piece and neglected his knights, thinking them useless.
Now, purple-ringed eyes peered closely at each piece.
Janus couldn’t help his little nod when Virge sat up straight, staring at the rook he’d left vulnerable. He was even more pleased when Virge didn’t take the bait and instead moved a bishop to C6 to take advantage of the opening.
“Very nice,” he murmured, pointedly ignoring the proud blush on the teenager’s cheeks. Well, technically still a teenager. Back in his parent’s time, Virge would now be old enough to vote. “With practice, soon you’ll be beating me.” He stepped another pawn forward and folded his hands. “I think you’ve got an even chance of beating Papa Bear if you try.”
“Are my ears burning? Or are you just singing my praises?” Patton laughed, plopping down onto the couch next to Virge. A plume of cinnamon and vanilla-scented flour accompanied his laughter.
“Jan was just suggesting I challenge you to a game of chess.” He brandished a captured bishop and grinned.
Smile twisting into a wince, Patton rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, I don’t know, Kiddo. I’m not much for chess…” His voice trailed away when Virge put on big puppy dog eyes.
“Please, Pops?”
“Yes, please, Pops?” Janus added, chuckling when Patton rolled his eyes.
“Oh, alright,” he caved, eyeing the board. “Lemme take the bread out of the oven and I’ll watch you finish this game to warm up, okay?” He squeezed Virge’s shoulder, smiling down with that same indulgent grin he still gave Luc sometimes.
“Deal!” Virge vibrated in his seat, the prospect of actually winning a match giving him fresh energy.
Janus didn’t leave him to bask for long, though. “First you’ll need to get out of check.”
“Wha—?” Eyes wide, he scanned the board, sighing when he finally noticed the rook in striking distance of his king. “How the f—”
Luc’s distress signal censored him, the flashing orange lights giving their movements a stuttered effect as he and Virge leapt to their feet. Virge’s captured bishop rolled under the table.
Worry pinched Patton’s face as he rushed back from the kitchen, tearing off his oven mitts. Their shared fear reflected back at them, Patton's voice nothing but a whisper. "Lukie?"
~
After his first visit was cut short by Hesper’s alarm, Logan returned to The Muse’s room each of the following three nights. Though V never mentioned how he’d found him in the basement that night, the lack of censure didn’t feel like approval.
So he would wait until long after the sun had set, until HQ grew quiet and his own eyes would grow heavy and he didn’t need to feign his yawns before retreating to his room with quiet ‘good night’s.
With his door cracked open and ears tuned to the creaks and shuffles of the halls, he sat in the window seat, tablet balanced on his lap as he tapped between the camera arrays in a slow loop. First the hallways to the other Mad Lads’ rooms, then the common room, the med bay, and finally, the cameras just outside The Muse’s room.
Fighting his own drooping eyelids, he’d wait for the hallways to dim and then he’d count down another thirty minutes before wrangling his chair and heading downstairs.
And for each of those three nights, by the time he’d reached it, The Muse’s room had been dark and still. No moving shadows visible through the tiny window, no sounds beyond a faint snore from the little vent Logan had discovered on the second night.
He stayed for as long as he dared, the memory of V’s tight expression in the elevator growing clearer even as drowsiness fuzzed the rest of his thoughts.
The Muse’s breathing quieted, shifting into a peaceful, regular rhythm. Logan listened, head resting against the cushioned side of his chair. The Muse’s room wasn’t completely dark and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he made out the shape of a small table, books stacked on top. Real, bound, paper books.
Rolls and rolls of drawings were scattered around the room, some piled beneath the table. A cup sat overturned on the counter, next to a half-filled pitcher of pink-colored liquid.
Logan suddenly jerked in his seat, and he grunted, the sudden movement sending fire over his shoulder. He rubbed the sore muscle and blinked, belatedly realizing he must have dozed off. The Muse’s room was still dim, his sleep sounds louder now to Logan’s barely awake ears.
He reached out and traced his fingers over the window, the plexisteel cool to the touch. “I’ll try again tomorrow night, Muse,” he promised, then rolled back to the elevator and to his room for his own much-needed sleep.
~
Four nights. Four whole nights. It had been four whole nights since he’d last seen Machina. Seven nights—an entire fucking week!—since that first glorious visit when he’d peeked outside and stared back at eyes the color of the sky in books.
He’d begun to fear Machina wouldn’t ever return. After that first visit was cut short, The Muse had feared Machina had been scared off Or blocked. But Jannie wouldn’t do that, would he? He wouldn’t actually keep Machina imprisoned upstairs. Virge wouldn’t, either.
Virge could. The Muse grinned and traced another shape onto the papered floor. Back when he and Virge had started testing the cameras and the locks, back before… The charcoal snapped in his hand, ash exploding against the paper. He smeared his fingers through the dusty shrapnel and nodded. Before that, he and Virge had practiced locking each other out from different rooms, testing the boundaries of how quickly they could switch on and off the permissions.
Ro had hated when he’d locked him out of their room, pounding on the door until his fists grew sore. And until Lucas came and made them reset the locks.
“Ha,” he muttered. “Guess that wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had, huh, Ro Bro? Didn’t know I’d be the one locked out of the controls.”
Still no Machina.
He went to bed each night curled on his side, one eye peeking out from the covers to watch the door. He stared at the elevator panel light spilled over the hallway’s floor, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting and wishing for that wobble that might mean Machina was on his way downstairs. He could picture the lights brighten and dance, the little flicker as the floor numbers changed with the elevator’s movements. He could almost feel the rumble of the elevator touching down, that little click-buzz that even Jannie said he couldn’t feel.
He could almost see those bright blue eyes beaming back at him, light not just reflecting, but shining out of them, undimmed by fear or revulsion. Or guilt. A soft glow no-one else had anymore when they came to see him.
Each night, he fell asleep seeing those eyes. Pretending he could see them, at least. That was nearly as good.
But three nights ago, he’d woken—been woken?—by something. It wasn’t the elevator and there was no movement outside the door. But something had pulled him from his sleep, pulled him from his nest and he’d crawled to the window and peeked out.
Machina!
Face pressed to the window, The Muse watched the slow rise and fall of Machina’s chest as he slept in his chair. His head was tilted at an bad angle—fuck that was gonna hurt when he woke up—but his face was smooth and peaceful in sleep. Machina’s stitches had healed nicely, four thin red lines along either side of his face. The Muse brushed his fingers down his own face, his own scars flat and smooth as Machina’s looked. He nodded. Jannie was now nearly as good at sewing up his damage as Papa Bear was.
The wounds from his thumbs hadn’t gone as deep and Machina hadn’t even needed stitches for his, the shorter, shallow cuts highlighting the curve of his neck and underside of his jaw. He could’ve even gotten those shaving.
Machina sighed in his sleep, turning his head the other way. Good. He’d stretch the muscles in the other direction now and hopefully wake up with less of a crick in his neck.
Shivering, The Muse raced back to his bed and pulled two of the blankets out from their heap and brought them back to the door. Machina had already dressed for sleep, a heavy hoodie—was that one of Virge’s?—layered over a thermal just like his. The left sleeve was folded and pinned up, just like his thick knit sleep pants. No more cold feet, cold cold cold cold feet, no more cold feet… danced through The Muse’s head, but he knew the truth. He’d heard it when the shield fell.
Machina’s feet were always cold. Cold and aching and screaming for a soft warmth he didn’t know how to give them.
The Muse bunched up his larger blanket on the floor and hunkered down under the other, drawing it up over his head. Machina should be wearing his hood up to trap his body heat better, but maybe it was comfy like it was, gathered up just under his jaw like a tiny pillow.
The Muse copied him, tucking a bit of his blanket between his shoulder and his head and he leaned against the door. If he tilted his head just right he could still watch the little flutter of Machina’s bangs as he breathed.
It was the last thing he saw before sleep finally took him again.
~
A few nights later, Logan spotted the shadow hopping across the floor as soon as he emerged from the elevator. He rolled out into the hall and smiled back at the face pressed against the window.
“You’re back, you’re back, you’re back! You really came back!” The Muse cried. His voice cracked, hoarse and thick. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes, his chapped lips stretched painfully over a wide grin.
“Yes,” Logan nodded, steering his chair as close as he could manage to both the window and the vent. “Can you hear me this time?” he asked, watching The Muse’s face as it twisted between a sob and laughter. Without thinking, he reached toward him, hand stopped by the unforgiving window.
“I can hear you,” The Muse nodded. “Well…” He wobbled his head, light glinting against the wetness in his eyes. “Not hear you, but…” As though distracted by his mangled hand, The Muse stared down at it, eyebrows and lips scrunched down, scowling.
Logan was about to pull his hand away, to keep it out of sight in his lap. Then he heard The Muse’s quiet whisper.
“Always, always between. Always between,” he muttered and traced the shape of Logan’s hand before pressing his own, fingers splayed, against it.
The plastic warmed between their palms.
“Do you…” He looked up and met Logan’s eyes. The Muse’s eyes were a clear, bright green, a greener green than his brother’s, undarkened by sunlight the way young children’s eyes looked before they dimmed with age.
He shuddered at the implication.
“Do you still want to come inside?” The Muse asked, voice warbly. Watery eyes stared back at him and The Muse swallowed, visibly bracing himself for a rejection.
Smiling, Logan stretched and pressed his palm against the controls. The door slid open with a woosh, exhaling the scent of sweat and charcoal, paper and tea. The Muse scrambled back, leaving space for him to enter. “I need to leave my chair…” his voice trailed off, unsure if he was asking or telling.
“Yeah,” The Muse nodded, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “You… You can stay out there if…”
Logan shook his head. “I'm coming in,” he said and launched himself out of his chair and into The Muse’s room.
#Meus ex Machina#sanders sides fanfiction#ts remus#ts logan#intrulogical#they're face to face!!#sanders sides#superpowers#The Mad Lads series#Out of the Machine#Progression#Silvertongue#Machina#The Muse#The Prince#Papa Bear#Ultraviolet#Hesper
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I have a couple guesses. One is an actual guess and the other one was my first thought which would not leave me
Ok el primero sería Camazotz, el cual es una criatura tanto de la mitología maya como de la mesoamericana de acuerdo con Google, y tiene lazos con el Inframundo. Es una de las criaturas más letales de acuerdo con las dos, señor de los murciélagos y que acabó con uno de los héroes gemelos Hunahpú e Ixbalanqué (I mean he was revived but the point still stands)
And the other one is a xoloitzcuintle lmao. Idk why the idea plagued me like that but its so funny to believe he would just be. D o g
Gracias por participar y por no dejarme mal, jaja! Planeaba responder en español, pero como voy a explicar en qué animal me basé, lo escribiré en inglés para que los demás entiendan.
Please bear with me, I have a lot of thoughts about this topic! I'll write them in English as well. Or skip to the end to know what I'm planning for his "monster form".
The first guess is super thoughtful, you even had me second-guessing myself about my actual choice! But when I started searching for inspiration for Joren (even way before giving him a personality), I focused on animals, not creatures, so I stayed away from Gods and mythical beasts (at first).
I thought about snakes, then I went for bats, I considered the quetzal... And I chose the jaguar (adivinaste, segundo anon!!).
The jaguar is all over Latin America, but it's also a very iconic animal here in Mexico. It's the largest cat species in the Americas, and it was very important in a lot of prehispanic cultures, like the Mayan and Aztec civilizations.
While it has some ties with the Sun, the jaguar is also heavily associated with the underworld and the dead in Mayan culture. The spots on their fur also were believed to represent the starry sky, and it was a symbol of political and military power.
In the Aztec culture, it was a symbol of their most powerful warriors, who they called Jaguar warriors.
It was also the totem animal for Tezcatlipoca, a deity associated with the night sky, temptation, discord, and sorcery (and a lot more). This god also was the rival of Quetzalcoatl, the god of life, light, and the lord of the day.
Here's Tezcatlipoca depicted in jaguar form:
In the myth of the "Five Suns", it's said that there were four cycles of creation (we're living in the fifth cycle), and in each, the human race was created from different materials. These ages (Suns) always ended in the destruction of the world, since Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl are always fighting with each other for control over the creation.
They are even brothers! Sounds familiar, right?
Another reason why I decided to stick with the jaguar was because of the Dzulúm (to desire death). This is a legend from Chiapas, and it's said that there's a beast that no one has seen, but it's believed to have the form of a grey jaguar. His victims are usually women, who find this creature irresistible and follow it back to the jungle.
Joren is, technically, a werecat (werejaguar???). But I'm not going for the classic look, I'm deciding between the Dzulúm or the black jaguar appearance (for the main inspiration).
And, of course, he doesn't change into a literal animal. I want it to be more monstrous! Like this image taken from a Hellboy comic (B.P.R.D. HELL ON EARTH: THE LONG DEATH):
Also, Joren as a xoloitzcuintle is way too funny! That would have been iconic on my part, but I've always seen xolos as sweet animals, and I wanted something scary... Though all dogs have the potential to be scary, once I got chased by a chihuahua, I'm not even kidding.
Y porque no me resistí, aquí un meme:
Some context for everyone else: Xoloitzcuintles are a breed of hairless dogs that, according to indigenous cultures, act as guides for the souls in their journeys to the underworld. People also ate them in the past, but now they're very expensive pets.
#ask away en español#ask away!#from lon to you#the stranger lore#if i werent stuying to be a nurse#i would have studied to be a historian
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my favorite things/moments from red white and royal blue
so basically like the whole book but bear with me
“they’re saying you got your asshole bleached” “that one is true” “i thought so”
the fact that june and nora are so clearly fucking but we have the most unreliable, oblivious, self-centered narrator ever (affectionate) so its never actually put into the books
“a strawberry-blond, whip-smart democrat with high heels, an unapologetic drawl, and a little biracial family”
june’s plane reading material like what is she on
nora calling alex out for crushing on henry right off the bat. literally on page 10. sis knows whats up lmao
“maybe it is technically a rivalry. whatever.” enemies to lovers is winning
the ENTIRE viscount convo at the wedding please😭😭
“its cute how you think everything is about you” “it should be honestly” “thats the spirit”
the double meaning when alex is thinking about how his fingernails were too stubby to pick out the staples in the pic of henry because his hands weren’t “like a girl’s”
“he’s too perfect. alex wants to poke it.”
“sorry i’m not obsessed with you like everyone else. that must be confusing for you” “you know what? i think you are” iconic
ellen reading the word “cake-tastrophy” with audible distain
alex seeing the paper that says “agreement of terms” and being like “um”
“so you can hate the heir to the throne all you want, write mean poems about him in your diary, but the minute you see a camera, you act like the sun shines out of his dick, and you make it convincing” (ive had this memorized since the first time i read it lmaoo its ingrained in my brain forever)
“have you met henry? how am i supposed to do that? he has the personality of a cabbage”
what the fuck is competitive yachting
“does he get one of these for me?” “yep. and for the record, making it was one of the most depressing moments of my career”
“okay. ill do it. but i wont have any fun” “ god i hope not”
alex thinking his type of love story is more shakespearean and then june saying his and henrys situation is shakespearean
“who does that? who names a dog david? he sounds like a tax attorney. like a dog tax attorney. drink.”
the image of baby alex trying to force an orca wrangler into early retirement because of “inhumane whale practices”
alex’s internal dialogue about shaan (and luna for that matter. god hes so bisexual)
i know henry planned that riding practice so he could come around the corner all bathed in the sunset on a white horse in perfect riding clothes
“haven’t decided yet, but astonishingly, it will not be based on you. remember how we sometimes talk about things that are not about you?” “yeah, weirdly”
“’sorry. er. i was just. cornettos.’ he gestures vaguely toward the refrigerator, as if hes just said something of any meaning”
every time alex refers to henry with any sort of royal title
alex almost missing the question when on a literal talk show bc hes too busy admiring how hot henry is in his sweater and button down (relatable)
alex always describing henry and his eyes with words like fresh and soft and blue
alex being into politics because he genuinely cares about people 🥺 it really is the better timeline
“you know, we have got to stop ending up like this”
“you’re not the prince of me?” “bloody hell”
alex bucking his hips up into henrys 😭 i just know henry almost blacked out lmao
“i cannot believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are” yeah
the way they know each other so well without even knowing each other (henrys above comment^, alex calling him out for not being who he is, the entire closet convo and them both just instinctively getting things once they actually stop and breathe for a second)
“wow, youre wrong” the most alex thing ever
i need to be inside cash’s brain to see what he sees when he opens the closet door and they’re just laying side by side on the floor, blinded by the sudden light
“no booty calls” *literally uses it for booty calls*
bitch mcconnell
the way alex describes every attractive man he encounters in vivid detail, practically drooling over all these men, and thinks hes straight
luna immediately trying to get alex to admit hes gay for henry lmao
“you wound me” “you exhaust me” “i enchant you” “ill call security”
all the random emotions alex finds to explain the hot flashes from hot guys doing hot things
“alex you need other friends. friends who arent in congress” “i have friends! i have june and nora” “yes, your sister and a girl who is also a supercomputer”
“but we were ever so careful, dear”
alex being comfortable around henry not caring what henry thinks and being “as weird and manic as he wants”
“i dont know who you think you’re kidding, you hufflepuff-ass bitch”
shaan has a “motorbike”
“like a dickensian street urchin” pls
henry describing like everything about sailing and alex saying “cool” eight hours later 😭😭
everything about pez
alex canonically watches videos of justin trudeau speaking french and thinks hes straight
“he would really appreciate it if henry would stop proving him wrong”
“you are the thistle in the tender and sensitive arse crack of my life” “thanks!”
“tell shaan i say hi and i miss that sweet sweet ass xoxoxo” “i will not”
the entire part of the Great Turkey Calamity. im not even gonna be specific with this one. the whole part. from the part with alex and ellen talking all the way to the texts aboout henrys dad being a babe. everything in between those. its too good to even make a list. how does she come up with this shit. its so good.
“henry’s got his candy cane jim jams on”
“he just doesnt often get told hes good enough” THE SIGNIFICANCE
junes reaction to finding out alex was talking to henry about family shit and then comparing it to a love story
alex freaking out about henry being on the guest list and nora going “this is interesting” i love her
alex with his lowercase letters and henry with his perfect grammar
them going from texting every couple of days to answering each other within seconds
alex saying henrys voice is “like very expensive velvet, something moneyed and lush and fluid all at once”
alex throwing his head back and laughing and henry grinning at him is just so them
the hips convo and “watch me” *gulps down champagne* “i am”
the whole get low scene oh my god the imagery is so good
“you absolutely must know i did not” and alex and nora being horrified henry hasnt experienced this specific experience
forever obsessed with nora and alex being ridiculously smart little nerds but both still being absolutely chaotic young adults who grind up on each other and kiss for fun and start rumors that theyre fucking. the character depth is delicious
“are they too drunk to communicate in english?”
“one, henrys lips are soft”
their first kiss is the equivalent of literal butterflies and cartoon hearts fluttering around and their second kiss is like the height of passion. we love it
“but he thinks about henry, and, oh” asjhkdfbdkbfkjsdfb
alex and nora are the exact people who would have a marriage of convenience planned out
the entire nora/alex bisexual talk lmaooo
“still waters, deep dicking”
“you’ve been, like, draco malfoy obsessed with henry for years-do not interrupt me-”
nora knowing henry is gay but in that way that gays just know and alex being like what???? because somehow this never clicked for him
nora and alex both being bi but reacting to it in exact opposite ways
“the class is ethical issues in international relations. he really has got to stop taking classes so painfully relevant to his life”
alex seeing henry on a date in the magazine and spending a very short time being angry before his common sense and trust for henry and noras words all work together and then his realization and then him immediately being sad for them instead. and then him being like lmao im not straight
imagine youre liam and youre on a date with your bf and the guy you did gay stuff with in high school who is now the fsotus calls you out of the blue and asks about said gay stuff because hes having a sexuality crisis and then he apologizes 😭😭😭 liam is so funny too
“its alex. yeah, him”
alex seeing henry in his suit and his immediate thought is how much he wants to rip it off
“oh,” henry says, like an idiot.
“looking like the goddamn james bond offspring that he is”
“shut up, shut all the way up, oh my god”
i mean, the red room. dinner, hamilton, hot and heavy, god save the queen, yk
all of the inner dialogue from this entire scene lmao so aggressive
“he wants to follow the sound down his throat”
“hes unsure of the dress code for inviting your sworn-enemy-turned-fake-best-friend to your room to have sex with you, especially when that room is in the white house, and especially when that person is a guy, and especially when that guy is a prince of england” this sentence should just be the entire blurb honestly. hidden gem.
“hes done research. he has diagrams. he can do this.”
“his stomach does some embarrassing acrobatics he plans to never tell anyone about ever”
“henry is tall and gorgeous, half royalty, half movie star, red wine lingering on his lips”
im sorry but if someone took my elbow and kissed me while smiling and simultaneously shut and locked my bedroom door i would simply pass out
“he can practically feel the wind in his hair. its ridiculous.”
“so, like, fuck the moors”
alex “we’re still whatever we were before just, you know, with blowjobs” claremont-diaz being all “you went out with a girl” right off the bat lmao
“alex’s frenetic energy and henrys aching sureness”
the descriptions
alex being obsessed with the little curve of henrys waist and his hand being there and that being his proper “god i love men” moment
“devastating”
when alex says wait and henry immediately stops and alex like reassures him oh my god
“hi” “hello” “im gonna take your pants off now” “yes, good, carry on”
im laughing so hard at henry being in love with him for so long and he finally kisses him and alex hurtles through a sexuality crisis and then is like “alright lets go fuck”
“fucking eyelashes”
“alex is living for it, watching henry come undone, letting him be whatever he needs to be while alone with alex behind a locked door”
the part about the fruit basket like 1) lmao fruit and 2) i love that hes not weird about henry having experience like yes
imagining henry copying alex saying “freaking out” aghh
“for fuck’s sake man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good night”
alex is so in love lmao
henry laughing <3
“it should not provoke anything visceral, carnal, or bodice-ripping in nature in him at all”
“you look...sweaty” “im gonna go uh. say hi to henry”
“enjoy your summit with the english delegation”
“fifteen days removed from henry swearing at the ceiling of alex’s bedroom and unsure of how to proceed”
“what in the rich-white-people-sex-dungeon-hell?”
“he whips a thick leather strap off a hook on the wall and alex almost blacks out”
alex’s verbal reaction to the polo attire and henry trying to keep up
“henry is swearing up a storm, which is still disarmingly sexy”
“that shithole? not if i can help it” “oi! thats disrespect of the crown, that is. insubordination. ive thrown men in the dungeons for less” “hey, dont threaten me with a good time” ok london boy
the way henrys name in all the emails is different words that fit hrh
actually all the different names they use in all the emails overall
“and its all so fucking french”
“alex has to admit: henry really has a solid handle on his personal brand”
“but perfect stoic prince charming laughs when he comes, and texts alex at weird hours of the night: youre a mad, spiteful, unmitigated demon, and im gonna kiss you until you forget how to talk. and alex is kind of obsessed with it.”
“and alex is drunk and fucking transported, feeling every moment of twenty-two years and not a single day older, some kind of hedonistic youth of history. birthday head from another country’s prince will do that”
���and alex’s heart goes so fucking weird that he has to put his head in his hands for a full minute. (but, like, its fine. its not a whole thing)”
“for the record, i agree with you, but also, tell me more”
never seen a book bring up such a natural build up to a love of gay history and how important it is
“hes starting to understand what swelled in his chest when he reads about stonewall, why he ached over..” YES. THATS IT. THATS THE FEELING!!!!!!!
“i will chop my own tit off”
“i will staple your dick to the inside of your leg if it keeps it in your pants”
alex knowing when henry is in his moods and wanting to help
“baby”
the phone call where henry spills about his family and then alex spills about his past and then about both of their previous dating experience and mental health and gahhh
“two parentheses enclosing 3700 miles”
“i miss you” “i miss you too”
the way it ropes in how alex missing dinner with june brought up past shit for her
june finally snapping and them talking about henry
“you have so much in you, its almost impossible to match it. but hes your match, dumbass” ahhHHHHHHHHHH
“hes like some kind of billionaire, genius, manic-pixie-dream philanthropist.” yep thats pez
the facetime when pez and henry are in the car and alex feeling better because henry looks well rested and the goofy banter
llwynywermod does NOT sound like it should. idk what it should sound like but not like it does.
henry using his royal accounts money for specifically charity yes
“hes always wanted to be a person with a legacy in this world. henry is undoubtably, determinedly that. its a little intoxicating.”
“yall do school weird”
june and nora drooling over pez LMAO “i want to put my fingers in his mouth”
cash wearing a feather boa yes
dont stop me now. all of it.
bea and alex and knowing how rare it is
god i can feel the joy
“bisexuality is truly a rich and complex tapestry” *june shoves napkin in his mouth*
“o captain my captain” “have you got talking points”
alex is literally drunk but he sees henry get nervous and immediately switches into Concerned Boyfriend Mode
travel size lube
f i n g e r s
so much love
i know henry saw his love mirrored right back at him in alex’s eyes and knew he had to make a joke
“theres something so incredibly intimate about sitting on the bed they wrecked the night before, the only one who watches him create Prince Henry of Wales for the day.”
“hes got a suspicion all these feelings are why he held off on fucking henry for so long”
“so this is the gang now, huh?”
“how is a man to get anything done knowing alex claremont-diaz is out there on the loose? i am driven to distraction.”
“o fathers of my bloodline. o ye kings of olde. take this crown from me, bury me in my ancestral soil. if only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when american boys with chin dimples are mean to him” please
i love alex going back to henrys emails when he is upset
“utah ugly, christian ugly, ugliness couched in dog whistles and toothy white smiles”
“not every white supremacist is a meth head in bumfuck mississippi- there are plenty of them at duke or upenn on daddys money” BLESS
“as if alex, first son of the united states, is unfamiliar with how campaigns work”
the text thread with henry alex june and nora lmao so chaotic
“1. tf is this? arent there poor people in your country? 2. ive already been in the royal box” “you are a delinquent and a plague. please come?”
