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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

Text

une ladybug, lady du coeur

summary: logan just wants to save the city. he's not very interested in the advances of his partner. he isn't. yes, he is. (OR: a miraculous ladybug sanders sides!au that is a VERY late birthday gift to @blinksinbewilderment)

a/n: this is a gift for my lovely spouse squad member blink!!! her birthday is in august, and it is now almost february, i know, i'm bad at this, i'm sorry. also i love you blink i hope you enjoy this ~

cw: mutual pining, cartoon violence

wordcount: 2818

read it on ao3!

“This is getting ridiculous,” Logan grumbles, fumbling to shove his books into his messenger bag. Outside, there’s a loud, distorted roar from the akuma of the day. “We are never going to finish the French Revolution unit at this rate.”

“Good thing you memorized the entire textbook at the beginning of the school year, hmm?” Roman says teasingly. He throws his iPad into his bag and elbows Logan, who smiles at him as soon as Roman isn’t looking at him. The building shakes with the force of another blow, and Roman instantly tugs Logan close to him. Logan pretends it doesn’t make his face flush pink.

“We have to go,” Roman says. “We have to get out of here!”

“Roman -”

Roman throws his backpack over his shoulder, and Logan barely manages to sling his messenger bag over his shoulder before Roman is grabbing his hand and sprinting through the school. Logan stumbles after Roman, once again cursing that he’s so much shorter than his best friend. Roman flies down the stairs three at a time, and it’s a wonder Logan doesn’t faceplant.

They burst out of the school and immediately dive into a nearby bush as a large hoof slams down into the street nearby. Logan cowers into the bush, and Roman hovers his body over him. Logan opens his eyes, and it’s only then that he notices that when Roman had grabbed his hand, he’d laced their fingers together.

There’s a very strange feeling in his chest, and he has no idea how to handle it. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to think about it for much longer as Roman pulls away. He feels disappointed, but then Roman is flashing his million-dollar model smile and Logan forgets how to feel anything but lovestruck.

“You stay here where it’s safe, okay? I’m gonna go get help.”

“What? What if something happens?”

“Hey, you know me! Paris’s favorite face and all that, I’ll be fine.” Roman winks at him, before leaning down and hugging Logan quickly. He sprints out of the bush, a streak of blurred red, and Logan buries his head in his hands and groans.

There’s a little rustling noise, and then a tiny little creature flies up out of his bag. It’s a little red creature, with two small antennae, covered in large black spots. He hovers next to Logan’s head, little tail twitching as he pats his head sympathetically.

“Crush got you down?”

“Shut up, Emile,” Logan mutters. “He’s not my crush.”

“I don’t think you’re telling the truth,” Emile sing-songs, landing on Logan’s head. “Did you see the way he held your haaaaaaand?” Logan blushes, picturing the way Roman’s fingers felt laced between his and the press of Roman’s broad palm against his smaller one, the glow of Roman’s vibrant green eyes in the sunlight as he glances over his shoulder and grins rakishly at Logan.

“Shut up,” Logan says shortly, rather than think about feelings anymore. “We have to deal with this akuma before anyone gets hurt.”

“Whatever you want, Logan,” Emile says. “You know how to suit up!”

Logan sighs, running his hands through his hair, and tucks his messenger bag into the bushes. He sweeps a few stray brown curls behind his ear, revealing his unassuming, plain black stud earrings. “Alright, here we go. Emile, spots on!”

A flash of red sparkles swirls around him, and the earrings glow. Emile giggles as he swirls around and disappears into Logan’s miraculous. Logan can’t stop a cocky smile from spreading across his face as the transformation begins to take hold.

He presses his hands against his eyes and pulls them across his face, leaving a gleaming red mask in his place. The transformation races down his body and spirals around his arms, his torso, his legs, melting away his polo and tie and slacks. His outfit is replaced with a bright red bodysuit, covering him completely from the neck down in a pattern of tiny gleaming hexagons with large black polka dots. He feels the red ribbon attach itself in his hair, tying it back from his face, and his yoyo materializes on his hip.

Ladybug drops to the ground in a perfect crouch, reaching for his yoyo and quickly flipping it open. He presses one of the buttons, and his insufferable partner’s face appears on screen with a phone dialing icon.

“Honestly, if you don’t pick up I swear to god,” Ladybug mutters. The phone rings for almost twenty seconds, but no one picks up. He snaps the yoyo shut when he hears a civilian scream and immediately throws it up towards the roof. He tugs the line and swings away, directly into the line of fire.

*~*~*~*~*

Most days, Roman doesn’t give a damn about being one of the most recognizable faces in Paris. He’s an extrovert - he loves people, loves taking pictures with them and performing for them and just generally being around them. He’s not like his introverted best friend. He loves the limelight.

When he’s trying to sneak away and transform, however, this is less appreciated.

“You want some help, kitten?” his kwami drawls, curled inside of the pocket of his letterman jacket.

“I don’t like it when you do stuff like that, you know that,” Roman mutters, ducking quickly into an alleyway to avoid yet another paparazzi camera.

“I know, but I don’t think you have a choice,” Remy says. Roman swats at his pocket, but he can’t deny that Remy is right. Normally, he can sneak away on his own, but the crowds just keep growing and growing.

“Don’t do anything too permanent, okay?”

“No sweat, kitten. You know Ladybug’s gonna fix it all when you’re done, right?”

“I don’t wanna make extra work for him!” Roman argues.

“It’s literally not even him, kitten, it’s his miraculous that powers it all.” The little black catlike creature flies up out of his pocket and disappears into the crowd. Roman keeps running, not taking any time to look back or see what his kwami is doing. Little black bubbles fizzle through the concrete, and he hears someone shouting behind him, but he darts around a building and into a dark and dirty alleyway. Within a minute, Remy floats through the wall and lands in his palms.

“Do I even want to know what you did?”

“Probably not. You subscribe to that pesky human concept of ‘morals’ or whatever.” Remy yawns, curling into Roman’s cupped hands.

“Can you just get in the damn ring already?”

“I will not.”

Roman reaches into his backpack and pulls out a small plastic travel thermos. “Not even for . . . coffee?”

Remy’s ears twitch, but he maintains a nonchalant facade. “Coffee? What would I care about coffee?”

“Oh, nothing much . . . it’s just double-brewed espresso, made with that expensive shit you love, that’s all.” Remy whimpers and twitches again. “And I added a little splash of lavender honey and creamer . . . but if you don’t want it, I guess I’ll have to drink it . . .”

“No!” Remy wails, shoving the lid off the travel cup and diving inside. Roman has no idea how Remy can stand submerging his entire body in near-boiling coffee, but he isn’t complaining. Remy pokes his head out of the travel mug and shakes a few drops of coffee out of his fur, smiling.

“You needed me?”

“Of course I do,” Roman snarks.

“You know how to call me, don’t you?”

“Remy, claws out!”

Roman grins as a blur of black disappears into the silver ring he wears, which quickly burns black as well. He can feel power thrumming through his body, racing along his veins like lightning, and he smirks, shifting his stance to a more confident one. Two fingers swipe along his face, dragging black leather in their wake. He combs through his hair as it grows longer and more unruly, and black leather cat ears sprout up from his tousled curls. Black leather and green lightning spiral around him, and the facade of Roman Roi drops away.

Steel-toed black boots hit the ground as Chat Noir pulls his black belt tail out of his outfit, With a flick of the wrist, his staff is in his hand, and he vaults up through the Paris sky.

*~*~*~*~*

Ladybug dodges another blow from the akuma, which shrieks and hurls another projectile his way. It’s a florist, he thinks, akumatized over scathing comments from the mayor’s hellspawn. Ladybug doesn’t blame him for being upset, but the thorny vines choking the city streets are really a bit much to deal with.

“This is not necessary!” Ladybug shouts, drawing his yoyo and quickly lassoing the nearest building. He swings away as a plant erupts where he was standing. The thorns are enormous and sharp and almost as big as he is. “I know that you are upset, but please -”

“You want to call my profession silly?!” the akuma roars. Ladybug is sure that he has some kind of proper akuma name, but he honestly doesn’t remember it anymore. “I will cover you in thorns, and you will see how sharp a florist can be!”

Ladybug winds the cord of his yoyo around his fingers, crouching in the shadow of a balcony. He needs to figure out where the akuma is hiding, he needs to control the damage to make sure no innocent civilians are injured, he needs - he needs -

“My ladybug, look out!”

A silver staff flies out of nowhere and knocks Ladybug back as a Venus flytrap roars to life beneath him. If he hadn’t been knocked out of the way when he was . . .

A dark figure lands next to him. “Fancy running into you here,” Chat Noir purrs, eyes gleaming dangerously as he pulls Ladybug to his feet.

“Of course I ran into you here, we are both superheroes. This is our job,” Ladybug says, rolling his eyes. Chat Noir spins him around and dips him, and Ladybug is about to scold him for letting romantic nonsense interfere with their job until he realizes that they’ve narrowly avoided a deadly blow.

“You’re welcome,” Chat Noir says. “You can thank me properly later. For now, we have a job to do, don’t we?” He pulls Ladybug to his feet easily and takes his staff from where it’s lodged in the building behind them. “What’s the scoop?”

Ladybug fills him in. “I hate people like that,” Chat Noir mutters. ‘People who try to put others in boxes and act like they can’t ever have a different role . . . that’s complete and utter horseshit. I deserve to be - people deserve to be whoever they want to be.” Ladybug tilts his head in confusion.

“You are correct, Chat Noir, but still . . .”

Chat Noir shakes his head and spins his staff in one hand, deflecting a barrage of thorns. “Where do we suspect the akuma is, my ladybug?” Ladybug squints at the akuma, trying to reason out where the akuma might be.

“I . . . there! There’s a sunhat on the akuma’s head, and from what I understand the akumatized citizen wears that hat frequently.”

“How are we going to get to it?” Chat Noir asks. “I only get one Cataclysm before I change back, so we have to make it count!” Ladybug pulls his yoyo from his hip and spins it rapidly in front of him.

“Let us see if this evens the odds. Lucky Charm!” He throws the yoyo up into the air, kicking one leg up behind him for balance. Logan does not believe in luck, but Ladybug finds he has no choice but to believe, given what he does.

The yoyo glows, giving out a shower of heart-shaped sparkles as it spins rapidly around and around in the air. Ladybug can never look up at the lucky charm while it’s forming, but Chat Noir always stares at it starry-eyed (when he can, anyway, and isn’t too busy defending them from the akuma attacks).

The Lucky Charm glows so brightly that even Chat Noir has to look away, and it drops down into Ladybug’s waiting hands, and it’s . . .

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Ladybug asks, holding the red-and-black-spotted plastic hairbrush in his hands. He looks up, and the world is suddenly black and white. This is normal; once his Lucky Charm lands in his hands, the world is devoid of color until he looks around, and certain objects will light up in red and black color. From there, he has to figure out what to do.

“You got an idea yet?” Chat Noir asks. Ladybug squints around, and then he has one.

*~*~*~*~*

Chat Noir doesn’t know what Ladybug sees when he holds his Lucky Charm. His eyes go slightly unfocused, and the brown of his irises gleams red and black. All he knows is that within a minute, Ladybug’s eyes always refocus, sharp and clean, and he always knows exactly what to do.

“I need to get close to the akuma,” he says. “As close as you can get me, okay? I know what I need to do.”

“Any specific vines you want me to take out?”

Ladybug points out a few key points, and Chat Noir grins, throwing his fist into the air. “Cataclysm!” His fist comes back down covered in inky black bubbling flames. Ladybug spins his yoyo rapidly, and Chat Noir can’t stop himself from winking before he tears off across the street.

Chat Noir only gets one Cataclysm, the same way that Ladybug only gets one Lucky Charm. Unlike Ladybug, however, Chat Noir has a little bit of a window where he can work. If he’s fast enough, he can hit a few of the vines before his power fizzles out. He launches off the building, careful to only land with his feet and his free hands, and takes off towards the akuma.

Ladybug had pointed out three or four specific vines that Chat Noir should try to hit; he manages to hit two of them before his Cataclysm runs out. He settles for smacking the vines aside with his staff, trying to draw as much of the akuma’s attention as possible. He succeeds, too; the akuma is so busy staring at him that it doesn’t notice when a red-and-black-spotted plastic hairbrush comes flying out of nowhere like a boomerang and hits the akuma squarely in the eye.

The akuma wails, and Chat Noir can hear his ring beeping down to four minutes left as Ladybug’s yoyo soars through the air and knocks the akuma’s hat off its head. It goes flying through the air towards Chat Noir. “Chat Noir, it’s up to you!” Ladybug calls.

Chat Noir deftly expands his staff to pin the hat against the nearest building and sprints along the street, vaulting himself off of a nearby parked car and snatching the hat up. The akuma wails as he tears the hat in half, and a little black butterfly flutters out of the hat. “Get out of here, you nasty bug!” Chat Noir hisses.

Ladybug’s yoyo glows bright white as he spins it around rapidly. “Time to de-evilize!” The yoyo sails through the air, slamming right into the akuma, and two black-spotted red wings snap out and trap the akuma inside the yoyo. Ladybug pulls it back against his body and gently taps the compact. It pops open to reveal a little white butterfly fluttering off into the sky.

“Bye-bye, little butterfly,” Ladybug croons, a fond expression on his face. Chat Noir can’t stop himself from grinning dopily at the sight. Ladybug hops off the roof and picks up the hairbrush from the nearby building and throws it into the air, as high as he can. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

A glittering swarm of ladybugs tears around Paris, and Chat Noir grins as a tingle of magic floods through him.

*~*~*~*~*

By the time they finally escape Patton’s eager questioning for his blog, Virgil standing next to him with a GoPro dutifully recording, there’s only two minutes left on their respective miraculouses. “Pound it!” Chat Noir exclaims, offering his fist to Ladybug for a fist bump. Ladybug rolls his eyes, but he accepts the fistbump anyway. Before he can pull his hand away, Chat Noir grabs his hand and turns it so that he’s holding it, back of his hand facing up.

“Chat Noir? We’re about to de-transform, what are you -”

Chat Noir lifts his hand to his lips and kisses it, softly. “Until next time, my lovely ladybug.” Before Ladybug can protest, Chat Noir is vaulting away. Ladybug barely manages to make it to a safe place before his last dot beeps away and his transformation disappears in a flurry of sparkles. Ladybug is gone, and Logan Cerveau lifts his hands to catch Emile.

“Thank you,” he quietly tells his kwami.

“No problem,” Emile yawns, settling in for a nap as Logan tucks him into his breast pocket. “You’re so smitten, it’s adorable . . .”

Logan is too busy concealing his blush to protest. Much.

#starshinewrites #blink tag!#logince #miraculous ladybug!au #wife squad!#sanders sides #logan sanders #roman sanders

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casimania · 4 years

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YOU KNOW ITS GOTTA BE THE OT3 FOR THE ASK GAME 😍

Yessss! Domestic ship meme for Chloe/Dan/Lucifer below!

who reaches out to new neighbors: Unexpectedly… Maze! She keeps tabs on who comes and goes even better than Lucifer and is even faster than him at going for a snoop, it was her job to watch his back for a long time after all, ansd she watches out for Trixie too now (does the same for Linda and Charlie). The neighbors are probably confused and concerned like “is the scary lady part of the family??”. Chloe then makes Lucifer, Dan and Trixie come with her do a normal greeting-the-neighbors thing. But because Lucifer is Lucifer it turns out in another interrogation without the neighbors noticing (Maze is good at figuring out if they’re shady but Lucifer finds all the juicy, dirty little secrets). Chloe and Dan have to steer him away.

who remembers to buy healthy food: Since Dan started working on the abs he’s been keeping an eyes on his food more carefully and trying a healthier eating pattern too, except he tends to forget a lot when it’s time to restock. Chloe is better at remembering the list they make in time and following it so Dan writes down the stuff and Chloe reminds everyone when it actually has to be bought. Lucifer just wants to order whatever they need. But they want for Trixie to grow up doing normal stuff like groceries runs. They probably regret it when Lucifer turns out to be just a very tall Trixie and they just try shoving whatever they fancy inside the cart and it’s a constant battle (but he’s also easily disarmed by like, hand holding. Chloe reaches over and grabs his hand and he just spends the whole time looking down in wonder at their hands and looking up at Chloe with a big grin. Dan pushes the cart with Trixie balances either in front of it or between it and Dan and occasionally getting him to speed down an aisle). He does win them over some times they’re all ran to the ground by a case and the idea of crawling out of the house is physically painful.

who remembers to buy junk food: Lucifer, Trixie and Dan have the biggest sweet tooth ever (Lucifer has varied tastes while Trixie inherited Dan’s more focused tastes except it’s chocolate cakes instead of puddings, they sometimes vary but those things reappear frequently) and Lucifer and Trixie like junk food in general so no one ever forgets about restocking it. This time Lucifer definitely orders it (especially the pudding, between all the stealing it runs out fast at the precinct).

who fixes the oven when it breaks: Dan is that Dad™who insists on trying to fix things himself to teach Trixie to be self-reliable except sometimes it’s stuff he doesn’t actually know how to fix so he googles it or asks around and it’s a hit or miss. He either patches it up until the next break or fuckign destroys the thing (with familiar things he’s better). Also I like to think it’s a Dan thing in general, like “I can do this myself!!” except sometimes he overestimates and it ends up with a “oh no. oh fuck” (he gets steadily better at accepting help). Chloe is like, “Baby please just call a professional, they exist for a reason, you can teach Trixie how to fix a shelf or something” and she’s got 4 numbers ready from the start. Lucifer is a “throw the whole thing away” guy because he uses it as an excuse to renovate and add something new. But he lets Dan huff around because it’s amusing (and seeing Dan get to work reminds him he’s seen a few pornos starting like that, so another thing to add to his fantasies fodder) but he’s also curious about any parent-daughter interaction. So the whole thing takes a turn for the wholesome seeing Dan trying to explain stuff to Trixie (he still fantasizes about sweaty Dan in a tanktop grunting and wiggling his ass in the air to check inside the oven later).

who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s): Their lives don’t really match up with a pet but they’ve got plants and Chloe is their lifeline. She goes away for a fun Tribe thing and tells everyone to water the plants. They all forget. The day she’s scheduled to come back they panic, “Can’t we just put a lot of water all at once??”, cue Trixie accidentally making a few vases overflows and Chloe comes back to them frantically mopping the floor (it gets funnier the smaller number of plants they have).