“don’t worry, i dont think they can detect the thick air of horn-town betwixt you two from the lawn”
“all mischievous smiles and swooping cheekbones”
henry touching two fingers to the back of alex’s elbow mm
philip and henry are the equivalent of a strict parent and rebellious child. “oh you hate alex being in the box? we’re gonna go fuck in a supply closet then. fuck you”
the way henry got right up in his space but didnt kiss him im-
“just so we’re clear, im about to have sex with you in this storage closet to spite your family. like, thats whats happening?” “right” “awesome, fuckin love doing things out of spite”
“and it should be- it should be funny. it should be hot, stupid, ridiculous, obscene, another wild sexual adventure to add to the list. and it is but...it shouldn’t also feel like last time, like alex might die if it ever stops”
“you’re brave. i could use some of that”
woman at her toilet
obsessed with alex and henry both having so much knowledge to share with each other
“and alex’s heart doesn’t spread itself out in his chest, and he doesn’t have to grip the edge of the settee to steady himself. because thats what he would do if he were here in this palace to fall in love with henry”
“i see you more than i see clean underwear”
“if shes not giving it to you, im not giving it to you. shes much nicer than me”
“there’s this way henry has of listening to the erratic stream of consciousness that pours out of alex’s mouth and answering with the clearest, crystallized truth that alex has been trying to arrive at all along”
“oh fuck me” “blurgh” “fucking shit. goddammit ass fucker” “what” “jesus tits”
the mental image of this entire scene but especially “henry flies out of bed too. he truly is a picture, wearing an expression of bewildered panic and absolutely nothing else”
“get in there” “quite” “yes we can unpack the ironic symbolism later”
“zahra is standing there with her thermos and a look on her face that says she did not get a masters degree to babysit a fully grown adult”
“it is, alex thinks half hysterically, a very solid visual pun”
“do i even wants you to explain what the fuck is happening here? literally how is he even here, like, physically or geographically, and why- no nope.”
“oh my god i thought you were getting into international relations or something” “i mean technically-” “if you finish that sentence, im gonna spend tonight in jail”
“youre literally putting your dick in the leader of a foreign state, who is a man, at the biggest political event before the election, in a hotel full of reporters, in a city full of cameras, in a race close enough to fucking hinge on some bullshit like this, like a manifestation of my fucking stress dreams, and youre asking me not to tell the president about it?” “um. yeah?”
“would it make any difference if i told you not to see him again” “no”
“ask me if im afraid of the crown”
“exploring your sexuality: healthy, but does it have to be with the prince of england?”
“history huh? bet we could make some”
“the phrase ‘see attached bibliography’ is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me”
“should i tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? that when i sleep, i see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when i wake up in the morning, it feels like ive just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? that i can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? that, for a few moments, i can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all?
“ill let you look at one boob. the good one” “theyre both good”
“theres a combination of girl sounds from the back seat”
“hi love’ he hears henry say quietly, privately, right into the hair above his ear, and alex’s breath forgets how to do anything but laugh helplessly”
imagining henry grinning in the passenger seat and bopping his head to the music aghhgndksk
“lbj was obsessed with his own dick. he called it jumbo and would whip it out all the time. like in front of colleagues, reporters, anybody” “american politics. truly fascinating” “you wanna talk, henry the VIII?”
“a little appreciation for the patron saint of gender-neutral bathrooms in california? little shit”
“and alex is. well, alex is so in love he could die”
“-maybe even with the apron still on-”
“i didnt realize this was a jazz brunch”
the skinny dipping is so cute before it goes wrong
“hes spent too much of his life talking, talking, talking to not know the signs when someone doesnt want to hear him anymore”
“henry you motherfucker! henry, you piece of shit, get your ass down here”
“alex’s heart is going to fall out of his ass. henry looks unimpressed”
“really nice. fucking ghost me for a week, make me stand in the rain like a brown john cusack, and now you wont even talk to me. im really just having a great fucking time here. i can see why all yall had to marry your fucking cousins”
“seriously’ he says, helpless and indignant”
obtuse fucking asshole
“i fucking love you, okay?”
“i never imagined you would love me back”
“what do you want? “i want you-” “then fucking have me”
THE LIVES WE WANT-- THEYRE NOT THAT DIFFERENT. NOT IN THE WAYS THAT MATTER. YOU WANT TO TAKE WHAT YOU WERE GIVEN AND LEAVE THE WORLD BETTER THAN YOU FOUND IT. SO DO I. WE CAN FIGURE OUT A WAY TO DO THAT TOGETHER”
“tell me youre done with me. ill get back on the plane. thats it. and you can live here in your tower and be miserable forever, write a whole book of sad fucking poems about it. whatever. just say it” “fuck you”
“hes in stupid, unbearable love, and henry loves him too, and at least for one night it matters, even if they both have to pretend to forget in the morning”
“dont miss it this time. hes too important”
the copy of le monde
“thats not good enough for me”
“i honestly have never thought i deserved to choose. but you treat me like i do”
“what about you’ he says, as if he doesnt know-”
“diaz, you insane, hopeless, romantic little shit. it had better be forever. be safe”
prince consort road
i need someone to love my rambling like alex loves henrys rambling
everything about james I because i was obsessed before this book but now i really really am
“oh yeah. the top list of reasons to love you goes brain, then dick, then imminent status as a revolutionary gay icon” “you are quite literally queen victorias worst nightmare”
bringing up david and jonathan yes ma’am
can i please slow dance in this room please its all im asking
“two homes side by side”
“hey, have i told you lately that youre brave” afTER HENRY SAYING HE COULD USE SOME OF HIS BRAVERY AGHHHHH
“it is, indeed, bullshit”
“what is it american politicians say?- thoughts and prayers”
“and im there, using up your shampoo and making you come to the grocery store with me”
“here lies prince henry of wales. he died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock”
“because im not like the rest of the men in this family, beginning with the fact that i am very deeply gay, philip”
the rooms the rooms henry putting the bad memories in the rooms and then the vase THE WATERLOO VASE BECAUSE ITS TOO BIG FOR THE PALACE AND NOWHERE IN THE PALACE COULD HOLD HIS FEELINGS FOR ALEX AHHHHH
“happy and animated and so alive, a person living in dimensions i couldnt access”
“i thought, this is the most incredible thing i have ever seen and i better keep it a safe distance away from me. i thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire”
“and then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. can you believe it?”
“you love so much bigger than yourself”
henry being a beautiful writer and alex being a list maker is everything. play to your strengths i guess
speaking of lists: THE LIST THE LIST THE LIST !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
alex realizing how he brushed him off in attempts to make him feel better and how he accidentally hurt him too and acknowledging that and apologizing. we love a healthy relationship
“im calling you as soon as i send this, but i know you like to have these things written down” yes
“did you get engaged?” “*shrugs* i had the weekend off”
zahra calling alex princess 😭😭
“oh fuck my ass” more great zahra content
alex being strong for henry in the car and calming him down instead of making it about himself when hes freaked and disgusted (and kinda violent) too 🥺
“you’re it okay? im never gonna love anybody else in the world like i love you. so, i promise you, one day we’ll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else”
“you do realize youre talking to a united states senator” “yeah, big fucking man”
the way alex tells raf is so intense and so them
“topography on the map of you, a world im still charting”
“your spine’s a ridge id die climbing”
“give yourself away sometimes sweetheart. theres so much of you”
“ik this is a sad part but “you horny little miscreant”
“what did you do?” what did he do?
“gay defcon five”
alex reacting to the leak decimates me every time its so heartbreaking but its written so well
“do you feel forever about him?” “yeah, i do” “then fuck it”
zahra pulls through frfr with the plan to go to london
“listen up you fuck” so affectionate
“i will personally make your balls into fucking earrings. i will scorched earth your entire motherfucking life”
“she pauses, presumably to listen to him agree because alex cant imagine him doing anything else”
“sweet and posh and shaky and confused”
“sweetheart”
actually just the entire phone call. the whole thing. true love
zahra and alex have such a fantastic dynamic
bea was fr finna hit philip with a guitar
when they see each other after the leak😭 dont talk to me
the description of grief when youre young and how it changes you is so perfect and concise and beautifully worded and it makes me cry
“i love him, with all that, because of all that. on purpose. i love him on purpose”
“six feet of boy curled around kicked in ribs and a recalcitrant heart”
“alex’s ears are ringing”
the way she pointed out that philip said “if youre gay” i never even noticed this but people do this!! all the time!! irl! its so demeaning
“fuck off, philip, i love him” w his chin stuck out <3
“we’ll take the raping and the pillaging and the colonizing, we’ll scrub it up nice and neat in a museum, but oh, no, youre a bloody poof? thats beyond our sense of decorum” get his ass!!!!
“you can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse, philip. im done” GET HIS ASS!!!!!!
*buttons jacket* “for what its worth, that is the bravest son of a bitch ive ever met”
“we banged it out last night”
gotta hand it to catherine, she chose a hell of a time to come back to life
“the princess who ran away with james bond”
“ive been gay as a maypole since the day i came out of mum, philip”
“in the silence that follows, alex has to bite down very hard on his tongue to suppress the urge to laugh hysterically”
alex “we could still do that” claremont-diaz
“i dont care for that tone at all” put him in his place catherine!
page 354= the page i finally started sobbing the first time i read it
seriously how is everyone in the better timeline not sobbing into their hands seeing these rallies
“wouldn’t i mum? wouldn’t you like to find out” ajshdjfbshjbfskbf
“ya know, i think all that cocaine i did must have really done a number in my reflexes” LMAO
never tell me the odds
“dc dykes on bikes chase protestors” yes ma’am
to be continued
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Day 48 July 18 Thunder Bay - Red Rock 105kms
A few days ago when I was in Ignace I called five motels in Nipigon (the next town) and not one of them had a room for tonight. That’s why I’m in Red Rock, an 8km detour off the highway. It’s a pretty cute place though
With a view of the lake
And in a sweet little town with pretty houses.
So this morning I decided to take the cycle route out of Thunder Bay as the short stretch of highway I rode yesterday was banned to bicycles.
It was a nice quiet road but I didn’t get the view I was hoping for. It was all industrial areas, really bad motels and railway lines. I had covered 20kms before I had even a glimpse of the lake.
As you can see on the map
there was an extra detour before joining back onto the highway. I decided to take it because there was a cake place along the road. Big mistake! The cake place was there but it was just a house with a sign on the garage. There was nobody there and definitely no cake. I sat in one of their chairs and ate a Boston Cream donut I’d bought in a six pack yesterday. Eventually I got sick of listening to the dogs barking and moved on.
There had been a long downhill run down to the cake place so I knew I was going to be in for an extra hill. There still wasn’t even a good view of the lake because there were houses down driveways blocking the view from the road.
I wasn’t wrong about the hill going back up the highway but I didn’t count on it being dirt as well. That’s the last time I take a google maps cycle detour!
Just a few km up the highway was a service station where I could finally get a coffee. This place was called Flying J’s Travel Centre. How was I supposed to know it was just your average service station?
I had my coffee sitting out on the edge of the flower bed. As usual someone lit up a cigarette nearby. I’m so sick of this! I made no secret of moving down the ledge and facing the other way. There seems to be a lot of cigarette smokers here.
For the next 30kms it was non stop roadwork
It wasn’t terribly hard cycling but not very scenic.
At 75kms there was a roadside convenience store. A nice young lady serving suggested a breakfast muffin when I realised the ice-cream I’d chosen cost about the same.
The muffin was pretty good for a change and I enjoyed sitting out in the sun for longer than I meant to.
30kms to go including a long hold up for road work. I hadn’t expected a tail wind today because I was heading north so it was a pleasant change when I turned off for Red Rock. Unfortunately it started raining for the final 5kms which kind of ruined the fun.
It took a long time to check in as Don is very old and technically challenged.
I actually wasn’t able to pay because he doesn’t know how the use the little machine you put your card in. I have to wait until later this evening when someone else will be here.
I thought Don must be really old but he’s only 76. I think he bears more than a passing resemblance to Monty Burns from the Simpsons.
He must have lost his sense of smell because instead of smelling like a lovely old, slightly musty motel ( which it is) it smells like curry, just like all the other places. I’m pretty sure its because the cook is Indian.😔
This is downstairs along with a huge games room.
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Flying To Texas
Act 1, Scene 3
𝖲𝗈𝗇𝗀: 𝖢𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗒 𝖬𝗒 𝖢𝗁𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖱𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾
𝖰𝗎𝗈𝗍𝖾: "𝖨'𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖤𝖽𝖽𝗂𝖾."
𝖳𝖶: 𝖠𝖻𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝖵𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖨𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝖡𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝖲𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌
Masterlist//Dusk Till Dawn Masterlist//Agape Masterlist
It’s been a while since the Earthquake happened, but a various of important calls still happened, making the 118 very busy – per usual.
And Eddie has been struggling.
It’s hard to be a single parent looking after a kid and being a firefighter. He loves Christopher and he loves his job, but it’s so hard to do those two things at once. But Eddie being Eddie he wouldn’t ask for help. It’s not like he didn’t want it or need it, he just hasn’t found anyone he could trust enough to leave Christopher alone with them.
Buck and Kasey were rising up the scale of trust, but they would be too busy working with him, meaning they wouldn’t be suitable babysitters.
Eddie needed the help, but he just didn’t know where to go for it.
“When can we see Kasey again?” Christopher asked his dad as they walked to school.
“Well, I’ll be seeing her at work later.” Eddie smirks a little, knowing that wasn’t what Christopher meant.
“Dad!” He whined, dragging out the name. “When can I see Kasey again?”
“Soon, buddy, soon.” He messes his hair up slightly.
“As in now?”
“What?” Eddie looked down at him, in confusion, only to see Christopher attention on something else as he smiled brightly at it.
“Kasey!” Christopher yelled, pointing her out to her dad. And indeed it was Kasey, even if they could only see her back, Eddie knew it was her. She was in the park, throwing a ball whilst a German Shepherd runs back and forth, catching the ball and bringing it back to the brunette. She was wearing her LAFD t-shirt along with black trousers and boots. Her hair was in a side plait and blue headphones were over her ears.
“Buddy, she’s got headphones on she won’t-”
“Kasey!” Christopher yelled louder, and Eddie didn’t know how Kasey heard but she did, she turned around in confusion, pushing her headphones down (so they wrapped round her neck), trying to figure out who called her name. Christopher started to walk into the park, Eddie closely behind, the boy waved and called her once more, smiling widely when Kasey sees them.
“Aren’t you meant to be in school, little man?” She asked him, crouching down slightly, and rubbing her dog’s side as he sat and panted next to her.
“We’re heading there now, but he still got time.” Eddie answered with a soft smile, that Kasey returns, squinting slightly as she looked up at him due to the sun behind him.
“Who’s that?” Christopher asked, pointing to the dog who was now smelling his hand.
“This is my best friend in the entire world.”
“Don’t let Buck hear that.” Teased Eddie.
“Oh, he knows, he always has a stare down with this guy, and tells him that he’s my best friend, which isn’t true.” She looked at her dog, who started to lick at Christopher’s hand as he giggled slightly at the texture of it. “You can pet him if you like, he’s the nicest and well-trained dog in this world. He’s name’s Bear. He’s technically an ex-police dog, but he only did he’s training and went out on the field once before getting hurt really badly, leading to this cool scar on his eye.” Kasey traced the scar with her finger.
Eddie squatted down to pet the German Shepherd with his son. “How do you have time for a dog?” He questioned, cooing at Bear who was loving the extra attention.
“I sometimes bring him down to the station or I go home at my breaks to look after him. I’m surprised you didn’t see him the other day, he was at the firehouse, but he does have certain spots that he likes to hide and sleep in.”
“Well, I’m just going to have to look better to find him then.” He looks up to Kasey. “Is he going to the station today?”
Kasey shook her head.
“No need for him to come, sadly, I don’t have a long shift today, unless Bobby changes it, then yeah I’ll drag him to the firehouse.” Kasey pulls her phone out of her pocket, with the home-screen of her, Buck and Bear on it. She clicks to turn it on once before turning it back off again, sliding it back into her pocket. “Come on, school time, gotta get that brain smarter.” Kasey pulled Eddie up by the hands, who proceeds to pull Christopher up.
“She’s right, Christopher.”
“But Bear.” He frowned, and Eddie nearly allowed him to just stay there with the dog.
“I tell you what, you can come over to mine the next time me and your dad have a short shift together, yeah? And you and Eddie can have dinner at mine too. How does that sound?”
“Good.” He nodded looking at Kasey with a wide smile. “Can we dad?” He begged, looking up at his dad.
“Course we can.”
Christopher and Kasey high-fived, grinning like fools, which Eddie chuckled at.
“I’ll come with you guys.”
There hasn’t been many emergency today’s, strangely enough. The whole crew, except Bobby, was sitting upstairs doing their own things, waiting for the bell to ring.
Kasey as usual was eating, and the choice of foot today was the cookies that Bobby had just recently made.
“Kasey!” A familiar voice yelled. But Kasey thought nothing of it cause that person couldn’t be here. “Kas!” It yelled again. “Hi, sorry, this is the 118, right?” The male voice asked somebody from downstairs.
“A man yelling for Kasey?” smirked Chimney.
Kasey stood up, her friends eyes following her as she leaned over the metal bar to look at the man who was calling for her.
And there he was, in all of his glory, talking to her captain.
“Yes, this is the 118. Did Kasey do something?” Bobby questioned, hands on his waist eyebrow raised as he looked at the man.
“When hasn’t she done something.” The man answered, rolling his eyes whilst smiling, happy that he got the right place.
“Are you an ex of hers?”
“Ew.” He said in disgust. “I’m her bro-”
“TK!” She yelled down, beaming at the sight of her older twin brother.
“Kasey!”
When Buck heard Kasey say her brother’s name, his ears perked up, as he stumbled off the sofa he was sitting on. But he wasn’t the only one to grab interest at Kasey’s brother being here, as the whole team were now at the metal bars, watching Kasey run down to her brother and jumping into his arms to hug him.
“My god, he’s hot too?” Hen sighed, as she got a brief look at the man. “I don’t want to think how beautiful her parents are.”
“This is my chance!” Whispered Buck. “I can find out every embarrassing story of Kasey.”
“Have you guys never met him before?” Eddie questioned, eyes not leaving the siblings, who were now holding each other’s arms, laughing along with Bobby.
“Nope.” All of them answered back, them too not one of them looking away from the duo.
“You know, now that I know you’re her brother, I can see the resemblance.” Bobby pointed out as the twins stood side by side, TK’s arm wrapped around her shoulder.
“I’m the better looking one, right?” Kasey asked.
“He must be blind if he thinks you’re good looking.” TK teased.
The bell rings, interrupting the conversation.
“TK, you want to come along with us?” Bobby asked him.
“Can I?”
“Firefighter right?”
He nodded. “Kasey, go grab the spare kit from the cupboard, quickly.” And with that Kasey runs to grab the spare kit and hers.
“Buck, Eddie, Hen and Chimney.” Kasey pointed at each one as she said their names whilst TK put a spare LAFD jacket on. “Guys, this is my ugly brother, TK.”
“You do not know how long I have waited to meet you.” Grinned Buck.
“You’re the best friend, right?” TK questioned, looking at Kasey before looking back at the blond.
“She talked about me?” He asked hopeful.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Buckeroo. I told him nothing good.” Y/n joked.
“Whatever.”
“Hen, the badass paramedic-firefighter.” TK smiled at Hen.
“Oh, you say that about Hen.” Buck said. “What she say about me?”
“An annoying-jackass-who-is-always-claiming-that-he’s-her-best-friend-when-he’s-not-he’s a-crazy-guy-who-just-follows-and-talks-to-her-all-the-time-who-steals-firetrucks-and-she-doesn’t-even-know-he’s-name.” TK answered blankly.
“So, what I’m hearing is that Kasey talks about me,” he pointed to himself, “her best friend, a lot.”
“Sure.” He turned his head slightly to look at the captain. “Kasey really looks up at you Bobby.”
“Yeah, I just wish she followed my footsteps and not be so reckless all the time.”
“She’s always been like that.”
“Always?” Chimney asked.
“Yeah, surprised she never got arrested or anything…Chimney…Mr. April, the funny one who likes celery and peanut butter. The other badass firefighter-medic.”
“Kas really talks us up, doesn’t she?” Chimney smirked as he chewed his gum. “Wish we could say the same for her.”
“Hey!”
“And Eddie.” TK smiled brightly as he looked at the man. “The new guy…the hot, funny, adorable one with the cute kid.”
Eddie smiled softly as his neck and cheeks flushed a shade of pink. Kasey pursed her lips at TK’s comments, knowing that he’s quoting what she told him a few days ago. Eddie and Kasey’s eyes meet, but they quickly looked away.
“So, she talks about Eddie? But doesn’t say anything about me?” Buck crossed his arms with a frown.
“So, you said Kasey’s always been a wild card? What’s the craziest thing she’s done yet?” Hen wondered, wanting to know more about the 25-year-old.
But Kasey wasn’t listening, she maybe should have so she could stop her brother from saying anything too crazy about her. If she was listening she would have been able to stop TK from telling her friends about the time she blew up the toaster by making pop tarts. But she wasn’t listening. Instead, her attention was on Eddie. He wasn’t looking at her, but she was sure as hell looking at him. She didn’t know what is was about him, but there was something that pulled her in. His cheeks were still faintly pink, but Kasey didn’t know what from. He laughed at something TK said, and Kasey wished she knew what he was laughing at, but she didn’t.
“Kasey?” Hen called. Eddie eyes went to Kasey, and she looked away, looking at Hen.
“Yeah.” She spoke into the microphone of the headphones they had to wear when they were in the fire truck.
“Yeah?”
“You really blow up a toaster by making pop-tarts?”
“I-uh-I got better at cooking?”
Screams.
That was the first thing Kasey heard, even with her headphones on.
Screams.
It was like that was the only sound that was around.
Screams.
It was like the sirens weren’t even playing.
“My daughter! My daughter is still in there!” A mother yelled.
“Ma’am I need you to tell me what floor.” Bobby instructed her.
“Top floor.”
Bobby was about to respond before stopping at the sound of the ladder moving up
“Kasey!” He called but it was like background noise to her. “Kasey!”
“The building is gonna come down in seconds Cap! We don’t have time to chat.” She yelled down at him as she started to climb the ladder whilst it was still moving.
TK, Buck and Eddie all looked at each.
“You three start to slowing down the fire so we can control it.” But TK ignored him and went to catch up with Kasey.
“Sorry, Bobby, but someone needs to keep an eye on my sister.”
Bobby sighed. “It’s like I’m not even here.”
Kasey climbed through the window of the 8th floor due to the smoke being to big in the window above her. Her gas mask was securely onto her face, allowing her to breath through the thick, grey smoke.
A hand touched her shoulder and she turned around, looking at the form of touch, only to see that it was TK. He might have been glaring at her through his gas mask, but she couldn’t tell.
“Shout at me later. Everyone else will.” She shouted through the gas mask so she could be heard over the heavy breathing and the roaring flames.
“You don’t even know what cause-”
“It’s just a Class A fire.” She told him as she worked her way through the fire, climbing the stairs she could, whilst also calling out that Fire and Rescue were here, so she didn’t miss anyone. “We have to be quick though, fires spreading fast, if anyone was downstairs they be dead by now…it’s impossible for them to be saved.” She closed any windows that she walked past. “I thought you were a firefighter.”
He blinked a few times as he followed closely behind his sister.
“I am…it’s just I-I just never seen someone work with fire as easily as you.” He never seen someone just quickly spring into action, knowing actually what was meant to done before being ordered to…even though he knows she’ll get in trouble for it afterwards. He’s just never seen someone be able to class a fire that quickly without hearing any information or seeing the source. But now he could smell the wood and plastic burning, expressing the factors of a Class A fire. “I guess you truly found your calling!”
“So have you.”
“Yeah…but I remember how lost you used to be.”
“LA changes people.” She flapped down some flames so they could pass by. “Fire and Rescue!”
“In here!” A young voice cried.
The door was already open, and as she looked in she saw a group of people there, coughing from the smoke.
“You all live here?” TK asked them which they shook they heads at.
“The fire was getting higher.” One coughed. Kasey walked towards the open window and looked down, seeing sight of the Air Cushion.
“Slowly, start jumping out the window, one at a time.” Kasey told them.
“The young child can’t, she’s hurt.”
Kasey walked towards the girl whilst TK helped everyone else out through the window.
“I’m Kasey.” She handed her a cloth to cover her mouth with. “I’m just going to check out your leg, okay?”
The child whimpered as she nodded.
“What’s your name?”
“Lily.”
What Kasey saw wasn’t a sight she wanted to see in a situation like this. A lodge of wood was digging into her calf, blood tickling down the wound.
“It hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart… I’m going to have to carry you as I don’t have time to sort it out up here, okay?” The girl nodded, raising her arms to wrap around the youngest Strand’s neck as she got picked up bridal style, this way her calves can rest against her arms as it dangles down. But as she took one step forwards, the floor collapsed under her, causing her foot to get stuck.
“Strands.” Bobby voice called over the radio. “Evacuate now.”
“Coming!” TK told him.
“TK take Lily and use this line and harness,” she handed him the equipment, “to climb down. I’ll pull myself out of here.”
TK did so, not seeing a point in arguing about it as a civilian was in danger.
He tied the harness round himself, holding the girl closely to him as he pulled themselves down and when he reached the ground he was about to be invaded by the 118 about where Kasey was. But before they could, a body fell onto the inflatable.
“Oh thank god.” Eddie sighed as he rushed towards Kasey.
More fire engines were around and was able to control the fire. Everyone who was in the building was encountered for and being treated with what they needed.
Eddie pulled Kasey up who instantly hanged onto him as he helped her get off.
“Is Lily okay?” She groaned, feeling her ankle ache slightly/
“The girl’s okay.” He informed her, guiding her off the Air Cushion and towards an ambulance to check out her ankle, and luckily it was just a bruised.
“There’s this cop.” TK said with a small smile as her looked at his sister who sat opposite him in a café.
“Hot?”
“Very.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.” TK answered. “I slept with him like a day or something after we got to Texas.”
“So, your using him as a rebound.” It wasn’t a question; it was more of an annoyed statement.
Kasey has never liked when others used people, causing feelings to get mixed up but then finding out it was all a lie? That was one of the worst heartbreaks. TK knew this especially as Kasey has been used before in the past, quite a few times to be exact. Either claiming she’ll be a good fuck or just to boost that they got her, or just to get something from her. And Kasey thinks this is why she hasn’t been in love before because she hasn’t been in one single relationship that made her feel like what the poets say about love. There has not be one person who made her feel the way Bobby and Athena feel for one another.
“I-I don’t know anymore. There was this moment at the station between us and-”
“Hang on, hang on, hang on.” Kasey waved her hand slightly to get her brother to stop talking. “Why were you in the station?”
“I punched someone.” He winced.
“You?”
He nodded and Kasey fell into the fits of laughter. “Good joke, TK, now honestly why were you in the station?”
“Why is it so funny that I punched someone?”
“You’re too soft.” Kasey slurped up her coffee, watching TK look at her in offence.
“Well, I punched someone.”
“Sure you did.”
“I did!”
“Uh-Huh.”
“How’s your boyfriend?” TK changed the subject. He watched his sister stretch as she spoke.
“I broke up with him.” She yawned.
“Thank god.” He sighed. “After the things he’s done, I’m surprised that you didn’t break up ages ago.” He paused before continuing. “What did he do that made you finally break up with him?”
FLASHBACK TO DAY AFTER EARTHQUAKE
Kasey opened Jordan’s front door, ready to finally break up with him.
If Kasey was being honest, she was an expect in breaking up with people as she’s the one who does it the most in the relationship, due to her never feeling anything for them. But she stopped dead in her tracks when she heard loud banging and faint moaning. Her eyes drifted towards the shoes and clothes that lead her to his bedroom.
She bit the inside of her cheek before huffing a breath out. This wasn’t the first time she’s been cheated on either. And after today, she’s probably never going to date again after remembering all her bad relationships in the past. And there was a lot.
Kasey has always believed that it’s her fault that men she’s dated treated her this way. Maybe she wasn’t worthy enough to wait for her to start having deep feelings for someone instead of just attraction. Maybe she wasn’t worthy enough to wait until she was ready to move the relationship further. Maybe she just wasn’t worth the wait.
Kasey has always tried in relationships, but she could never have extreme feelings for a guy, and that’s where she thinks its not all her fault. It’s not her fault that she doesn’t have feelings for a guy and when she finally realises that there is no hope, she breaks it off immediately, not wanting the other one to think that the relationship could go any further. Whenever she dated, she always made time for them. She always tried with them. She always cared for them and comforted them if something was wrong. She always respected them. But for most of them, they never treated her the same way. It was always what they wanted and not what Kasey wanted. And for Kasey’s whole life, in relationships or not, it has always been like that. People wanting things from her rather than asking what she wanted.
She just wanted someone who would treat her the way she treats them. Someone who will actually ask what she wants for a change. She just wanted a person who balances her out. Calls her out on her bullshit and reckless behaviour. Someone who will make her safe and love her unconditionally. And then, she might just be able to fall for them. She just wanted that somebody.
Kasey opened the door, and Jordan’s head snapped back to look at her.
“Well hello lovebirds.” She whistled. “You two can stay there if you’d like, I’ll just make this quick.” Kasey leaned against the door frame. The girl in the bed covered herself up, whilst Jordan stumbled towards Kasey with the white blanket round his waist. “This relationship of ours, is nothing.”
“W-what…baby-”
“I’m breaking up with you. And it seems to me.” She eyed the girl in the bed before moving back to Jordan. “You won’t have a problem with me breaking up with you.”
He tied the silky sheet round him.
“Have fun with him, love. He’s pretty rubbish.” She turned to leave. “I won’t be back as I know for a fact that I have nothing of yours and you have nothing of mine.” She called as she walked down the stairs.
“Kasey! Babe!” He pulled her arm causing her to turn and face him.
“What?” She snapped. “You have a lovely lady waiting for you in that creaky bed of yours.”
“I don’t want her. I want you.”
“Your dick says otherwise.” She rolled her tongue against the bottom of her front teeth.
His grip on her arm got tighter as he pulled her flushed against him.
She could tell he was getting angry, as his eyes narrowed with rage as he glared at her, warning her to not test him. He smouldered with resentment at the sight of her, he knuckles turned white the harder his grip round her red wrist got.
“Get off!” She growled. She pulled her arm out of his grip but just as quickly as she got out his fingers wrapped round her neck, slamming her into the glass picture on the wall behind her. She hissed in pain as the glass shattered around her. She was glad her hood was still on her head, given her a slight bit of protection of the broken glass.
“Why are you having a hissy fit? You’re the one who’s cheating on me.” Her voice was quieter as his fingers tightened round her neck. The cold metal of his rings made a shiver run down her spine. “You think this is gonna force me to love you?” She chuckled lowly.
“Shut up.” He brought his face closer to her, voice full of venom but Kasey just threw him a caustic look.
“You pathetic hits don’t scare me Jordan. I’ve gone through way worst than a few slaps on the wrists.” She kicked him in the knee, forcing him to let her go as he doubled over in pain.
She rushed out, climbing into her car, but before she could drive off she saw the girl that was once in his bed storming out. Kasey, deciding to be the better person, drove up to her.
“Want a lift home?” She asked her, voice as smooth as it could be due to her just being strangled. She nodded and climbed into the passenger seat with a small “sorry” and “thank you.”
She spluttered out her excuses, which Kasey dismissed and told her it was easier to deal with knowing the girl was there. Kasey noticed hand marks across her upper body, her eyes were still watery, causing more of her mascara to run down her cheeks. Her dress was wrinkled up and Kasey thinks she saw her shoes on the wrong feet.
“Did he hurt you?” Kasey asked, sparing a glance at the girl who was trying to untangle her knotted hair with her fingers.
“I asked him too…I’m kind of into that shit.” Kasey gave a weak nod as she continued to look at the road, headlights of cars passing by occasionally signed into her eyes. “Just take a left here, please.”
And Kasey did so, dropping her off as she apologised before leaving to go into her house. Kasey drove to the closest shop, making sure the marks round her neck and arm was hidden. She brought a small bottle of foundation and concealer. She wasn’t one to wear make-up, causing her to struggle on what to buy to cover the bruises. But after finding one that matched her slightly tanned skin-tone, she jogged back to her car and covered up the marks on her neck and wrist.
She was driving again. She didn’t exactly know where, but she was just driving. Her mind was blank, and her voice was dry. It was like the his fingers were still wrapped tightly round her throat.
She pulled up into a driveway. A driveway she has only pulled up to once. She didn’t know why she was here, but she was. She climbed out of her Land Rover, locking the door behind her. Her sweaty hands were tucked into her mint green hoodie, and she nervously bit her lip in fear that the other person would notice what she was trying to hide. She started to breath more heavily at the thought of them finding out. Maybe she should just turn back and go…they were probably sleeping.
But instead she unconsciously knocked five rapids knocks…her signature knock.
“Kasey?” The voice questioned, as they looked at the girl who was biting her lip. They still had the same smile they always had and something in Kasey warmed up at the feeling of their positivity.
But this person didn’t know that was her signature knock because if they did, they wouldn’t have said her name as a question.
“I-I didn’t know where else to go. He…he-” She fumbled over her words, but the person in front of her just shook their head softly and brought her into a hug.
“Shhh. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” His hand brushed her hair as he muttered comforting words to her. She didn’t even know she was crying until she felt his shirt soaking up under her.
“Dad?” Another familiar voice called. “Is that Kasey? Is she okay?”
“Go to room and just play a video game for a bit.” The male told his child, who hesitantly went.
Kasey pushed away slightly, realising that other people have lives and families of their own to be busy with. They didn’t have time for someone like her who was incapable to live the way everyone else did – with a family of their own.
“I-Isn’t he meant to be in bed? Isn’t it school tomorrow? Oh, I shouldn’t have came here. I don’t know why I did but I shouldn’t have. You guys were probably getting ready for bed or something and I just interrupted and-” Kasey sputtered out excuses and apologises but the man was having none of it
“Hey, hey, hey, you’re not interrupting anything. It’s a Friday, remember? I’m also letting him stay up a bit longer as yesterday was hectic.”
“I’m being a burden to you Eddie.” She whispered, wiping her tears away with her sleeve.
Eddie. She went to Eddie’s. Not Buck’s. Not her best friend’s house, but the new guy’s house.
“You will never be a burden to me.” He told her softly, pushing a strand of hair out of her red, puffy face, tucking it behind her ear. She sniffled as she nodded slightly, and Eddie knew that she didn’t believe his words. “Would you like a drink?”
“Umm…just a water please.” He nodded.
“Have you eaten?”
“No.” She answered, swinging her hands around slightly. She’s never been inside his house before, only just outside of it when she and Buck dropped him and Christopher off yesterday, after the earthquake. She didn’t even think she remembered the street name or house number. But here she was. Standing inside his warm, comforting house. She moved around slightly, looking at the pictures dotted around the house. All of them were either of him and Christopher, Christopher alone, and pictures of who she guessing was his family. Many art works of Christopher’s were also round the house.
“Chris is quite the artist. I know that he told me yesterday he likes the subject. But I didn’t think he’d be this good.” She said out loud, examining the artworks in awe. Her and Christopher got along like a house on fire. She really enjoyed talking to the kid as they sat in the backseats together, him laughing and talking wildly about the things he leant and how crazy the earthquake was.
And when Eddie and Christopher got home, Christopher was just non-stop talking about how cool, funny and nice she was. Asking him when they’ll be able to see her again and everything. And Eddie was pleased that they got on really well as she was becoming a close friend to him in such a short time.
And seeing her come here when she was upset, warmed his heart slightly at the thought that she trusted him enough to seek comfort. She didn’t go to anyone else in the 118 who she would have known for years. She went to him; someone she’s hasn’t known for a very long time.
“Yeah, I honestly don’t know where he gets it from.”
“You know, having a talent in art has nothing to do with genetics, it’s actually built up in interest. It’s a skill that is learnt. Like playing a music instrument you have to have an interest in it to build up the skill for it. Art is exactly the same.” She rambled along, eyes not leaving the different art works. “Is that a dog?”
Eddie was still looking at the back of Kasey’s head. He was caught by surprise by that random fact, he knew that the young firefighter knew her stuff, but he didn’t know that she knew stuff like that. But then again they haven’t really talked about their childhoods, meaning he didn’t know what her school life was like.
He blinked a few times then shook his head to get out of his thoughts.
“Yeah…yeah he drew it because he saw a cute dog and got inspiration to draw it.”
Kasey nodded and continued to look around, realising that Eddie didn’t mind. But her looking soon stopped when Eddie placed to firm hands on her shoulder, causing her to flinch slightly, as he guided her to the kitchen table.
Eddie knocked the small flinch, but he thought that as she was lost in looking at Christopher’s work she didn’t hear him coming up. So, with that thought he didn’t think to much about the small flinch.
“What’s this?” Kasey questioned as she saw food along with her water on the table.
“You said you didn’t eat so I warmed up the leftovers we had from dinner.” He pulled out a chair for her to sit on. “You really should have come by earlier.” He joked, not really knowing why she was here. He was going to ask her why she came by in tears, but he choose not to ask just yet, as he wanted her to just rest in a safe environment and look after herself before she tells him (if she wants to) what happened.
Kasey looked over at the pasta bake, humming slightly at the taste of food.
“Chris can come out if he wants, I don’t mind.” Kasey smirked at Eddie as he scratched the back of his head. And by hearing his name, Christopher leaves his room with a smile.
“Are you okay, Kasey?” He sympathised. “You were crying earlier. What happened?”
“Christopher.” Eddie looked at his son with wide eyes.
“Oh, so that’s you dad voice.” Kasey nodded with a smug look before it disappeared when he gave her a dad look. “And that’s your dad look, gotcha.”
Christopher giggled as he sat in the seat in front of her, and Eddie decided to take a seat next to the girl.
“I’m just going through a rough patch, little man.” Kasey told him, not wanting him to know the full picture.
Eddie looked at the side of her face with raised eyebrows, thinking that there was more to it as she seemed alright these past few days. But he couldn’t judge much as he hasn’t known her for that long.
“I was looking at your artwork earlier and they are really good.” Kasey praised Christopher after she shallowed the mouthful of pasta. “And you,” she pointed her fork at Eddie, “did not cook this.”
“It’s one of the only things he can cook.” Grinned Christopher.
“Well, it’s more than what I can do. Never really had time to learn how to cook as I was in the army for nearly 5 years.”
“5 years!” Chris said in slight shock. “That’s so long.”
“Tell me about it.”
“How old were you when you got sent out?” Eddie asked, leaning on his hand as he paid attention to his friend.
“I was eighteen…I actually got the call on my eighteenth birthday and then two weeks later I’m in Afghanistan.” She took another bite of her food. “Then on the 17th of December 2016 I came back and moved to LA and became a firefighter.”
“You were so young.” Eddie muttered quietly.
“We all are.” She responded just as quietly. “But I don’t regret in going. I was doing the right thing.”
“Yeah, me too.” Eddied nodded. “That’s why I’m now learning how to cook as it’s just me and Christopher now.”
“I just usually steal the food Bobby cooks and take it home with me. Or Buck cooks sometimes and we just have dinner together. Another reason why I still haven’t learnt how to cook.”
“Maybe I should start doing that.” Eddie thought, it would put less worry on him of what he was going to feed Christopher.
“That’s plenty there for everyone.” She turned her head back to the young boy. “Are you going to watch the new Avengers film?”
“I want to.” He takes a look at his dad. “But I don’t know if dad could take me.”
“Why not.” She frowned at Eddie, who holds his hands up in surrender at her puppy dog eyes. “Why can’t Chris watch Endgame?”
“I don’t know my work schedule for when it comes out.”
“Just ask for a few hours off and then take little man out to see the film.”
“But I don’t want to be seen as unreliable to the team.” He looked down at the table, drumming his fingers into the oak table.
“You really think we’re going to see you like that?” Questioned Kasey. “It be a few hours; we’ll be alright and won’t see you as anything less. Instead we’ll see how much of a good dad you are.” She gives a brief look at Christopher before looking back at Eddie who slowly looked up at her. “You work might be important, but Chris should always come first.”
“I know.”
Kasey gave a slight nod before looking back at Chris, not wanting him to think she wasn’t paying attention to him. “You know, Thor might be my favourite superhero.”
And for the rest of the night until Chris went to Bed they laughed, joked and played video games.
And within that time Kasey forgot about her bruised neck and wrist. She forgot all about Jordan. She forgot it all. And all she could remember was how happy she felt when she was with Chris and Eddie.
It was now just her and Eddie watching a film. She would’ve left already but he convinced her to stay the night, saying it was too late to drive back now. And Kasey hesitated before taking up on his offer.
She was glad she gave Bear to Buck before heading to Jordan’s.
“I broke up with him.” Kasey muttered.
“Pardon?” Eddie paused the TV, looking at the girl who sat on the other side of the sofa.
“Jordan, I broke up with him before I came here. Found him sleeping with another girl, then we had a bad fight and by the end of it I took the girl home before coming here.”
“He’s a dick.” Eddie sighed; he fisted the cousins of his sofa tightly as angry thoughts rushed through his head. How could he cheat on a girl as perfect as she? He would treat her like the queen she is. “You deserve someone better.”
“He wasn’t the worst person I’ve dated.” Kasey chuckled. “My relationships have always been a mess, so if you know someone who will be that someone better for me, please point me in his direction.”
Eddie paused, he couldn’t say himself, she probably just saw him as a friend, her colleague.
“You took the girl he cheated on you with home?” He asked after some moment thoughts.
“Yeah.”
And when morning came, the two firefighters found themselves sprawled across the coach. Eddie laying on his back, arm wrapped round Kasey who laid on his chest. They spoke nothing of it when they waked up and Eddie and Christopher got Kasey involved with their morning routine before dropping Christopher off at his Abuela’s, who was a very kind women in Kasey’s opinion, and then went to work together, and no one thought anything of it when they saw them two enter the firehouse, thinking that they must’ve just met each other outside.
But the two Diaz’s and the Strand will remember that night as nothing but a good memory. A night full of nothing but laughter and happiness.
And no one but those three will know how much they laughed that night.
TODAY
“I guess I just came to my senses."
“Hey, I want to thank you for not coming straight to Texas like you said you would. I know you wanted to be there for me after I overdosed, but I really appreciate you listening to me and staying here. I just wanted to forget about it.” TK rambled.
“You know, no one else will understand better than me.” Kasey said comfortingly.
“I know…but I kind of need you to come to Texas with me.”
“When?” She grinned, eager to see TK’s firehouse.
“The flight I’m going to be catching later today.” He winced as he looked at Kasey’s face drop. “I’ve already brought a for you.”
“TK! I-I can’t I have work and Bear to look after. It’s too late notice for me to just come down. I mean what could be so important for me to drop everything just to come to Texas to see where you work and-”
“Dad has cancer.”
Have you ever heard such bad new before where you could physically feel your stomach drop. Where it feels like everything around you just suddenly disappeared and it just you in nothing but darkness. Where the only sound you could hear was the harsh beats of your heart. Where you throat feel dryer and your chest becomes tighter?
That was exactly how Kasey was feeling right now.
“W-what type?” She cleared her throat, not wanting to show any fear.
“1B for lung cancer.”
“How long?”
“He’s known since we left New York. I found out before I came here, thinking it be best if I told you face-to-face as I didn’t want you to do anything stupid.”
Kasey nodded and with a slightly shaky hand she picked up her phone to call someone.
“Bobby?”
“Kas? What are you calling for? Aren’t you meant to be spending time with your brother?” He asked and Kasey knew he was in the middle of cooking as she heard the sound of knife chopping something.
Kasey took a shaky breath out.
“Are you okay?” Bobby asked in concern as he heard the way she breathed.
“I need a few days off. I-I know this is late notice and all but…” she paused as she tried to find the right words to say. “I just found out that my dad has lung cancer.” Her voice was quiet, but Bobby heard it.
“Kasey I’m so sor-”
“Please don’t…I don’t want any sympathy.” She begged.
“Kasey you can go to Texas right now as long as you take some deep breathes for me.”
“Alright…can you ask…can you ask Buck to look after Bear please. He has spare keys and its his choice whether he stays at my place or not. Y-you can tell him that he can stay in my room whilst his sister stays in the spare…I-I don’t mind.”
“Kasey, breath please.”
“Right, right.” She took one deep breath in and held it before slowly releasing it. She repeated this a few times whilst she waited for Bobby to reply, knowing he won’t talk until he’s convinced her breathing is back in check.
“Yeah, I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you.”
AUSTIN, TEXAS
“Next time Kas, you can come with us to do some calls.” Owen told his daughter as he laid back in his chair.
Kasey’s leg was bouncing up and down as she looked around the hospital room.
She never liked hospitals whether it’s for her or someone else.
Hospitals were never one for good moments. So, why should she enjoy being in one?
“Yeah, I kind of bummed out that I missed the hot strippers.” Kasey joked.
“Course you were,” TK laughed as he jabbed Kasey’s side.
And then silence overtook them and the young Strands were left to deal with their nerves. Hands rubbing down their overthinking faces. Legs bouncing up and down. TK fiddling the small bottle of oil in his hand. Whilst Kasey blew the strand of hair in her face, fingers tapping the side of her chair.
“Kids.” Owen muttered making them snap their heads to him. Owen was leaning back in a chair, Pulse-Oximeters were attached to his fingertips that then leaded to the monitor next to him that recorded everything.
“Are you okay?” Kasey quickly asked, worried that something with the chemo just went suddenly went wrong.
“You need something?” TK asked, voice full of worries. “I got peppermint oil,” he held out the bottle he was fiddling with towards Owen, “or, uh, saltines.” He went to look through the rucksack next to him. “Ginger chews?”
“Headphones?” Kasey asked as she saw a pair in the bag. “Wouldn’t blame you, it help block out the horrible sounds of a hospital.”
“You two are freaking out.”
“Am not.” They both said at the same time.
“I don’t freak out, dad.” Lied Kasey.
“We’re not freaking out.” TK added as he hold the headphones out to his dad. Owen looked at him weirdly. “I’m kind of freaking out.” He admitted, “but so is Kasey.”
“Only because we’re in a hospital.” She muttered quietly, in fear that if any doctors heard her they would go evil and cut her open.
“Kasey you didn’t have to be here…I know hospitals aren’t your thing.”
“I want to be here.” She told him, but her eyes were looking elsewhere.
“I was scared the first time too.”
“Don’t blame you.” Kasey mumbled. “Chemo’s pretty scary.”
“I really am thankful for you both being here.”
“Of course.” The twins responded at the same time. Kasey eyes were now looking at her dad. “You need us, so here we are.” Kasey’s said as her fingers continued to tap on the armrest of her chair.
“I can’t believe you’ve been dealing with everything on your own.” TK sympathised as he leaned forwards to rest his elbows onto his knees. “To juggle it with the job, that’s insane.”
“It’s been a lot, but…” Owen began before stopping when he saw an older man enter the room. “Oof.” He closed his eyes as he breathed out a sigh.
“You nauseous?” The twins questioned, sitting up taller.
Owen nodded as he took a quick glance at the man approaching. “I will be when the advice starts.”
“Captain Strand, good to see ya.” The older man approached, waving his hand high with a wide smile.
“He seems a little to happy to be in a hospital.” Kasey mumbled to her brother, who elbowed her once again.”
“How you doing?” Owen asked as he shook the man’s hand.
“All right. Good to see ya.”
“This is TK, my boy,” he pointed to him before moving to Kasey, who shrunk into her seat. “And that is Kasey, the troublemaker of the two.”
“She seems shy to me.” The man chuckled.
“Trust me, she’s not, she just doesn’t like hospitals very much.” Owen laughed along with the man who was a stranger to the young firefighters.
Kasey turned to look at her brother, who was standing.
‘Was she meant to stand to?’ she questioned to herself as she looked from her brother to the man.
“Oh, so you finally came clean. Good for you.” He turned to face TK and when Kasey realised he was introducing himself, she rose to her feet. “Howdy. Wayne Gettinger.”
He shook TK’s hand’s first. “Hi.”
“You got your pop’s QB-1 looks.” He said as he squinted his eyes at TK to get a better look at him. “Lucky boy.” He gave a look to Owen.
He then moved to the younger Strand. “Hey.” She shook his hand.
“My, that is a mightier grip you have there.” He then examined her. “So, the whole families good looking, huh?”
“We get that a lot.” Kasey admitted, but then realised that probably sounded too cocky.
The twins sat back down as Wayne moved to his seat for his chemotherapy session. “Oh, hey, let’s do the left side today, Jan. I wanna visit with my friends, okay?” He spoke to the nurse before bringing his attention back to the twins. “So, TK, Kasey, you local? Uh, or are you just coming to visit the old man?”
“TK and I work together.” Owen told him. “Kasey works for the LAFD.”
“LA, huh? That’s far.”
“Er, only about a three-hour flight journey, sir.” Kasey said.
“Both firefighter’s then?”
“Yes, sir.” TK nodded, smiling proudly at the family job.
“Boy, the trouble you must get up to, huh?” He chuckles. “LA, lock up your sons. Austin, lock up your daughters.” He laughs once more, and Kasey looks at him weirdly.
She definitely wants to get out the hospital now.
Owen, who peeked at Kasey’s discomfort with one eye, laughed quietly to himself, before resting both eyes again to listen to the conversation around him.
“Actually, I play for the other team.” TK corrected.
“Oh.” He was taken back. “‘Lock up your sons’ don’t sound quite right, does it?”
“It does, considering you just said it for me.” Kasey scoffed.
“Ah, hell, I don’t judge.” Wayne told the three Strands.
‘Good, or we were going to have a problem.’ Kasey said to herself.
“Important thing is, we play when we can.” He said more to TK than Kasey. “Isn’t that right, Captain?”
“Huh?” Owen opened his eyes to turn to look at Wayne.
“Cause Lord knows we don’t get out on the playing field much.”
“Uh, speak for yourself, Couch. I get on the field plenty.”
“Ew.” Kasey uttered in disgust.
“Oh, now, you don’t have to puff up for me. I mean there’s no shame in it.” Wayne reassured Owen with a smile.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”
“Wait.” TK sighs, pointing his finger at the two older men. “What are you talking about.”
“Oh, poor TK, innocent as ever.” Kasey dramatically said, head resting in one of her hands that is propped up by her elbow on the armrest.
“Well, the treatment that we get here can…” Wayne sighs. “Well, it can, uh…make the ‘little soldier,’ let’s say, um…Take an extended furlough.”
“Please don’t refer it to ‘little soldier.’” Kasey cringed at the term whilst TK just laughed at what Wayne was trying to get to.
Owen head snaps forwards to look at his kids.
“There’s nothing wrong with my little solider.”
“Dad, please, don’t call it that.”
“Perfectly…healthy and active.”
“Ew, please stop, I’m begging you.” Kasey’s eyes were closed as she pictured herself somewhere else.
“He’s a patriot…always ready to stand at attention.”
“Oh god.” Kasey clenched her closed eyes.
She definitely wanted to be somewhere else than here.
She wouldn’t even care if an evil doctor came to take her to surgery.
Anywhere be better than here.
“Yeah, may seem like that now, but…” Wayne sighs again. “Don’t be too shocked if a day comes real soon that it turns out to be deserter.”
TK was having a great time, laughing at his dad’s and younger sister’s struggle.
“Okay, I’ll take those headphones.” Owen said to his kids and Kasey practically threw them at him, before shrinking more into her chair, just begging to disappear and go far away from here.
A/N: This was originally going to be longer, but I chose to cut it in half, but I'll probably put up the next bit tomorrow, hopefully.