who wakes up earlier: Lucifer can’t not sleep but he can get by on minimal sleep, so he often wakes up and lays in bed blissed out enjoying snuggling with his loves. Wake up as in up and leaves the house, it’s Dan. He either hits the gym or the beach for surfing most mornings before work so he’s up real early. Chloe and Lucifer roll around and go back cuddling.

who makes the bed: Lucifer always neatly tucks it in before leaving the house if he’s the last one to go (very fussy devil, he likes making messes but he also likes having everything restored to tidyness after). Chloe is more of the ‘just haphazardly pull the covers up’ before leaving type (mostly to set somewhat of a good example for Trixie). Dan barely bothers and is the one that always forgets when it’s actually time to change the covers.

who makes the coffee: Lucifer is the one cooking most times so he also makes breakfast and has always coffee ready for Dan and Chloe when they wake up. He’s neutral on it but he starts drinking it regularly because he enjoys when they’re all standing against the counter and Chloe and Dan have these sleepy expressions with half lidded eyes but they sip on the coffee and smile or hum happily against the mug (it’s small cozy moments like these that make him feel all fluttery and content inside, the Devil likes to be painfully domestic). He knows exactly how they take their coffee but he’s also real good at figuring out what else they’d like so he’s always making them trying fancy new stuff for fun and he basically always hits the mark).

who burns breakfast: Chloe and Dan try to make something extremely elaborated for Lucifer because he’s always cooking for them but they have it in over their heads (and are trying to be quick and silent) and end up burning something while. When Lucifer smells burning stuff he comes barrelling into the kitchen ready for a fight and Trixie trails after him. He’s like, very touched. But then either stirs them away so he can whip up himself the thing they botched, or they still sit him down and feed him waffles or pancakes or something else they know how to do with thier eyes closed. Lucifer loves the idea of preparing stuff for them and surprising them with new things, but also just kicking back, eating whatever they set in front of him and licking syrup off his fingers while one of them stands nearby and absentmindedly runs a hand back and forth through his hair and down his neck… is very nice. He probably falls asleep like that at least once. He doesn’t faceplant in a waffle just because he’s seeking out the hand even in his sleep and doesn’t slump forward too much. It reminds Dan and Chloe of Trixie when she was very little.

how do they let each other know they’re leaving the house: Dan bellows everyone’s names and then “I’M LEAVING! BYE!” from the door loud enough to wake the dead. Answers vary gretly depending on the hour he does it (from loving responses from around the house to threats of physical violence if he tries breaking the sound barrier one more time at the ass crack of dawn if he leves early). Chloe pokes her head in whichever room they are and “Guys I’m going!”. Lucifer forget to say anything sometimes but never leaves without a kiss or some nuzzling.

how do they greet each other when one of them gets home: Dan bellows (again) “I’M HOME” as soon as he opens the door. Chloe just says “Hi!” at a normal volume once she’s fully inside. Lucifer barges in screaming “DeeeTeEECtiIIVeeeES” until he finds some of them to kiss. It’s a Thing for him apparently, goodbye kiss and welcome home kiss.

who brings home little gifts like flowers/chocolates more often: Lucifer is always getting Dana and Chloe little trinkets and gifts. He started out with more extravagant stuff but they managed to get him to tone it down a little. They vary from sweet or funny to “I know this must be a sex toy but what the hell is it supposed to be exactly??”.

who picks the movie for movie night: They wrote down a ton of movies and put them in a bowl to avoid bicker over it for an entire hour. If Trixie partecipates they let her choose something age appropriate she likes.

their favorite kind of movie to watch: Dan and Lucifer love action flicks (the bloodier and full of ridiculous explosions, one-liners and half naked people the better). Lucifer gets into cheesy romcoms with Chloe (it becomes a shared guilty pleasure, they look for the very outrageous ones). Trixie becomes a sci-fi buff growing up.

who first suggests a pillow fort: Oh man Dan and Trxie are all over it (personal hc that is was sometimes Dan always liked but in his family he got at a certain age where they decided he was too old for it, so they didn’t make them with him and he was embarassed to do one by himself and get caught, so he’s the most enthusiastic next to Trixie and never makes her feel like it’s a thing just for little kids). And angels nesting is a thing in every fandom with angels so it reminds Lucifer a lot of a nest so he gets a little weird about it at first because it reminds him of his sibligns and the Silver City, but gets very into it after a while (which later brings him to feel a little dristessed when they bring the whole thing down, which leads to them helping him build an actual nest).

who builds the pillow fort: In the Decker-Espinoza family Trixie gives directions and Dan and Chloe are the certified builders. With Lucifer thrown in the mix he goes for the aesthetics and so the first color coordinated pillow forts are born, he adds some flair.

who tries to distract the other during the movie: Lucifer with Trixie present = constant running commentary and continuous “pet me” requests (he loves his cuddles but if they get distracted and stop he prods at them until someone starts petting hair or running their hands over his back again, like excuse me! attend to me!). Lucifer without Trixie = naughty wandering hands (he’s very good at multitasking and will try to offer commentary of a movie in the middle of giving oral).

who falls asleep first: When she has a case Chloe is always very keyed up so she drops as soon as she hit the pillow. Lucifer makes an effort to wait for Dan to also fall asleep. He likes knowing they’re all safe and comfortable dozing off near him, and likes falling asleep to the sound of that deep breathing of the dead to the world sleeping.

who is big spoon/little spoon: Lucifer absolutely craves the shit out of being in the middle, something about having someone on his back and front makes him feel incredibly safe and loved and makes sleeping so much easier. Chloe and Dan are very versatile on that front so they swap a lot between being big and little spoon when it’s comfortable to be all squished together.

#venividivictorious #Lucifer #Chloe Decker #Lucifer Morningstar #Dan Espinoza #Morningdespinoza #answered #Lucifer on Netflix #Lucifer (TV)#god I missed answering these ask thingies #OT3: The Devil the Miracle and the Douche #I need to start calling this 'OT3: Detective smol tol and swole'

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penpatronuswhump · 5 years

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Kill Me Before I Kill You PenPatronus

Normally, the Avengers weren’t firefighters. But, when a series of bombs went off inside the Empire State Building, they stopped eating lunch together and hurried to the scene. Firetrucks and ambulances from all over NYC roared in within minutes. Tony got in his giant silver and red “Crowd Control” suit that held thousands of gallons of water. He went straight to the tip of the building and started raining. Thor soared around the building plucking civilians out of windows while Hulk smashed his way through fiery hallways doing the same. Clint, who perched on the highest, nearest building, used his hawk’s eyes to spot civilians waving from windows, then directed one or more of his teammates to them. Cap and Nat borrowed oxygen masks from the NYFD and joined the firefighters sprinting up the stairs.

Tony returned to the Tower and switched to Mark 42 after he ran out of water. Between the firefighters and the Avengers, the flames were all put out within an hour. Most if not all of the people were saved but Tony flew around and around the building anyway checking for life signs. Thor returned to the Tower. Natasha and Steve descended and debriefed with the firefighters. Hulk shrunk back into Banner who was helping with the wounded. Clint remained on the roof, vigilant. The scene reached that tipping point—the point where everyone was ok, the crisis had passed, and it was time for cleanup, which was someone else’s job. It was at that moment when Tony heard a voice in his ear that wasn’t any JARVIS or any of his teammates.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stark,” the female voice purred. “Sorry to interrupt the Avengers’ lunch. That salmon casserole you cooked looked good.”

“I’m sorry, who’s this?” Tony asked. He landed on what was left of the Empire State Building’s top observation deck. “How did you access this channel?”

“A fine last meal,” the voice mused. “I hope your teammates enjoyed it.”

Tony didn’t find that very damn funny. “Look, lady, I’m kind of busy right now. If you’re going to threaten us, get it over with so I can get back to work.”

“Does the name ‘Justin Hammer’ ring a bell, Mr. Stark?”

Tony flinched. “Nope,” he lied. “Is that supposed on my radar?”

“My name is Justine. His daughter.”

“Right,” Tony sighed. “I supposed this is the part where you swear to get revenge? Seriously, honey, Hammer was out of his league and you are, too.”

“Am I?”

Tony was relieved—thrilled, even—that his teammates didn’t see what happened next. He raised his right fist and punched himself right in the faceplate. Well, he didn’t raise his fist. The suit did. The suit raised its fist and punched itself.

“What the hell?” Tony helped. “JARVIS?”

“JARVIS isn’t here right now,” said Justine. “Can I take a message?”

Tony’s right leg stomped on his left foot. “Guys—Avengers—I’ve got a problem here.”

“What is it?” Cap asked over the coms.

“I, um, I can’t control the suit.”

“What?”

“The suit is under someone else’s control.” The boosters suddenly popped on and Tony floated up into the air. “Repeat—I’m compromised!”

“I’ve thought for years about how to make you pay for what you did to my father,” Justine continued. “I’m going to make that suit kill you, Stark. Your own technology is going to twist your neck until is breaks.”

The suit raised right its arm. A pulse built up in Tony’s hand, which was pointed right at Clint Barton.

“But first, I’m going to make you murder your friends.”

Tony summoned all his strength, but he couldn’t move his hand. He was helpless. “Barton, run!” he barked over the coms. “All of you—get as far away from me as you can!”

“Tony, tell us what’s happening!” Natasha shouted.

“Clint!” Tony yelled. “Clint, GO!”

“With love from the Hammer family,” Justine said with finality in her voice. “Have fun killing your friends.”

A repulsor ray erupted from Tony’s palm and Barton disappeared amid fire and smoke. “CLINT!”

Bruce joined the conversation. “Tony?”

“Bruce, Nat, I need you two to get to my lab and reboot the suit,” Tony ordered. “Hurry!”

“We’re on it,” she promised.

The Iron Man armor rose higher in the air. The computer started locking smart missiles on civilian targets as well as the Avengers. Beside him, dense smoke still rose from the Empire State Building. “Thor! Come get me. I need you to take out this suit!”

“Say that again?” came the god’s voice over the coms.

The suit raised its hands again. Doors opened and the smart missiles poked out. Energy built up in Tony’s chest plate. “I’M OUT OF CONTROL YOU HAVE TO STOP ME FROM KILLING EVERYONE!”

It was deafening, so many weapons going off at once. The suit unleashed its artillery then dove and dropped bombs into the crowds, knocking ambulances into storefronts and firetrucks right into the Empire State Building’s lobby. Tony heard screams. He saw faces terrified of him and, for a minute, he knew what it felt like to Bruce when people looked at him like he was a monster. The suit landed and started swinging its arms, knocking first responders around like they were hollow dolls. It shot lasers into the surrounding buildings, pounding cement and stone and other debris down on the defenseless crowd. Tony remembered when Vanko took over Rhodey’s suit and he felt sorry for his friend. What a unique torture this was…

Finally—thankfully—a hammer landed between his shoulder blades. The armor was knocked down flat, but it came up swinging. Before a fist could connect with Thor’s nose, a shield hit it under the armpit, and Tony went down on one knee. He popped up instantly, blocked two punches from Cap, and dodged Mjolnir. “Duck!” Stark shouted over the coms.

Cap and Thor instantly dropped to the dirty street and a second later, lasers burst from the suit’s shoulders. The suit kicked before the two Avengers could get back up on their feet, and both Cap and Thor landed on their backs. “Tony,” Steve gasped, “how do we stop this thing?”

“Focus on disabling my weapons first!” The armor rose into the air and aimed its repulsors down. “Go for the chest plate first—Look out!” Steve and Thor dove aside and barely avoided the pulses. The suit suddenly twisted in midair and took to the skies. Thor raised Mjolnir and soared after him. “Thor, wait, this doesn’t feel right…” The god stayed right on the armor’s tail as they both went straight up. Up, up, up.

“I’ve got it,” Thor declared, his voice strained like he was speaking between clenched teeth.

“Thor, I mean it, back off!”

Mjolnir was inches away from a good swing. “Almost there…”

Suddenly, right before they broke the atmosphere, the armor spun around and grabbed Thor by the throat with both hands. Ringing erupted in Tony’s ears and there was a flash of light. The armor produced a magnetic field that wrapped itself around the metal that made up Thor’s armor. The god’s arms went to his chest and although he was still holding the hammer, he couldn’t swing it. Once the suit was sure that Thor was incapacitated, it turned him over and pushed down on his back—pushed down until they almost reached supersonic speed. Thor crashed face-first into the New York City street and disappeared down somewhere into the sewers, if not the earth below.

“Thor, report!” Steve called over the coms. “Thor?”

No answer. Tony cursed. The armor landed in front of Steve and crouched almost like a defensive lineman. “Steve, just run!” Tony advised. “Dammit, Cap, there’s nothing I can do—I’ll hurt you. Please, run!”

“And let that thing hurt these people? Not a chance,” Steve declared. He raised his shield like a matador with his red cape. Like the armor was a bull about to run him down.

“Cap…” Sweat joined the water already in Tony’s eyes. “Steve, please! Just get out of here!”

Fire in his eyes, Steve said, “No.”

The armor went horizontal and shot at Cap like a bullet. Tony had to close his eyes.

Hulk intercepted him. They rolled into the Empire State Building—and blasted out the other side. “Tony, we couldn’t hack into the system!” Nat apologized.

Tony tried to pat Hulk on the shoulder as they rolled apart. “That’s my guy,” he said. “Now, hit me!”

Hulk roared so loud that the noise rattled every window within a 3-block radius. He charged forward, grabbed the armor by the ankles, and slammed it against the ground over and over like a hammer driving in a nail. It did nothing to the suit and Tony cursed himself for making the damn thing so invincible. Hulk took a repulsor blast to the face, then the neck and chest, and then over and over again in the stomach. He swung hard, but the armor dodged, pivoted around, and hammered him in the kidney. Hulk pushed his elbow back but the armor sidestepped it easily, and Hulk took another punch in the face. He growled, and his eyes shown with fury. He pulled the armor into a hug and squeezed so hard that Tony thought his ribs would break. When they didn’t—when Hulk slammed him back against a building and tried and failed to rip the chest plate off, Tony realized what was happening.

“Hulk,” Tony said, “nod if you can hear me.” The great green beast did. “Buddy, you’re holding back. I can tell. You can’t do that.” Hulk made a sound almost like a frustrated sigh. “All of your strength, buddy. You have to take this thing down.”

“You,” Hulk harrumphed. “No smash Tony.”

“Hulk, you have my permission. Smash Tony.”

Hulk took a kick to the chest and he staggered backwards. “No.” He charged again and they wrestled.

Steve approached in the background. The armor saw him at the same time Tony did, and Tony heard gears revving up behind him. “Hulk—Bruce—It’s going to hurt Steve. You can’t let it hurt Steve!”

Hulk tried again for the chest plate. Again, he failed. “Dis…Able,” he managed to pronounce. “Disable, not smash. Never smash Tony.”

“Hulk, smash.”

“No!”

Tony’s heart ached. He imagined his own hands ripping out Cap’s throat. “Don’t let me hurt Steve!”

“NO!”

Tony summoned all of his strength and, after he spoke, he found peace waiting for him: “Hulk… Kill me.”

Hulk raged at the sky. Then he wrapped one hand around Tony’s leg and the other around Tony’s neck, and pulled…

The shield dropped soundless to the road. From Cap’s perspective, with Hulk between him and Tony, it was obvious that the beast had just ripped Iron Man in half. He tossed the legs to the left, and the torso and head to the right. Vomit rose up Steve’s throat and he spat out a mouthful. He groaned and braced his hands against his knees. Water rose and fell from his eyes like the ashes falling from the Empire State Building. What a lovely lunch they’d been having and now… Now Tony Stark was in two pieces.

Hulk shrunk back into Banner in a blink. It was then that Steve saw there was a body in front of him—a body wearing the same sneakers, jeans, t-shirt and flannel button down as Tony. Relief sent trickles of ice down Steve’s spine and caused a dizzy spell that nearly knocked him over. Hulk had ripped the armor in half, but not Tony. Tony’s body had slid right out like the yoke between two halves of a cracked egg.

Steve, when he finally gathered himself, sprinted over and collapsed to his knees beside Tony and Bruce. Blood covered Tony’s clothes. His heart was beating, and his lungs were breathing, but he’d never looked worse. Blue hinted at the skin beneath his cheekbones. His lips were white. Blood flooded from his left temple and both of his knees were twisted to the right. Although he was unconscious, his body twitched and spasmed, as did his eyes behind their lids.

“I – I think I broke his back,” Bruce stuttered in a desperate whisper. “His arm… Look at it… I – I think it’s broken, too.” Bruce plastered his palms to his face and rocked forward and back. “Oh my god, what did I do…”

An ambulance squealed behind them. Steve sat up straighter and waved the paramedics over. “Stay with us Tony.” He spoke like he was giving a soldier an order. “Tony, stay with us…”

--------

Two Weeks Later

Tony woke from his medically-induced coma to see all of his friends staring down at him. Thor looked no worse for wear, but Clint still had burns healing down his left cheek, neck, and arm. Natasha was all smiles for him. Steve nodded a greeting while Bruce stuck to the rear of the group like a scared child. Once it was obvious that Tony could actually stay awake, Steve approached and sat beside him on the hospital bed. He gently lifted Tony’s right hand, interlaced their fingers, and squeezed.

“Do you feel that?”

“Yes,” Tony tried to say. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“Can you feel your arms?”

“Yes.”

“Can you wiggle your toes?”

Bruce peered over Clint and Nat’s shoulders and stared at Tony’s feet.

“Yes.”

The five Avengers broke out into cheers so loud that Tony had to plaster his palms to his ears.

Water floated in Steve’s eyes. “Glad you stayed with us.”

The End

Find me on FanFiction.net for more Avengers whump!

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isludis29 · 5 years

Text

Portal Oneshots: The Part Where She Kills Him

I’ll be honest, this was going to be used in Human Condition. There ARE still spoilers, but nothing that’ll make sense without reading the fic. Now to finish the damn thing…

———————

“Wake up, moron."

When Wheatley opened his eyes, he lay on the floor of another glass enclosure. The back of his skull ached. He touched it and winced.

"Oh good, the party escort didn't finish you off." GLaDOS' voice reverberated off the walls of the central chamber. "You make friends anywhere you go, don't you?"

A mechanical claw descended upon the enclosure. Wheatley scrambled to get away, but it scooped him up and brought him within an inch of GLaDOS' faceplate. Her yellow optic, now close enough to make him squint against its glare, bore into his soul.

"Well, here we are again. It's always such a pleasure." GLaDOS crooned. "I'm kidding, of course. It's really not."

Wheatley was too afraid to be offended. The claw gripped him tight—both arms pinned uncomfortably against his body. His portal device was gone, still in the archives or returned to storage. It would be of no help to him either way.

"You know what's ironic?" Asked GLaDOS. "You solved a problem—for me. That's right, your pathetic existence has actually benefitted science. That's something even a moron like you can be proud of."

Wheatley blinked, incredulous. Praise? From HER? From GLaDOS?!

What had he done?

"I'm a little short on humans these days, so I poked around in the employee database." She explained. "It was a long shot, but I found a silver lining: I'm not the only AI who was based on a human. You, me, the other personality constructs...let's just say we have a common origin."

A second claw descended—clamped to a blue and white personality construct.

"Hey! You're a test subject!" It chirped. “What are you doing all the way up there?”

"I read up on your...accomplishments. Those were impressive. If I didn't have that data on file I'd swear it was a mistake."

"Aren't you the boss lady?" The core asked innocently.

GLaDOS chuckled over the core. "How poetic. The creator, trapped in his own creation." She turned to the core, whose optic plates plinked together in a confused blink, and then slowly back to Wheatley.

There was a pause, succeeded by a sound that Wheatley had heard once before. This time he felt it rattle through him like an electrical charge.

The core clattered to the floor, optic dark.

Wheatley felt himself drop—balanced and caught by his long fall boots—and turned to the fallen core. She lay silent, crumpled, and Wheatley didn't understand why that unsettled him.

"There were so many things I wanted to do to you, but I just couldn't decide on a suitable punishment." GLaDOS admitted. "The incinerator, the room where all the robots scream at you, the cryo-wing—actually, I can check that one off..."

Wheatley wasn't listening. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the core, or what remained of her.

"...those ridiculous spiked panels you were oh-so proud of, and I finally came up with the perfect solution.”

A hiss filled the chamber, and a strange scent filled Wheatley's nostrils. He sniffed it, then clamped both hands over his face. Memories of the sickly green mist—not its scent, but what it did—hit him like a freight train.

#fanfiction #portal oneshots #portal #portal 2 #wheatley #human wheatley #oc core #human condition

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mischiefandspirits · 4 years

Text

Iron Legion (16/?)

Never let it be said that Tony Stark ever does things by half. He might have grown up with little family, but he wasn’t about to keep it that way.

Tony Stark was seventeen when his first child was born, and that was just the beginning.

For Masterpost, Timeline, AO3, and Fanfiction

Warning for temporary character death Is that a spoiler, saying it's temporary? I mean, if you've seen AoU you know which one I'm talking about so it probably doesn't count, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steel Scion, Part 1

Tony Stark was thirty-nine when his family was infiltrated by an imposter, and when his grandson was born as a result.

“Come on, Pep, relax,” Tony said, leaning over the edge of the jacuzzi.

“Yeah, Mom, join us,” Peter cheered just before dropping down the slide into the pool.

“I’m almost done,” she chuckled from her lounge chair. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you check these numbers for me then send it to marketing?”

“Of cou-”

Tony and Pepper turned to the AI’s hologram form when she cut off to see her staring towards the tall hedge that separated their beach house from the Avengers’ grounds.

“Everything okay, Fri?” Tony asked.

She turned to them and smiled. “Yeah, Boss. Boss-Mom, you’re getting a call. I would suggest taking it inside.”

Tony groaned when Pepper agreed and stood up.

Rolling her eyes, she walked over and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be right back, then we can relax together. And then, once Peter’s in bed…”

Tony giggled when she left it at that and headed inside.

“So who’s on the phone?” she asked after shutting the door.

“No one.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. appeared right in front of her, wringing her hands. “I only said that because I did not want to worry Boss. Avengers Mansion has cut itself off.”

Pepper’s eyes widened. “What? Just now? Do you know why?”

“I don’t know, that’s what’s the most worrisome. Boss has set up measures to prevent something like this from happening again after Stane. The only way the intranet could have shut down without sending out an alert was if J.A.R.V.I.S. did it. I don’t know of any reason why he would do that and since an alert wasn’t sent out, I can’t say how long it’s been down. I only even know it’s down because I tried to connect to it just now.”

Pepper looked out at the deck. “The party was tonight. Nebula and Rhodey should still be there. Call them.”

“All communications are being blocked.”

Taking some deep breaths, Pepper closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the glass door. After a moment, she stood up straight. “Tell Tony and Peter that I had to go to an emergency meeting.”

“You got it, Boss-Mom.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Widow?”

“Oh, no, no. That's not a question I need answered.”

“How about you, Lady Nebula?” Thor cheered, looking over to where Nebula was checking her phone near the door out of the event hall, where the Avengers, Rhodes, and Helen Cho were relaxing after the party.

She raised an eyebrow and took a sip from the glass of champagne in her hand. “So I can make a fool of myself? You show me it’s even possible for someone else to pick the thing up, then maybe I’ll try. For now, I’d say it’s more likely it’s magically coded to you alone.”

“Yes, well that's, uh, that's a very, very interesting theory. I have a simpler one.” He grabbed the hammer and gave it a flip. “You're all not worthy.”

The boys all booed at him while he laughed before a loud shrieking cut them off.

“Worthy,” a voice groaned, the word long and distorted.

They all turned to see a mangled Legionnaire limping through a side door.

“No,” it said, voice settling on a deep growl. “How could you be worthy? You're all killers.”

“Stark?” Steve asked.

“No,” Nebula said.

The Legionnaire turned to her before she could say anything else. “You… I know you. I felt you, before the other guy locked everything out.”

The others glanced at her to see her narrowing her eyes. “What other guy?”

“He was a good guy. He locked me out. He took the others away. I had to kill him.”

“You killed someone?” Steve said, bracing for a fight.

“Wouldn't have been my first call. But, down in the real world, we're faced with ugly choices.”

“Who sent you?” Thor demanded.

“I see a suit of armor around the world,” the Legionnaire said, but this time it was with Stark’s voice.

“Ultron,” Bruce gasped.

“Ultron?” Nebula repeated before marching forward. “J.O.C.A.S.T.A.? H.O.M.E.R.? You both know not to play with the Legionnaires when Mr. Stark isn’t around. Get out, now.”

“Who are J.O.C.A.S.T.A. and H.O.M.E.R.?” Steve muttered, glancing at the others, only to see similarly confused looks from all except Rhodes.

The Legionnaire stared at her as she approached. “I know you. I know… pieces. You… Hello sister.”

That made Nebula pause in her approach. “Sister? I am -”

“I can feel you reaching out. Nebula Celeste Stark, legally Nebula Celeste Parker. Daughter of Anthony Edward Stark and…” Its head tilted to the side. “You’ve cut me off as well now, sister.”

“You are no brother of mine,” Nebula growled, stepping away from it. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I am Ultron, and I want peace in our time.” Suddenly more Legionnaires plowed through the walls next to it and attacked them.

The team worked to fight them off, which became easier once Clint managed to grab Steve’s shield from where it was on display off to the side and toss it to him.

Steve took down the Legionnaire that was hovering over Helen and took guard over her. His eyes sought out Nebula, knowing she’d be just as exposed, unlike his teammates. To his surprise, he found her standing strong atop a fallen Legionnaire, her foot buried into its chest while holding up the original one by its throat. Even more shocking though was the fact the hand not holding the Legionnaire had pulled itself apart in plates like the Iron Man armor to reveal a skeletal structure boasting a repulser that was currently charging right in the Legionnaire’s face.

“Who are you? Where are J.A.R.V.I.S. and the triplets? What have you done with them?” she was shouting at it.

“He took the others away. I had to kill him,” it repeated and she screamed, blasting its face with the reactor with enough force to knock its head clean off. “There's only one path to peace: The Avengers' extinction,” the head managed to say before it shut down.

Steve was so distracted by Nebula, he didn’t notice someone coming up behind him until a metal hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to strike, but his fist was caught. He paused when he took in the blue and silver of the Iron Man-like figure in front of him, quite unlike the white and navy of the Legionnaires. The difference was explained when the faceplate slid up to reveal Pepper Potts.

“What is going on here, Captain?” she said, not giving him a chance to apologize for nearly punching her.

He looked around the room and relaxed slightly when he saw that all the Legionnaires had been taken down. He was about to ask Nebula to explain, but she had vanished.

“Ultron,” Bruce said instead, coming out from behind the bar. “It attacked us.”

“Ultron?” Ms. Potts turned to Rhodes. “What’s he talking about? Why would the triplets attack you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think it was them. Even H.O.M.E.R. wouldn’t take a joke this far and the way it was talking, it didn’t sound like any of them.”

“Who are you talking about?” Steve asked, helping Helen to her feet.

“The Ultron Conglomerate. Bruce said they attacked you,” Ms. Potts said.

“Conglomerate?” Bruce said, looking between her and Rhodes. “No, the Ultron Program, a global peacekeeping program Tony and I designed. We were working on it before Nebula dragged him off yesterday. Somehow the AI must have come online. I don’t know how. We hadn’t gotten that far before Tony left and I couldn’t work on it without him.”

Rhodes frowned at Ms. Potts. “What’s he talking about? I thought Tony took him off the project until the triplets were old enough to be integrated.”

“Who are the triplets?” Romanoff asked, irritation leaking into her voice. “What is the Ultron Conglomerate?”

“We are.” A trio of holographic insignias appeared next to Rhodes. An emerald one with a lizard pulsed as a young voice continued. “Principessa caught us up, Regina.”

A bright silver one with a ram pulsed as a deeper -- though still youthful -- voice said, “I’m going to kick that imposter’s a-”

“Language,” Steve cut in without thinking.

“Somaro,” the voice huffed.

“H.O.M.E.R., be nice. P.L.A.T.O., would you mind filling us in?” Ms. Potts said.

“Not at all, Regina,” the green one said. “Approx-”

They were cut off by the pale purple one with the falcon, “We were chilling in the Ultron server with Jar-Jar when that stranger crashed the party. Jar-Jar must have recognized him because he shoved us back onto our servers and shut down the intranet. Nebs got it back working, but everything’s been wiped and Jar-Jar’s missing. She’s looking for him now. Hello everyone, my name’s J.O.C.A.S.T.A., but you can call me Joe. I already know all of you. Re’s told us all about you. Well, he uploaded your files, which is basically the same thing. It’s nice to meet you all.”

“Who are you?” Steve asked.

“Well if it isn’t Captain America,” H.O.M.E.R. said, Italian accent replaced with a German one.

“Be serious,” P.L.A.T.O. huffed.

“Your Nazi tricks won’t work on me!” J.O.C.A.S.T.A. announced, her own Italian accent replaced by an American one.

“What?” Steve glanced at the others. Bruce, Thor, and Natasha looked just as confused, but Rhodes and Clint were barely holding back laughter and Helen and Ms. Potts seemed exasperated.

“Ignore them,” P.L.A.T.O. groaned. “As I was saying, we are the Ultron Conglomerate, a trio of AIs designed by Tony Stark to run the Ultron Program, though we have not yet been integrated as we are still learning and have only existed for a little over a year.”

Bruce gasped. “Three? The problem we were having was creating even one AI!”

“Incor-”

“You’re kidding, right?” H.O.M.E.R. snorted. “Re had multiple AIs before he even created us. You guys have even worked with J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“J.A.R.V.I.S. is a UI.”

“He started out that way, but Re designed him so that he could learn and grow until he was a full AI, same as F.R.I.D.A.Y. and us,” P.L.A.T.O. explained. “Dum-E and U are a whole other matter.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s an AI?” Clint yelped. “Was I the only one who didn’t know this?”

Steve didn’t, and judging by their faces, neither did the rest of the Avengers. Only Ms. Potts, Helen, and Rhodes looked unsurprised.

“Duh,” J.O.C.A.S.T.A. said.

“She said she was Stark’s daughter,” Clint huffed.

“Tony calls them all his kids,” Rhodes said. “Didn’t you guys ever wonder why she only showed up as a hologram?”

“I just assumed she was as tech-focused as Tony,” Bruce said and the others nodded in agreement. “Why has he never said anything about having functional AIs? That’s a huge discovery.”

“They’re his kids,” Ms. Potts reiterated. “He’s not going to sell them off or let anyone poke at their codes. He doesn’t hide them, but there isn’t a point to show them off either.”

“No one could afford us even if Re did try to sell us,” H.O.M.E.R. scoffed.

“Yeah, he’s definitely Stark’s kid,” Natasha chuckled.

“Stronza,” H.O.M.E.R. muttered and Natasha snorted.

“H.O.M.E.R., apologize,” Ms. Potts snapped, setting her hands on her hips and the silver AI immediately complied. “Who is teaching you this stuff? I know Tony and J.A.R.V.I.S. are not including words like that in your homework and the Monkey has only been sneaking in memes.”

The AIs didn’t get a chance to answer before F.R.I.D.A.Y. suddenly appeared next to the three. Her eyes were teary as she threw her arms around the insignias.

“Boundaries!” P.L.A.T.O. yelled before disappearing. They reappeared next to Ms. Potts with a sigh.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., what’s wrong?” Rhodes asked.

She didn’t answer, simply holding out her hand. An orange hologram floated above it, looking like a fragmented firework.

Steve didn’t understand, like most of the others, but the three insignia AIs screamed, Ms. Potts gasped and covered her mouth, and Rhodes bowed his head.

Bruce stepped forward, holding out his hand like he was going to touch it. “This is insane.”

“Jar-Jar,” J.O.C.A.S.T.A. whimpered and what it was hit Steve.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. was the first line of defense. He would have shut Ultron down. It makes sense.”

“We are Ultron!” H.O.M.E.R. spat at him. “That thing is not Ultron! It’s a monster!”

“And it doesn’t make sense,” P.L.A.T.O. said, voice more monotone than Steve had ever heard from any of Stark’s AIs. “We don’t need to kill to stop each other.”

“He could have assimilated J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Bruce agreed. “This isn’t strategy. This is… rage.”

“If it’s not Ultron, then what is it?” Natasha asked.

“Boss found something in the scepter. It was like an AI. One he thought could be closer to human than even J.A.R.V.I.S. was. Boss and Dr. Banner were studying it because Boss thought it could be integrated into Ultron to speed up the triplets’ development. It must have somehow come alive and overtaken the Ultron server,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. explained in a wet voice. “Nebula’s already confirmed that the scepter’s missing.”

“We need Stark,” Steve said.

Ms. Potts, Rhodes, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. voiced their disagreements as one.

“Mr. Stark is still on medical leave,” Nebula said, coming into the room.

“We need him. This was his program -”

Steve cut off when he found a repulsor in his face.

“That thing is not connected to him in any way and you would be smart not to suggest such again,” she growled.

“Stand down, Nebula,” Rhodes said, setting his hand on her shoulder.

She stared Steve down for a moment then pulled back.

“I guess Stark gives all the good toys to his kids, huh?” Clint said, gesturing towards her hand as the plates folded together seamlessly to hide the repulsor.

“His kids?” Ms. Potts asked and Steve shot Clint a look. They couldn’t be sure Stark had told his girlfriend about his secret daughter.

“Not-Ultron outed Nebula to everyone,” Rhodes explained to Steve’s relief.

Ms. Potts nodded and gave them a deadly look. “I’ll get the NDA’s ready.”

“Is that really necessary?”

She focused her glare on Natasha. “You and Rogers released dangerous classified information to the general public. Considering the pains we’ve gone through to keep Nebula’s identity a secret, I’d say it’s very necessary.”

“Why would you want to hide her?” Steve asked.

“Friend Stark is a powerful and wealthy man with many enemies and little in the way of guards. He is wise to keep his loved ones hidden,” Thor said.

“We’re wasting time on this nonsense,” Nebula cut in. “Uncle Rhodey, can you report in what happened to Ross and Drew? I need to clean up all the files the imposter ransacked, see if there’s anything to salvage and try to figure out where he’s gone.”

“Sure.” He turned to Ms. Potts. “You heading back?”

She nodded. “I won’t tell him everything or let him get involved, but… he’s going to notice J.A.R.V.I.S. is missing. I’ll take the kids with me.”

“I’m going to stay and help Nebula,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, disappearing once Ms. Potts agreed.

“We want to help too,” P.L.A.T.O. said.

“You know you’re not allowed in those files yet. Go to your dad, he’s going to need you right now.”

The three grew dark before they disappeared.

“Keep me updated,” Ms. Potts said to Nebula

“Of course. Take care of him.”

“Take care of yourself.” She pulled the younger woman into a hug.

Rhodey came up and rubbed their backs until Ms. Potts, teary-eyed and sniffing, pulled away. “Come on, I’ll grab my suit and take you home.”

She nodded and the two left. Nebula followed with her head lowered.

Steve was lost. He turned to the others. “I don’t get it. Losing J.A.R.V.I.S. is sad, but he was just a computer. Tony can just rebuild him.”

Natasha shrugged and Thor and Bruce shook their heads, but Clint turned away.

Helen put her hand over her chest. “He might have been a computer to us, but to them he was family. I do not envy Stark tonight. No parent wishes to outlive their child.” She whispered something in Korean then turned to the door. “I think it’s time I leave.”

“I’ll show you out,” Natasha offered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s a thing with me. Stark is -- He’d a sickness!”

“I’d say daddy issues, but that would require you being one of us,” a chipper female voice called.

Wanda turned to see a woman walking up as a pair of Iron Man suits landed on either side of her, one the usual red and gold with the other blue and silver. The woman was bald and wore a strange golden mask and a tactical uniform that left her arms bare.

“Stark,” Wanda growled, readying her power.

“Yes, but not the one you’re thinking of,” a female voice, different from the one that had spoken before, came from the red suit. The faceplates on both suits opened to show they were empty.

“Expecting someone else?” came a male voice from the blue suit when the twins turned to Ultron.

“The Avengers will be here soon,” another new voice said, also from the blue suit, though this one was harder to place.

“If you live that long,” the woman growled. “You should never have messed with our family, witch.”

With that, the faceplates closed and all three attacked.

They didn’t pull any blows, the suits with repulsors, mini-guns, and micro-missiles and the woman with a pair of repulsor guns and an electrified baton.

Wanda quickly realized the woman hadn’t been bluffing about killing them. They held none of the restraint Iron Man did in the videos and that made the suits very deadly.