-Unedited-
~BlueAthens~
𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 ◁ II ▷𝑁𝑒𝑥𝑡
#eddie diaz#eddie diaz x oc#eddie diaz imagines#eddie diaz imagine#eddie diaz series#eddie diaz x kasey strand#eddie diaz fic#eddie diaz fanfiction#eddie diaz fanfic#911 fanfic#911 on fox#911 imagine#911 imagines#911#9-1-1#9-1-1 fanfiction#9-1-1 imagines#9-1-1 imagine#tk strand imagines#owen strand imagines#blueathensfics#evan buckley imagine#bobby nash#hen wilson#chimney han#agape#canonxoc#911 lonestar
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ayooooo can i get some jealous nikolai please!!!! like seeing you talking to someone else and getting all angry only to admit he really wants ur attention ! pls and thank u <3333
A/N: This is set in Siege and Storm (i think lol it's been awhile) so spoilers for that. Also, this is technically Sturmhond x reader but we aren't going to talk about that. This is probably not what you wanted and honestly it's so short I hate it, sorry in advance.
Summary: One of the Darkling's Grisha flirts with you, only for a pissed privateer to intervene.
Warnings: swearing, um insecure nikolai but not really, also beware i haven't read rule of wolves yet sooo
"Herring is fucking delicious."
"We can't be friends anymore."
"Bold of you to assume we were friends in the first place."
"Honestly, fuck you, Tamar," Y/N huffed, scowling at the woman. First, there was the Darkling demanding passage back to Ravka with his prisoners and prissy Grisha, and now her best friend telling her she liked the one food she despised?
Betrayal of the worst kind.
Y/N turned back to the deck of the ship, watching with a sort of disgusted curiosity at the newcomers on their ship. They're like parrots, she thought. Brightly colored, virtually useless, and they don't stop talking.
The Grisha were doing nothing - walking around, trying to look important and above everyone else, and pestering the crew with questions like, when are we getting there? why is it taking so long? wait, there isn't a hairdresser on board?
"Oh, look at him. What, did he have a rebellious phase as a teenager and didn't grow out of it?" Tamar's voice brought her out of her thoughts, pulling them towards the Darkling. Y/N had to admit, Tamar was right - he was staring pensively out at the ocean, black cape billowing around him, and he generally looked very much like he was brooding.
"An hour of deck-swabbing says the girl down there is his ex," she snorted, swinging her legs over the edge of the boat. It was one of those days where the seas were calm and the breeze was light, and only a couple people were needed to keep the boat moving. Y/N and Tamar were enjoying the free time while it lasted.
"If you think I'm making that bet you are out of your mind. I agree completely."
Y/N hummed, enjoying the sea breeze for a bit before a small cough made her look up to see a broad-shouldered man in a blue kefta with red embroidery standing beside her. "May I sit with you ladies?"
It was clear he wasn't asking, and Tamar and Y/N exchanged an amused glance. "Sure."
The man settled gracefully next to Y/N, kefta pleated like a schoolgirl's around him. Y/N stifled a giggle. It was silent for a beat before she and Tamar resumed their argument, bickering and laughing.
The Grisha put his hand on her thigh.
Both Y/N and Tamar froze for half a second. Tamar raised an eyebrow, a silent question, but Y/N shook her head, ever so slightly. She wanted to just how long the poor man would last.
Y/N turned to face the Grisha, a honeyed smile on her face. "Yes?"
He was obviously pleased that she had recognized him, and took it as his chance to speak, though his hand never left her thigh. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. My name is Aaron."
"Y/N."
Aaron began to strike up some odd conversation that she barely payed attention to, grinning in a way that he probably thought was flirtatious. He was utterly oblivious to the rest of the crew noticing and snickering, placing bets on when Nikolai would intervene.
A cold, tight voice interrupted Aaron midsentence. "I suggest you take your hand off of my commander's thigh before I cut it off. We wouldn't want any mini Y/Ns running around now, would we?"
"A truly terrifying thought," Tamar agreed.
Y/N looked up to see one Nikolai Lantsov glaring at Aaron, who looked up at him in surprise.
Well, it wasn't really Nikolai Lantsov - this version of him was red-haired and green-eyed, with a weirdly-shaped face and a gaudy teal peacoat covering an equally gaudy yellow tunic. This was Sturmhond, privateer and sailor, not Nikolai, prince and royal.
It really came to no surprise that Aaron decided that he was of a higher status and that she was his for the taking. He stood up, chest-to-chest with Nikolai. "And why should I, thief?"
"Privateer, actually," Nikolai corrected smoothly, and if you hadn't known him, you wouldn't have seen the barely leashed anger, the fury in his eyes. "And because you spoiled brats don't know how to sail a paper boat, let alone a ship such as this. Good luck getting back to Ravka without my crew's help."
Aaron bristled, but Nikolai had the upper hand in the squabble, and everyone knew it. The Inferni scowled and walked away as Nikolai sat down next to the woman in question. To anyone else, he looked casual and in control, but his eyes were narrowed and his fists were slightly clenched and his breathing was far heavier than it should be.
Y/N sighed.
"Well, come on then," she grunted, pulling herself up and offering a hand to him. "Let's go to your room so you can all that teenage boy angst out."
He huffed, stuck his tongue out, but took her hand (not letting go, a fact noticed by Aaron, who whitened in understanding) and followed her belowdecks to his spacious office-slash-bedroom.
"Now, how about you let out all your-" Y/N began, starting to turn around – and stopping halfway there because she was being hugged from behind by one teddy-bear of a man.
"Pay attention to me, please," he whined softly, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
She stifled a giggle, reaching over her head to pat his hair. "Your coat is gaudy, your hair is too red, and your face looks like a donkey's ass."
Nikolai huffed a breath, the warm air tickling her skin. "If you insist on being stubborn-"
"I'm not finished-"
"Please?" His voice was almost childlike, almost shy, and Y/N found herself willing to indulge him. "Tell me about Novyi Zem again."
Ah. Honestly, it was a surprise that she hadn't expected it.
Y/N had grown up in Novyi Zem - she was the daughter of two farmers, and had grown up in the fields. Nikolai, being royal, was utterly fascinated by. He wanted to know how the plows worked (and how he could make them better), how the crops were rotated (so he could improve the rotation), how much money a farmhand costed (so he could determine if they were overpaid or underpaid), how much money went into the pastures and barns.
But most of all, he wanted to hear about her. Her childhood friends, how she had spent her days. He would listen for hours, just soaking in tiny details that seemed irrelevant to her, and commit them to memory. He knew that she had had a dog name Foxie, she rode with an English saddle, that she had named one of the cows Milky, that she hated working in the garden but loved plowing the fields, and that her childhood crush's name was Maurin.
"What do you want me to tell you, sobachka?" Nikolai huffed slightly at the nickname. With the Darkling on their ship and the Grisha onboard, it wasn't safe to say his real name, even in the safe quarters belowdecks, so Y/N had gotten around to calling him his nickname. It felt more him than 'Sturmhond', and it was common enough name that nobody would question it.
Somehow, Nikolai had managed to maneuver them both to the one windowed seat in the room, her sitting comfortably between his legs, back resting on his chest. She had barely noticed. "Anything. Everything."
And she told him. Talked and talked until the sun began to set and their legs had fallen asleep. And he listened, following each word, each syllable with rapt attention, mouth quirking upwards when he saw the glint in her eye until she went quiet, her voice used and spent from talking so much so she just rested her head on his chest and he held and at that moment, Prince Nikolai Lantsov of Ravka knew that he would do absolutely anything to get her attention.
#nikolai lantsov#nikolai lantsov x reader#nikolai lantsov x you#grishaverse#nikolai lantsov x y/n#shadow and bone#king of scars#rule of wolves#dae answers
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“i'll take your word for it and no one else's.” [lee jeno]
SUMMARY | maybe snooping through your friend’s phone wasn’t that much of a good idea. or maybe it was. either way, you didn’t regret it.
PAIRING | lee jeno x reader
GENRE | friends to something, fluff, lots of bickering JHDFJ
WARNINGS | swearing, invasion of privacy (LMAO idk)
WORD COUNT | 2.1k
TAGLIST | @danishmiilk @lucyinthesunshinee @sehunniepot @nct-writers @czennienet @neowritingsnet
a/n: i didn’t think i’d turn another one of my dreams into a fic, but here we are HAHHAHA i tweaked a few bits and pieces to make it work (setting + added some dialogue + changed the ending because i WOKE UP before it could finish hmph) but please enjoy this unscheduled fic!! <3
early summer afternoons were warm.
bright rays of the sun were showering on your skin as you lounged on the park bench, hot enough to make you feel the season but not too hot to singe your skin. it was the perfect weather to waste the day outside, and your younger brother and cousin decided to haul you outside so they can play basketball at the park.
but you didn't know why your friend jeno decided to come along.
"your brother messaged me," he grinned at you, plopping down beside you with a long, refreshed sigh. a towel was slung around his neck and he used it to wipe the sweat on his face. "what? why are you staring at me like that?"
"since when were you close with my brother?"
"am i not allowed to be friends with the little guy?" he joked, but apparently he took the unamused look on your face completely the wrong way. "oh my god, are you afraid that he'll take all my attention away from you?" to further tease, he brought his smug face closer to yours that was dumbfounded in shock, his stupidly irritating smile moving in closer.
sometimes you wondered if this was the same boy who helped you cross the street the first time you met.
but you loved him nonetheless.
"like hell i want your attention," you sneered, lightly shoving him away with a glare. he only laughed at your display of annoyance. "go back to playing with the kids or something, you goof."
the never leaving grin in his face seemed brighter against the sun, and he playfully ruffled your hair before running off to disappear into the court.
"as you wish, m'lady."
you let out a huff of air, rolling your eyes as your cheeks were involuntary tugged upwards, prompting a smile to form on your lips. you brought your hands to your hair, fixing the mess that jeno left with, and your gaze landed on the phone he left beside you. the screen flashed on. someone was calling him.
brows knitted together, you picked up the ringing phone, unable to recognize the caller id. you brought the device to your ear, standing up walking towards the court— you figured that you'd just answer whoever that was now and just pass it on to jeno once he was at reach.
"hello?"
"oh, hello there!" there was a pause from the caller "is lee jeno around, miss? would you mind giving the phone to him?"
the voice was that of a middle aged woman's, but it wasn't someone that you recognized. you assumed it was a relative of his or something because you'd know that this was his mom if it were her. "ah, give me a moment! i'll just look for him."
your feet stopped at the edge of the court, the sound of a ball bouncing into the concrete jarring against your ears. not bothering to look at the scene in front if you, you covered the mic with your hand before deciding to shout.
"jeno! someone's calling you!"
there was no usual prompt answer from your friend.
"he's not here!"
the loud voice of your brother answered instead, causing you to narrow your eyes into the court scene with a tinge of confusion masking your expression. there was indeed no mop of blue hair within the area, and you were only confused even further.
"where did he— aish, nevermind."
scratching your head, you swiveled your heels and decided to just head back to the bench. "hi, sorry. i'm not sure where he is right now. so if it's fine with you, can you call him again later? or maybe i could just tell him to call you back when he returns?"
"oh, then can you just relay this to him? it won't take that long, i promise."
you inwardly sighed, but agreed nevertheless. oh, you were definitely gonna ask him to treat you and the kids dinner later. why the fuck did he just disappear like that? now you were responsible for memorizing whatever this woman was telling you (apparently it was about an architecture summer program he was interested in— the lady was a head from his department and she was just calling to tell him that he was accepted. she says she'll be forwarding more details later through text).
"alright, thank you! i'll be sure to inform him when he gets back."
the call ended, and you groaned. you were about to close the phone, but then all of a sudden a notification appeared with a quiet ding!
[haechan 🌟 liked your retweet.]
ding!
[ohhh shit why do i feel like i know who this is.]
"huh."
you knew that you shouldn't be snooping inside your friend's phone. you knew that you shouldn't be invading his privacy no matter how enticingly juicy the bait was. you knew that it was flat out wrong. but—
"ah, just a peek," you clicked on the notification. "payback for making me deal with his stuff."
a hint of excitement rushed through you. jeno never told you his twitter. actually, you didn't even know he had one. he was always buried with studies, sports, and friends so you didn't expect him to keep up with social media— this fact enough was surprising, but the moment the screen finally loaded the tweet
you were even more surprised than you were a few seconds ago.
[@markly tweeted: "it's kind of funny how sometimes we just meet random people at the most random of moments and you don't expect it but they just end up sticking by your side until now"]
[@leejeno quoted: "yeah. a few years back, i saw this girl while i was walking. it wasn't the usual path that i took to school. i saw her having trouble crossing the street because there was a dog hanging around (she's scared of them) so i decided to help her. she couldn't even look at my face back then out of embarrassment but earlier we were calling until four in the morning. if i took a different path that day or if i didn't help her, i don't know how i'd be like right now because she's become one of the most important people in my life."]
your heart skipped a beat. two beats. three. it was running a mile a minute and you could barely even breathe to catch up.
[@do0 replied: how are you two right now?]
[@leejeno replied: "we're good haha. i'm going with her and her brother to the park later. we're still really good friends.]
[@leejeno replied: but i'm not sure if i want things to stop there."]
"hey, sorry for running off there. i went to get some— whoa. whats up?"
oh my fucking god.
you shot up, eyes wide, and you automatically turned off the phone. broken stutters left your lips, as the leaping of your heart to your throat prevented you from saying even a semblance of a coherent sentence. all you could think of when you met his worried gaze, the way he rushed to your side to check on you, was the last thing you read. your grip on his phone tightened.
but i'm not sure if i want things to stop there
you were gonna fucking lose it.
"hey, are you okay?"
quick, gentle hands landed on your cheeks, fingers brushing against your skin like a match igniting a flame. you nearly got lost and tongue-tied all over again, but you quickly slapped his hands away in a scolding fit. "jesus christ, i'm fine. you just surprised me. are you a ghost or something?" you glared at jeno, but it only lasted one second because you couldn't bear to look at him without your insides going crazy. because of that, your eyes flicked to the plastic bag he dropped onto the bench. he brought you something to eat.
"a-and before you ask—" you defended yourself indignantly when he didn't even accuse you of anything. "i wasn't snooping. the school called. it was about your summer program. you got in."
"oh? they called already?" you nodded. "ah, let's talk while walking— the kids are mad because i only got you food. they're asking me to buy the entire store for them to compensate," he released an airy laugh. you mentally scolded yourself.
keep it cool. you repeated the mantra inside your head as you strided beside jeno, your brother and cousin racing ahead of you. street lights were lighting up and the sky was fading into the night. cool cool cool cool cool. keep it cool.
the walk to the store felt way too gruelling than it normally would. it wasn't even that far. you told jeno everything the lady had told you, including the more detailed texts that she'd be sending later on. you thought that he'd be a lot more excited after hearing— he was interested, after all. but to you, he just seemed dismissive. "should i go?" he mindlessly asked.
"what are you talking about?" your brows furrowed. "yeah, of course. you wanted to, right?"
"but it's gonna last an entire month this summer," he yawed, stretching out his arms and hooking you by the neck, causing you to halt and stumble into him. you held back a squeak, and he looked at you, eyes gleaming with curious anticipation. a car sped by. "you still want me to go?"
those damned words that you read echoed inside your head again. you wondered if it resonated into the fucking nerves of your heart, as well.
"i—i mean," you stammered. "it's only one month. and it would also help you a lot in the future, right? you'd make a lot of connections during the camp. so yeah, i do want you to go."
he blinked at you. a hum sounded from his closed lips. he let go of you and resumed walking. you gaped when he left you behind.
was this karma?
"hey, what the hell?" quickly, you caught up to him, grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt so that you could hang on to him. "why are you being sulky? i didn't do anything wrong!" technically you did do something wrong, but he didn't have to know that.
"you said you wanted me to go."
"you're a baby," you scrunched your nose is disapproval. "i only said that because you said you wanted to go."
jeno abruptly stopped. maybe you were causing a scene in front of all the passersby, but you really didn't give a fuck anymore when your head was in a looped up mess. all thanks to your extremely difficult friend who apparently doesn't want to just be your friend. you swore that he was driving you insane on purpose.
he pulled out his phone and faced the screen to you. your sweat dropped.
[@leejeno replied: but i'm not sure if i want things to stop there."]
"even after reading this," he started. "you still want me to go?"
"w-well."
he just had to be so fucking sharp. well, you weren't exactly slick either. maybe he saw a glimpse of the screen before you got to turn it off earlier. heat started to rise from your neck into your face, a grinding mixture of embarrassment and desire to be hit by a moving truck afflicting your nerves. why were you the one suffering? shouldn't it be him?
"no."
he hummed, turning off his phone and shoving the device into his pocket. arms crossed, he leaned in to your face, bearing a look of feigned innocence. "but you said i'd make a lot of useful connections."
"you can make those anywhere."
"and it's only a month, right?"
"that's thirty days too long."
"and—"
"oh, come on!" you exclaimed, balling your fists in vexation. another car sped by with an accompanied honk. jeno simply wore a look of faint amusement at your little outburst. "i don't want you to join your stupid summer program. happy now?"
"well, if you say so."
you stared at him. he patted your head, eyes disappearing into a pair of crescents with a smile.
"i'll take your word for it and no one else's."
you were left frozen and dumbfounded in the middle of the sidewalk as jeno brazenly spun his heels to chase after the runaway kids that went before you— literally leaving you behind. letting a curse slip past your breath, you also went after them. he was definitely driving you insane on purpose.
sometimes you wondered if this was the same boy who helped you cross the street the first time you met.
this was one of those times.
"you said you weren't gonna go, you asshole!"
"payback for snooping through my phone!"
but you could still love him nonetheless.
© hannie-dul-set, 2020.
#NCT-WRITERS#czennet#neowritingsnet#jeno x reader#lee jeno x reader#nct jeno x reader#lee jeno fluff#lee jeno scenarios#jeno scenarios#jeno fluff#lee jeno fanfic#jeno fanfic#nct dream x reader#nct dream scenarios#nct dream fluff
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‘cause you are, you are
pairing: lumberjack!bucky barnes x reader
word count: 8,436
summary: Bucky’s found someone out on his front lawn during a snowstorm. Well, Alpine found her. If only he knew what he was getting into.
warnings: Bad words! Violence! Mention of kidnapping! Mention of military violence/injury! Mention of suicidal thoughts!
a/n: So the song I listened to that kinda really inspired this is ‘Get You the Moon’ by Kina. Also, this was commissioned by @buckysbunny and I really hope you love it, babe!
“Come on, Al,” Bucky said as he led his dog up the front steps of his cabin, carrying all the grocery bags inside. He had a cigarette between his teeth, keeping it steady as he unlocked the door and let the gorgeous samoyed inside. “Atta girl.”
The cabin was just as he left it three hours ago when he left to go grocery shopping. As it should.
And Alpine was already standing at her bowl, wagging her tail. She knew what time it was.
“You hungry, baby girl?” He asked with a grin as he grabbed the beef he’d been thawing in the sink and opened it up. “Today’s a beef day. We both know how much you love cows, yeah?” He put a cup of beef in her bowl, powdering in her supplements. “The best girl deserves the best food, yeah?” He asked as he cracked two eggs on top of it, before setting it on the ground. Bucky couldn’t help but grin at the way that Alpine sat there in front of the bowl, waiting for the go ahead as her tail wagged aggressively. “Eat. Good girl.”
Kicking off his boots, he started up a fire in the fireplace. The clouds were rolling in, the sun already setting. He’d lived on the mountain long enough to know when the first real snow of the season was setting in. They’d already had flurries, sure, but… The first real snow was the first one that had everyone locked inside, unable to go anywhere for weeks. He could smell it on the air.
Thankfully he was all stocked up on wood, so they’d be warm. He’d already moved up Alpine’s dinner time so it would still be light outside when she needed to go outside to use the bathroom. And they had more than enough food in the fridge and in the deep freeze to last them the entire winter, if they needed. They’d be okay.
Honestly, his biggest worry was losing Alpine in the snow. She was a big floof of white fur. She always came when he called, but still. It was the principle of it.
After she went to the bathroom, the two of them curled up on the couch while he ate and they watched whatever DVD he popped in. He’d probably binge watch the box set of nature documentaries he’d gotten.
They were… relaxing. After spending a few tours in Afghanistan, he needed relaxing.
It had been ten years, but… some things don’t fade with time. Some things stick like gummy bears on a car seat in July.
It was past midnight when Alpine raised her head from his lap, a low whine in the back of her throat. By then, he’d cracked open a beer and been fully ready to fall asleep there.
“Al? Come on, baby girl, there’s nothing out there,” he said reassuringly. It was snowing heavily, and he’d estimate there was already about seven inches deep with no sign of stopping.
But Alpine gets off the couch and runs for the door, barking sharply.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” He asked as he watched her. “Alpine, come.”
For the first time in the four years since he’d gotten her, she didn’t listen.
Instead, she let out another bark as she clawed at the door.
“Al,” he groaned as he forced himself up. He left the beer on the coffee table before heading to the door. “There’s nothing out there. Just snow. You’re just gonna get cold and get the floors all wet.”
But, alas, he’s a slave to the desires of his puppy.
It’s kinda pathetic, really. Not that he cared.
He opened up the door to let her out, frigid air blasting him. The snow crept up onto the porch, and there was so much coming down it looked almost like a curtain. “See, Al? Nothing.���
But she ran out into the snow, nudging at what just looked like another pile of fluffy white snow. She let out a whine, the only parts clearly visible of her being her dark nose and eyes.
And that’s when a head appeared, and his heart stopped. What the fuck was a woman doing out in the middle of a snow storm?
Despite the fact that he wasn’t wearing shoes and he’d just changed into a fresh pair of sweats, he ran out to where Alpine was still trying to nudge her awake. The snow was freezing his toes as he reached down and scooped up the girl, woman, whatever, and carried her inside.
“Come on,” he called out to the samoyed, who was following quickly after him, her tail tucked between her legs. “You’re such a smart puppy,” he cooed as he laid the girl on the couch. “You knew she was out there and made sure I got to her. Good puppy.”
From the color of her lips, there was no doubt in his mind that hypothermia was starting to set in. And from what she was wearing? Come on. She didn’t even have shoes on. Just two pairs of socks.
Fuck. He’d have to strip her down. He needed to get her warm, and the clothes she wore weren’t doing anything to help her since they were thin and soaking wet.
“You better not kill me when you wake up,” he grumbled as he pulled her clothes off of her, keeping his eyes averted. She didn’t even have underwear or a bra on.
It wasn’t that he was some kind of creep. He just felt awkward. He didn’t know this woman and he wasn’t some kind of life saver.
Bucky was alarmed by the amount of bruises that covered her body, though it looked as though there was a purposeful lack of them on her face. There were also what looked like fresh scrapes along her hips.
He wrapped her in every blanket he could find after grabbing fresh clothes from the laundry room and redressing her, cocooning her before shoving the couch closer to the fire so that it may warm her easier. But she still seemed so cold. He moved to the kitchen, taking a few hot water bottles from the first aid cabinet and warming them up before gently dabbing one at her face, the only part of her still exposed.
Bucky knew that the only thing he could do now was wait for her to wake up. Pressing two fingers to her neck, he let out a sigh of relief when he felt her pulse. “You’re not out of the woods yet,” he said as he grabbed his beer and took a swig. It was going to be a long night.
Alpine was more than happy with the addition of a new person in their home, if not still a little worried. She climbed up onto the couch and curled up against her, sniffing at her face and giving her a lick before lying her head down beside her.
“She’ll be okay, Al,” Bucky said quietly as he reached out to give her scritches right above her tail. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but… Maybe Alpine would understand and calm down a little.
My first thought when I woke up was that I was warm. Really warm.
I hadn’t been warm in such a long time.
My eyelids were so heavy, and I had no desire to open them just yet.
What would I find when I woke up? If I was back in His possession, in his house, I… I would need to resort to Plan B.
Technically, Plan B had been Plan A a few times, when things had gotten… especially hard. But He had caught me before I could succeed.
The last thing I could remember was stumbling through the snow. I’d managed to finally get out after planning it for months. I waited until He’d gone out for his nightly trip to the bars before pulling on my two pairs of socks and slipping out through the broken basement window.
The broken glass that I had thought would cause me to freeze to death had become my salvation.
I had been going down the mountain, following the road. But it had started to snow. I’m not sure how long I had been walking when I could see the path anymore, or when I saw the light.
The first light I had seen in the stifling white. It had been coming from a window, cutting through the storm like a beacon of hope.
The wave of relief I had felt at the cabin slowly taking shape in front of my very eyes had been euphoric. I had started to think that if I was going to die, at least I wasn’t going to die in captivity.
But I hadn’t even made it to the porch steps.
Which brought me to where I am now. Wrapped up in what I was pretty sure was several blankets. But I could smell… dog? He didn’t have a dog. No pets allowed.
He also didn’t have a crackling fireplace, from what I remember of the few times I’d been allowed upstairs.
Yeah. Definitely no fireplace.
I made sure to stay completely still as I felt two calloused fingertips press against the pulse point in my neck.
“Well, Al, her heart rate has increased…”
So it was definitely a man.
I’d gotten really good at pretending to be asleep over the years. Like, really, really good. It wasn’t often that He’d been able to tell that I was awake if I didn’t want him to know.
There was a whimper, and then a rough tongue licked across my face. The dog. Which was (hopefully) this ‘Al.’ I didn’t want to deal with more than one man.
The man sighed and walked away. “You gonna keep watch over her, baby girl? I gotta go get a shower.”
Did he think the dog was going to answer him?
As soon as I heard his footsteps going up a set of stairs, I took in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. I needed to get out of there. Immediately.
I just had to slip out without him hearing me or the dog making a scene.
I slowly opened my eyes, even though it still felt like I had washers glued to my lashes.
And there was the fireplace. It was so nice and warm… I hadn’t felt this toasty in years. The basement was always so frigid, and with the lack of blankets provided to me, I was always at least a little cold.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay for a little while…
No. I shook my head as I forced myself to sit up. I couldn’t stay. I had to get out and get down the mountain to civilization.
I gasped as I felt the rough tough on my cheek again, turning to see a huge white dog that looked more like a cloud than an animal. “Shh…” I had to work to get my arms out of the blankets to pet it, but it was then that I realized I was not in my original clothing underneath all the swaddling. My heart sank to my stomach as I felt a wave of panic.
Had he touched me? Was he no better than Him?
I got most of the blankets off and frowned as I looked down at sweatpants and the long sleeved shirt I was wearing. They were far too big for me, but they’d have to do.