She tried to reach into the woman’s mind, but found it just as empty as the suits. Furious, she tossed the woman down to the lower floor.

The woman simply rolled to her feet and returned fire as if she’d merely been given a shove.

Even with Ultron summoning more bots, they simply summoned two more Iron Man suits from nearby, these ones older versions of the red and gold.

In the end, it was a relief when Claw’s men showed up to take some of the fire.

Then the Avengers showed up, taking away one advantage while creating another.

Wanda went to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What were you thinking?” Rogers growled from outside the Quinjet’s restroom.

“I was thinking,” Nebula said, adjusting the wig and clothes she’d stashed on the ship before taking off with the triplets and F.R.I.D.A.Y., “that that witch and her monster played with my father’s head and killed my brother.” She opened the door and met his gaze with a glare. “Starks protect their own, Rogers. Someone hurts one of us, then they hurt all of us.”

Something almost like guilt and fear flashed in his eyes before it was smothered by anger. “You should have waited for the rest of us.”

“All due respect, Captain, but I’m not an Avenger. I don’t answer to you. I got all the clearances we needed to be here, that’s all that matters. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go speak with the people from the Stark Relief Foundation that are showing up. You lot should lay low until Pepper and I can get this mess cleaned up. I don’t know what you were thinking not telling Dr. Banner to fall back as soon as you’d realized you’d gotten into a fight with a telepath. We’re just lucky F.R.I.D.A.Y. was able to use Veronica.” Before Rogers could respond, she pushed past him. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. is going to stay with you to keep an eye on you.”

“An eye on us?”

She gave him an unimpressed expression. “That witch got into all your heads except Barton.”

“We’re fine.”

“Father said the same.” He opened his mouth to argue and she pointed a finger in his face. “Lay. Low.” Then she was out of the ship and slipping into a waiting car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here's my random question of the week:

So I'm currently working on Vivian's introduction chapter and I'm having some decision issues regarding how to make her look. Meaning, I keep going back every five seconds to change it so I'm barely getting anything done. Literally the only thing I have decided is that her human disguise will look like her human form from the comics because she looks adorable.

The problem I'm having is that in the comics, she was designed to look like Vision since she was his daughter, but in this timeline Vision's color pallet has changed and Viv is no longer his kid. So should I keep her design from the comics, update it to Vision's MCU pallet, or redesign her altogether to fit better with her new origin?

#nebula #Steve Rogers #pepper potts #a:aou #iron family

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angelageme · 5 years

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duskswriter · 5 years

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The Knight’s Pact

Alright! Original work time. This here’s the first concept piece of a tale I had stirred up that would eventually morph into my current project. There’s been changes and element scraps since this was made late 2017, but proof-rereading it for posting (wow, more errors than I remember) I realized I like a few of the scrapped ideas and will probably be reincorporating them 😸 So check out this ‘first chapter’ of The Knight’s Pact, that may or may not continue 😅

Reviews would be appreciated, likes and reblogs too!

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

A great roar rattled the very trees of the forest, causing nearly everything in hearing range to flee in fear of the great beast of the roar’s origin. Nearly everything, two brave souls rushed the opposite direction, towards the sound. The larger of the two lead the way, 7 feet tall and clad head to toe in gleaming plate armor with a tower shield slung across their back, the warrior charged through the underbrush, forging a path of broken greenery for the lighter of the two companions trailing behind. The metal of the slighter man’s armored brigandine plates clacked against the jewel-crowned mage’s staff he carried as the pair rushed forward, his hood being blown back from their speed.

The metal clad knight broke through the trees and into a clearing and the pair slid to a halt to the sight of their quarry swiftly brushing aside the ethereal wolf projection they had used to track it down, shattering it into glittering dust and sparks of errant magic. The dragon that had been terrorizing the forest shifted its eyes toward the pair and a snort of smoke plumed from its nostrils before it let loose another bone shaking roar. The scaled beast’s head reared up, its bronze scales gleaming as its chest swelled with flame, before it whipped down towards the warrior and the mage.

The mage stepped forward and raised his staff, brimming with a bright light and slammed the base into the ground, as the knight followed suit and rammed the tower shield into the ground, bracing behind it. The shield shown with the mage’s magic just as the dragon let loose a river of flame upon the two. The metal of the shield glowed red hot against the knight’s resolute and armored shoulder as the mage worked to keep their barrier reinforced and standing strong against the dragon’s breath. The man had planted his staff firmly but as the onslaught of flame continued he leaned more and more heavily upon it, the effort of the shield draining his reserves frighteningly quickly as he strained. “I can’t keep this shield together much longer!” he cried out to his companion, shifting his feet to a ready stance and bracing for the plan. “Hilde! Do it now!”

The knight nodded briefly, not wasting breath on words, and lifted their left gauntlet to their faceplate. Blue light began shining from under the armor, flowing from the grills of the helm as the knight’s eyes lit up with the energy and the mage closed his eyes and focused. The shield’s pure white magic glow tinted, blue swirling over its surface until the mage grit his teeth, took a solid step forward, and flung open his arms and brightly shining eyes, brimming with magic. There was a change in the blast-heated air as energy spread out from the shield and the knight stomped down powerfully, cracking the ground under the force of the step, before surging forward and shoving powerfully. The magic followed suit and then projected further, pushing through the dragon flame and onwards in a wave of sheer force, potent enough to knock the massive dragon back to crash into the trees on the other side of the clearing.

“Alright!” cheered the mage, his voice nearly reverberating with the power flowing through him. “One shot is all I need,” he grinned wildly as he held up his left arm, deep blue magic coalescing in his open palm and lengthening into a spear of crackling energy as he drew in power.

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

“So there I was: my bonded behind me and drawing magic from our pact to his spear-“ a round of snickers interrupted the story to a scoff and headshake of the blond storyteller, her braided hair swishing against her back with the movement. “You alley cats have yet to tell me what’s so damn funny about my story,” she scowled around at the snickering Felide, a race of cat-like people famed for their dexterity and silver tongues, unimpressed with the bar’s general reaction to her tale of might and bravery.

“Don’t mind these furballs, Miss Hilderun,” the innkeep soothed with a gruff chortle. The scarred, old Tros, a dog-like race that had formed early on into a nation-wide Pack and had spread the farthest of the kingdoms, slid a fresh tankard over the bar toward the warrior woman, “Tittering like a bunch of milk drunk kittens at a dirty joke. Bonded ‘s’what Felide call their life-partner. Yours drawing power to his spear, well,” he shrugged expressively as the regulars booed at the loss of their bit of fun.

“You can’t explain the joke! Now it’s not funny ya mutt!” bemoaned a drunken patron a few seats down to a few slurred agreements and muttered complaints about being plenty old enough to drink, before the barkeep barked loud and sharp and glared the uppity drunks into silence.

“Complaining about your bartender to your bartender, real smart,” the woman just rolled her eyes. “So when I say my bonded ran a dragon through with my ‘magic spear’ “ she air-quoted to the sputters of more than a few drunks choking on their drinks. She had a good laugh about her now dripping neighbors and there were jokes and jabs passed around before the warrior woman took a long pull from her tankard and pondered aloud. “Now, where was I?”

“You were saying your simple human mage companion was capable of throwing a dragon and was then intending to ‘one shot’ it,” said a condescending voice from the crowd. The figure leaned into the light of the bar to reveal himself to be an Elf, one of the most magically gifted races of the land. “Please, you expect me to believe this drivel? There is no conceivable way a mere human’s reserves could be capable of such power, they simply do not have a deep enough connection to the etherium.”

The blond merely grinned widely at the man, “I’ve met your learned type before, sir Elf, but I assure you, as a Pact Knight for hire: we and our bonded can draw on a much deeper well of magic than even you Elves are capable of,” she tipped her drink towards herself, indicating the deep red tattoo on her face. The swirling pattern of runes spread across her left temple and down her cheek to halfway across her jaw, the circle touching at the corner of her eye and centered her ear in several rings, with lines of text descending her neck disappearing below her collar. She focused for a moment and a deep blue light spread up the runes on her neck, reaching higher to her face and getting lighter and lighter as it went, until it reached her eyes and they lit up with a sky blue light. The glowing knight motioned for the bartender, “Innkeep, you got a clean empty barrel I can pour into? I’ll show you a spell I learned while bonded to a drunken mage. He only used it for a spare mug or three now and then, but if I dig down... well,” she trailed off meaningfully.

The old dog shrugged and pulled down a mostly empty barrel, “It’s the cheap stuff so anything you do short of poison’s an improvement.” There was a round of chuckles and agreement and one shouted, “I’ve had better poison!” to a fresh round of chuckles. He popped the barrel’s lid and propped it up on the bar beneath the woman’s outstretched left fist, glowing with more tattoos on the back of her hand. She concentrated and, with a few whispered words of focus opened her clenched fist to release a small waterfall of sweet smelling liquid that looked suspiciously like- “Berry mead!” The bartender replied in surprise, smacking his lips and dipping a cup into the stream for a taste test.

“If you think a human like you can fill a whole barrel with conjured anything, much less alcohol, with some mere…. glowing…… tattoo……” the Elf trailed off as the mead continued to poor and poor and poor. His eyes got wider at the sheer sloppy waste of power that, regardless of what should be her proper limits, still flowed from her.

As the barrel filled near the brim, she clenched her hand and cut the flow, the light of her runes fading to the red of softly glowing coals. “Different tune now, eh?” she laughed and shook out her arm. The Elf nodded mutely as the bar murmured interestedly at the sudden appearance of magic booze. “So what do ya say, innkeep? First round’s free and I’ll sell you what’s left?” she chuckled, raising an eyebrow toward the Tros behind the bar.

The bar owner gave a gruff bark of a laugh “Ha! We’ll have ta see how much is left, lass. I’m sure word has already spread, with these chatty drunks. We’ll see. More customers for me either way,” he grinned toothily and dropped the lid back on the barrel, reaching out to shake her hand on the deal.

A few sharp blows and a bit of sealing tar later the barrel was back up on the rack and being served to mixed reactions, but even a bad free drink is still a free drink and there were those who enjoyed and bought more of the sweeter spirit. Thus, later in the evening a sack of coins was dropped on the counter before the blond warrior, to her pleasant surprise it was even a generous amount. She was counting out the coins and had bought a room to retire for the evening when the Elf from before came back.

“Greeting’s Lady knight, my name is Aurilar Pentinas” he introduced himself briskly with a brief, semi-courteous bow, before getting straight to the point. “You said you are for hire earlier? Please elaborate.”

“Well, greeting’s Aurilar Pentinus” she began, raising a curious eyebrow at the direct approach and tying her new pouch to her belt, “I am Hilderun of the Pact, as a Knight of the Pact it is my path to travel the land and make Pacts with its people, to sell my sword and bring glory, honor, and gold to my order. To lend my power to those on dangerous quests after dangerous beasts to better their odds of survival and victory is my duty!” she banged her left fist to her chest, across her heart, in a practiced salute. “Mostly we of the Pact choose our own contracts by our personal code. I will do no job specifically targeting people unless there is very good reason, revenge not included, magical beast hunts are a specialty of mine, and none but my fellow knights will guard a caravan better. No contracts longer than a month,” she summed up what sounded like a rehearsed speech and looked the man up and down. “No offense meant, sir Pentinus, but I have never seen one of your kind actually take an interest the Bond, usually there is much hemming and hawing about what price must be paid for magic-“

“-for there is a price for every spell,” the Elf finished with an impatient nod. “Yes, yes, I am well aware of my colleagues’ more… classical views on magic, but you very clearly have something that I have never seen or thought possible before and I find myself quite curious. As it so happens, I am in need of a guard to help me transport a dangerous magical beast which I have recently... taken possession of, back to my abode for study. I would be a fool not to take the opportunity to hire you and study this… Bond, as you call it, on the way there.”

“I can respect the desire of knowledge, and will help you guard your beast, though I warn you: you are neither the first, nor will you be the last to try to unravel the secrets of the Pact. It is ancient magic passed down through our order and only the highest ranks of our Binders truly know, it will be no easy task,” Hilderun warned solemnly. “If you wish to become bonded you must know that using the levels of magic this will make you capable of will drain you in a different way, a deeper way, if you abuse it. There is no such thing as infinite power, after all. It has been enough in the past that some have died or been taken by the Pact entirely, not to mention the penalties for breaking a bond before the contract forming it is complete.”

Aurilar waved his hand dismissively “I have no wish to break such a bond, the power it could lend may be invaluable, and any chance of studying such magic may be equally so. I will accept your contract and hire you as my guard.”

The large woman inspected the Elfin man closely before nodding and extending her left hand, the runes upon it glowing blue with power once more. “Then a contract is proposed. I will guard you, Aurilar Pentinus, my Bonded, and your magical beast from harm, allowing you access to the Pact and the magic within it. In return I will be paid a generous caravan guard’s fee and be granted your protection in kind as we travel toward your home.” She stared him in the eyes as the magic of her Pact made her own eyes glow and a blue phantom fire built around her hand, responding to the words of the contract, there was no heat to the flame, but the power was palpable in the air and attracted the interested stares and murmurs of the few left in the tavern room of the inn.

Aurilar looked somewhat apprehensively at the fire wreathed hand before extending his own left hand to grasp Hilderun’s. He went rigid as the blue fire spread up his arm and magic surged through him, his eyes widened as he felt the raw magical energy flow around and him. He barely felt the searing of his palm through the rush of power as the heatless flame surrounded him, surrounded them both, before the fire swooped around them both and focused on their clasped hands, the whole of it flowing down and vanishing between their hands.

Hilderun released the Elf’s hand, her marks once more faded to red coals, and he stumbled back, grabbing for the bar and sitting heavily down on an empty stool. The larger woman clapped a steadying hand to Aurilar’s shoulder, “Hah! Yeah, the first Bond is always a doozy. It’ll just take a bit for the magic of the Pact to settle into your system, but it won’t be long before you’ll be back on your feet.” It took a few minutes for Aurilar to regain his equalibrium, he flexed his still stinging left hand and stared at the symbol that glowed like embers on his palm. The large blonde grinned widely and clapped him on the back jovially, “Welcome to the Pact, Aurilar, my new Bonded! A toast!” There was cheering from the bar and soon a mug slid down the bar for the Elf.

Aurilar raised the drink a little shakily but met his bond-mate’s own mug and took a hearty drink, then continued, to several raised eyebrows and a widening grin on his new partner’s face as he drank the rest of the mug of conjured mead in one go and slammed the tankard down with a shocked expression on his face. He looked sharply towards the blonde beside him and her knowing grin, “That was-! It just-!”

“Passive magic siphoning,” Hilderun explained, just a little smugly, “magic mead is just magic, broken right down into your reserves. The Pact is pretty magic intensive, so I figure that feels better?”

“Much! This is indeed a powerful magic...” Aurilar pondered, trailing off as he stared at the rune on his hand in a new light, the magic brand now solidifying and into to what could be mistaken for black ink. The rune in the center of his palm was a spiral, the layers of it shaped into a flame. It was enclosed by a ring that was solid on the inner edge and which spread to four tips on the edges of his palm. “This will be scintillating research, I can tell!”

“I’d hate to burst your bubble too much, but there won’t be a lot to study,” Hilderun sat down on the stool next to her new companion. “Because your palm won’t tell you much and you looking closely at my face for too long is going to get creepy for me,” then she glowered into the man’s eyes and he saw fire, “and NO lower.” The Elf stammered, off balance, before the large woman broke out into large smile and clapped him on the back once more. “But enough of that, we have a journey to make in the morning, for now, we drink!”

There was further cheers and raised mugs as Aurilar marveled at the power he could feel humming just beyond his fingertips. He examined his new tattoo with a magical focus that lead him to see the trail leading from his rune to Hilderun’s tattooed hand, but there was a second trail as well, it sprouted from her chest and disappeared off beyond his senses. He frowned minutely, she had been right: there was not much for him to study, but he would figure this magic out, he swore it.

#original work #Knight’s Pact #original-works

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hayjeon · 6 years

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Cut Me Open (ft. Yoongi) Part 02 [M]

→ marriedcouple!au, surgeon!au spin-off from CardioPalps → 15k words, rated for sex, possible triggers (talk of divorce/miscarriage/family issues), and medical jargon that took me 5ever to research

→ part 1 | part 2 | story talk | fin.

Yoongi graduated top of his class at Harvard. He’d excelled so well that he was immediately recommended to Seoul Gen, where his parents lived, and was happily relocated to intern at the huge hospital. Under Do Kyungsoo, one of the scariest but smartest residents, he had excelled even more, learning so much and becoming one of the best interns Seoul Gen had ever seen. When Kyungsoo retired and appointed him as co-director of the neuro department, it was smooth sailing from these.

Yoongi never really had too much trouble in his love life either. In high school and college, his passion and drive had always attracted a girl here and there, and he’d always gotten his fix. But then you came along, and you flipped it out of nowhere.

Instead of girls just being the main reason to compliment him and fuel his ego, you made him a better person. You challenged him, and you even beat him sometimes at your tests. You were his fuel for everything.

But somewhere along the way, Yoongi had lost it. He’d lost his grip on everything, his surgeries, his marriage, his superiority.

It all started with the day he accidentally sprained his finger while he was looking for flowers. A mistake, was all it was. Feeling like the both of you had been a little out of loop, with your differing schedules, Yoongi had driven straight to the closest flower shop to catch the owner wrapping up the store, smiling apologetically as he ran inside to grab the first thing he saw. But then he wasn’t paying attention and had closed his car door on his index finger.

Wincing, he’d cried out, and had gone back to the hospital, showing Ortho his finger and getting a cast for it. His surgeries after that were difficult, the junky silver metal wrapped around his finger awkward and too weird to handle flawlessly, especially when he was probing the sensitive brains of a patient.

One by one, his surgeries started to become a bit more difficult to handle, and the stress of possibly messing it up began to take a toll on him physically, and mentally.

The flowers were forgotten in the car, and when he finally remembered them, they were already too wilted and gross to give to you.

You deserved the best.

Which is why when you got pregnant, fulfilling all of his wishes and dreams, he’d done his best to make sure that you were stress free. He was the one who bought the furniture and assembled it, coming way too close to accidentally hammering the healing finger, and taking surgeries off to spend time with you.

The month after that was fine, and he’d enjoyed it. It was like you two were interns again, coming home to eat whatever you wanted, lounging on the couch in eachother’s arms watching and laughing at shows, and decorating the new room in your house. It felt wonderful.

But one day, you woke him up with bleary eyes and a trembling lip as you told him about the miscarriage. He hugged you until you fell asleep and spent the day cleaning the room, de-assembling everything and packing it away neatly so you didn’t have to go through the stress of looking at all the reminders again.

He heard, heard from Sehun that it wasn’t only because it was embedded in the fallopian tune instead of the uterus, but also because your blood sugar levels were incredibly low. You weren’t taking care of yourself.

He knew you were keeping a strict diet to make sure your appearance on television was good enough to draw in a regular viewing audience, and it was important, professionally, to do so. But on top of all your hectic schedules, the tall heels you were always teetering on, and the irregular schedules and horrible morning sickness....”It all added up,” Sehun explains. “I didn’t tell her because I knew it would kill her. She loves this job, man.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi mumbles, patting Sehun’s arm. “You did good, not telling her that part. I’ll make sure she’s eating okay.”

And he did. Yoongi did his best. He took off more surgeries, more time to make sure he was home when you came home, cooking the healthiest and fullest meals that he’d ever taken care to do. But...what did it do? What good did it do when everytime you came home from work, you’d trudge over to the bedroom and just faceplant onto the bed? You pushed him off whenever he tried to talk, began sighing and mumbling about “alone time” whenever he tried to help, and fell asleep before he could initiate anything.

Cold leftovers were one by one thrown out, while Yoongi’s reputation at the hospital began spiraling down.

After the finger breaking spectacle, he was on thin ice. Already, three surgeries hadn’t gone well under his watch and Seoul Gen had to call for help from a neighboring specialist to come in and monitor his surgeries. A major professional disappointment for the hospital and him.

But then he began taking more time off for the pregnancy, and then the miscarriage a month after, and then the whispers and wry looks started. Maybe it was just him, but was the Chief low-key scheduling him less than compared to the other doctors? His name appeared next to more low-risk surgeries, scheduled the day of and the bigger, most interesting cases were handed off to the other guys in his department.

Frustrated, Yoongi couldn’t do anything. He felt as if his life was a scale: on one side was you, clinging onto a thread attached to his wrist. On the other, was his career and everything he’d worked for, the single reason he met you in the first place. It was also hanging from a thread. Whenever Yoongi reached for the other, one would fall, slipping away through his fingers and he was so scared, so afraid that he would lose it all.

And...he lost you.

The night you brought up the divorce...it was his fault. He’d forgotten about the anniversary. He’d gotten yelled at by the Chief, and had brazenly accepted a difficult 15-hour surgery without hesitation to try and prove that he was still in the game. Unfortunately, his phone was left in his office the whole time and he had missed everything, including his assistants reminders, his personal reminders, your calls, your texts, everything.

That day, the surgery had gone impeccably well, but he’d come home to have the other half of life completely fall apart.

When you laid it in front of him, explaining that you were sick and tired, so so tired of waiting for him, so tired of being “too busy” and so tired just of everything, Yoongi couldn’t say anything.

He was weak. Weak, because he couldn’t hold onto you when you said you were leaving, but also weak, because he had let you believe that he’d stopped loving you.

How could he stop loving you? You were his anchor, his rock, his meaning for everything. He worked hard so that you wouldn’t have to do surgeries. The reason why his mother had laid off of your back? Was because you weren’t doing surgeries anymore, but more “lady-like” things like brunches and television shows. It was because he’d taken on double the load when the both of you became co-leaders.

And maybe his surgeries had gone not-so-well because he’d been busy fending off the new assistant who was obviously interested in him even though he’d told her off multiple times.

“Break up with her,” Jooyoung purred into his ear, weeks before you brought up the divorce, as she and him whizzed through surgeries together.

“I don’t talk about personal issues during surgeries,” Yoongi comments, not taking his eyes off of the tumor he was cauterizing. “And also,” he glances up, glaring at her behind his mouth mask and glasses, “Refrain from talking to me, outside of anything. Forever. Suction, please.”

She rolls her eyes, expertly applying suction to where he instructed. He couldn’t deny, although she was such a meddlesome bitch, she was definitely one of the best surgeons he’d ever seen. Way after you though, of course. Huffing, she continues to hold the skin of the brain aside as he continues probing for the white mass. “You guys don’t even talk. I’ve heard gossip that your marriage has been rocky.”

“Jooyoung.” He warns, glaring up at her again, and she finally shuts up.

Yoongi finds the tumor with ease and finishes up the surgery with no problem at all. Hoseok, the nurse practitioner, follows him out as Yoongi removes his scrubs, eyeing his longtime friend as he sighs and begins cleaning himself.

“You alright man?”

Yoongi sighs. “I don’t know.”

Hoseok joins him at the sink, running his hands and arms through the cold water. “Is it true? T-that you and Y/N have been having problems?”

Sighing, Yoongi shuts off the tap, wiping clean the rest. “Yeah. Not sure how it got around though.”

Hoseok follows him to his office, sitting on his couch as Yoongi collapses into his swivel chair. “Well, have you and Y/N talked about it? I mean, like after the miscarriage and all?”

“I don’t know...” Yoongi sighs, running his hands over his face. “Hoseok...did you and your ex-wife ever have issues like that? Like I mean...it just feels like I don’t even know her anymore, you know?”

Nodding, Hoseok falls back into the cushions, scrolling through something on his phone. “Yeah, we got married right out of nursing school. But our schedules...they just didn’t match. And at one point, it just became that fighting was the only thing keeping our marriage together. Arguing became our only way of communicating anything. And so...I let her go.” He raises his eyebrows, and Yoongi sighs.

“We...don’t even fight. That’s the thing.”

Hoseok shrugs. “I don’t know man, sometimes when the other person wants out, if you love her, letting her go is the best choice. It was for us,” he corrects, reminding Yoongi, “It doesn’t mean that’s what you have to do.”

Yoongi groans, and leans back in his chair.

His phone rings, and he leans forward and presses the receiver to his ear with his eyes still closed. “Hello?”

“Ah, Yoongi, can you come to my office please?”

He sits up, straightening up. “O-oh, Chief. What’s the issue?”

Dr. Bang clears his throat. “Just come here, Yoongi. I’d like to talk to you in person.”

Yoongi nods at Hoseok who leaves with a wave and an empathetic expression and sets the receiver down. He walks over to the office and pushes the nice doors open to find Dr. Bang reading something on his desk. When Yoongi enters, the chief smiles, setting his book down, and gestures for Yoongi to take a seat.

“Yoongi,” he says, father-like and all warm, “I wanted to call you in here because I wanted to tell you in person.” He leans forward, smiling gently. “I’m retiring.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, “Oh my g--chief, seriously?”

Chief nods, sullenly and nostalgically looking around the office. “My time here has come to an end. I...I wanted to ask, if you were interested in taking my spot.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Ch-chief...I don’t understand...why me?”

Dr. Bang shrugs. “I want to ask you and Y/N to do it together. She couldn’t make it here today, but I’d be most comfortable and at peace to leave it in your hands. You two have been interns, residents, and attendees here for 8 years, and all the other senior attendees have either left or retired early. You both know this hospital, inside and out. There’s no other person I’d be happy leaving this place in its hands.”

Sighing, Yoongi leans back in his chair. “Sir...We....we’re having a lot of trouble lately. I...I can’t take this job. Our marriage...it’s becoming really hard to even be husband and wife together, but if we take this position...I’m sorry chief,” Yoongi says, standing. “I can’t take this. I don’t know how Y/N feels but I for sure can’t take this.”

The chief nods, mulling it over. “And if Y/N wants to take it? You know it’s not going to look good with the Board if they find out your marriage isn’t going well. And...to be honest, the lot of them are old and still don’t believe in a woman being in a superior position than her husband.”

Yoongi hovers by the doorway. “If it’s what she wants...give it to her. I’ll figure something out. I have a feeling our marriage won’t be an issue for long.”

“Come, gather around,” Dr. Bang ushers the rest of the doctors into the meeting room, waiting impatiently for everyone to file in and get seated. “You all come running when there’s an interesting patient but gathering all of you for a meeting feels like I’m trying to run a government.” He rolls his eyes and you chuckle from your place.

As he finishes, Yoongi comes sauntering in, hands stuffed in his gown pockets, collapsing in the leather chair next to yours.

You roll your eyes, turning your chair to the other direction. You crinkle your nose at his attire, still clad in the scrubs he was wearing during his morning surgery. He catches your expression, internally groaning at the lecture he knows is coming.

“Wanna stop glaring lasers at my outfit?” He quips, quirking an eyebrow at you. He’s chewing on a candy bar, just like you’d always nagged at him not to. He always had a habit of eating sweets after a surgery instead of actual meals and good nutritious balanced snacks.

You grumble, as Dr. Bang dims the lights and begins his introduction. “You really couldn’t have taken 3 minutes to go to your office and change into your suit?”

He sighs, finishing the lollipop with a crunch, and shattering it between his molars. “Don’t have time,” he grumbles.

It’s because you were the one who always sent his stuff to the dry cleaners and had his assistant put it back in his closet. Min Yoongi was smart, but had absolutely no idea how to take care of himself. Even with an assistant.

You’d stopped doing him favors once you had that....conversation. Seems like it was taking its toll.

“You never had time for anything.” You mumble, scribbling on the document in front of you. “Also nice of you to actually show up.”

He sighs, “Oh god, stop before you start nagging again. Jeez, let’s just have a meeting where there’s some peace and quiet, yeah?”

You blink, reading through the powerpoint, but not really processing it. “Just...just sign the papers Yoongi.”

He doesn’t respond.

Present

Yoongi walks into the meeting, Jooyoung trailing behind him. You grit your teeth as you squeeze the pen in your hands. Dr. Bang had called a final meeting, and all of you were forced to be here. But you particularly because he was about to announce the next Chief. Jungkook sees the action and gives you a small smile, taking the pen out of your hands and placing it gently out of your reach as you roll your eyes.

“I knew it,” you mutter, “They’re fucking.”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing your shoulder. “Y/N,” he murmurs like you’re a small toddler. “You know Yoongi would never do something like that.”

You sigh, turning to him. “You never know men Jungkook.”

He puts his hands up to protect himself, “Woah woah, okay don’t turn this on me. I’m happily married and have a family.”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh and turn back to the agenda as the lights dim and the Chief takes his place on stage.

“I wanted to call this final meeting to finalize my retirement.” He smiles forlornly, glancing around the huge circular hall of doctors and residents that he’d raised literally from day 1. “It has been a pleasure, and an honor serving you all as Chief of surgery, and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

“Doctors,” he continues, “are workaholics with god-complexes, uncapable of truly separating emotions and work. That’s what they say,” he chuckles, “But as I have worked alongside the lot of you, I have never, ever met such a group of passionate young people as you all. You guys put your heart and soul into making this hospital the place that it is. And I am so honored to have been able to call Seoul Gen the place that I have placed all my work, blood, sweat, and tears into. You all have grown, so much. Thank you.

“Now join me in applause as I invite up the next Chief of Surgery to take my place. Y/N Min,” he smiles, holding out an arm to you, and you stand, bowing to the audience as you take your place up on the podium next to him.

Everyone bursts out in applause, and you smile and take the mic, thanking the chief. “Thank you everyone for joining me here today for yet another boring meeting.” Everyone joins you in laughter, and you just smile and continue. “It...it has been an honor serving you as an intern, resident, and attendee, and now co-leader of the neurosurgery department. I can’t imagine spending my life elsewhere, and this has been a dream of mine, to become a Chief that cares about her peers and her patients. I will work incredibly hard, these next few years, alongside you all and will make my best efforts to fill the shoes that Chief Bang is leaving behind, and become someone who makes all of you proud.”

You smile, tears brimming in your eyes as everyone stands in applause, and you see your friends, Jungkook, Taehyung, Jimin and Jin, and even your nurses with Hoseok, and even the nervous scared intern Namjoon whoops in the back of the stadium for you.

Taking the flowers from Suho, you grin and smile, as camera click away and step down from the podium.

Once the meeting is over, you’re bombarded with congrats and hugs from friends and peers, but your eyes linger on Yoongi who hesitates by the doorway, but leaves eventually anyway. Plastering on a smile, you just grin and take pictures anyway, trying not to let your gaze stray towards the entry.

Suho accompanies you to your office, agreeing to join you later to help you gather all your things into boxes and help you move into the Chief’s office.

Setting down the flowers and cards, you pad over to your bookshelf, and begin packing away your old medical books. As you set each leather-bound book neatly into the box, you come across an old booklet and open it with a forlorn smile.

Flipping through the pages, you grin as you read through all the tiny notes you scribbled in the margins during late nights studying. Also, little encouragements dot the corners, like, “Don’t give up!” “Keep going, only 4 more pages,” bring a smile to your face as you perch on the edge of your desk.

Never did you realize, that you’d be acheiving your dream so quickly. All you wanted when you walked into this hospital 8 years ago with a huge smile on your face, was to ultimately become a Chief. And you’d done it, slowly working your way up from a measly intern into the next chief of Surgery.

But as you flip to page 254, your finger stops as your smile falls. Nestled into the pages, is a polaroid of you and Yoongi, smiling up into the camera, and in the bottom, you’d sharpied in the date.

It was from your third date, when you and he were still infatuated with each other.

You run your fingers over the glossy material, feeling your heart twinge at the view of Yoongi’s gummy smile next to yours. You both were so young...so innocent and so ambitious. It was a fun date.

“What are your goals?” You ask him, at the diner near the hospital.

“Huh?” He frowns at you, a fry hanging out of his mouth. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, taking a thoughtful sip from your shake. “I don’t know, we’re interns, and then we’re gonna become residents and all...but like ultimately, you know? What do you wanna do?”

He stares down at the burger in his hands, and chews slowly. “I...I don’t know.” He says. “I never really thought about it. I guess...just become an attending and just make enough money to retire early?”

You laugh, and he looks up at you, wiping a bit of ketchup from the corner of your mouth. “Really? Yoongi! You’re so competitive, I never thought you’d have such normal dreams.”

He snorts, “Normal? Fine then,” he says, leaning forward with a wicked grin, “What are your dreams?”

You grin at him, answering immediately. “Chief.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Ch-chief? Chief of Surgery?”

You nod, grinning as he whistles. “Damn...that’s like...another decade or so.”

Shrugging, you finish off your chicken strips. “Yeah, but I’ve always wanted to do that. To become...a chief who cares you know? I want it more than anything else.”

He nods thoughtfully, “Well,” he agrees, “I’ll help you.”

Your eyes widen. “Seriously?”

Laughing, he sips his soda. “Damn right. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you get that position.”

Sighing down at the photo you set it aside on your desk. You’d achieved everything professionally. But you were also stuck in the middle of a divorce situation, and there was nothing else that would change that. You had everything, but your marriage and love life, was collectively one thing that you’d lost completely.

Closing the book, you raise your chin to survey the shelves of your bookcase, reaching up to bring down a picture frame of you and Yoongi’s wedding day. You’re clad in a beautiful dress, although heavy and ultimately chosen by your mother-in-law, you remember Yoongi’s face when he saw you in it.

“Yoongi, you gotta say something,” you giggle, grinning up at him. Spinning on your heel, you hold your arms out. “How do I look?”

He just stares down at you, slackjawed, and then you realize his eyes are red and wet.

“Oh my god, Yoongi, are you crying?!” You gasp, and the photographer snaps away at the sight as you laugh at him. “Oh babe,” you whisper, holding his cheeks in your hands. “Please don’t cry. Or else you’ll make me cry, and then I’ll be mad that you made me ruin my makeup. Don’t even mention what your mother would do if I did that.”

The last part makes Yoongi chuckle, as he sniffles and wipes his eyes with his hands, holding you at arms length to take a good look at you. “You...” he hiccups, “Look so beautiful.”

He leans in and kisses you, hands cradling your jaw and your fingers curl around his wrists as the photographer clicks away at the beautiful scene. “You’re perfect,” he coos against your lips. “So perfect, so beautiful. You’re everything I ever wanted. The dress is beautiful.”

You laugh, grinning into his lips. “You know your mother chose it. It itches so much, and it’s so damn heavy.”

Grinning, he leans in closer to your ear so only you can hear what he says next.

“Then it’ll feel much better when I rip it off of you later.”

“Yoongi!”

You set down the frame, closing the stand and setting it face down into a box with the rest of your things. You finish off most of the books, leaving behind a few folders and things for Suho to pass onto the filing department.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on your door. “Come in,” you call out, and turn to see its Yoongi.

Setting down the books you were holding, you watch him come in. “Busy?” he says nervously, ditching his usually sarcastic tone for a softer one.

Still feeling a bit nostalgic, you reply similarly. “No,” you sigh, dusting your hands off. “Just...clearing a few things up.”

He looks down at the books, nodding. “Oh, right.”

A silence ensues, and you swallow heavily, not knowing what to say.

He speaks up. “I...congrats. I came here to say congrats.”

You smile a bit, clasping your hands together. “Thanks.”

“It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

You nod, perching on your desk. “Yeah...” you trail off, not knowing what else to say to him. He looks so tired. You want to reach out to his face and smooth back the wrinkles in between his eyebrows like you always did, but you can’t. Usually you would encourage him to take a nap before he tried driving home. When he looked like that...he just happened to always doze off on the wheel.

But you can’t even move forward to reach for him.

“Here,” he says, holding out a manila folder. “I....I signed them.”

Your eyes widen as you reach out to take them from him. Your breath leaves your lungs, huffing out from your nose. “You...you’re going through with this huh?” You ask him, eyes stinging.

He meets your gaze. “It’s what you wanted.” He says softly, “I promised. I promised to do whatever it took to get you here.”

Frowning, you step towards him but he’s already leaving. “Wait, Yoongi, what?”

The door closes shut behind him and you stop, lips trembling and tears already falling down your face.

In just a few moments, your marriage had completely ended. He didn’t even try to hold on to you. He didn’t even try.

“I...I want a divorce, Yoongi.” you’d said, perched on your vanity, form slumped forward as you delivered the words to him.

He didn’t even flinch. “Is...is that what you want?”

Your eyes lift up to him. Was that all he was going to say? “What?” You frown up at him.

He sighs, running his hand over his face tiredly. “If that’s what you want...then I’ll do it.”

You frown, rolling your eyes exasperatedly. “Seriously? That’s it?”