I kept my steps feather light as I looked around the space I had found myself in. It was a living room, and rather cozy. Rustic looking. I could see the kitchen to my left, and a silent debate with myself started over whether or not I’d have time to grab food for myself before running. From the way my stomach growled, I knew that I’d have to.
I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, since today was not my scheduled day to eat.
The cloud dog followed me to the fridge, its tail wagging as I grabbed what I could reasonably carry. It took everything within me to not stop and play with her. I hadn’t seen a dog in so long, especially not one so sweet. Its tail kept wagging even as it watched me stealing food.
I was reaching for the jar of pickles when I heard the cocking of a gun, and I turned around to see a large, burly man pointing a handgun at me. The food in my hands dropped to the ground as I threw my hands up, my heart racing. The jar of pickles shattered, the glass flying all over the floor. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I gushed, feeling sweaty under the pressure of the barrel being pointed at me. “I don’t know where I am. I j-just woke up and I’m s-so hungry.”
Bucky’s heart pounded as he got out of the shower, hearing a commotion downstairs.
His instincts took over, and he didn’t have time to even think things through before pulling on a pair of briefs and grabbing his handgun from his bedside table before slipping down the stairs.
He had the gun in both hands as he peeked around the corner, seeing a girl digging through his fridge. It was the cocking of the gun that alerted her to his presence, and she whirled around.
She was pretty, he could acknowledge that much.
It was when she was rambling that suddenly he remembered. The girl in the snow. But he’d been certain that she wouldn’t wake up for at least a few more hours.
His startling blue eyes stayed locked on her as he flipped the safety back on. But he still kept it raised. “Who are you?” He demanded, his voice gruff, deep.
She gave her name, and he frowned. Just a first name? No last?
“Where did you come from?”
“U-Up the mountain,” she said quietly, a few tears rolling down her pretty cheeks. “Please, I… I mean no h-harm. Please. I’ll go. I swear.”
He shook his head, slowly lowering the gun. It wasn’t like she was much of a threat. She clearly had no idea what she was doing. “Don’t be stupid. You already almost froze to death once out in the storm. Leaving would just mean that you wasted my efforts to save your life.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, still not moving from where she was. It sounded more like a question than a statement.
She was skinny. Scary skinny. Of course, he’d seen that when he’d undressed her, but it was even more alarming seeing her in his clothes, seeing how they draped from her frail, bird-like shoulders.
He nodded to the mess around her. “Stay still. I don’t want you cutting your feet on the glass.” Luckily she had the sense to listen as he swept up the glass and pickles, picking up everything around her before mopping.
He didn’t like being close to her, and she clearly didn’t like being close to him either. Good. It meant they would be less likely to step on each other’s toes.
Bucky was already very aware that she was going to have to stay until the snow let up enough for her to leave.
“I’m assuming you’re hungry?” He said as he put the mop away. “You can have food. I’m not going to starve you after rescuing you.”
She nodded, her stomach grumbling. “Yes. Hungry…”
Pointing to the fridge, he leaned back against the kitchen island. “You can get whatever you want.” He watched curiously as she reached into the door and grabbed the container of cottage cheese. “Did you want some warm food?”
“This is fine.”
“You sure?”
“Mhm.”
She was weird. But he couldn’t really judge considering the fact that he had no idea who she was or where she had come from.
Maybe she was a Russian spy or something.
No, that’s stupid, he reminded himself. Your military days are over. No one is looking for you anymore.
He showed her to one of the guest rooms once she finished eating the entire container of cottage cheese, eyeing her in case she vomited. He had no idea how the hell she did that. He liked cottage cheese as much as the next person, but still.
“Um… There’s a shower through there. And I can… get you some more clothes and stuff,” he said softly. He stayed far away, out of her reach, and he noticed her doing the same.
She nodded, chewing on her lower lip as she looked around. “Okay. Thank you.”
“I’ll let you… get to it then,” he said awkwardly. A frown settled across his face as he watched Alpine jump up onto the bed as the girl looked into the bathroom. “Traitor.”
“Can you show me how the shower works?” She asked, poking her head back out. “And… What are the… shower rules here?”
A wave of confusion spread over him. Shower rules? “Uh… Just… let me know if you’re gonna shower soon so I know not to use all the hot water?”
“That’s it?”
“Uh… yeah.”
“Oh. Okay.” She glanced over at Alpine, who was lying on her bed. “Are you… Are you showering soon?”
Bucky’s head tilted to the side, his brows furrowed. His dark hair was still wet, and he was still in his briefs.
The girl nodded, letting out a weak laugh as her face flushed. “Right. Sorry.” She pointed to the bathroom. “The… shower?”
“Right!” He slipped past her into the bathroom, making sure he didn’t touch her, before showing her how to work the knob and change the temperature. “There we go… Uh… Have a good shower. And I’m James… by the way…” He let out a huff of air as he stood there with his hands on his hips. “Right, um…” He felt a bit awkward as he left quickly then.
I waited until after James had left to lock the bedroom door, swallowing as I shoved the desk chair under the handle.
There was a low whine, and I turned to see the cloud dog still on the bed. I had thought it had left with him. “Hi. I thought you left.” I reached out and scratched behind its ear, the fur soft under my fingers.
After taking a few minutes to just pet the puppy, I headed to the bathroom where the shower was still running, the mirror fogged up.
It had been so long since I’d had a hot shower.
After locking the bathroom door, I stripped off the clothes I’d been given and folded them nicely, laying them on the counter. I could see the scrapes along my hips and cursed, wiping off the mirror so I could attempt to see them better. I was covered in bruises, and the scrapes were clearly fresh.
But I had no idea what James thought of them or where he thought I got them. Fuck.
I’d have to come up with some kind of excuse unless I was ready to tell him just where I’d come from.
Which just felt like it’d be so much work. I wasn’t ready for that yet.
I didn’t come out of my room for the rest of the night. It was the first time I’d ever been truly alone in years.
Even when He was gone, I was never truly alone. Not when cameras captured every square inch of the basement.
When I crawled into bed, the cloud dog curled up against me and rested its head on my back.
I slept better than I had in years. Even if I did end up vomiting up the cottage cheese.
Bucky was still confused by the girl three weeks later. The snow hadn’t let up, which he was kinda upset about because she’d eaten one of the two containers of cottage cheese her first night.
He liked his cottage cheese. And she ate it.
Which, okay. He had been able to tell she was hungry and she clearly needed the food more than he did, but still. She couldn’t have chosen something else?
Now they were having to ration the cottage cheese. They had about half a cup left and they were both waiting for the other one to finish it off.
He was about ready to just tell her to take it.
He also didn’t understand how she’d stolen his dog from him. Alpine had transferred her love and loyalty over to the strange girl within thirty seconds of meeting her, and it appeared that there would be no changing that anytime soon. The dog was always at her side and wouldn’t even go outside to use the bathroom unless she sat on the porch, bundled in one of Bucky’s coats and wrapped in a blanket, and watched her. Al didn’t even sleep with Bucky anymore. She slept with the girl, her head on her back as if she was ensuring that she was still breathing.
On one hand, it was absolutely precious.
On the other, Bucky had lost his cuddle buddy.
But they gave each other a wide berth. They never touched, which he was grateful for. He didn’t… like touch. And he got the implication that she didn’t either.
“You know, you living here kinda reminds me of the 2020 pandemic,” he said nonchalantly as they sat in the living room watching tv. He was on the recliner, and she was curled up on the couch with Alpine in her lap.
Her head tilted to the side as she tore her attention from the movie playing on the tv. “The what?”
Bucky blinked. And then he blinked again. “The… The 2020 pandemic? The pandemic three years ago?” He said slowly, his brows furrowed. “Covid-19? Everyone had to wear masks? America was literally a cesspool of selfish assholes who were so stupid they believed Trump?”
“Trump… Isn’t he that celebrity show host? He was on Home Alone? The Lost in New York one?” She asked.
He was going crazy. He was sure of it.
“What?” She asked, sitting up a little straighter as she crossed her legs applesauce style, causing Alpine to whine before settling back down in her lap. “Did I say something wrong?”
Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Donald Trump became president in the 2016 election. Then Biden won in 2020.”
Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. “Oh.”
“How did you not know?” He asked.
She shrugged, wrapping her arms around Alpine. “I… haven’t watched the news… in a while…”
The man could understand that, but the whole ‘not watched the news’ in a bit really only worked when it came to things like… like a celebrity doing something stupid or a law being passed. Two whole presidential elections? That was… That was Amish levels of ignorance. Even if she didn’t watch tv, there were billboards and signs and merchandise like those stupid Make America Great Again hats.
As if America had ever been great. And he had a double right to say that, since he’d been a stupid eighteen year old kid that the military had preyed on, getting him to join up and head overseas when America had no reason to be there.
He’d lost his arm because of it.
“How long has it been since you watched the news?” He questioned, his heart racing. He had a bad feeling about it. A really, really bad feeling that settled in his gut.
She buried her face in Alpine’s fur, her shoulders rising and falling as she huffed.
She’d put on some weight since getting there, thankfully. He’d been making sure she got all her protein and started her on vitamins supplements he had.
“Eleven years…”
He paused, blinking slowly. “Eleven years? What the hell do you mean ‘eleven years?’” He took a moment when he saw the way she flinched away from him. He’d figured out pretty quick that she couldn’t handle any raising of the voice. She’d shut down. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But… I still don’t know anything about you except your name. Not even your last name. I don’t know where you came from. I still don’t know how the hell you ended up in my front lawn, half frozen to death. I…” He sighed. “What happened?”
She was quiet for so long that he was sure she wasn’t going to reply. He started to get ready to stand up, letting out a huff.
“I was thirteen,” I said quietly, my voice barely audible. Alpine’s fur was so soft in my fingers and against my cheek. It kept me grounded, kept me tied down to the Earth so I didn’t float away in the cloudy memories that covered the sky in my head.
Bucky was watching me closely, clearly surprised that I’d actually spoken.
My throat felt so dry. “Um… It was a few months after my birthday… And I had just gotten a new phone. It was… It was one of those sliding phones with a full keyboard? It had a touch screen, and it was cherry red.” I couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh as I remembered that stupid phone. I’d been utterly obsessed with it, like any thirteen year old would be. “I was in eighth grade and even though most people I went to school with already had an iPhone, that phone was the coolest thing ever.”
He was watching me in a way that was so intense, so focused. I hadn’t ever had someone look at me like that. Like he was actually listening.
“And, uh… I used to walk to the river in the woods by my house,” I said, my voice growing soft again. “I would go and sit and read on nice days… I didn’t really have… friends. I was a bit of a loner, and new. We’d just moved there that April.” My heart ached. I missed that river. I missed my parents. More than anything. “There was a man that I’d see sometimes at the river fishing…”
Bucky’s breath audibly hitched, and I could see his hands gripping his knees tightly.
“I was lonely,” I said, my voice cracking as I clutched onto Alpine that much tighter. The puppy let out a whine as my eyes water. “I didn’t have any friends yet. I was an o-only child… So, yeah, I’d talk t-to him. I didn’t think it was wrong. I f-figured if he was going to do something, he would’ve done it the f-first eighty times I s-saw him.”
“He took you, didn’t he?” He asked quietly, his voice gravelly.
Avoiding his eyes, I gave a short nod. “Yeah.”
He stood up, his jaw set as he reached for his phone. “We have to call the police. If you were being held in a house on this mountain, then that means whoever took you lives close enough for you to have gotten here in a snowstorm.”
“NO!” I said as I scrambled up. Alpine flopped to the side with a bark as she watched me scramble to knock his cell phone out of his hand. “No cops!” I breathed out, eyes feral.
“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice soothing as he held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. No cops. I won’t call the cops…”
I could see the confusion on his face, but a wave of relief washed over me as he agreed to not call the cops without asking too many questions. I’d already shared so much.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” He asked, casually switching the subject as he sat back down. He didn’t even grab his phone.
“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” I said as I took my seat again, swallowing thickly. “Can we watch that one you were telling me about?” I asked as Alpine licked my face before settling in my lap once again. “The… The one about the Day of the Dead?”
An easy smile spread across his lips. “Coco? Yeah. We can watch whatever you want.”
There was a shift in the air after she told Bucky about where she’d come from. They still kept a generally wide berth, but… they were closer. He was definitely in no hurry for her to leave. Not when he could keep her safe in his cabin.
He felt a wave of protectiveness every time he thought of her. He had someone to take care of now. Other than Alpine and Steve when they were kids, he’d never had that. Even Rebecca had been so independent growing up.
He liked having someone to protect, to take care of. He liked checking in on her when he woke up in the morning and when he went to bed.
Which he’d started doing once she’d stopped locking her door at night.
Bucky liked preparing her breakfast and coffee for her in the morning, slowly helping her increase her food intake without hurting her tummy. He liked checking in on her and making her laugh with his stupid jokes.
He liked… her. She was easily the prettiest gal he’d seen, even if it was unassuming at first.
But he wasn’t a creep like the man who took her, whoever he was. He wasn’t going to pressure her into being with him just because he was providing her shelter and food.
He wouldn’t use her like that.
And besides, it wasn’t as though she would want him. She had just turned twenty-four that year, and he was forty-one. There was a good seventeen year age gap, and it felt even wider once he’d realized that her education had effectively stopped at thirteen years old.
Of course, he’d started to remedy that. He’d found some kind of online learning platform that he’d remembered from the pandemic. Parents had started the free service in order to make sure that kids were still getting their education as schools shut down and they were pushed into Zoom classes in the autumn of 2020, after America failed and sent them back to school.
She was a lot smarter than she realized, and he made sure to tell her as often as possible.
They had a camaraderie that he hadn’t ever expected to find after he’d pushed Steve away.
Steve had been lucky. He’d been good enough at drawing that he’d gotten a full ride to art school. He didn’t have to enlist in order to have a future.
It wasn’t that Bucky was bitter about that. Steve deserved it. And now Bucky’s job was taking pictures of the mountains he lived on, and he got paid so much that he really only had to work a few months a year.
“You always talk about Steve,” she said softly one night as they ate dinner in the living room, as per their routine. “Do you still talk to him?”
“Uh… No,” he said quietly. “Lately I’ve been thinking about reaching out, though… I miss him.”
Her head tilted to the side as she looked at him, her spoon halfway to her mouth. He’d made chicken tortilla soup, since that had apparently become her favorite. “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking…”
Bucky smiled weakly down at his own half empty bowl. “Well…” His spoon clinked against the side. “It was hard after I came home… from overseas… I’d lost my arm… I wasn’t the same guy I was…” He took a deep breath. “I was angry… at everything… and I took it out on him, even when it wasn’t his fault… And then one day I just packed up and left. Found my way here. I bought this place with the money I had and fixed it up… It was a real dump. Basically foreclosed. But I spent an entire summer fixing it. Had to get it done before the first snow. And it also got me to figure out how to use my prosthetic. It’s some… fancy experimental thing.”
There was a flicker of the lights, and then nothing. It went completely dark. The heater stopped, the clock on the top of the stove went off.
“Bucky?” She whimpered, the fear evident in her voice.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here,” he said as he used his phone flashlight to illuminate the situation a little bit. “I’m gonna find some flashlights, okay? You stay right there with Alpine.”
She nodded, setting her bowl to the side and wrapping her arms around the puppy. “Okay… H-Hurry back.”
Oh, he definitely would. He didn’t wanna leave his bear cub alone for too long.
He found two flashlights in the basement before coming back. “Okay, let’s get all the blankets and stuff together,” he said as he handed her one of them. “It’s gonna get cold real quick without the heating working.” There was no way he was gonna be able to get out to look at the generator with how heavy the snow was falling.
They piled all the blankets up on his bed before she crawled under the mountain of them, Alpine curling up next to her like always.
She watched as Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of his back. She could practically see the steam coming from his ears from how much he was overthinking. “You can take your arm off, you know,” she said quietly, sitting up on her elbows. “I’m… I’m not gonna think it’s weird.”
Bucky let out a weak laugh. “You sure, bear cub?” He asked, his voice wavering. “I don’t want to freak you out…”
“Something that’s a part of you could never be bad,” she said quietly.
His heart stuttered inside his chest. He didn’t know what to say in reply. He’d never had someone say something like that. His hand was shaking as he reached up and undid his prosthetic. It was a whole thing he went through every night and every morning, since it was attached to his nerves. He hissed as it finally came off, setting it in the open case on the ground as he rolled his shoulders a few times to get the tension out.
“See?” She said as she watched him, her eyes running over his back muscles and the scars that covered his shoulder. “There’s nothing bad about you.”
Bucky slowly crawled under the blankets, staying on the other side of the bed. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
“You gonna stay over there all night?’
He blinked, and then he blinked again, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. “I… What?”
She was still sitting up on her elbows, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Her eyes were flickering between the blankets and him. “You don’t have to stay over there… I’m not… gonna break if we cuddle, you know…”
Bucky’s heart stopped inside his chest as his mind went blank. He suddenly wasn’t thinking anymore about how he might hurt her. She wanted him. Or at least… wanted him to cuddle with her.
Which he was more than happy to comply.
I scooted over a little closer to Bucky when I realized he was frozen staring at me. He seemed to be in shock over the fact that I wanted to cuddle.
“Jamie?” I said softly, my fingers grabbing onto his arm and tugging him closer. “Please?”
I watched as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded.
“I mean… You don’t have to,” I added quickly, feeling a flash of anxiety. What if I had imagined everything? The flirting? The calling me bear cub? “Not if… Not if you don’t want to.”
Maybe my emotional growth was just as stunted as my educational growth.
But then moved closer to the center of the bed, his strong arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me close. So close that I was lying on top of his chest. He was so nice and warm.
And so strong. He wasn’t like one of those guys in Hollywood or the bodybuilders that were all dehydrated in order to look like they had a twenty pack of abs or something. He was the real kind of strong.
It was sexy as hell.
And it had been so long since I’d had a gentle touch… Or had someone hold me just for the sake of holding me.
I hadn’t realized just how badly I needed it until Bucky was holding me close, his lips pressing to my forehead.
“James? If you don’t mind me asking… How did you lose your arm?”
I could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he took in my question.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, I… I want to,” he insisted as he brought me that much closer. His chin rested on top of my head. “I was on break… And these little local kids loved playing hopscotch with us. We’d draw out the hopscotch on the ground and we would use a little rock and all that… Then one day, there was a truck out by the road. One of ours. We didn’t think anything of it even though it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. We figured that out later.” He pressed his lips to my head. He was trembling, even if he was trying to hide it. “We were searching for a good rock to use… and when I got close to grab a rock under the wheel… someone set off a bomb. Blew my arm clean off. It was all in… all in slow motion.” Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “I’d rather it be me then one of those little kids though.”
I sighed, squeezing him tight. “You’re a good man, James.” He clearly didn’t wanna think about it anymore, so I quickly changed the subject. “Have you ever had someone braid your hair?” I asked as I reached up, running my fingers through his long hair.
“Can’t say I have,” he said, a chuckle reverberating through his chest. “Why? You wanna braid my hair for me, bear cub?”
I hummed, twirling a strand of his hair around my fingers. “Mm… I think it’d look real pretty braided…”
“Pretty? You calling me pretty?” He snorted.
“Mmhm.”
“Why’s that?”
“‘Cause you’re pretty.”
By the blush on his cheeks, I could tell that he hadn’t ever been called pretty again.
And I knew I’d have to start calling him pretty a lot more.
Bucky had a shy smile on his face as he squeezed me closer to him, burying his face in my hair. “You’re prettier, bear cub.” He kissed my forehead again, humming. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
It was another two months before there was a break in the snow long enough for them to be able to head to town for more groceries. Plus, they needed to stop and get her some clothing that actually fit her.
Not that Bucky didn’t mind her wearing his clothes. He liked it a lot, actually. His little bear cub in his sweaters and such.
But she did want some pants that fit her proper and some underwear, at least.
And she was excited, but clearly anxious. “Come on, Alpine,” she said happily as they ran out to the truck, Bucky following quickly behind.
“You’re adorable,” he said softly as he climbed in the driver’s seat.
“Shut it,” she said, covering her face in Alpine’s white fur.
He was falling for her. Hard. Even after the electric came back on, they hadn’t stopped staying in the same bed. It just felt natural. They hadn’t done anything more than cuddle, but he wasn’t exactly in a rush. Bucky was very happily letting her take the reins when it came to how quick they moved.
But he did wanna talk to her about being together officially at some point.
The one thing he was really worried about was the fact that she still wouldn’t let him call the police.
He just wanted to find the man who had hurt her and wring his neck with his bare hands.
Or at least have him thrown in jail. At the very least.
The first thing they did was get her some clothes and shoes so she could change into them, even though he was pleased to note that she did keep on his sweater.
She looked really, really good in green.
Like, really good.
“We need at least two containers of cottage cheese,” she said as she grabbed them, grinning.
“Oh, yeah?” He asked, coming up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He couldn’t help it. He loved touching her. Preferred to have at least one hand on her at all times. “Better make that three containers, bear cub. From what I remember, someone ate an entire container in one sitting and then promptly threw all of it up.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Her cheeks flushed as she nuzzled into him. “And I only have two hands, James.”
A slow smirk spread over his lips as he looked at her pretty face. He loved getting her all flustered. “I didn’t say you had to grab it all at once.” As if to make a point, he reached over and grabbed a third container, moving to set it in the cart.
It was when he had turned his head away for less than thirty seconds that he heard the sound of plastic hitting the ground, and saw cottage cheese splattered across the marble tiles.
“Bear cub?” He said in confusion as he looked around. But she’d disappeared. His brows furrowed as his eyes met Brock Rumlow’s, who was glowering at him for some fucking reason. His eyes flickered down to his outfit, his heart stopping inside his chest when he saw the badge.
Brock Rumlow was a police officer.
His bear cub hated cops and refused to let him call the cops.
She’d disappeared when she saw him.
Fuck.
He didn’t like the thoughts that were running in his head.
Bucky had to find her before Brock did.
He didn’t even attempt to act nonchalant as he ran through the store, leaving the cart there. His heart was absolutely racing.
Alpine wasn’t sitting outside the front door where they’d left her.
He rushed to the parking lot, breathing out a sigh of relief when he found her and Alpine in the truck, huddled down on the floor. “Oh, thank fuck,” he breathed out as he got in the driver’s seat. He didn’t even buckle before he was peeling out of the parking lot. “He’s not gonna touch you, baby. I promise.”
She looked up at him with glassy eyes, tears staining down her soft cheeks. “H-He… He’s the one who…”
“I know,” he said quietly as he reached over to take her hand, intertwining their fingers and squeezing. He was flying up the mountain as fast as he could without spinning out, heading for the cabin. “I know that it’s him. But he’s not going to touch you, okay? I’m not gonna let him. I’m gonna protect you.” He handed her his phone out of his pocket. “Bear cub, can you go to my contacts and call Sam? Tell him we need him as soon as possible.”
She nodded, her hands trembling as she found the name and called. “H-Hello? This is Bucky’s friend and w-we need someone at Bucky’s immediately. Please.”
When they got back to the cabin, he rushed her inside. “Go upstairs to our bedroom, lock the door, and then go to the bathroom and lock the door,” he said. “Take the handgun in my bedside table with you.”
“J-Jamie, I’m scared,” she whimpered, her hands shaking.
He rushed forward, his hands holding her face as he pulled her into a kiss. “It’s all gonna be okay. But don’t come out for anyone that isn’t me, alright?” He said softly, caressing her cheeks. “Take Alpine with you.”
She nodded, and he let out a sigh of relief as she went.
He grabbed the gun he had hidden in the living room, quickly loading it. He knew that Rumlow would be coming up after them, especially if he was the one who had kept his precious girl kidnapped for over a decade.
He had a lot to lose.
But so did Bucky. He’d just gotten his girl, and he wasn’t losing her anytime soon.
Bucky Barnes would not be losing the one person that made him feel human again.
And if it came down to it, and he died protecting her, he’d be okay with that as long as she was safe. He’d just have to bring down Brock with him.
He stiffened as he heard the car pull into the drive with a roar and then the slamming of the door. He knew it wasn’t Sam. It would take him longer than that to get up there considering when they’d called.
Brock didn’t even bother knocking. He shot through the lock and threw the door open.
It was all a blur. Bucky shot at him and managed to catch him in the thigh, but Brock just kept coming. He was pretty sure he had a bulletproof vest on, too.
“So this is where the little brat’s been?” Brock snarled, glaring as he pointed the gun at him. “I figured she’d died out in the snow. Would’ve been better if she had.”
Bucky wasn’t going to dignify it with a response. He knew Brock was just trying to rile him up to get him to fuck up. And he couldn’t let that happen when his girl’s life was on the line.
What he did do was aim at Brock’s hand and get him to drop the gun before he rushed forward and pinned him to the ground to wait for Sam. He shoved him to the ground, glaring at him harshly. “You will never touch her again,” he hissed, emphasizing each word as his hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed threateningly. “And I’d fucking kill you now, but you don’t deserve a quick death.” He spit in his face. “I want you to get put in prison for life, and I want to hear about how your ass is getting kicked everyday for kidnapping and raping a little girl, and holding her hostage for over a decade. I’m gonna personally make sure you never see the light of day again.”
As soon as the door opened and Sam came in with two other officers, he lifted his hands in surrender, getting off him once he knew that Brock wouldn’t be able to get out.
Before anyone could stop to question him, he ran upstairs. “BABY?” He called out as he knocked on the bedroom door.
It took less than thirty seconds for his girl to open the door and throw herself into his arms, Alpine barking excitedly behind her.
“Hey, Alpine,” he said with a laugh as he scooped her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as she buried her face in his neck. “Did you protect your mama? Yeah?”
She let out a weak laugh as she nuzzled in further. “Are you okay?” She asked, her voice cracking as she pulled back to look at him, holding his face as she checked him for injuries.
“Bear cub, he didn’t even touch me,” he said softly, holding her close. “He’s in cuffs now, being put in the back of a cop car to go to prison…” He kissed her forehead. “He can’t ever get near you again. They’re gonna search his place and it’ll all be over. You never have to go back there ever again.”
I jerked awake, letting out a broken scream. Sweat dripped down my back, tears rolling down my cheeks.
Alpine let out a worried whine from where she laid on my feet, keeping them toasty.