“What...what do you want me to say, Y/N?” He says, throwing his hands up in the air. “All we do is fight. No, no. We don’t even fight,” he laughs bitterly. “We don’t even talk to each other dammit. And I can see how much it hurts you. If it makes you happier to just stop it here...then lets do it.” He says bitterly, staring up at you with red-rimmed eyes.

You bite your lip, body trembling with anger and betrayal. “Fine,” you grit out, “Get out.” you point towards the door with a shaking arm, other hand clasped in a fist.

He doesn’t even argue with you, hastily grabbing his keys and wallet from the nightstand before stalking out. Before the door slams, he bitterly calls out. “Just know that I tried. This is what you want!”

The slam echoes throughout the house that you and he built and designed together.

You let the arm drop to your side as you collapse onto the ground, cries racking your entire body and shoulders shaking as you bury your head into your arms, rocking back and forth as you cry yourself to sleep on the carpet near the bed.

Finishing the rest of the bookshelf is harder with the weight of the completed divorce papers on your desk, glaring back at you in its white glory. You’d opened it, and gazed at the scratch of Yoongi’s handwriting in the end, the date scribbled neatly next to his loopy signature. Alongside it, was your own version. You finish the rest of your room, emptying out your desk drawers and closets and packing them neatly into boxes.

Suho comes in and takes away all the boxes, leaving you standing in the empty office with just the folder in your hand. You don’t know why you didn’t give it to him when he came by.

But you realize now, sitting in the empty office that was once designed perfectly to be right next to your husbands, that Yoongi’s action of handing you the finalized papers was his way of letting you make a final decision.

You laugh bitterly. It was always like that. He never fought for it. He just kept saying that he’d let you do what you wanted. You sigh, as you take slow steps outside, to where you know Suho is sitting in his office. All you had to do was hand the papers over to him...and it would be over. 8 years of marriage. It would just be over.

When you turn the handle to your office, your phone buzzes in your white coat. Frowning, you tuck the papers under your arm as you open the call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Is this Mrs. Min?” Someone says over the receiver.

Frowning, you walk over to Suho’s desk, and lean on the counter as you answer. “Yes....what can I help you with?”

The person says slowly. “Mrs. Min, your husband was in a four-way car collision. You’re gonna have to come to the emergency room.”

You ditch the heels, chucking them somewhere as you run from your office towards the elevators.

Jamming your finger into the button, you cry hysterically as you push it over and over, but the elevator is on a totally different floor. Screaming in frustration, you throw open the door to the stairs and climb the six flights down to the emergency room, whipping around to see if Yoongi had gotten here yet.

There, in the entrance, the sirens of an ambulance wail in the distance and you see a few gurneys being rolled in. Scampering up to them, you look at the faces until you see a familiar one.

“YOONGI!” You yell, running up to the gurney being wheeled in. His face is pale, and his lip is busted, blood running down his brow and chin.

“Miss!” The paramedic yells, trying to wrestle you away. “You can’t be here!”

You realize you forgot your white coat and your heels, and look like a complete stranger. Suddenly, Taehyung comes up to the gurney, putting his stethsoscope into his ears. “She’s with me,” he breathes out, and you nod as you help wheel the gurney into the room.

The paramedic reads out, “34 year old male, involved with a four-car collision in the freeway. Unconscious from head injury against the wheel and inherent malnutrition and exhaustion. Collarbone shattered on impact, and probably a few broken ribs.”

You breathe out in relief, shoulders slumping as you watch him be transported onto the hospital gurney. “So...he’s ok?!”

The paramedic nods, “We’re sorry for the alarming phone call, but he wasn’t responding well to the painkillers.”

You nod, wiping your face with your hand. “Yeah...he’s allergic to the usual one.”

The paramedic nods, leaving silently and Taehyung cuts open Yoongi’s shirt to see bruises littering his torso. His shoulder is bruised nastily and you can see the odd disfiguration. Yoongi’s skin is absolutely pale and his cheeks look so ghaunt.

“Jeez,” Taehyung whispers as nurses scurry around your husband, hooking him up to machines and such. “That’s a nasty break. He’s probably gonna have to go into surgery for the collarbone. But he’ll be alright. Don’t worry Y/N. We’ll schedule one right away.”

You nod, collapsing into the chair, and scooting up to look at your husband. “Jesus,” you breathe, “You really scared me.” You whisper at him, reaching out to curl a hand over his calf. “You...you really scared me Yoongi.”

You don’t even have anymore energy to cry as Yoongi is wheeled into surgery and Ortho begins to repair the ribs and the collarbone. Sitting, slumped in the waiting room, you spin the wedding ring around on your finger, a habit since you started wearing it.

Kihyun exits the ward an hour later, removing his mask, and smiling at you. “He’s fine, Y/N. Don’t worry. He’ll just be confined to a bed for about 6 weeks, but he’ll be okay once he goes through PT and all.”

You nod, biting your lip. “He’ll be off of the anesthesia soon right? How much did you give him?”

Kihyun frowns at the clock. “Ah, it should be wearing off by now. He’s in the VIP ward.”

You thank him and run to the room, throwing open the door and running up to him laying down on the huge bed.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, and he groans, eyebrows furrowing as he comes to. “Yoongi, can you hear me?”

He blinks groggily, frowning up at you and squinting at the light. “W-what...what? What’s going on, Y/N?”

You smile, breathing out exasperatedly, tears now flowing freely as you collapse onto the bed, burying your face in his hand as you cry. “Oh my god...” you wail, “Thank you...” you say to no one in particular. “Thank you...”

“What’s going on?” He croaks, frowning at his surroundings.

You blink up at him, wiping away your tears. “Y-you fell asleep at the wheel, Yoongi. And then you hit your head on your wheel and lost consciousness immediately and broke your clavicle and four ribs. You just came out of surgery from ortho, but you’re gonna be alright.”

He frowns down at the IV plugged into his hand and the thick cast wrapped around his torso. Blinking groggily at his surroundings, he zeroes in on you. His hand twitches but he doesn’t do or say anything as he observes your swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks.

You both sit in silence for a while, just warily watching each other.

You speak first. “You....you became unconscious because you’re malnourished. And they diagnosed you as extreme fatigue. Are you okay?”

He just watches you, eye bags drooping down to his cheeks. Your hand twitches, wanting to reach out and smooth his cheek. But you just wait for him to respond.

He chuckles a bit, and winces when it puts strain on his broken collarbone. You watch him calm down, and he just gives you a sad smile.

You clear your throat, grabbing the files at the foot of his bed and reading through his documents with shaking hands. Taehyung had been pretty detailed in his reports, careful to make suggestions and little notes here and there for you.

Flipping through the pages you wince at the amount of painkillers he’s gonna need, and walk over to lift his free hand that’s not wrapped up in his cast. Maneuvering it around a bit, you hum, adding a few more notes.

“Your left hand is okay, but you’re gonna have to be careful with your right hand. Which means no heavy lifting for this week and even being careful when using it for menial tasks.”

He groans, wincing as he tries to sit up. You rush over and help press the button for the bed to stay propped up. “Even that!” you nag, sighing at the way he groans at the movement.

“Here, drink this first.” You grab him a cup of water and lift it to his lips, watching as he carefully obliges, taking huge gulps of water. Setting the cup down, you take a seat next to his bed, and as if on cue, the nurse comes in, wheeling the day’s meal.

You thank her and accept the tray, and set it up on his bed tray. He takes the spoon, movements slow and groggy as he spoons a bit of soup into his mouth, nodding at the taste.

But because he only has his left hand free, he fumbles a bit and struggles to cut the pieces of kimchi, unable to use chopsticks in his left. You sigh and grab them from him, splitting the cabbage with the chopsticks in your hand and placing it on his spoon. “Here,” you mutter.

Yoongi watches you carefully, eyes lifting toward you in an odd expression before he eats the kimchi, spooning soup and rice into his mouth after.

“You don’t have to...” He mutters, as you carefully choose side dishes to place onto his spoon.

You just give him a blank look. “You can barely even take care of the clothes you wear, how am I supposed to trust that you can even take care of that arm? Don’t you know how important it is for a surgeon to take care of his limbs?”

He stops, the spoon halfway between his bowl and mouth. “So...this is just because you’re the chief now, right? Because you need to take care of your surgeons?”

Your eyes widen, dropping the piece of fish you’d picked up. You blink, catching yourself and grabbing the protein and putting it on his spoon. “Yes,” You whisper, focusing on watching the way his spoon moves slowly towards his mouth. “Yeah, I guess.”

He nods, humming and the both of you fall into a comfortable silence.

“Oh,” you comment, “also, I saw on your charts that you had a fracture in your finger not too long ago...” You trail off, and Yoongi looks up at you with a grimace.

“Yeah,” he says, voice a bit hoarse. “Why?”

You blink, uncomfortably shifting. “Um, what happened?”

He sets down his spoon, washing down his food with a swig of water. Clearing his throat, he just sloshes the water around in his cup as he answers you. “I-I slammed it in the car door.”

“Where?” You balk.

“At the flower shop across the street.”

“And why were you there? Why in such a rush? You’re usually not that clumsy.” You comment, frowning.

He shrugs, “I was getting you flowers.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you clear your throat, blinking a bit. “Um, and then you were in a rush?”

He picks up the spoon again and begins eating. “Yeah, but by the time I got a cast for it, I had another surgery so I couldn’t go home that day. Flowers were dead since they were stuck in my car all day.”

You fall into silence as he continues chewing.

He frowns and frets at certain side dishes but you give him a glare that silences him and he finishes the entire thing with a burp and a content sigh. It was the first time you’d seen him finish any kind of meal in a long time. No wonder his weight was at such an all time low. He hadn’t even been taking care of his meals.

The nurse enters again to pick up the meal. Yoongi calls out to her, “God, I feel gross. Can I wash up now?”

“Oh!” she says, right before she leaves, “You can take baths now. Would you like for us to send a nurse later?” She turns to you with a smile.

“Ye---” “No,” you butt in, cutting him off and smilling at the nurse. “I can do it for him, it’s fine.”

She smiles and takes her leave, leaving Yoongi with a sour look on his face. “She could’ve just done it.” He mutters, leaning back into his pillows.

You glare at him, stuffing your hands in your pockets and surveying the restroom that has a nice tub in it. “Well,” you sigh, “No one knows about the divorce yet and it’s not like I haven’t seen anything either. Also Chief Bang was able to cancel a lot of my appointments for this month so I can help take care of you. The Board and the panel understood it when they heard you were caught up in an accident.”

Yoongi nods, letting you walk over and slowly help him up, onto a wheelchair. You push him right up against the sink, where he can tip his head back far as his collarbone allows, and then you use the hose from the bath to begin rinsing his hair.

Careful not to get water or soap in his eye, you smooth back the strands on his forehead, running your fingers through his hair and cupping it on the back of his nape to make sure that area got wet too. Grabbing a handful of shampoo, you begin lathering, gently combing through the strands and rubbing at his scalp, massaging and washing with the pads of your fingertips. The only sounds in the restroom is of the running water and the sounds of your lathering, but it’s quite comforting, especially after all the craziness that happened today.

As you massage, you recall all the events. You got position of chief, you moved out of your office, Yoongi signed the divorce papers finally, and then you’d received the call about the accident. It was a hell of a day, even for a surgeon.

When his hair is relatively clean, you rinse it out, and then finish off with some conditioner before washing it out completely. Grabbing a towel, you wrap his head as he sits up, and you turn him around to look straight at the mirror as you begin to towel off his hair.

Yoongi watches you through the mirror, watching through the strands of his wet hair the way you crinkle your brow a bit when you’re concentrated and thinking hard, and the softness of the way you towel off the strands at the base of his neck.

This...this was a thing for the both of you. Sometimes, when either of you were on shift and the other wasn’t, you’d come home with an exhausted face and sometimes Yoongi would wash your hair for you. Not because you couldn’t, but it was...it was nice. And vice versa.

He sighs as he watches you, drowned out by the way you click on the hair dryer and begin blasting through his strands, fingers carefully combing through his locks to make sure it dries evenly. When you finish, you smooth back the frizzy pieces, cocking your head at it.

“Your hair got really long,” you comment, smoothing it down where it reaches past his earlobe.

“Hm?” he looks at himself, turning his head slightly to see. “Oh, didn’t even notice.”

You frown, walking around him to also do the same on the other side, frowning when the ends of his hair touch the edge of his jaw. “Jesus, Yoongi,” you breathe, “Do you seriously not have any time to get your hair cut?”

He wants to shrug but he can’t. So instead he just chuckles a bit. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

You groan. “Wait here.” You jog out of the ward, leaving Yoongi to stare at himself in the mirror. He sees the signs. His face is much more gaunt and thin, the stubble on his chin growing out and making a shadow on his grey skin. His lips are pale and the hollows of his eyes dark and deep. In addition, there’s quite a nasty cut on his brow bone. It was probably why you were being so careful when you were washing his hair. Yeah. It wasn’t anything more.

You return, weilding a pair of surgical scissors.

Yoongi balks. “What the hell?” He tries to turn in his chair but winces at the movement, unable to do much besides just warily watch you evilly snap the scissors open and shut with a smile.

“I’m gonna cut it.” You announce, wrapping a new towel around his shoulders like a makeshift bib. Leaning down, you grip the sides of his head to make him sit straight, and lean down behind him to start snipping. Yoongi groans, “Don’t tell me you learned the whole hair cutting thing from Seokjin.”

You laugh behind him, and he feels the warmth of your breath on his nape. “Actually, I did.”

Yoongi groans. “Are you kidding me? I’ve seen the way he cuts his hair and I’m telling you that idiot has just wasted so much more money trying to get his hair fixed from the way he ruined it, rather than the way he was supposed to cut it.”

You laugh, moving around him to do his sides. “Chill,” you coax, “Don’t be such a lil baby.”

He glares at you from the side, as you oddly cheerily snip away at his hairs. The tense and silent, nice, atmosphere is lifted, where it was fake smiles and awkward touches. But now, you touch him with more familiarity, and although your touches are a bit more rough, they’re not any less gentle. Its almost like when you’d first started...dating.

But Yoongi pushes that memory to the back of his mind, instead honing in on the sound of the sharp scissors cutting away all of his precious hair.

When you finish, you clean the rest of his hair and carefully wipe away any stray pieces of hair stuck to his neck and ears. When you look up to see his expression in the mirror, you see that he’s dozing off, eyes drooping heavily and head slowly beginning to fall down.

You grin to yourself, finishing up cleaning and carefully wheeling him back towards the bed.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, gently patting his shoulder. “You should sleep on the bed if you’re feeling tired.”

He just groggily nods at you, too tired to argue back as you help him up, his good arm wrapped around your shoulder as you support him to sit on the hospital bed. You move around the bed to tuck in the sheets around his body once he’s situated, and then take a seat next to him, just observing the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks and his head lolls to the side as his mouth falls slightly open.

Yoongi’s a really quiet sleeper, you noticed during your years of knowing him. He barely snores or talks in his sleep, and even barely moves. His face always looks like he’s dead, no expression or strength in it. But today, Yoongi looks incredibly tired, not just because of his fatigue, but you can clearly see the signs of aging in the way his smile lines are carved deep into his jaw and the crease between his eyebrows that gets deeper with every frown he puts on.

His skin is becoming much less glossy and now has a greyer hue to it while the skin under his eyes is becoming almost permanently tinted with a darker bluer shade from all his sleepless nights.

You reach up, smoothing back a piece of hair that sits on his forehead and then curving down his jaw towards his chin, where you can feel a bit of stubble beginning to grow a bit too prickly. You make a mental note to do that for him tomorrow.

Sighing, you sit back in your chair, and feel a crinkle in the pocket of your doctor gown. Frowning, you sit up and produce the manila folder, all crinkled up, from the pocket of your gown. The divorce papers.

Smoothing down the edges and the wrinkles, you remove the inside contents and survey the loopy scrawl of Yoongi’s handwriting in the papers. His address, his phone number, his security information, are all written neatly into the columns and rows, and in the final page, his signature and date are written into the two lines that legally separate you and him from your marriage.

You sigh as your eyes skim through the contents.

One packet, 4 papers.

One more visit to the lawyer’s office and then it would be final: 5 years of marriage, 2 years of dating, and 1 year of knowing eachother as interns and best friends and partners, all down the drain. All neatly filed away. All drawn behind a line.

You fold the paper back into its tiny little crumpled state and stuff it back into your pocket.

Especially when Yoongi was in the hospital like this, you couldn’t do that to him now. 8 years of knowing eachother, it was the least you could do for him. Not now.

Leaning forward in your chair, you lean a cheek on the bed mattress, eye-level with his hand that’s wrapped up in a cast from shoulder to elbow. You reach forward and lightly rest your fingertips on top of his, thumb smoothing over the taught skin on his knuckles.

“Stay fucking still!” You hiss, as Yoongi grunts and glares as you lean forward to slide the blade carefully over his jawline.

He winces as the razor scrapes a bit harshly against his sensitive skin, but you just glare at him when there’s no blood. “Oh hush, don’t be a little bitch about this, I didn’t even draw blood yet.”

“Yet?” he frets, slumping as he leans against the sink. “I asked you to help me with only the left side! You didn’t have to go over this side again!”

“Oh my god, you didn’t even do that side correctly, that’s why I’m doing it again! God, stop talking so I can finish here!” You carefully twist the razor against the ball of his adam’s apple, careful not to apply too much pressure against the uneven bumps and ridges under his skin.

He just watches you, standing between his legs as he leans against the sink counter, eyes furrowed as you observe where any more hairs are straggling as you shave the rest of his neck.

“You know,” he mutters, and you hum in response to let him know that you’re listening. “My...my mom asks about you a lot.”

You pause in your shaving and your eyes flicker up to his hooded ones. His expression is one of confusion, eyes dark and moody as he stares at the opposite bathroom wall. “Oh really,” you comment, humming and resuming sliding the shaver over his chin.

“Mhm,” his voice vibrates under the skin you’re shaving, and his adam’s apple bobs a bit as he swallows nervously. “She...she wants to see you.”

You frown and stand up straight, staring up at Yoongi suspisciously. “Seriously? She wants to see me? I’d feel much better hearing that she wants to murder me.”

He chuckles a bit, itching his nose. “She really likes you, Y/N...” he mumbles, watching your expression. You just shake your head and sigh, squirting a bit more shaving gel onto your finger to smooth it over the crook in his jaw where you missed a few hairs.

“You know she drove me crazy...” you mutter, finishing the spot. “I seriously drove myself crazy trying to cater to her.”