“Hey… Hey, I’m here,” Bucky whispered sleepily as he brought me into his chest with his one arm. His prosthetic had been taken off earlier. “I’ve got you, bear cub… I’m right here…”
I crumbled into tears as I was pulled onto his lap, my nose brushing against his neck. “J-Jamie…”
“Was it the dream again?”
I nodded, my hands grasping at him to hold him close. “I wa-was back in that basement… W-With Him.”
He had gotten to see the basement first hand. The concrete walls. The dirty mattress that rested on the ground without any sheets. The bugs and the rats that I had shared that space with. The broken window that Brock had covered with a trash bag. The cameras.
He’d seen me through the whole trial.
It didn’t take long for Brock to be put on trial and found guilty. Hell, the jury only deliberated for an hour before coming back and giving their verdict.
With all the evidence from his cabin and his own poor defense, I didn’t even have to testify, which was a relief.
The piece of shit actually thought he’d get off easy. But he got fifty years, and considering he was already over forty, it wasn’t likely that he’d ever get to leave prison again.
There was a bit of… question about what would happen to me after. Where I would go.
My parents came to see me at Bucky’s, and they started talking about me going home with them and how they still had my room all set up.
But I just couldn’t leave Bucky and Alpine. Not after everything.
And as much as I knew that me being taken wasn’t their fault, I didn’t feel safe with them like I did with him.
I thought Bucky was going to cry when I said that I wanted to stay with him. He’d rushed to reassure them that he was going to take care of me and he was already working on helping me get my GED.
They seemed to like him, which was good.
And yeah. The nightmares still came back sometimes. I would always be haunted, even with my therapists’ help.
“I’ve got you… He’s never gonna touch you again. You’re safe,” Bucky whispered as he kissed my cheek. He pulled back, his hand cupping my face. “I love you. And I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again. And you know Alpine won’t.”
“I know,” I said softly as I rested my head against his chest as he laid us down again. “I love you, too.”
No, the nightmares didn’t go away. But that didn’t matter when I had Bucky.
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little lune
authors note: inspired by @soulmemesarc birthday prompts!🥳🎂 also this is unedited sorry for any typos
" no no no! breakfast in bed for the birthday girl/boy/angel! lie down, let me take care of this... "
" so there's this tradition. a law, really. i have to kiss you as many times as your age. so prepare yourself, babe. "
find my masterlist here
word count: 1.9k
you and harrison really didn’t have much in common.
this, you discovered, on your first date. he’d seen you at his neighborhood coffee shop on multiple occasions and prayed each day that you couldn’t see the infatuation building in his eyes, hoping one day soon, he’d’ve built up the courage to finally talk to you.
and you both thank god that that day had come and you spent nearly the entire day tucked away in the corner of the cafe talking about everything and anything.
he loved dogs, liked to consider himself a dog dad, even though the blue-grey staffy he showed you just over one million pictures of, technically belonged to his best friend. you on the other hand, grew up with cats curled up at your feet.
harrison could stay out all night, and did most weekends! very used to having to scrub last nights remnants off his body in the mornings and piecing together the events through blurry instagram stories. whereas, you were much more lowkey. always down for a good time, but couldn’t really stand the feeling of other people’s sweat on you while packed in a crowded club
despite this, the two of you fit together like puzzle pieces. like he was the sun, and you were the moon.
when harrison first brought up the comparison, you laughed and teased him for being such a cliche but when he smiled down and replied with “just for you, my little lune”
your face burned under his palms as he spoke the pet name so adoringly and with so much kindness in his eyes. and in that moment, you both knew that your differences in opinion were trivial and the only thing that mattered was you both bonded over your growing affection.
your face burned under his palms as he spoke the pet name so adoringly and with so much kindness in his eyes. and in that moment, you both knew that your differences in opinion were trivial and the only thing that mattered was you both bonded over your growing affection.
there was one thing you both had in common though and that was sleep.
there was one thing you both had in common though and that was sleep.
you could sleep for hours each, harrison very proudly bragging that his record was 18 hours straight.
whenever you went over to his house, he immediately locked the two of you in his room, receiving many suggestive comments from his roommates about the nature of your activities, but in reality he just locked his arms around you and took you to dreamland with him as the two of you slept the day away.
so it was no surprise that that was the position you both were in right now, the morning of your birthday slipping away like a handful of sand through open fingertips.
soon enough though, the ring of your phone had gone off too many times for you to ignore and you had to wake up and face the multitude of happy birthday calls you were receiving, without a doubt waking your boyfriend in the process.
“mmm, tell them to fuck off” he muttered as your cousin wished you a happy birthday, the phone being passed around to all your relatives.
“can’t babe, m’family’s callin’”
“b-but… we haven’t had a birthday snuggle yet”
the softness in his tone (his teddy bear persona being reserved for your eyes only) practically melted you “almost over, m’love”
five minutes later, the last of your cousins and aunts and uncles had wished you a happy birthday and you hung up, the multiple conversations taking away any last shreds of slumber.
you looked over at haz who had his face smushed into the pillow, his soft, blond hair swept into his face, looking as delicate as ever. his hands involuntarily twitching at the comforter as they called out for yours to intertwine with.
with a smile you cautiously slipped off the bed, but he still awoke anyways, poking his head up like a child. “where ya going?”
“to start the kettle, go back to sleep.”
“no no no!” he whined “breakfast in bed for the birthday girl. lie down, let me take care of this.” he dragged himself out of bed, placed a tender and loving kiss to your forehead before shoving you to the mattress and throwing the covers over your entire body, leaving you nothing but a giggling white sheet.
his heart soared in his chest at the sound as he made his way to your kitchen. he’d only been over your place a few times, your relationship still relatively new. so he tried his best to quietly turn on the kettle and then locate your pots and pans to get started on a birthday breakfast for you.
as he was flipping the pancakes, he started thinking about making a little smile with the strawberries and that brought a little smile to his face.
he barely recognized himself when he was around you. he was so lovesick, so head over heels for you. unlike he’d ever been with any of his previous girlfriends.
your relationship wasn’t in the early stages per-say, he openly called you his girlfriend, and you your boyfriend, but he still felt the need to impress you, he still felt nerves creep in his stomach before every date. the honeymoon stage, as some liked to call it. the comfortability was just around the corner, he was sure of it. but until then, he liked to keep you on your toes.
placing the meal on a tray and walking back to your bedroom, he thought to later tonight and bit his lip. he had planned something for you, something grand. it was a little much for your first birthday spent together, but he only realized that after everything was payed for; but you deserved it. you deserved all the magnificent things life had to offer, and he would fall to his knees in order to be the one to give them to you. so he hoped you would like it.
“happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday my darling, happy birthday to you” he sung as you looked up at him from under the covers.
“thank you, lovie. it looks great.” you smiled and he carefully placed the tray on your lap, crawling up next to you.
“anything for you, lune.” he spoke with a kiss to your lips.
that was how the morning progressed, bites of pancake shared here and there, syrup flavored kisses peppered in between.
.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．
haz’s wet chest was pressed against your back in the bath. the room scented vanilla and filled to the brim with bubbles and candlelight.
“what do you want to do later today, haz?”
“anything you like sweetness, you’re the birthday girl.”
“hmm, nothing planned big guy?” you teased, and he splashed a little water on your exposed torso.
“of course i do… but, it’s still your day, you can do whatever you want.” he replied, pressing kisses to your neck.
“whatever i want?”
“mmhmm, have whatever, do whatever… have me do whatever you want… to you” he spoke, voice deep and kisses hard.
your heart rate picked up, sure he could sense it as he pressed his tongue to your pressure point, gasping you consented with “i like the sound of that”
.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．
“haz… can you at least slow down???”
“sorry! sorry! it’s not my fault i swear!” he retorted, swerving in and out of his lane.
“yeah well i can’t exactly tell now can i?” you snapped, feeling around the blindfold he insisted you wore
“hey! don’t mess with it! we’re almost there!” harrison looked over at you and worried his bottom lip in nervousness. the location was only down the road and every possibility was running through his head. did he invite enough of your friends? sure you got along with his housemates and coworkers, but he didn’t want you to feel awkward at your own party. was it too much, would you feel too pressured?
he turned into the parking lot and took a deep breath, you were here now, so it was now or never. “can i take it off now?”
“yes, sweetness.”
you yanked it off and immediately looked around, face contorting in confusion.
“cmon, it’s around the corner.” he grabbed your hand and started to make his way.
“i- i hope you like it. if you don’t that’s fine, we can do something else. i swear! no pressure really, this, this is really just an idea. but i thought it seemed fun, so i, yeah, again, i just hope you like it.” he rambled, about to add on another reassurance that you could leave whenever you wanted when your gasp interrupted him.
“woah…” you took in the field before you. fair games, food trucks, rides and even a ferris wheel covered the entire ground. your friends already enjoying the festivities.
“haz this… this is amazing…” your head snapped towards his as you thew yourself into his arms. “th-thank you so much, oh my god!”
harrison knew that if you weren’t anchoring him in that moment, he would’ve floated to heaven. you were so sweet and happy, he was more than elated.
“it’s all for you, babe. let’s go enjoy, yeah?” he said, pride running through his veins at the good job he did.
you found your friends, all giving you bear hugs and dragging you away from harrison to go on rides. he didn’t mind, he got to spend all day with you, and you were too good not to share.
he sat at one of the picnic benches as tom brought over two slices of pizza. “mate, i gotta say, this is fucking awesome”
harrison beamed at him at the compliment. “yeah i know!”
tom laughed and shook his head, “wanna call you a smug div, but honestly, y’should be proud of yourself.”
harrison felt his cheeks warm at his friends words. “thanks mate, i- i’m just glad she likes it.”
tom let out a *whapush* noise, “so whipped.” and harrison just rolled his eyes, but bit back any denials. he was whipped for you. not only did the thousands in pounds he spent for tonight prove it, but the way his heart danced in his chest at the mere though of you, did too.
“yeah, i guess i am” he smirked, meeting tom in a fist bump and beelined towards you.
you felt his arms wrap around your waist from behind as you spoke to your friend, her eyes lighting up at the scene.
“mind if i steal her for a moment?” he asked, giving your friend his best puppy eyes, to which she giggled and shook her head, sending you a wink on her way.
“y’alright, birthday girl?” he muttered, head buried in your neck.
“more than alright. thank you again haz, i really, i really don’t know how i can make this up to you.”
he spun you around in his arms and gave you a passionate kiss, trying to convey all his love through it, hopefully telling you that you didn’t have to make anything up to him, that he’d buy you the earth if it’d make you smile.”
when he pulled away, you stared up at him like he was a figure from your dreams and he thinks you understood him.
“cmon, let’s go on the ferris wheel!”
“lead the way, lune.”
.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．
the night sky surrounded you both as you at at the top of the ferris wheel, looking down at the city.
“so…,” harrison began. you hummed in response and he squeezed your clasped hands together.
“so there's this tradition. a law, really. i have to kiss you as many times as your age. so prepare yourself, babe.”
you laughed and scooted impossibly closer to him, “oh yeah?”
“mmhmm! now remember, i don’t make the laws, only enforce them.”
he began to count upwards from one and kiss your lips. some soft and light, others held out and leaving you a little breathless.
“so many kisses tonight, i love it”
“well there’s more where that came from.” he said, “now where was i? oh right, 16…”
#harrison osterfield#harrison osterfield fic#harrison osterfield angst#harrison osterfield fanfiction#harrison osterfield fan fiction#harrison osterfield blurb#harrison osterfield drabble#harrison osterfield fluff#haz osterfield fluff#haz osterfield fic#haz osterfield#haz osterfield blurb
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You Know I’m No Good - o n e
Summary: Tallulah Forester isn’t a bad person, she’s just made one too many bad decisions. Which is why she has now found herself four hours away from her home in Seattle, to her estranged fathers little home in La Push, with her stepmom and two half sisters, whom she has only been with a couple of times in the past 15 years. Her mother and father had agreed, shockingly, that the small town lifestyle would be beneficial to their wild child, but bad habits die hard, especially when it comes to being in control.
Timeline: Takes place a few years after the events of Breaking Dawn
Pairing: Paul Lahote x OC (Tallulah is 18)
Warnings (future chapters): Drugs/Alcohol, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Jealousy, Mental Health, (Mentions of SA, but no details)
There are losses that rearrange the world. Deaths that change the way you see everything, grief that tears everything down. Pain that transports you to an entirely different universe, even while everyone else thinks nothing has really changed.
Tallulah stared out the window in the back seat with her knees tucked up to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly as her father drawled on, switching from topic to topic, your sisters and Kira are so excited your coming to we’ve already enrolled you at the school to do you remember this person or that person? Anything to fill the silence from creating a suffocating atmosphere in the car. It all sounded like white noise to her, she barely remembered La Push.
She moved to Seattle with her mother when she was six and the two of them never looked back, whenever she would see her father or half-sisters, they would meet halfway in Port Angeles and then head their separate ways. It was easier that way for everyone involved.
Josette and Lenna, her half-sisters, were ten the last time she spent any actual memory inducing time with them. Although they are only two years younger than her, they were so different. So in tune with the tribe, whereas she barely knew anything about the histories. She doubted anything would have changed in that respect.
Tallulah's headaches from her hangover, or maybe lack of sleep, she thought, and as she laid her head against the window she listened to the sound of passing cars and her dad's voice as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.
--------
Tallulah awoke to the sound of the car door shutting and a nearby dog barking, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, grateful her headache was gone, but now in its place was a lump in her throat, as she looked around her surroundings outside of the car. The little blue house she vaguely remembers. The tire swings in the old oak tree. A woman's laugh caught her attention, as she looked to see her dad and stepmom, chatting away, happier than ever. Tallulah felt so out of place. Like she was an intruder coming in to ruin her fathers happy, little family with her black cloud of disappointment.
Tallulah groaned to herself as she unbuckled herself, might as well get this over with, she thought to herself while opening the car door and slowly stepping out, stretching as she did. She could feel the two adults eyes on her as she shut the door gently, looking towards them, Kiras big smile, that if she didn’t know better would look insincere, but she did know. Her stepmom was a tryhard, doing anything and everything to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother and stepmother, no matter how hard Tallulah pushed against her kind persona. She was the reason her family was in pieces. Kira and her father were no doubt in love, even when her parents were still together, they never looked at each other the way she sees her father looks at Kira and vice versa, like they are each other's reasons for being. She moves, he moves. Tallulah nearly physically cringes. It's not something she ever wants for herself, that fairy tale love.
She walks toward them slowly, Kira meeting her halfway, wrapping her arms in a bear crushing hug that she doesn’t reciprocate, looking past her at her father who has that ‘be nice’ look on his face, and clearly, she was in no place to fight that. She couldn’t help but think, if this doesn't work out the way her parents think it will, where is the next place she would be shipped off to?
Kiras' soft, sweet voice shakes her from her thoughts, “it's so nice to see you again. Your hair has gotten so long.” Tallulah raises an eyebrow before stating, “I've cut it a few times since I saw you last.” Kira laughs off the dig, before walking towards her father and saying, “the twins are out, we’d figured you'd be better off getting settled without a full house.” Tallulah nodded in response as her father spoke up for the first time since arriving, “besides, we have some things to discuss. Expectations and what not,”
Tallulah eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Rules? I’m eighteen. I don’t need to have any rules.” Her arms crossed over chest, as if she were a child.
“If you think that you will be continuing your..extracurricular activities that you have picked up in Seattle, you are wrongly mistaken” he says in what she assumes is his fatherly tone that works on the twins, but not her, he gave up that right fifteen years ago. “Your mother has filled us in on everything, Tally” She rolls her eyes at this, as if she knows everything, she thought to herself.
Kira stood up on the porch, just inside the doorway, “Joseph, let her settle in, we can have this conversation tomorrow, after the bonfire.” she said in ‘dont fight me in this tone’, to which Tallulah appreciated, yet was confused, “Bonfire?” she asked, as she made her way up the steps of the house leaving her dad to bring in her few bags, “The tribe bonfire party happens once a month, the girls love it, plus you can meet some of your classmates before you start school.” Kira spoke as if this was something she should look forward to, but in all honesty, large gatherings were not Tallys scene, despite what her mother thinks. But, she would attend, save face and hope with good behaviour she would be back in Seattle with her friends in no time. This thought reminded her to shoot them a text quickly explaining her situation, hoping they would see it as an SOS, before shoving her phone back in her pocket and following Kira around the house like a little kid, listening to where things were kept, which rooms were which and then finally a stop at the room in which she would call hers. The walls were a blank, cream color, with light blue bedding and a wooden desk shoved in the corner, along with what looks like textbooks sitting on top.She nods politely as Kira mentions they will be leaving within the hour but try to settle in and suggests she may want to change out of her cotton shorts, as it “gets quite cold compared to Seattle” as she put it.
-----
7:14 read the time on Tallulah's phone as they walked up to the beach, the sun had just begun to set and the temperature had, in fact, dropped quite a bit, thankful for Kiras advice, Tallulah had changed into a pair of loose, blue jeans and had tucked her hands into the pockets of her oversized, black hoodie, fingers curled under the long sleeves to keep them warm.
She walked slightly behind Kira and her father, standing off to the side as they were greeted by people, before they had reached whom she suspected to be the twins. They looked so different from what she remember, her father lowly spoke to her, as Kira caught their attention, pointing out the smaller of the two as Josette and the taller, as Lenna. Josie dawned a baggie pair of dark pair of overalls, with a striped sweater underneath, her hair in two space buns, which was quite different from her sister, in her plaid mini skirt and form-fitting long sleeve shirt, her pin straight, dark hair fanned out behind her back. Tallulah could already tell they wouldn’t get along.
She watched as Lenna stalked away from her mother to a group of people who looked around their age, before snapping her eyes back at the sound of her name being called, to see Kira and Josette waving her over, before she could even move her feet willingly, her dad was nudging her in their direction, as if she would turn and walk the other way.
Josette moved over so she could sit directly beside, a friendly smile that resembled Kiras on her face, “ Hi Tally” she spoke her childhood nickname softly, “it’s been awhile, you look so much older, not in a bad way, like mature, adultish, but obviously your only two years older than me so not technically an adult..” she rambled off, “Hey Josette” and before Tallulah could say anything else, she was interrupted by the younger girl, “Its Josie or Jo, whichever fine, just not Josette” she spoke quickly, a pale blush crossing her olive toned skin, to which Tallulah just nodded and asked, “How long do these things last?”
“That depends,” Josie spoke, “Typically the adults leave once the stories and tribal matter finishes, so maybe an hour or two. But we usually stay later, or at least Lenna does.” she said, looking in the direction of her twin, who was now surrounded by a group of other rambunctious teenagers. “Sam Uley's crew is here tonight, so who knows if that will even happen, especially after last time.” Tallulah didn’t question the younger girl, mainly because she just didn’t care to. She looked away from Lenna and her friends, her eyes gazing on all the unfamiliar faces sitting on logs or picnic tables surrounding the growing fire.
Her eyes stopped on what seemed to be a couple, the girl was beautiful, her long black hair was tied up into a neat ponytail, she was talking to a man in a wheelchair beside her, who looked like he could be her dad, her eyes shifted to the man sitting next her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, he was in shorts and a shirt and looked perfectly comfortable in the frigid air, he was joking around with the boys next to him, as if the beautiful girl next to him was really there, despite his arm around her, “Thats Paul Lahote.” Josie said from next to her, causing her to flush from her obvious staring, he looked in their direction, as if he had heard Josie say his name, they locked eyes for a split second before Tallulah looked away embarrassed she had been caught. “Don’t worry, Lenna stares at him too,” Josie laughed jokingly, “I wasn’t staring” Tallulah spoke defensively, Josie raised her hands in surrender before leaning in close, “looks like he's the one staring now” Josie grinned, watching as Tallulah looked back at the older boy, noticing that he was staring at her, almost like a deer in headlights. He looked so familiar, though she doubts that they have ever met before. He smiles at her slightly, his arm retracting from the girl beside him despite her protest to his movement, and now the beautiful women is also looking at her, causing Tallulah to look down at her sleeve covered hands that lay in her lap, only looking up again when her father sits in the spot next to her, asking if she's alright, to which she absentmindedly nods her head. Is she alright after her entire life has been altered in the last 12 hours? What kind of question is that?
Her eyes are drawn back to the spot Paul Lahote was sitting in, or had been sitting in, the seat was now vacant, the man nowhere in her line of sight, and she can't help but feel a little disappointed.
#paul lahote imagine#paul lahote fanfic#paul lahote x oc#paul lahote#twilight wolves#twilight wolf pack#embry call#leah clearwater#you know im no good#chapter 1
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I Sexually Identify as an
Attack Helicopter
by ISABEL FALL
I sexually identify as an attack helicopter.
I lied. According to US Army Technical Manual 0, The Soldier as a System, “attack helicopter” is a
gender identity, not a biological sex. My dog tags and Form 3349 say my body is an XX-karyotope
somatic female.
But, really, I didn’t lie. My body is a component in my mission, subordinate to what I truly am. If I
say I am an attack helicopter, then my body, my sex, is too. I’ll prove it to you.
When I joined the Army I consented to tactical-role gender reassignment. It was mandatory for the
MOS I’d tested into. I was nervous. I’d never been anything but a woman before.
But I decided that I was done with womanhood, over what womanhood could do for me; I wanted to
be something furiously new.
To the people who say a woman would’ve refused to do what I do, I say—
Isn’t that the point?
I fly—
Red evening over the white Mojave, and I watch the sun set through a canopy of polycarbonate and
glass: clitoral bulge of cockpit on the helicopter’s nose. Lightning probes the burned wreck of an oil
refinery and the Santa Ana feeds a smoldering wildfire and pulls pine soot out southwest across the
Big Pacific. We are alone with each other, Axis and I, flying low.
We are traveling south to strike a high school.
Rotor wash flattens rings of desert creosote. Did you know that creosote bushes clone themselves?
The ten-thousand-year elders enforce dead zones where nothing can grow except more creosote.
Beetles and mice live among them, the way our cities had pigeons and mice. I guess the analogy
breaks down because the creosote’s lasted ten thousand years. You don’t need an attack helicopter
to tell you that our cities haven’t. The Army gave me gene therapy to make my blood toxic to
mosquitoes. Soon you will have that too, to fight malaria in the Hudson floodplain and on the banks
of the Greater Lake.
Now I cross Highway 40, southbound at two hundred knots. The Apache’s engine is electric and
silent. Decibel killers sop up the rotor noise. White-bright infrared vision shows me stripes of heat,
the tire tracks left by Pear Mesa school buses. Buried housing projects smolder under the dirt,
radiators curled until sunset. This is enemy territory. You can tell because, though this desert was
once Nevada and California, there are no American flags.
“Barb,” the Apache whispers, in a voice that Axis once identified, to my alarm, as my mother’s.
“Waypoint soon.”
“Axis.” I call out to my gunner, tucked into the nose ahead of me. I can see only gray helmet and
flight suit shoulders, but I know that body wholly, the hard knots of muscle, the ridge of pelvic
girdle, the shallow navel and flat hard chest. An attack helicopter has a crew of two. My gunner is
my marriage, my pillar, the completion of my gender.
“Axis.” The repeated call sign means, I hear you.
“Ten minutes to target.”
“Ready for target,” Axis says.
But there is again that roughness, like a fold in carbon fiber. I heard it when we reviewed our
fragment orders for the strike. I hear it again now. I cannot ignore it any more than I could ignore a
battery fire; it is a fault in a person and a system I trust with my life.
But I can choose to ignore it for now.
The target bumps up over the horizon. The low mounds of Kelso-Ventura District High burn warm
gray through a parfait coating of aerogel insulation and desert soil. We have crossed a third of the
continental US to strike a school built by Americans.
Axis cues up a missile: black eyes narrowed, telltales reflected against clear laser-washed cornea.
“Call the shot, Barb.”
“Stand by. Maneuvering.” I lift us above the desert floor, buying some room for the missile to run,
watching the probability-of-kill calculation change with each motion of the aircraft.
Before the Army my name was Seo Ji Hee. Now my call sign is Barb, which isn’t short for Barbara. I
share a rank (flight warrant officer), a gender, and a urinary system with my gunner Axis: we are
harnessed and catheterized into the narrow tandem cockpit of a Boeing AH-70 Apache Mystic.
America names its helicopters for the people it destroyed.
We are here to degrade and destroy strategic targets in the United States of America’s war against
the Pear Mesa Budget Committee. If you disagree with the war, so be it: I ask your empathy, not
your sympathy. Save your pity for the poor legislators who had to find some constitutional
framework for declaring war against a credit union.
The reasons for war don’t matter much to us. We want to fight the way a woman wants to be
gracious, the way a man wants to be firm. Our need is as vamp-fierce as the strutting queen and
dryly subtle as the dapper lesbian and comfortable as the soft resilience of the demiwoman. How
often do you analyze the reasons for your own gender? You might sigh at the necessity of morning
makeup, or hide your love for your friends behind beer and bravado. Maybe you even resent the
punishment for breaking these norms.
But how often—really—do you think about the grand strategy of gender? The mess of history and
sociology, biology and game theory that gave rise to your pants and your hair and your salary? The
casus belli?
Often, you might say. All the time. It haunts me.
Then you, more than anyone, helped make me.
When I was a woman I wanted to be good at woman. I wanted to darken my eyes and strut in heels.
I wanted to laugh from my throat when I was pleased, laugh so low that women would shiver in
contentment down the block.
And at the same time I resented it all. I wanted to be sharper, stronger, a new-made thing,
exquisite and formidable. Did I want that because I was taught to hate being a woman? Or because I
hated being taught anything at all?
Now I am jointed inside. Now I am geared and shafted, I am a being of opposing torques. The noise
I make is canceled by decibel killers so I am no louder than a woman laughing through two walls.
When I was a woman I wanted to have friends who would gasp at the precision and surprise of my
gifts. Now I show friendship by tracking the motions of your head, looking at what you look at, the
way one helicopter’s sensors can be slaved to the motions of another.
When I was a woman I wanted my skin to be as smooth and dark as the sintered stone countertop
in our kitchen.