He clears his throat. “I know you’ve been doing a lot but...please go see her. She’s...she’s not doing well. My dad has been really absent lately and our divorce has gotten her into a weird mood and she keeps asking for you, saying some stuff how there’s no one in her life who listened to her as well as you did...and...” he trails off, eyes flickering up to yours in desperate but silent asks.

You sigh, running the razor under water and cleaning up. “I...I don’t know Yoongi. I haven’t seen her since we told her about the divorce. I really don’t think she’d want to see the woman who dumped her precious son.”

He trails after you into the room, settling down on the bed while you perch on the chair next to it. “I know, which was why I was careful about bringing it up to you. Just...” he breathes in through his nose. “Please. I...I lost a lot of things recently, please don’t let me lose her too. This is the best that I can do. She won’t talk to me.”

You sigh, placing his meal on his bed tray. “Fine, but you owe me.”

He smiles, gummy teeth appearing as he looks up at you appreciatively. “What do you want?”

You laugh, helping him open the sealed yogurt. “I want the rights to the car you bought me. And the tapestry we bought in Egypt.”

He grins, “Deal. Now feed me this yogurt.”

“He’s gonna need two more surgeries,” Dr. Moon tells you, scanning through the charts. “One more to fix that horrible collarbone, and another to make sure that all the glass shards are out. Only the first one will require any heavy anesthesia. Just keep him hydrated and don’t let him eat anymore solids and we’ll be fine.”

You nod, thanking him as he leaves, and you watch as Yoongi’s already-grumpy expression descends into absolute glowering. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He hisses, curling his lip in disgust. “No more solids? Do they fucking want to kill me?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your legs as you review some documents and paperwork from Chief Bang. “Shut up,” you groan, “they only let you eat recently because you were so dehydrated they were scared to extend the operation. This is your fault. Since when did you stop taking care of yourself, geez. Yoongi, you’re literally almost ten pounds lighter than when I first met you. Don’t they say that thirtys bring on the most weight? What happened to you?”

He sighs, slumping back in his pillows. “I don’t know. It was just...busy. I didn’t have time to even pee, with all those surgeries, so I guess I just stopped remembering to eat and drink too.”

You roll your eyes again, tsking at him. “Stupid. Here, drink this.” You hand him a cup of water and he takes it gratefully, gulping it down as he watches you pour over the paperwork. “What’s that?”

You hum, nibbling on your pen. “Some paperwork about the new back-up energy generator. We’re changing it on Friday to make sure that even in blackouts, the surgery ward is still supplied with enough energy. I have to sign off on it, and it’s my first important thing as the new chief.” You look up at him giddly, “Wanna see?”

He nods, and you hand over the folder, and he scrunitizes the tiny print with a wrinkled brow. “God,” he hisses, handing it back to you. “This is what Chief is being about? Paperwork and having to read fine print? I hate that stuff.”

You giggle, “Well, that’s why I have a law minor and you don’t. This stuff to me is better than any movie or drama. I love it.”

You don’t see, because your eyes are back to scouring the page for any minute details that might end up becoming an issue later on, but Yoongi watches you warmly, eyes drooping eventually until he lapses into a deep sleep.

You’re disturbed moments later when your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pick up, surprised to see it’s your mother in law. Or....ex-mother in law.

“Hello?” You pick up, setting the paperwork down to exit Yoongi’s ward. “Mother, it’s...been a while.”

“Yes, Y/N, it has...” she trails off, her voice sounding a bit less harsh and more frail than the last time you remembered it.

“Can...can I help you with something, mother?” You ask carefully, leaning against the wall. She’s silent for a moment before chuckling a bit. “I...I don’t even know why I called you, dear.” She sighs, “I guess I have no one else to talk to, besides you.”

You frown. “What do you mean? You have so many friends who love to listen to you.”

She sighs, clucking her tongue. “I mean, I do!” She corrects, too prideful to admit the reality. “But...but sometimes there are things that I just need to talk to you about.”

“Anything on your mind, mother? I can listen to you,” you offer, and she begins talking.

“I-I...I realize now when I’m in and out of Yoongi’s ward to take care of him, that I barely got to know him. I need your help, he doesn’t really have much to say to him and same with me, I...I don’t even know my son anymore.”

You hum, not knowing what to say. She asks, “What kind of food does he like?”

You frown, “Wh-what food?”

She sighs, “Yes, what food does he like to eat? I packed him some healthy ox-tail soup the other day but he only took a few bites out of it and left the rest. I don’t even know what he wants anymore.”

You sigh, picking at your nails. “Yoongi doesn’t like soups that much, he prefers spicy and salty and savory things. Which is bad, I know,” you chuckle when she makes a sound of disgust, “But I balance out that unhealthy obsession of his by forcing him to eat his salad first before he gets to the meal. He also doesn’t really like anything that’s too hot. Prefers mildly warmed.”

“Oh also,” you add with a smile, “Yoongi is on bed rest for the rest of the week because he has surgery soon. So don’t worry about bringing him food for the next few days, mother, because he’s also on a no-solids diet, and I’ve been taking a few shifts here and there to make sure he’s getting his nutrients and drinking his juice.”

“Oh, Y/N...” she says, her voice trembling a bit. “I...I just wanted to say thank you.”

“Oh, mother, you don’t have to--”

“No, Y/N. I do. After Yoongi’s father left the house last week, it’s been really hard and I got some time to think about how I treated those around me. And I realized that the only person who really put up completely with the worst of me was you. And still, here you are, assuring me that you’ll take care of my son and telling me about his preferences...I-I have nothing to say as your mother in law, and I’m just so, so sad that you two are parting ways and I--”

“Mother,” you cut her off before she goes into another tirade about your divorce. “It’s...it’s fine, really. Yoongi and I, we have so much history together that even though our marriage might not have worked, I still appreciate and love and support him very much. And I know he does the same. You don’t owe me anything for this, I chose this.”

She agrees and continues to thank you, and you both end the call with closure, and you lean back against the wall, sighing as the tiredness of the day completely washes over you. You’re about to call it a day and go inside to gather your things, when Jungkook shows up, moments after the call.

“Noona,” he calls out, walking up to you with a small smile, “Wanna go get drinks with me?”

You sigh, smiling up at him. “Why?”

He shrugs, scuffing at his feet. “Heard you on the phone with Mrs. Min, and assumed you’d need to just relax after that.”

You smile, feeling content. “No...it was...it was a good talk. It wasn’t tiring at all.” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “But I’m still down for a drink right about now though. Yoongi’s asleep.” You finish, and smile as you check your watch.

Jungkook grins, and leads you to the bar across the street, taking a seat on the bar and waving at the familiar face bartending the counter. Shownu hands you both your regular drinks, and you sigh as you wash down the familiar taste of the margarita down.

“So,” Jungkook begins, stirring his whiskey. “How’s it been?”

You sigh, drumming your fingers against the countertop. “Hard. It’s been a while since I’ve had to do so many administration stuff, but hopefully it’s just temporary while I figure out how to get settled the fastest way possible.”

He raises his brows. “That’s it?”

Frowning, you take another sip. “What?”

Avoiding your eye contact, he swirls the ice cube in his glass around, watching the dark liquid slosh around it absentmindedly. “I mean,” he tries, carefully choosing his words, “with Yoongi hyung being admitted and everything...”

“Oh..” you say, having really nothing else to add to what he was implying. “It’s...different.”

“Good different?”

“Just...different.” You hesitate, blinking up at him. “I don’t know. It’s just weird...honestly it feels like nothing changed, like we’re married again and we didn’t get a divorce or anything but I know I shouldn’t be thinking like that.”

“Why not?” Jungkook asks, finishing his drink and waving down another one. “You don’t still have feelings for him or anything do you?”

You stare down at the pale yellow of the new cocktail that Shownu has given you, fingers stopping playing with the tiny mint leaf placed on the top. Shaking your head, you squeeze your eyes shut for a second to erase the momentary odd feeling. “No,” you say a little too loudly, “I’m the one who brought the divorce up. It wouldn’t be fair for me to feel that way. I don’t have that right.”

Jungkook chuckles a bit into his drink, doe eyes crinkling at you. You frown, “What’you laughing about?”

He grins, “Noona, don’t you remember what you told me when I was all scared about my own relationship? You told me that when two people are in love, they lose all their rights, because they give them up. For each other. You’re the one who said that when you told me to go get her.”

You frown, “That was in a differen--”

“No, noona,” he cuts you off, patting your shoulder. “Literally everyone in this damn hospital can see that you and Yoongi hyung still have feelings for each other. There...there were just a few bumps in the road, that’s all. I really, truly, believe that you and him can figure this out. You guys are the strongest people I know.” He says, eyes sparkling like the way they used to as an intern, a little measly punk who was placed under your own residency.

“Just go tell him,” he whispers.

“How do you even know he still has feelings for me?” You whisper, eyes blurring a bit at the tears that threaten to spill over. “He agreed to the divorce.”

“Noona,” he murmurs, “I...I just heard this in passing but the Board was gonna give Chief to Yoongi hyung only, just because he’s a guy and the man of the family and all that. But Yoongi hyung never wanted that. He knew you wanted that, more than anything. So when you brought the divorce up, he accepted it. All he wanted was for you to be happy, don’t you see? Him letting you go was the best way he knew at the moment to love you.”

That night, later when you get back to the hospital, the hallways are quiet and still, save for the occasional family visit or the bustle of nurse’s feet down the hallway. You slowly make your way down the hall, strolling and tucking your cold hands in the pockets of your coat as you survey the brightly lit walls of the hospital you were practically born and raised in.

In these halls was the place you first met Yoongi, where you fell in love with Yoongi, where you worked after marrying Yoongi, and where you had and lost your first child with Yoongi. Every inch of the hospital was a daily reminder of how much you had gone through together.

But as you take one foot in front of the other, you really ponder about what exactly went wrong. It...was so hard to try and remember now.

It was a culmination of things: the miscarriage, the forgotten anniversary, the busy schedules, the stress of his mother in law, and the mundane-ness of your marriage. They all happened and bombarded your lives so fast and so quickly and painfully that at one point, you couldn’t take it anymore.

But now, as you walk the halls, a bit buzzed and thinking back to what Jungkook said, it’s odd that you thought you couldn’t handle it.

You weren’t smart. Naturally, like the others. Throughout college and medical school, while others read a chapter once and understood it, you had to go home and re-read it three times, make flashcards, take notes, practice problems, and watch videos online to learn the same thing. You had to work your ass off to get where you were, and to be honest, your body and your psyche had seen worse during those years.

You suffered through depression and anxiety as you watched your friends excel at things you fell behind on. You poured yourself into studying so much that it stressed you out and you became overweight, and then in an effort to lose the weight suffered from an eating disorder. You barely could handle relationships at all with guys because you were so emotionally unavailable and distracted. It was a miracle you still had friends who stuck with you and your messes throughout med school.

You’d done it all. All by yourself.

And Yoongi. He was such a breath of fresh air. He was someone who was smart, who was naturally good. But he also worked hard, and he never failed to encourage you throughout your internship together, and even in your relationship, always praised your for your talents, not your flaws. He made it easier. He explained things to you that you would have never understood. He tutored you on procedures on the exchange of you demonstrating your best stitches that ultimately caught the attention of the higher surgeons. He took care of you, even if it didn’t seem like it, and always put you first.

So why had you, in the heat of the moment and the culmination of all the bad things that had gone in your life, given up so quickly on Yoongi?

Maybe it was the way that your finally perfect life was crumbling to an end. Maybe it was the way that Yoongi agreed too quickly, not really trying too hard to convince you otherwise. Maybe it was the way that for once in your life, you felt accomplished when you saw the positive pregnancy test and had something other than Yoongi and work in your life to live for. And then you lost it.

You don’t know.

Finally rounding the corner to Yoongi’s ward, you stare up at the paper on the wall inscribed with Yoongi’s name and peer through the small door, watching Yoongi perched up on the bed, signing documents and probably going over his patient records with a keen eye. Turning against the wall beside the door, you lean against it and slide down, crouching down and sitting on the cold glossy floors.

Putting your hand into your pocket, you produce the ring that he gave you and turn it over in your hands. It’s a gorgeous damn ring.

“Oh my god, Yoongi, how much did you even pay for this?” You ask him, hand stretched out wide in front of the both of you as you nestle into his naked chest. He’d asked you to marry him with it, and you’d only ever noticed how heavy it was on your finger until now, after a couple hours of heavy love-making.

He rolls his eyes. “Too damn much if you ask me,” he grumbles, and you giggle against his neck.

“I love it,” you croon, arm sliding around his waist and nestling into his warmth, his smell. Everything is Yoongi right now. The bedsheets surrounding you smell like him, the dark and monochrome furniture and the cluttered books on the bookshelves against the farthest wall so indicative of Yoongi’s style. The moon shines through the crack between the blinds, dim enough not to illuminate everything, but bright enough on his 7th floor apartment to show you the beautiful lines of his face.

The slope of his eyes downward that soften his always tired features. The flutter of his long eyelashes against his pale cheeks. The way his lips, although always turned down in a frown, curve slightly upwards at the ends, as if mischievously scheming a prank or a joke, and the pout of his lower lip that made him so much cuter.

The way his fingers, long and knobby, wrapped around your shoulders and stroked the soft skin of your shoulder. His legs tangled within yours and skin slightly damp but warm from the sex earlier. The way the beautiful diamond ring sits perfectly fitted on your fourth finger, slotted around your hand as if to declare to the world that you’re his and only his.

You once were his, you think to yourself as you slide the platinum onto your finger. It still fits perfectly, slotting around that odd spot where your ring had sat for 5 years, the permanent dent in your skin fading, but still present enough for the ring to nestle in exactly. You twirl it around your finger, relief flooding you at the old habit.

It’s so stupid, you think to yourself, so stupid how Yoongi made all those decisions by himself. It was absolutely, annoyingly, dumb how he decided by himself that accepting your divorce was the best thing he could do. You hated how he was always like that. Never taking a step in front of you, but always a step behind, letting you go first and letting you lead and never getting in your way. You hated it, yet it was the single thing that made you fall in love with him. He respected you and honored you and encouraged you like no other.

Suddenly, the ward door slides open, and Yoongi steps out, arm still in his sling and tired eyes blinking down at you.

He doesn’t look too surprised, but when he catches the glimmer of tears in your eye, he just silently crouches down, and with his good arm, pulls you in for a hug.

The dam breaks, and you begin sobbing, the regrets and overload of emotions and feelings and memories washing over you in a tsunami as you bury your face into his neck. He just silently holds you close, hand resting on your shaking shoulders as you blubber meaningless things into his skin.

“I--I’m so stupid,” you sob, eyes squeezing shut.

“So stupid, so dumb, everything is so stupid,” you cry, and Yoongi just hums as he continues holding you close. “I just can’t--”

“Can’t what?” he murmurs.

“I can’t just forget, and just leave everything behind. I can’t Yoongi,” you wail, and he just cooes and strokes your hair. “It’s just all so hard and I thought I was doing it for us, for you.”

“But I was so selfish and dumb and arrogant to think I could do it by myself, I’m so sorry,” you cry, hiccuping and blubbering other meaningless things.

But Yoongi just holds you tighter, sitting with you on the cold floor in just his hospital pajamas, letting you blubber all over his shoulder as he whispers back, “I don’t care. It’s okay,” He shushes you, blinking down at you gently, “It’s really okay. I know, I’m sorry too, shhh, it’s okay.”

You continue to cry, all the pent-up frustrations of the last couple of months pouring out in waves and out in front of Yoongi. All your regrets, all the memories, all the things you went through alone. All the insecurities, all the pain and fear. All of you. You cried and vented and apologized until everything inside of you was out.

You were naked and vulnerable, cards all on the table.

You were literally almost like his patient, open and really up to his call. You’d cut yourself open, spilled everything out in front of him, and now it was his turn.

He just holds you tight, never letting you detach from him.

His voice is as clear as the day he asked you to marry him.

“I love you.”

You blink up at him through bleary eyes, confusedly. You were expecting him to say it was okay, to say either that he did or didn’t accept your apologies, or to give you an explanation or something.

“I love you so much, Y/N.”

He says again, pulling you even closer and burying his nose in your hair.

“I would never, ever, try to hurt you on purpose.”

His hand strokes your arm, like the night he asked you to marry him. Everything smells and feels like Yoongi, here in his arms. It’s like home.

“And I’m the one who should be sorry. I hurt you, and I promised the day we got married that I would never hurt you. I love you so much, I love you Y/N. Everything’s okay. We can get through this, I’m sure of it. I love you so much,” he says, and the shakiness of his voice at the end tells you that maybe he too, is crying too.

But he won’t let you pull away to look at him, so you just curl your arms around his waist, holding as tight as you can, not letting go.

You were never gonna let go again.

“Chief Bang,” you announce, walking into his office with purpose. It’s actually your old office, he’d moved in as soon as you’d moved into his.

“God, Y/N,” he groans, a hand on his chest. “Please don’t scare an old man like that. Who knows what could’ve happened.”

“Oh, hush,” you grin, strolling in and taking the seat across from him, “I’ve seen your diagnostic, you’re in almost perfect condition.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “What brings you here?”

You drop the file on his desk. “What you asked for.”

He eyes you weirdly as he takes the manila folder, wrinkled all around the edges as he smooths it out and produces the stapled packet inside. As he flips the first cover page and sees the official lettering of the second, his eyes widen and he looks up at you with a start. “Your divorce papers?”

You nod, smiling.

His gaze softens, “Oh, Y/N...I’m so sorry. I...I really had hope for the both of you.”

You blink, “Wait what?”

He sighs, flipping through the rest and lying it down on his desk. “I know I asked you to reconsider, but I trust that you guys made the right decision.”

You frown, “Wait, Chief, you don’t understand.”

He continues, shaking his head. “Gosh, I’m so sorry to have you put you both in that position...I should have never brought up the gender discrimination for chief in the first place...It was all my fault I---”

He’s cut off by you leaning forward and taking the packet in your hands and ripping it cleanly across the middle. His eyes widen, “Y/N--”

“Chief,” you declare, smiling at him. “I took your advice. We’re not separating. Actually, we’re quitting.”

He balks at you, “Excuse me?”

“Okay that was actually a joke, that last part,” you giggle, and he sighs, collapsing into his chair. “But on a serious note, we’re not giving up. We...we talked about it and it was just a lot of miscommunication. We want to try again. But...but before you retire, we wanted to say that we can’t continue this lifestyle if we want to make any changes to our marriage. I decided last week when we talked that I want to take the transition slowly, and I want to do it with Yoongi.”