Now my skin is boron-carbide and Kevlar. Now I have a wrist callus where I press my hydration
sensor into my skin too hard and too often. Now I have bit-down nails from the claustrophobia of the
bus ride to the flight line. I paint them desert colors, compulsively.
When I was a woman I was always aware of surveillance. The threat of the eyes on me, the chance
that I would cross over some threshold of detection and become a target.
Now I do the exact same thing. But I am counting radars and lidars and pit viper thermal sensors,
waiting for a missile.
I am gas turbines. I am the way I never sit on the same side of the table as a stranger. I am most
comfortable in moonless dark, in low places between hills. I am always thirsty and always tense. I
tense my core and pace my breath even when coiled up in a briefing chair. As if my tail rotor must
cancel the spin of the main blades and the turbines must whirl and the plates flex against the pitch
links or I will go down spinning to my death.
An airplane wants in its very body to stay flying. A helicopter is propelled by its interior
near-disaster.
I speak the attack command to my gunner. “Normalize the target.”
Nothing happens.
“Axis. Comm check.”
“Barb, Axis. I hear you.” No explanation for the fault. There is nothing wrong with the weapon attack
parameters. Nothing wrong with any system at all, except the one without any telltales, my spouse,
my gunner.
“Normalize the target,” I repeat.
“Axis. Rifle one.”
The weapon falls off our wing, ignites, homes in on the hard invisible point of the laser designator.
Missiles are faster than you think, more like a bullet than a bird. If you’ve ever seen a bird.
The weapon penetrates the concrete shelter of Kelso-Ventura High School and fills the empty halls
with thermobaric aerosol. Then: ignition. The detonation hollows out the school like a hooked finger
scooping out an egg. There are not more than a few janitors in there. A few teachers working late.
They are bycatch.
What do I feel in that moment? Relief. Not sexual, not like eating or pissing, not like coming in from
the heat to the cool dry climate shelter. It’s a sense of passing . Walking down the street in the right
clothes, with the right partner, to the right job. That feeling. Have you felt it?
But there is also an itch of worry—why did Axis hesitate? How did Axis hesitate?
Kelso-Ventura High School collapses into its own basement. “Target normalized,” Axis reports,
without emotion, and my heart beats slow and worried.
I want you to understand that the way I feel about Axis is hard and impersonal and lovely. It is
exactly the way you would feel if a beautiful, silent turbine whirled beside you day and night,
protecting you, driving you on, coursing with current, fiercely bladed, devoted. God, it’s love. It’s
love I can’t explain. It’s cold and good.
“Barb,” I say, which means I understand . “Exiting north, zero three zero, cupids two.”
I adjust the collective—feel the swash plate push up against the pitch links, the links tilt the angle of
the rotors so they ease their bite on the air—and the Apache, my body, sinks toward the hot desert
floor. Warm updraft caresses the hull, sensual contrast with the Santa Ana wind. I shiver in delight.
Suddenly: warning receivers hiss in my ear, poke me in the sacral vertebrae, put a dark
thunderstorm note into my air. “Shit,” Axis hisses. “Air search radar active, bearing 192, angles
twenty, distance . . . eighty klicks. It’s a fast-mover. He must’ve heard the blast.”
A fighter. A combat jet. Pear Mesa’s mercenary defenders have an air force, and they are out on the
hunt. “A Werewolf.”
“Must be. Gown?”
“Gown up.” I cue the plasma-sheath stealth system that protects us from radar and laser hits. The
Apache glows with lines of arc-weld light, UFO light. Our rotor wash blasts the plasma into a bright
wedding train behind us. To the enemy’s sensors, that trail of plasma is as thick and soft as
insulating foam. To our eyes it’s cold aurora fire.
“Let’s get the fuck out.” I touch the cyclic and we sideslip through Mojave dust, watching the school
fall into itself. There is no reason to do this except that somehow I know Axis wants to see. Finally I
pull the nose around, aim us northeast, shedding light like a comet buzzing the desert on its way
into the sun.
“Werewolf at seventy klicks,” Axis reports. “Coming our way. Time to intercept . . . six minutes.”
The Werewolf Apostles are mercenaries, survivors from the militaries of climate-seared states. They
sell their training and their hardware to earn their refugee peoples a few degrees more distance from
the equator.
The heat of the broken world has chased them here to chase us.
Before my assignment neurosurgery, they made me sit through (I could bear to sit, back then) the
mandatory course on Applied Constructive Gender Theory. Slouched in a fungus-nibbled plastic chair
as transparencies slid across the cracked screen of a De-networked Briefing Element overhead
projector: how I learned the technology of gender.
Long before we had writing or farms or post-digital strike helicopters, we had each other. We lived
together and changed each other, and so we needed to say “this is who I am, this is what I do.”
So, in the same way that we attached sounds to meanings to make language, we began to attach
clusters of behavior to signal social roles. Those clusters were rich, and quick-changing, and so just
like language, we needed networks devoted to processing them. We needed a place in the brain to
construct and to analyze gender.
Generations of queer activists fought to make gender a self-determined choice, and to undo the
creeping determinism that said the way it is now is the way it always was and always must be.
Generations of scientists mapped the neural wiring that motivated and encoded the gender choice.
And the moment their work reached a usable stage—the moment society was ready to accept plastic
gender, and scientists were ready to manipulate it—the military found a new resource. Armed with
functional connectome mapping and neural plastics, the military can make gender tactical.
If gender has always been a construct, then why not construct new ones?
My gender networks have been reassigned to make me a better AH-70 Apache Mystic pilot. This is
better than conventional skill learning. I can show you why.
Look at a diagram of an attack helicopter’s airframe and components. Tell me how much of it you
grasp at once.
Now look at a person near you, their clothes, their hair, their makeup and expression, the way they
meet or avoid your eyes. Tell me which was richer with information about danger and capability. Tell
me which was easier to access and interpret.
The gender networks are old and well-connected. They work .
I remember being a woman. I remember it the way you remember that old, beloved hobby you left
behind. Woman felt like my prom dress, polyester satin smoothed between little hand and little hip.
Woman felt like a little tic of the lips when I was interrupted, or like teasing out the mood my
boyfriend wouldn’t explain. Like remembering his mom’s birthday for him, or giving him a list of
things to buy at the store, when he wanted to be better about groceries.
I was always aware of being small: aware that people could hurt me. I spent a lot of time thinking
about things that had happened right before something awful. I would look around me and ask
myself, are the same things happening now? Women live in cross-reference. It is harder work than
we know.
Now I think about being small as an advantage for nape-of-earth maneuvers and pop-up guided
missile attacks.
Now I yield to speed walkers in the hall like I need to avoid fouling my rotors.
Now walking beneath high-tension power lines makes me feel the way that a cis man would feel if he
strutted down the street in a miniskirt and heels.
I’m comfortable in open spaces but only if there’s terrain to break it up. I hate conversations I
haven’t started; I interrupt shamelessly so that I can make my point and leave.
People treat me like I’m dangerous, like I could hurt them if I wanted to. They want me protected
and watched over. They bring me water and ask how I’m doing.
People want me on their team. They want what I can do.
A fighter is hunting us, and I am afraid that my gunner has gender dysphoria.
Twenty thousand feet above us (still we use feet for altitude) the bathroom-tiled transceivers cupped
behind the nose cone of a Werewolf Apostle J-20S fighter broadcast fingers of radar light. Each beam
cast at a separate frequency, a fringed caress instead of a pointed prod. But we are jumpy, we are
hypervigilant—we feel that creeper touch.
I get the cold-rush skin-prickle feel of a stranger following you in the dark. Has he seen you? Is he
just going the same way? If he attacks, what will you do, could you get help, could you scream? Put
your keys between your fingers, like it will help. Glass branches of possibility grow from my skin,
waiting to be snapped off by the truth.
“Give me a warning before he’s in IRST range,” I order Axis. “We’re going north.”
“Axis.” The Werewolf’s infrared sensor will pick up the heat of us, our engine and plasma shield,
burning against the twilight desert. The same system that hides us from his radar makes us hot and
visible to his IRST.
I throttle up, running faster, and the Apache whispers alarm. “Gown overspeed.” We’re moving too
fast for the plasma stealth system, and the wind’s tearing it from our skin. We are not modest. I
want to duck behind a ridge to cover myself, but I push through the discomfort, feeling out the
tradeoff between stealth and distance. Like the morning check in the mirror, trading the confidence
of a good look against the threat of reaction.
When the women of Soviet Russia went to war against the Nazis, when they volunteered by the
thousands to serve as snipers and pilots and tank drivers and infantry and partisans, they fought
hard and they fought well. They ate frozen horse dung and hauled men twice their weight out of
burning tanks. They shot at their own mothers to kill the Nazis behind her.
But they did not lose their gender; they gave up the inhibition against killing but would not give up
flowers in their hair, polish for their shoes, a yearning for the young lieutenant, a kiss on his dead
lips.
And if that is not enough to convince you that gender grows deep enough to thrive in war: when the
war ended the Soviet women were punished. They went unmarried and unrespected. They were
excluded from the victory parades. They had violated their gender to fight for the state and the state
judged that violation worth punishment more than their heroism was worth reward.
Gender is stronger than war. It remains when all else flees.
When I was a woman I wanted to machine myself.
I loved nails cut like laser arcs and painted violent-bright in bathrooms that smelled like laboratories.
I wanted to grow thick legs with fat and muscle that made shapes under the skin like Nazca lines. I
loved my birth control, loved that I could turn my period off, loved the home beauty-feedback kits
that told you what to eat and dose to adjust your scent, your skin, your moods. I admired, wasn’t
sure if I wanted to be or wanted to fuck, the women in the build-your-own-shit videos I watched on
our local image of the old Internet. Women who made cyberattack kits and jewelry and
sterile-printed IUDs, made their own huge wedge heels and fitted bras and skin-thin chameleon
dresses. Women who talked about their implants the same way they talked about computers,
phones, tools: technologies of access, technologies of self-expression.
Something about their merciless self-possession and self-modification stirred me. The first time I
ever meant to masturbate I imagined one of those women coming into my house, picking the lock,
telling me exactly what to do, how to be like her. I told my first boyfriend about this, I showed him
pictures, and he said, girl, you bi as hell, which was true, but also wrong. Because I did not want
those dresses, those heels, those bodies in the way I wanted my boyfriend. I wanted to possess that
power. I wanted to have it and be it.
The Apache is my body now, and like most bodies it is sensual. Fabric armor that stiffens beneath
my probing fingers. Stub wings clustered with ordnance. Rotors so light and strong they do not even
droop: as artificial-looking, to an older pilot, as breast implants. And I brush at the black ring of a
sensor housing, like the tip of a nail lifting a stray lash from the white of your eye.
I don’t shave, which all the fast jet pilots do, down to the last curly scrotal hair. Nobody expects a
helicopter to be sleek. I have hairy armpits and thick black bush all the way to my ass crack. The
things that are taboo and arousing to me are the things taboo to helicopters. I like to be picked up,
moved, pressed, bent and folded, held down, made to shudder, made to abandon control.
Do these last details bother you? Does the topography of my pubic hair feel intrusive and
unnecessary? I like that. I like to intrude, inflict damage, withdraw. A year after you read this maybe
those paragraphs will be the only thing you remember: and you will know why the rules of gender
are worth recruitment.
But we cannot linger on the point of attack.
“He’s coming north. Time to intercept three minutes.”
“Shit. How long until he gets us on thermal?”
“Ninety seconds with the gown on.” Danger has swept away Axis’ hesitation.
“Shit.”
“He’s not quite on zero aspect—yeah, he’s coming up a few degrees off our heading. He’s not sure
exactly where we are. He’s hunting.”
“He’ll be sure soon enough. Can we kill him?”
“With sidewinders?” Axis pauses articulately: the target is twenty thousand feet above us, and he
has a laser that can blind our missiles. “We’d have more luck bailing out and hiking.”
“All right. I’m gonna fly us out of this.”
“Sure.”
“Just check the gun.”
“Ten times already, Barb.”
When climate and economy and pathology all went finally and totally critical along the Gulf Coast,
the federal government fled Cabo fever and VARD-2 to huddle behind New York’s flood barriers.
We left eleven hundred and six local disaster governments behind. One of them was the Pear Mesa
Budget Committee. The rest of them were doomed.
Pear Mesa was different because it had bought up and hardened its own hardware and power. So
Pear Mesa’s neural nets kept running, retrained from credit union portfolio management to the
emergency triage of hundreds of thousands of starving sick refugees.
Pear Mesa’s computers taught themselves to govern the forsaken southern seaboard. Now they
coordinate water distribution, re-express crop genomes, ration electricity for survival AC, manage all
the life support humans need to exist in our warmed-over hell.
But, like all advanced neural nets, these systems are black boxes. We have no idea how they work,
what they think. Why do Pear Mesa’s AIs order the planting of pear trees? Because pears were their
corporate icon, and the AIs associate pear trees with areas under their control. Why does no one
make the AIs stop? Because no one knows what else is tangled up with the “plant pear trees”
impulse. The AIs may have learned, through some rewarded fallacy or perverse founder effect, that
pear trees cause humans to have babies. They may believe that their only function is to build
support systems around pear trees.
When America declared war on Pear Mesa, their AIs identified a useful diagnostic criterion for hostile
territory: the posting of fifty-star American flags. Without ever knowing what a flag meant, without
any concept of nations or symbols, they ordered the destruction of the stars and stripes in Pear Mesa
territory.
That was convenient for propaganda. But the real reason for the war, sold to a hesitant Congress by
technocrats and strategic ecologists, was the ideology of scale atrocity . Pear Mesa’s AIs could not be
modified by humans, thus could not be joined with America’s own governing algorithms: thus must
be forced to yield all their control, or else remain forever separate.
And that separation was intolerable. By refusing the United States administration, our superior
resources and planning capability, Pear Mesa’s AIs condemned citizens who might otherwise be
saved to die—a genocide by neglect. Wasn’t that the unforgivable crime of fossil capitalism? The
creation of systems whose failure modes led to mass death?
Didn’t we have a moral imperative to intercede?
Pear Mesa cannot surrender, because the neural nets have a basic imperative to remain online. Pear
Mesa’s citizens cannot question the machines’ decisions. Everything the machines do is connected in
ways no human can comprehend. Disobey one order and you might as well disobey them all.
But none of this is why I kill.
I kill for the same reason men don’t wear short skirts, the same reason I used to pluck my brows,
the reason enby people are supposed to be (unfair and stupid, yes, but still) androgynous with short
hair. Are those good reasons to do something? If you say no, honestly no—can you tell me you
break these rules without fear or cost?
But killing isn’t a gender role, you might tell me. Killing isn’t a decision about how to present your
own autonomous self to the world. It is coercive and punitive. Killing is therefore not an act of
gender.
I wish that were true. Can you tell me honestly that killing is a genderless act? The method? The
motive? The victim?
When you imagine the innocent dead, who do you see?
“Barb,” Axis calls, softly. Your own voice always sounds wrong on recordings—too nasal. Axis’ voice
sounds wrong when it’s not coming straight into my skull through helmet mic.
“Barb.”
“How are we doing?”
“Exiting one hundred and fifty knots north. Still in his radar but he hasn’t locked us up.”
“How are you doing?”
I cringe in discomfort. The question is an indirect way for Axis to admit something’s wrong, and that
indirection is obscene. Like hiding a corroded tail rotor bearing from your maintenance guys.
“I’m good,” I say, with fake ease. “I’m in flow. Can’t you feel it?” I dip the nose to match a drop-off
below, provoking a whine from the terrain detector. I am teasing, striking a pose. “We’re gonna be
okay.”
“I feel it, Barb.” But Axis is tense, worried about our pursuer, and other things. Doesn’t laugh.
“How about you?”
“Nominal.”
Again the indirection, again the denial, and so I blurt it out. “Are you dysphoric?”
“What?” Axis says, calmly.
“You’ve been hesitating. Acting funny. Is your—” There is no way to ask someone if their militarized
gender conditioning is malfunctioning. “Are you good?”
“I . . . ” Hesitation. It makes me cringe again, in secondhand shame. Never hesitate. “I don’t know.”
“Do you need to go on report?”
Severe gender dysphoria can be a flight risk. If Axis hesitates over something that needs to be done
instantly, the mission could fail decisively. We could both die.
“I don’t want that,” Axis says.
“I don’t want that either,” I say, desperately. I want nothing less than that. “But, Axis, if—”
The warning receiver climbs to a steady crow call.
“He knows we’re here,” I say, to Axis’ tight inhalation. “He can’t get a lock through the gown but
he’s aware of our presence. Fuck. Blinder, blinder, he’s got his laser on us—”
The fighter’s lidar pod is trying to catch the glint of a reflection off us. “Shit,” Axis says. “We’re
gonna get shot.”
“The gown should defeat it. He’s not close enough for thermal yet.”
“He’s gonna launch anyway. He’s gonna shoot and then get a lock to steer it in.”
“I don’t know—missiles aren’t cheap these days—”
The ESM mast on the Apache’s rotor hub, mounted like a lamp on a post, contains a cluster of
electro-optical sensors that constantly scan the sky: the Distributed Aperture Sensor. When the DAS
detects the flash of a missile launch, it plays a warning tone and uses my vest to poke me in the
small of my back.
My vest pokes me in the small of my back.
“Barb. Missile launch south. Barb. Fox 3 inbound. Inbound. Inbound.”
“He fired,” Axis calls. “Barb?”
“Barb,” I acknowledge.
I fuck—
Oh, you want to know: many of you, at least. It’s all right. An attack helicopter isn’t a private way of
being. Your needs and capabilities must be maintained for the mission.
I don’t think becoming an attack helicopter changed who I wanted to fuck. I like butch assertive
people. I like talent and prestige, the status that comes of doing things well. I was never taught the
lie that I was wired for monogamy, but I was still careful with men, I was still wary, and I could
never tell him why: that I was afraid not because of him, but because of all the men who’d seemed
good like him, at first, and then turned into something else.
No one stalks an attack helicopter. No slack-eyed well-dressed drunk punches you for ignoring the
little rape he slurs at your neckline. No one even breaks your heart: with my dopamine system tied
up by the reassignment surgery, fully assigned to mission behavior, I can’t fall in love with anything
except my own purpose.
Are you aware of your body? Do you feel your spine when you stand, your hips when you walk, the
tightness and the mass in your core? When you look at yourself, whose eyes do you use? Your own?
I am always in myself. I never see myself through my partner’s eyes. I have weapons to use, of
course, ways of moving, moans and cries. But I measure those weapons by their effect, not by their
similarity to some idea of how I should be.
Flying is the loop of machinery and pilot, the sense of your motion on the controls translated into
torque and lift, the airframe’s reaction shaping your next motion until the loop closes and machine
and pilot are one. Awareness collapses to the moment. You are always doing the right thing exactly
as it needs to be done. Sex is the same: the search for everything in an instant.
Of course I fuck Axis. A few decades ago this would’ve been a crime. What a waste of perfectly
useful behavior. What a waste of that lean muscled form and those perfect killing hands that know
me millimeter-by-millimeter system-by-system so there is no mystique between us. No “secret
places” or “feminine mysteries,” only the tortuously exact technical exercise of nerves and pressure.
Oxytocin released, to flow between us, by the press of knuckles in my cunt.
When I come beneath Axis I cry out, I press my body close, I want that utter loss of control that I
feel nowhere else. Heartbeat in arched throat: nipple beneath straining tongue. And my mind is
hyper-activated, free-associating, and as Axis works in me I see the work we do together. I see puffs
of thirty-millimeter autocannon detonating on night-cold desert floor.
Violence doesn’t get me off. But getting off makes me revel in who I am: and I am violent, made for
violence, alive in the fight.
Does that surprise you? Does it bother you to mingle cold technical discipline with hot flesh and
sweat?
Let me ask you: why has the worst insult you can give a combat pilot always been weak dick?
Have you ever been exultant? Have you ever known that you are a triumph? Have you ever felt that
it was your whole life’s purpose to do something, and all that you needed to succeed was to be
entirely yourself?
To be yourself well is the wholest and best feeling that anything has ever felt.
It is what I feel when I am about to live or die.
The Werewolf’s missile arches down on us, motor burned out, falling like an arrow. He is trying a
Shoot On Prospect attack: he cannot find us exactly, so he fires a missile that will finish the search,
lock onto our heat or burn through our stealth with its onboard radar, or acquire us optically like a
staring human eye. Or at least make us react. Like the catcaller’s barked “Hey!” to evoke the flinch
or the huddle, the proof that he has power.
We are ringed in the vortex of a dilemma. If we switch off the stealth gown, the Werewolf fighter will
lock its radar onto us and guide the missile to the kill. If we keep the stealth system on, the missile’s
heat-seeker will home in on the blazing plasma.
I know what to do. Not in the way you learn how to fly a helicopter, but the way you know how to
hold your elbows when you gesture.
A helicopter is more than a hovering fan, see? The blades of the rotor tilt and swivel. When you turn
the aircraft left, the rotors deepen their bite into the air on one side of their spin, to make off-center
lift. You cannot force a helicopter or it will throw you to the earth. You must be gentle.
I caress the cyclic.
The Apache’s nose comes up smooth and fast. The Mojave horizon disappears under the chin. Axis’
gasp from the front seat passes through the microphone and into the bones of my face. The pitch
indicator climbs up toward sixty degrees, ass down, chin up. Our airspeed plummets from a hundred
and fifty knots to sixty.
We hang there for an instant like a dancer in an oversway. The missile is coming straight down at
us. We are not even running anymore.
And I lower the collective, flattening the blades of the rotor, so that they cannot cut the air at an
angle and we lose all lift.
We fall.
I toe the rudder. The tail rotor yields a little of its purpose, which is to counter the torque of the
main rotor: and that liberated torque spins the Apache clockwise, opposite the rotor’s turn, until we
are nose down sixty degrees, facing back the way we came, looking into the Mojave desert as it rises
up to take us.
I have pirouetted us in place. Plasma fire blows in wraith pennants as the stealth system tries to
keep us modest.
“Can you get it?” I ask.
“Axis.”
I raise the collective again and the rotors bite back into the air. We do not rise, but our fall slows
down. Cyclic stick answers to the barest twitch of wrist, and I remember, once, how that slim wrist
made me think of fragility, frailty, fear: I am remembering even as I pitch the helicopter back and
we climb again, nose up, tail down, scudding backward into the sky while aimed at our chasing killer.
Axis is on top now, above me in the front seat, and in front of Axis is the chin gun, pointed sixty
degrees up into heaven.
“Barb,” the helicopter whispers, like my mother in my ear. “Missile ten seconds. Music? Glare?”
No. No jamming. The Werewolf missile will home in on jamming like a wolf with a taste for pepper.
Our laser might dazzle the seeker, drive it off course—but if the missile turns then Axis cannot take
the shot.
It is not a choice. I trust Axis.
Axis steers the nose turret onto the target and I imagine strong fingers on my own chin, turning me
for a kiss, looking up into the red scorched sky—Axis chooses the weapon (30MM GUIDED PROX AP)
and aims and fires with all the idle don’t-have-to-try confidence of the first girl dribbling a soccer ball
who I ever for a moment loved—
The chin autocannon barks out ten rounds a second. It is effective out to one point five kilometers.
The missile is moving more than a hundred meters per second.
Axis has one second almost exactly, ten shots of thirty-millimeter smart grenade, to save us.
A mote of gray shadow rushes at us and intersects the line of cannon fire from the gun. It becomes
a spray of light. The Apache tings and rattles. The desert below us, behind us, stipples with tiny
plumes of dust that pick up in the wind and settle out like sift from a hand.
“Got it,” Axis says.
“I love you.”
“Axis.”
Many of you are veterans in the act of gender. You weigh the gaze and disposition of strangers in a
subway car and select where to stand, how often to look up, how to accept or reject conversation.
Like a frequency-hopping radar, you modulate your attention for the people in your context: do not
look too much, lest you seem interested, or alarming. You regulate your yawns, your appetite, your
toilet. You do it constantly and without failure.
You are aces.
What other way could be better? What other neural pathways are so available to constant
reprogramming, yet so deeply connected to judgment, behavior, reflex?
Some people say that there is no gender, that it is a postmodern construct, that in fact there are
only man and woman and a few marginal confusions. To those people I ask: if your body-fact is
enough to establish your gender, you would willingly wear bright dresses and cry at movies, wouldn’t
you? You would hold hands and compliment each other on your beauty, wouldn’t you? Because your
cock would be enough to make you a man.
Have you ever guarded anything so vigilantly as you protect yourself against the shame of
gender-wrong?
The same force that keeps you from gender-wrong is the force that keeps me from fucking up.
The missile is dead. The Werewolf Apostle is still up there.
“He’s turning off.” Axis has taken over defensive awareness while I fly. “Radar off. Laser off. He’s
letting us go.”
“Afraid of our fighters?” The mercenaries cannot replace a lost J-20S. And he probably has a
wingman, still hiding, who would die too if they stray into a trap.
“Yes,” Axis says.
“Keep the gown on.” In case he’s trying to bluff us into shutting down our stealth. “We’ll stick to the
terrain until he’s over the horizon.”
“Can you fly us out?”
The Apache is fighting me. Fragments of the destroyed missile have pitted the rotors, damaged the
hub assembly, and jammed the control surfaces. I begin to crush the shrapnel with the Apache’s
hydraulics, pounding the metal free with careful control inputs. But the necessary motions also move
the aircraft. Half a second’s error will crash us into the desert. I have to calculate how to un-jam the
shrapnel while accounting for the effects of that shrapnel on my flight authority and keeping the
aircraft stable despite my constant control inputs while moving at a hundred and thirty knots across
the desert.
“Barb,” I say. “Not a problem.”
And for an hour I fly without thought, without any feeling except the smooth stone joy of doing
something that takes everything.
The night desert is black to the naked eye, soft gray to thermal. My attention flips between my left
eye, focused on the instruments, and my right eye, looking outside. I am a black box like the Pear
Mesa AIs. Information arrives—a throb of feedback in the cyclic, a shift of Axis’ weight, a dune crest
ahead—and my hands and feet move to hold us steady. If I focused on what I was doing it would all
fall apart. So I don’t.
“Are you happy?” Axis asks.
Good to talk now. Keep my conscious mind from interfering with the gearbox of reflexes below.
“Yeah,” I say, and I blow out a breath into my mask, “yeah, I am,” a lightness in my ribs, “yeah, I
feel good.”
“Why do you think we just blew up a school?”
Why did I text my best friend the appearance and license number of all my cab drivers, just in case?
Because those were the things that had to be done.
Listen: I exist in this context. To make war is part of my gender. I get what I need from the flight
line, from the ozone tang of charging stations and the shimmer of distant bodies warping in the
tarmac heat, from the twenty minutes of anxiety after we land when I cannot convince myself that I
am home, and safe, and that I am no longer keeping us alive with the constant adjustments of my
hands and feet.
“Deplete their skilled labor supply, I guess. Attack the demographic skill curve.”
“Kind of a long-term objective. Kind of makes you think it’s not gonna be over by election season.”
“We don’t get to know why the AIs pick the targets.” Maybe destroying this school was an accident.
A quirk of some otherwise successful network, coupled to the load-bearing elements of a vast
strategy.
“Hey,” I say, after a beat of silence. “You did good back there.”
“You thought I wouldn’t.”
“Barb.” A more honest yes than “yes,” because it is my name, and it acknowledges that I am the
one with the doubt.
“I didn’t know if I would either,” Axis says, which feels exactly like I don’t know if I love you
anymore . I lose control for a moment and the Apache rattles in bad air and the tail slews until I stop
thinking and bring everything back under control in a burst of rage.
“You’re done?” I whisper, into the helmet. I have never even thought about this before. I am cold,
sweat soaked, and shivering with adrenaline comedown, drawn out like a tendon in high heels, a
just-off-the-dance-floor feeling, post-voracious, satisfied. Why would we choose anything else? Why
would we give this up? When it feels so good to do it? When I love it so much?
“I just . . . have questions.” The tactical channel processes the sound of Axis swallowing into a dull
point of sound, like dropped plastic.
“We don’t need to wonder, Axis. We’re gendered for the mission—”
“We can’t do this forever,” Axis says, startling me. I raise the collective and hop us up a hundred
feet, so I do not plow us into the desert. “We’re not going to be like this forever. The world won’t be
like this forever. I can’t think of myself as . . . always this.”
Yes, we will be this way forever. We survived this mission as we survive everywhere on this hot and
hostile earth. By bending all of what we are to the task. And if we use less than all of ourselves to
survive, we die.
“Are you going to put me on report?” Axis whispers.
On report as a flight risk? As a faulty component in a mission-critical system? “You just intercepted
an air-to-air missile with the autocannon, Axis. Would I ever get rid of you?”
“Because I’m useful,” Axis says, softly. “Because I can still do what I’m supposed to do. That’s what
you love. But if I couldn’t . . . I’m distracting you. I’ll let you fly.”
I spare one glance for the gray helmet in the cockpit below mine. Politeness is a gendered protocol.
Who speaks and who listens. Who denies need and who claims it. As a woman, I would’ve pressed
Axis. As a woman, I would’ve unpacked the unease and the disquiet.
As an attack helicopter, whose problems are communicated in brief, clear datums, I should ignore
Axis.
But who was ever only one thing?
“If you want to be someone else,” I say, “someone who doesn’t do what we do, then . . . I don’t
want to be the thing that stops you.”
“Bird’s gotta land sometime,” Axis says. “Doesn’t it?”
In the Applied Constructive Gender briefing, they told us that there have always been liminal
genders, places that people passed through on their way to somewhere else. Who are we in those
moments when we break our own rules? The straight man who sleeps with men? The woman who
can’t decide if what she feels is intense admiration, or sexual attraction? Where do we go, who do we
become?
Did you know that instability is one of the most vital traits of a combat aircraft? Civilian planes are
built stable, hard to turn, inclined to run straight ahead on an even level. But a military aircraft is
built so it wants to tumble out of control, and it is held steady only by constant automatic feedback.
The way I am holding this Apache steady now.
Something that is unstable is ready to move, eager to change, it wants to turn, to dive, to tear away
from stillness and fly .
Dynamism requires instability. Instability requires the possibility of change.
“Voice recorder’s off, right?” Axis asks.
“Always.”
“I love doing this. I love doing it with you. I just don’t know if it’s . . . if it’s right.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Barb?”
“Thank you for thinking about whether it’s right. Someone needs to.”
Maybe what Axis feels is a necessary new queerness. One which pries the tool of gender back from
the hands of the state and the economy and the war. I like that idea. I cannot think of myself as a
failure, as something wrong, a perversion of a liberty that past generations fought to gain.
But Axis can. And maybe you can too. That skepticism is not what I need . . . but it is necessary
anyway.
I have tried to show you what I am. I have tried to do it without judgment. That I leave to you.
“Are we gonna make it?” Axis asks, quietly.
The airframe shudders in crosswind. I let the vibrations develop, settle into a rhythm, and then I
make my body play the opposite rhythm to cancel it out.
“I don’t know,” I say, which is an answer to both of Axis’ questions, both of the ways our lives are in
danger now. “Depends how well I fly, doesn’t it?”
“It’s all you, Barb,” Axis says, with absolute trust. “Take us home.”
A search radar brushes across us, scatters off the gown, turns away to look in likelier places. The
Apache’s engine growls, eating battery, turning charge into motion. The airframe shudders again,
harder, wind rising as cooling sky fights blazing ground. We are racing a hundred and fifty feet
above the Larger Mojave where we fight a war over some new kind of survival and the planet we
maimed grows that desert kilometer by kilometer. Our aircraft is wounded in its body and in its
crew. We are propelled by disaster. We are moving swiftly.
#I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter by ISABEL FALL#I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter#ISABEL FALL#gender identity
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moonlight ♡
Summary: Spencer wants to go to sleep, but Reader doesn’t wanna break tradition (WC: 1.6k) {Masterlist <3}
Pairing: Spencer Reid x (intended she/her but technically gender neutral)!Reader (could be read as platonic or romantic!!)
TW: none!
A/N: i was supposed to post this on the 29th.. we dont talk about it its okay its fine everythings all good, I ALMOST FORGOT thank you to gracie for beta reading this!! she’s the first one on the taglist at the end if you wanna check out her amazing work as well mwah, n e ways enjoy :0
Playlist Pairing: it’s not a singular song this time, listen to the inspo playlist here! 🌘
_
You rushed up the stairs, praying to some deity that you would catch him before he sent himself to bed or was too immersed in some book to answer the door. JJ had called you 7 hours ago, so it wasn’t surprising that you somehow didn’t notice the time passing, plus the fact you had to get gas for your little trip.
Rapping at the door insistently, you were delightfully startled when Spencer opened the door only a few moments later. He was still in his work slacks and button up but tie-less. A quick glance behind him and you could see he had been making himself tea, and the satchel by his feet couldn’t have been dropped more than 10 minutes ago.
“Peanut?”
You were too elated that you had caught him to respond, instead opting to attach yourself to his torso. “You’re back! Oh my gosh, I was so worried you wouldn’t make it back in time, but luckily JJ called me that you were getting back today, but that was over like 7 hours ago, and then I got worried I wouldn’t make it here before you went to bed--” you rambled, but Spencer quickly brought you back down to Earth by removing you from his torso.
“Y/N! What’re you doing here?”
“We’re going on a drive, duh!” you said, before grabbing his wrist and making it halfway out the door before being pulled back.
“Now? I just got home from two back-to-back cases, and it’s almost midnight.”
“Spence, we can’t break tradition now! Unless Mr. Eidetic Memory forgot what tomorrow is--” you interrupt yourself with a very exaggerated gasp, earning an eye roll from Spencer.
“Of course I know what tomorrow is but--” Knowing he would only go on and on to list reasons why he shouldn’t come with you, you used your last resort, the “puppy dog eyes.” All Spencer did was stare at you, both of you knowing fully well that he was capable of resisting, but he didn’t like to. After a whole minute of unnecessary intense staring at each other, Spencer let out a groan and turned around to walk away, which you thought meant that he was going to bed. Instead, you were pleasantly surprised when you heard him half-yell from across his apartment, “I’m just getting my keys!” You squealed excitedly, knowing what was ahead of you both that night.
~
Your car was small, a basic silver Toyota corolla you named Carrie. She smelled of gas and was decked out with teddy bear head pillows and keychains that you asked Spencer to buy, hanging from the rearview mirror, (but only from the cool states). You even kept a tan knitted blanket in Carrie, which Spencer was now wrapped in.
You couldn’t help but notice Spencer’s infatuation with the moon tonight, as he took a long sip from one of his two cups of hot cocoa you guys had picked up on the way.
“Is it a full moon?”
“No,” he said--not in a rude way, just quietly and quickly, like he didn’t want to take his focus away from the moon or it might disappear.
So, you let him be. He was most likely tired, and despite tomorrow, which most people would be restless for, he probably just wanted rest. You almost felt guilty, but your tradition was important to you, and you could only hope that it was important to him as well.
“Did you know the full moon is one of the most powerful symbols in astrology? It can represent one’s emotional instincts, habits and private aspects of one’s personality. It’s said that while the sun sign of someone represents their head, their moon sign represents their heart. Though, most astrologists say the moon is heavily compulsion-based. Similarly, someone’s sun sign depicts their actions, but their moon sign depicts their reactions,” he told you, still gazing, almost longingly at the moon.
“I didn’t take you for an astrology type of guy, Doctor.”
“I have knowledge in many areas, Y/N, I thought you knew this by now.” You snickered at the understatement. “If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating,” he quoted.
“Plath--are you flirting with me, Doc?”
“Never, peanut.”
You rolled both your eyes and the windows of your car. Hopefully the blanket and cocoa was enough to warm him. All you wanted was to not blow out his eardrums as you turned up the music. Night Changes by One Direction was playing, and you reminisced on the fact that he originally had never heard of the band, causing your binge session, which consisted of watching their documentary and listening to all 5 of their albums straight. He told you he thought they were okay and he saw the appeal. What he didn’t tell you was that his favorite album was Midnight Memories, but if the way he was humming along to the song now was any evidence, you could’ve been a profiler.
You two listened to your playlist, made specially for the tradition, (Spencer insisted you always pick the music on these trips, since you weren’t very interested in classical piano) and besides the melodies, a comfortable silence encompassed the car for the most of the ride. As the road started to incline and your destination started getting near, you broke it.
“Can you believe-” you started, earning Spencer’s gaze from the sudden conversation, “Can you believe the audacity the calendar has, to change dates in the middle of the night, just like that, while we’re sleeping?” Spencer couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out from him. “Like tomorrow… You’re gonna wake up and, and you’re gonna be one year older.” When you said this, you couldn’t help but steal a look at him. He wasn’t making eye contact, just fidgeting with his fingers, but the small smile was there.
“Just like that,” you finished, as you pulled onto the edge of a hill.
When you showed up at his apartment the night you got your driver’s license, you found this spot. This was your guys’ cliff. The one you guys found on accident, when your car ran out of gas on your first night of the tradition. The same one you guys have had a handful of picnics at and late night rambles about both of your favorite things. Covered in the blanket of light that the moon so graciously provided, it was perfect, and it was both of yours.
Parked atop the hill, you turned off the car and turned to Spencer, who went back to admiring the stars. You were just about to tell him that you would be right back, but you decided he was a little busy, and so you quickly shuffled to grab the box he wasn’t aware was hiding in the trunk.
He finally noticed your disappearance when you came back with a lavender gift box in your lap and an excited smile on your face. “Oh Y/N, you know you didn’t--”
“Save it, Spence. Just open your gift,” you demanded, shoving it into his arms and the smile on your face only lingering. He rarely received real gifts, only for Christmas. You were essentially his only non work friend, and he told everyone at work that he never wanted nor needed anything.
He repeatedly blinked, yet carefully removed the lid. He first saw the small brown envelope which contained a gift card for the local coffee shop near his apartment. Underneath that and the matching lavender tissue paper, he found a tie of no other color than purple and two pairs of socks, one of colorful stripes and the other of baby tardises. (You knew nothing about Doctor Who, but he appreciated the references.) The whole time smiles adorned both your faces. The last item was a copy of The Alchemist. It was one of the main books you two had bonded over, and only a few weeks ago, someone had spilled coffee on their copy. Spencer was against buying another one, saying he could literally recite it in his head word for word if he ever wanted to again, but you stubbornly insisted that it didn’t have the same sentiment, (and of course you were right).
He took the book out the box and held it by the spine as he flitted through the pages, taking note of the annotations, your annotations. When done, he closed it and only opened the cover, finding your heartfelt message.
Dear old dear old Spence,
I know you’re probably gonna read this in .02 seconds, and probably right in front of me at that. Unless we broke tradition. But I trust that I convinced you. (It was the eyes, wasn’t it?) Regardless, I wanted to wish my very, very best friend a happy birthday. You alone are so strong for going through all that you’ve gone through, stuff that no one should have to even imagine. You are one of the strongest people I know. You need to know that I’m proud of you, Spencer. I’m beyond grateful for you, for having such a caring, resilient, and just incredible friend as you. I hope I don’t need to remind you that I will be here for you, through anything and everything. See you in 500 years :)
Love, with all my heart, Peanut
In only a handful of seconds, he shut the cover once again, and the happiness (and slight gleam) in his eyes became painstakingly evident. “This is your copy?” He asked, mostly rhetorically, because he knew it was. At this point, he was lightly sniffling between words. “Thank- thank you, peanut,”
“It’s no problem Doc,” you smiled and lightly punched him on the shoulder, “happy birthday, Spencer. I’m glad we didn’t break tradition.” And by the look on his face, well- you were no profiler, but you could safely assume that he was just as glad.
-
Taglist: @bxbyspxncer @goldenxreid @prettyboy-reid @rottenearly @rainsong01
#criminal minds fic#cm#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfiction#matthew gray gubler x reader#mgg x reader#fluff#dr spencer reid#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#y/n#oc#platonic!reader#spencer reid imagine#theas originals#there are no words to describe how much i hate doing tags
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for anyone curious, my newest book is about the Salem Witch Trials! it’s at the point of view of Mary Warren and how she went through trials, ultimately ending in her downward spiral into madness as the trials deteriorate her mental health. it’s called Servant of Evil.
here’s the first segment of the first chapter!
— — —
She was gathering crops the first day she caught wind of the hysteria.
It was late January and sunny, the last warm day in what would soon feel like forever. The sickle in her hand was wickedly sharp and gleaming in pale yellow light, and the stalks of the corn she was cutting away were rough and sharp beneath calloused fingers. Already, the skin on her hands was shredded, oozing ruby droplets of blood and staining bright green stems. Her legs ached from crouching in the dirt, muscles locked up and tense. Somewhere beyond the pillars of corn stretched out before her, she could hear her master’s children talking in high-pitched voices, dogs barking, and horses neighing. Even closer than that, however, she could hear heavy footsteps tramping through the field, and she knew the owner of this land would not enjoy such galumphing through his crops. But she also knew that the one who appeared through the stalks wouldn’t care much for the fiery point of John Proctor’s scorn.
“Something weirdish is going on in Salem.”
Without looking up, Mary Warren answered the unexpected visitor, “Something is always going on in Salem.”
That much was true, at least right now. Salem was a town of rich trade and sea salt, characterized by a sparkling harbor that was bested only by Boston’s and a habit of fighting with itself. For years, Salem had been split between two forces: the nobles up in Salem Town and the farmers down in Salem Village. The two territories were never not fighting with each other; they were always mad about something the other did, and it was easy to lose track of who hated who and for what reason. Salem Village didn’t like the control Salem Town held over it, while Salem Town was annoyed by Salem Village thinking it was its own settlement, but they all detested the British church, which was mutual. Salem Town often pulled men from Salem Village to be a part of the national guard, which made Salem Village nervous because then they would have nobody to protect them, and Indian attacks were a regular fear throughout the civilization. Aside from its harbor, the other thing Salem had to owe to its popularity was its unfortunate position in front of frequent ambushes. And if it didn’t suffer ambushes first-hand, then it suffered ambushes through the survivors of such raids, many of which populated the city and would soon help with the grisly events that turned the community over on its head.
But the only other thing Salem Village and Salem Town could agree on was that the Indians were an issue. Unfortunately, that was where agreements ended and arguments began- Salem Town wanted more men to train, promising protection; Salem Village refusing, saying they knew how Salem Town lied, and if they didn’t, then they only saved them because of their bountiful trade and not because they were their people. It wouldn’t be long until the yelling broke out, testaments from the Bible were quoted, and grown men argued like two children fighting over who was their parents’ favorite kid.
However, Salem as a whole had fallen silent recently. Things were peaceful. It was as though a grace period were opening up before them all--or, perhaps, it was actually ending.
Except for right now, in the Proctor corn field, of course. Because her visitor would only bring silence if she were dead, and she had proved to be too slippery for death’s fingers three times over after surviving several Indian attacks throughout her young life.
“This is different.”
Wiping a sagging green sleeve over her damp brow, Mary looked up and squinted through sweat and sun to look at none other than the Putnam’s maid, Mercy Lewis.
Mercy was a fine example of everything the Puritans didn’t want. Despite her name’s sake, she was stubborn, brash, and spitfire, though she was smart enough to never act in such a way in front of the church. And she was, indeed, smart. She was more clever than a fox, easily outwitting several situations despite the minimal education women had in their lifetime. The only thing she was merciful to was her younger cousin, Ann Putnam Jr. Her parents were better off naming her Big, Loud, and Vulgar.
Mercy was nineteen-years-old, two years older than Mary, and built like a small bear. She was short, compact, and sinewy, her muscles and joints well-honed from rough maid work. Her temper was black and her teeth were sharp. Her curly dark brown hair was tucked up in her blindingly white bonnet, and she was dressed in a nondescript dress of purple. Storm cloud grey eyes bore down on Mary with bright amusement.
The two of them met three years ago in Elizabeth Proctor’s tavern. Mary had been struggling to wipe away a sticky stain on one of the tables; Mercy was looking for fresh meat. They both were in the right place at the right time.
Mary hadn’t heard her come in. It was as though the shadows of the tavern itself had unfolded the sixteen-year-old before her because she was suddenly there, towering over the front of the table, and Mary ended up spilling the bowl of soapy water she was using all over herself upon noticing her.
“My, are you jumpy,” the strange girl had observed, peering over the edge of the table. She didn’t offer Mary her help or even an apology. Mary didn’t ask for one. “Were your parents murdered by savages, too?”
“What?”
“Ooo, no, then. Got it.”
Mary blinked up at her for a moment, then carefully got up out of the sudsy puddle and retrieved a dry rag to clean up the newest mess. The entire time, the strange girl watched her as she dripped droplets and beads of white soap from the bottom of her old lavender dress.
“Can I help you?” Mary asked as she got back down on her hands and knees to clean the floor.
“Oh, no,” the strange girl answered. “I just came to say hello. Introduce myself. You work for the Proctor’s, yeah?”
“Yes,” Mary nodded.
“Interesting, interesting. I work for the Putnam’s. Thomas is my cousin, actually.”
Mary nodded again. She looked back down at the puddle, trying to focus on that. The girl didn’t move.
“Mercy.”
Mary looked back up again. She blinked. The strange girl blinked back. Was this a game?
“Pity.”
The girl stared at her for a moment, then burst into loud laughter that seemed to shake the walls. Mary was startled; she had never heard anyone laugh so hard in her entire life. Especially in a town as strict as Sakem.
“No, that’s my name,” the girl said after calming down. “My name is Mercy. Mercy Lewis.”
“Oh,” Mary’s ears heated up. “Right. Your parents were feeling pretty creative, weren’t they?”
Another bout of laughter. “Yes. Yes, they were.” She squinted at her. “And you are?”
“Mary. Mary Warren.”
“Well, Mary ‘Pity’ Warren, I think we are going to be very good friends.”
And she was right.
Mercy, as menacing as she could be, made life in Salem a lot more bearable, especially when Proctor’s whip frequently began lapping at Mary’s bare back. Together, they formed a cohort of sorts, sneaking away into the woods with other village girls, hiding away from the Lord’s watchful eyes to discuss the most sinful of things.
And today, Mercy wanted to carry on with their long-running traditions.
“Different in what way?” Mary asked.
Mercy rolled her eyes. She kicked a cloud of dust at Mary, and Mary sputtered, nearly falling backwards into the corn.
“Different-different,” Mercy answered. “Something is wrong with Abigail. Betty, too, I hear. We’re gonna go up to the Reverend’s house and see them. They’re ill, you know?”
“No,” Mary shook her head. “Mister Proctor didn’t tell me anything. They’re sick?”
“Yeah. Real sick. Ain’t wakin’ up. The Reverend has been throwin’ a huge fit over them.” Mercy explained, “I’m surprised you never heard him howlin’!” Then, doing a horrible imitation of Reverend Samuel Parris’s voice, she wailed, “Oh Betty, Betty! Wake, my sweet daughter! Wake! Why won’t you wake?!”
She clung to Mary’s arm dramatically. “God! God! Why have you forsaken me?! What have you struck my little girls with?!”
Mary couldn’t help but giggle softly. Still, her mind was made up on the whole ordeal.
“Tell them my pardons and prayers,” she said, grabbing the fallen sickle. “My master said I gotta tend to the crops. Then I can go to town. But I am not spendin’ my free time meddlin’ in someone else’s affairs.”
Mercy groaned loudly and snatched the sickle away from Mary, making her yelp.
“Live a little, will ya? Let’s go see poor Abby and Betty!” Mercy urged. “To Hell with your master right now. You can’t let him lead you around by a leash all the time. Deal with the consequences later. Let’s go!”
Mary stared into the older girl’s eyes and then sighed, giving in. She stood up- Mercy was taller than her, as she always had been. “Lead on, Mercy.”
Mercy brightened.
Together, the two of them snuck out of the Proctor property, careful as to not get caught by one of the many children roaming the plantation.
Technically, the Proctor’s had eighteen children, though four were dead and eleven were brought forth by two different women, both of which had also passed over the seasons. The only living child of John Proctor’s first wife, Martha Giddens, was Benjamin, a tall, lanky man who could never seem to grow a beard, yet had hair down to his shoulders. He was thirty-three and didn’t talk to Mary very often, but when he did, he greatly critiqued her work in the field. That farm was his pride and joy, and it was a challenge to not roll her eyes when he would go on about the importance of their crops and proper plant care.
Elizabeth II was the second oldest at twenty-nine, and helped Elizabeth Proctor run the tavern with her other siblings: Martha IV, twenty-six (the first two Martha’s had died when they were both infants, along with the woman they were named after); Mary II, twenty-five; John II, twenty-four; Mary III, twenty-three; and Thorndike, twenty. Why Proctor decided to have TWO daughters named Mary was beyond Mary herself, but it wasn’t uncommon for things to become confusing when their name was shouted for whatever reason.
Elizabeth Proctor’s children stayed on the farm, helping clean and take care of the livestock: William, eighteen; Sarah fifteen; Samuel, seven; Elisha, five; Abigail, three; and Joseph, one. Mercy often made jokes that Elizabeth had obviously been the one to name the kids, as they were actually creative and not repeating several times over.
But with so many watchmen on the property, Mary was surprised about how easy it was to slip away unseen.
The road was loose and crunched loudly beneath their footfalls. Mercy kept kicking a rock, and Mary watched it bounce across the ground.
“So, what’s wrong with Betty and Abby?” Mary asked.
Mercy smirked widely.
“There be witches about, Mary.”
#servant of evil#lizzie’s dumb book#my writing#original story#salem witch trials#mary warren#mercy lewis
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Inbetweener 2: Gekkō not Gecko
Happy Monday everyone and welcome back to another Inbetweener Tumblr Post
If you haven’t yet read “The Shikon Princess” or haven’t caught up to Chapter 16 yet, I’ll link the AO3 Story right here
So, this week we are gonna talk a little bit about the name I decided upon for Izayoi and by association, Inuyasha in my story. Because it was certainly not Takahashi or Taisho which are all so often used in many fanfictions. As I’ve said in my last post, I really wanted my story to stand out and to be able to do that, needed to find something with meaning that would make sense to my story. After trying a few phrases in Google Translate (Because at the time I was not heavily involved in the fandom yet enough to have any sounding boards like I do now) I came up with a name that spoke to me fairly well.
Gekkō: Moonlight.
I decided to make the castle where Izayoi was a hime (princess) as well as Inuyasha was born in called the Moonlight Palace for a couple reasons. For one, it is a good thematic contrast for Inuyasha's 'technical' clan name to be related to the moon since Higurashi means sunset. We all know that Inuyasha and Kagome are pretty much complimentary colors that bring out the best in each other despite coming from such different worlds and lives, so what could have been more perfect than for one to be represented by the sun and the other the moon.
There is also a decent amount of weight to be put into the fact that the Inu-yokai of the original canon are very closely related to imagery around the moon. Their hair in human form and pelts in yokai form are often in most works, especially by the fanfiction community, depicted or described as being silvery or moonlight-colored. Sesshomaru’s mother’s bloodline even bear crescent moon markings upon their foreheads Inu-Hanyo, not just Inuyasha but Towa and Setsuna as well, lose their powers and transform into humans when the moonlight is completely gone.
So in all, I felt that a clan whose name meant moonlight that revered the Inu-yokai (As shown by the carvings on Izayoi’s chest in Chapter 16) would definitely draw Toga’s attention and later affection towards Izayoi.
And then of course, there is a much simpler reason for this choice.
As I said before, Inuyasha's power revolves around moonlight. When the moon is black, he isn't comfortable, feels like he's missing a part of himself. So having another part of his name be another literal definition of who he is clicked really well for me. He's literally, in the canon I'm creating, Dog Forest Spirit of Moonlight, and thus no moon, no dog spirit. It has always been a bit of a joke to me that his name would be so literal and felt it was only fair to carry it over into the story I created.
Well, the more you know….
Stay tuned Wednesday for a WIP sneak peek of Chapter 17, which will be published on April 4th on AO3!
Until next time!
~Stormi 🌧️
#inu yasha#inukagforever#higurashi kagome#inuyasha#inuyasha x kagome#shikon no tama#shikon princess#shikon jewel#fanfic
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