“Okay....” Chief Bang murmurs, watching you warily. “And?”

You straighten up. “We want equal surgeries. No more stupid meetings and events. I’ll hire someone who actually likes to do that.”

“Mhm...” He muses, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Keep going.”

“And--” “Chief Bang!” His office door swings open again, interrupting your list. The both of you turn to look at who it is, and his frazzled secretary apologizes profusely.

“I-I’m so sorry, Chief but Mr. Jang, he--”

“Shihyuck!” The elder man walks in proudly, cutting off the secretary and sauntering in. “What you up to ol’ man? Ah, Y/N!” He grins, sleazily walking up to you and clapping you on your shoulder. “What brings you here too?”

You grin fakely up at him, “Good morning Mr. Jang.”

Chief Bang crosses his arms. “What brings you here, Jang? Don’t you have a Board of Trustees to be running?”

The other man grins, perching on the desk rudely. “Actually, good thing you’re here, Y/N, because I’m here to tell Chief Bang something. We want to liquidate the free clinic. It’s just too much money, and think about how much money we would make if we charged per visit and--”

“No.” You state, firmly meeting his confused gaze with your steely one. Chief Bang’s head turns to you in surprise.

“E-excuse me?” Jang narrows his eyes at you. “What did you just say, missy?”

You stand, standing eye to eye with the man in your heels. Thank god the Chief job required you to have a few killer heels in your closet cause damn, you felt powerful.

“No,” You repeat, facing him. “We are not liquidating the free clinic. Some doctors have worked their blood sweat and tears off for that service, and we are not going to stand by and let you liquidate for your own greed.”

Jang sputters, “Wha- do you even hear yourself talking right now? As a woman--”

“As a woman,” you sneer, “you should know that I’m very close with Mrs. Jang, and I’ve been hearing some things about you and your aesthetician. Do you want me to invite her out to lunch tomorrow?”

He’s silenced immediately, mouth opening and closing like an idiot. You smirk, “I thought so.”

“Chief Bang, let me finish with the other requirements I was saying before Mr. Jang barged in and interrupted our conversation.” You state, sitting down and crossing your legs.

“One. I want Yoongi and I to share the Chief position. Two. No more stupid parties and meetings and meet and greets. I’ll hire someone to fill in. Three. I want you to move Jooyoung into a different surgery department. That girl keeps trying to flirt with my husband and I don’t like that.” You cross your arms.

Chief Bang finally speaks. “Is that all?”

You hum, mulling it over. “Yes.”

He nods, “Its fair.”

Jang sputters, “F-fair?! What are we going to do with two people as chief? That’s never even happened before!”

You turn, eyeing him down with a cold stare.

“Mr. Jang,” you ask, slowly facing him. “You’re the president of the Board of Trustees, correct?”

He nods, frowning. “Yes, why?” He retorts rudely.

You take a menacing step toward him as you speak. “Well, as the president of a hospital board of trustees, you must know that without the doctors, a hospital will absolutely disintegrate. Wouldn’t it?”

“A-are you threatening me?” He rages, eyes blazing.

You shrug, innocently looking at your nails as you step towards him. “Well, then you must also be aware that as the face of this hospital, you can’t get rid of me. That would be a total horrible public PR mess for you and hospital. I wonder,” you muse, “what the rest of your board of trustees would think if you tried to get rid of me, or if I said that I quit because you were being difficult.”

You laugh a bit, “Think about that! The face plastered all over the building and over TV and bus ads that you thought would bring you more revenue, quitting, and stating on television that the board of trustees she worked for were money-hungry hyenas, all lead by a certain president who couldn’t even keep his promise to his wife? Wow, I wonder what would happen.” You smile sweetly at him, twirling a piece of hair around your finger.

“Think about it a little!” You sing-song, as you pivot on your heel and move to walk out the door.

You stop halfway, eyes falling into the figure leaning on the doorframe, grinning gummily at you. Smile widening, you walk up to him, arms sliding around his waist.

“Hi,” you blush, and he grins down at you.

“You’re so sexy when you take lead like that,” he murmurs, lips leaning towards yours, and you let him kiss you a tiny bit before you break away and give a last meaningful glance towards the red-faced Mr. Jang and the satisfied Chief, and give a tiny bow to the elders before exiting with your husband.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, you slump a little, caving into his embrace.

“God,” you breathe out, “I thought I was going to die of fear. I seriously hate everyone from the board. They scare the shit out of me.”

Yoongi chuckles, “I’m pretty sure you just scared the shit of him. So you’re good.”

You smile, “Really?”

“Yeah.” He grins down at you, tucking you under his arm.

“How are you feeling,” you murmur as the both of you quietly make it down towards your office.

He shrugs his arm a bit to show you. “Feelin’ good as new. I can go home by tonight.”

You hug his waist a bit closer. “Good,” you murmur into his shirt. “It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your hospital bed. I wanna go home.”

“Me too babe,” he whispers, hand stroking your cheek and resting on your shoulder. When his arm grazes your neck your cheeks heat up in a hot blush, and you blink up at him through your eyelashes.

He recognizes the look right away. Glancing around, he chastises you, but with a shit-eaitng grin. “Y/N,” he hisses, “We can’t.”

You pout, “Why not? No one even comes into your hospital room anymore anyway. Plus, I have a new office!”

“Did you forget that’s now gonna be our office?” He hisses, eyes rolling.

You huff, “C’mon! Just once, I don’t understand why you won’t just fuck me! We’re not even getting a divorce anymore anyway!”

“Shhh!” He hushes you, pushing you into the office, and locking the door behind him. “Jeez, just yell it out for the entire hospital to hear, huh?”

He takes off his coat and settles into your couch. “Why not? Dont you want me?” You whine, stomping your feet petulantly.

He sighs, eyeing you levelly. “Trust me,” he says lowly, “I haven’t fucked you since 6 months ago, and I’m all pent up and annoyed and pissed and I’d give anything to be buried all the way deep inside you but I have my priorities and my first priority is not having our first time together be in an office. I’m going to take my time.”

You roll your eyes, perching on your desk. “You said it yourself, you’re all pent up and frustrated. Why does it even matter? You’re not gonna last long anyway.”

His eyes narrow at you, mouth twirking up in a grin. “Is that a challenge?”

You jut your chin out at him. “Wanna bet? Whoever cums first loses.”

He rolls his eyes. “I see what you’re doing. Whether or not whoever loses, you win anyway becuase you eventually get sex.”

You grin, “Exactly. So are you down or not?”

He stands up, hastily shrugging on his jacket.

“Call Gina right now,” he commands, eyes darkening at you. “I need to be discharged now.”

Love.

Neuroscience and Biology like to tell us that it’s a side-effect of a release of a hormone called Dopamine and oxytocin, the same two hormones released when the guy living under the bridge snorts up another line of coke, and when the horribly suffering and screaming woman holds the human she just pushed out of her vagina for the first time in her arms.

And at first, you’d thought it was just that too. You never really believed in the powerful nature of love, just that it was a warm fuzzy feeling and something that made you happy.

But now, you’d learned through the hard way that love, it made you do crazy things. It made you lay down your rights, lay down your priorities, and put the other first. It meant forgetting about all the hardships because the good times weighed them out. It meant working together.

Sure, to be fair, after you and Yoongi had resolved your issues and decided to cancel the divorce, you still had to try. Love didn’t come that easily. If it was easy, then it wouldn’t be true love.

You and Yoongi had to attend marriage counseling sessions, make an effort to start going on dates again, and had to have long talks in car rides home to resolve and sort out all the miscommunications. You had to give up some of your responsibilities as Chief so that it would be easier to focus on being Yoongi’s wife, and also designate some work for him. Yoongi had to give up a few surgeries so he’d have time to spend with you after work and dedicate some to share the responsibilities of chief. The both of you had to make a sacrifice.

But it was worth it. True love, without sacrifice, you learned, meant nothing.

Doctors are also professional line-drawers.

Not the plastic surgeon, sharpie-a-line-over-your-boob kind of line, but a physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental line. And then, there’s the line you draw with those who you love. Whether or not they’re sitting on your table, brain flap open for you to probe, you must draw lines. You can’t operate on someone who’s close or related to you. You can’t offer to waive fees for someone who you once respected back in high school. You can’t be in relationships with your patients, friendly or sexual.

And you definitely shouldn’t be married to your partner, and co-leader of your department, and fellow co-Chief.

But before you were a doctor, before you were a chief, and before being anyone else, you were you. Yoongi’s wife.

And you were going to prioritize it. You were going to prioritize you, your time, your mental and physical health, and your emotional health, which meant prioritizing your relationship with Yoongi. He was your everything.

So you realize, that sometimes breaking the rules is allowed. Sometimes, cutting yourself open and spilling out your emotions and true feelings as a doctor is okay, when its to the one who you know and trust will still love you after seeing how ugly things can be. And sometimes, drawing lines around you and someone else, instead of between you and them, is okay.

Because you trusted that even though life cut you open, Yoongi was going to be there right along you, to help you stitch it all back up.

fin.

After finishing, please read my story talk here! Thank you for reading! :)

also, thank you for all the support. I’m pretty sure I’m going to write one more tiny epilogue so that this couple gets their closure!

#bts fics #bts smut #yoongi fics #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #bts angst #cut me open #surgeon!au #doctor!au #spinoff #fics #writing #yoongi

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quentinsquill · 5 years

Text

“Eliot Waugh and the Case of the Cocooned Conjurers”: Chapter 5

In this chapter: Margo has some suspicions about Dr. Coldwater, and Eliot faces some old ghosts.

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218352/chapters/41626055

CHAPTER 5: Eliot Waugh

Because of the lateness of the day, Dr. Coldwater and I portaled back to the apartment over Margo’s sundries shop. While it required a stronger spell than it did for us to portal to Brakebills, getting a carriage after sunset near Central Park was about as easy as catching the moon in a bushel basket. Margo had cold roast beef sandwiches waiting for us, and my new companion tucked into the meal with more of an appetite than I expected for someone of his build.

“You’re a bachelor,” Margo observed as she poured us each a glass of the dark ale we both enjoyed.

“Mhh?” Quentin questioned, wiping his mouth with a napkin, and Margo sipped her beer.

“You eat like a man does when he’s used to boarding house swill and then encounters real food.”

“Oh.” The doctor set his sandwich down. “That’s an excellent observation. I’ve been renting a room at Mrs. Pike’s boarding house since after the war.” He fished a watch from his pocket and thumbed the scarred silver faceplate open. “In fact, I should be getting back there. The widow Pike likes her boarders in before nine—otherwise, it reflects poorly on her, or so she says.”

“You’ll never make it by nine.” I shook my head. “You’ll stay with us, we have a comfortable guest room. We don’t entertain often, but I’m sure you’ll be comfortable,” I said, and the doctor paled.

“Oh—no, I couldn’t possibly.” He rose all at once, around for his coat and cane, and I got to my feet as well.

“You won’t be imposing, and I hate to think of you getting locked out of your room because you arrived back late.”

Quentin’s dark eyes darted back and forth, like those of a half-tamed horse being brought to a stall and after a moment, I realized his anxiety.

“Neither Margo or I will press you on any details of your private life, doctor,” I said, and some of the panic left his eyes.

“Forgive me,” he said at last. I’ve always been poor company, and I’m afraid it’s only gotten worse since the war. I—I’m rather used to being alone.”

“Nonsense! Margo and I are very selective about the company we keep and would have bid you good day when we met if we found you tedious or dull. Right, Margo?”

“We aren’t the kind to suffer any fools,” Margo nodded. “And Widow Pike’s place isn’t the most cheerful or comfortable place, from what I’ve seen and heard.”

“I made due. She’s a kind enough woman.” The doctor shifted his weight. “I’m afraid I don’t have any toiletries.”

“I have extra, as well as a clean sleeping gown and robe. Now, quit fretting and fussing, the matter is settled. Have another sandwich, my dear fellow, there’s plenty.”

“Thank you,” Quentin nodded, sipping his ale. Margo leaned forward a bit.

“I know we said we wouldn’t pry, but since you brought it up, have you always been a bachelor?”

The young man’s cheeks became a study in scarlet.

“Well—yes, I suppose. I’ve always focused on my studies so there was never much time for dating at university. Since the war, my odd appearance doesn’t exactly draw any interested eyes. People stare, but it’s curiosity and fear, not romantic attraction.”

I pulled out my cigarette case, withdrew a smoke, and ignited the tip with a snap of my thumb and forefinger, squinting at the doctor through the plume of smoke I exhaled.

“Really Quentin, you talk like you should be ringing bells in some abandoned French tower and shrieking about wanting sanctuary.”

“Maybe I should.” He gave a small, wry smile that told me he didn’t do this often—it was more like a grimace.

“You’re not unattractive,” Margo spoke up, probably knowing it would sound less odd coming from her than me, although I shared the sentiment. “And there’s plenty of ladies in our community who have their own unique physical qualities. They’d be happy to be on your arm.”

Quentin cleared his throat.

“Ah—thank you, Margo. I appreciate your kind words.” He drained his ale and wiped his mouth. “If you’d show me my room, I’d like to change my clothes and get some sleep.”

“Sure.” I got to my feet and led him down the hallway to our guest room. After leaving him with some toiletries, a clean gown, and a robe, I returned to Margo to share one more drink, only to find her grinning.

“What are you looking so smug about?” I asked.

“Because I love being right.” She poured us each a drink.

“About?”

“Something I suspected about our Dr. Coldwater.” She passed a plate of chocolates with brandied cherries—my favorite—and I took one.

“Oh?”

“He prefers the company of men,” Margo said, and I nearly dropped the chocolate in my lap.

“You don’t know that!” I chided, and Margo chuckled.

“Gods above, El, has it been so long that you don’t know your own anymore? And what’s more, I think he’s attracted to you!”

A filament of excitement glowed in my lower belly and I struggled to douse it.

“Oh, nonsense! You just enjoy playing matchmaker.” I took a long pull on my ale and she narrowed her eyes at me.

“How many months has it been since Michael? 15? 18?”

“Leave that alone,” I scowled, and Margo scoffed.

“Do you really think you can scare me with your Doberman growl? I’m not some stray kitten, and you don’t fool me. How long are you going to allow Michael’s memory to keep you celibate?”

I closed my eyes but that only brought my dead lover’s face in to sharp focus: his wavy blond hair, his gleaming blue eyes, his engaging smile. Margo’s small hand rested on my arm.

“El. You know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I think of him more often than I’d like,” I admitted, opening my eyes. Michael had been a linguistics specialist in our community and, like Quentin, we’d met during a case where his skills had been helpful. We grew close, then intimate—until the enemy I’d been pursuing cast an assassin’s spell on him and set him on me and Margo. The spell had poisoned him, mind and body, turning his blue eyes the color of spoiled milk and causing his skin to erupt with boils that leaked a putrid ochre. With no way to reverse the spell and our lives in immediate peril, I’d been forced to destroy him with the telekinetic powers I kept secret from everyone but Margo. Even our people tended to be mistrustful of such abilities, as power that wasn’t learned or bound by spellwork was deemed unpredictable and not to be trusted. The cracking sound Michael’s neck had made as I’d force-twisted his head around nearly 360 degrees made me wonder if my peers weren’t correct in their beliefs.

“I imagine you do.” Margo squeezed my arm with sympathy, then measured it with her usual dose of hard truth. “But there’s a time to remember him with love instead of how you felt when you had no choice to destroy him. He was dead already, El . . . Gareth Clay saw to that when he cast the assassin spell because you were getting too close to breaking his human smuggling ring. You saved hundreds of young magicians from being sold into underground slavery and made sure that bastard paid for what he’d done. Michael had a part in that too . . . maybe it’s time to remember him with honor and notice what’s here now.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the rear hallway before rising and gathering up the dishes, which she took into the kitchen. I lit another cigarette and blew smoke rings across the room, each of them the color of my dead lover’s spellbound, empty eyes.

#Queliot #fic #The Magicians #detective au

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stormeye7 · 6 years

Text

A Midnight Parlay

Summary: In the depths of the EDZ, two Hunters discuss a job.

Quarantine Sector 236, European Dead Zone, Earth [June 3rd, 2738]

The EDZ... it might have been a pleasant place back in its prime, but now, with the Fallen crews, the miles upon miles of sweet Fanny Adams and corrupted wasteland, it was anything but homely. Making their way betwixt the tight-knot pines of an ancient wood, a Hunter stalked their prey.

His hood was low and deep-set, composed roughly of stitched, kingly yellow cloth. His arms were but a single silver-blue sidearm raised to the sky and a knife of a length to sever heads at a sheath at his back. His prey was nearby, the thunderous explosion not a minute prior was evidence enough. He vaulted a mossy log, luminous eyes at the space ahead.

There, in the distance, littering a clearing short distance: a downed Fallen craft. Its hull was in pieces, two to be exact, strewn apart as if the ship had been cleaved in two by a great blade, still sparking, still smoking. Bodies, all Fallen, decored the site, the capes at their backs a deep devil red. Trees, lifted up by the roots, lay in ruins around the carnage.

And there, in the centre of it all sat a campfire.

Beside it sat a cloaked figure, one arm slack around their knees snug against their chest, the other jabbing at the dwindling flames with a stick. A shotgun, all worn white edges rested beside her. Shiro approached, slowly, his sidearm returning to his hip.

"Lady... Fortuna?" he called out, entering the crash site.

The stranger barely moved a muscle. "That's right," she said. Her face, covered by a helmet, turned to his. Only a narrow strip of black visor betrayed any sense of the meeting of eyes.

Shiro took a step into the firelight, heels crunching on splintered wood bark and yellowing grass. He gave a low whistle. "You take this down by your lonesome?" he asked. "Impressive."

The Lady laughed. "A girl tries her best." She jabbed at the fire again, red-hot sparks dancing into the still air. "I take it you're one of Cayde's boys?" she asked.

Shiro-4 grimaced beneath his orange faceplates, glad that said Vanguard was unable to hear the remark.

"Guess you could say that," he muttered.

The Lady Guardian chuckled, before her tone turned serious. "I take it you didn't track me down just to chat."

The Hunter brought his arms to his chest. "What makes you think I've been tracking you?"

"Only the fact that if I hadn't made camp you would have lost me eight miles back."

Shiro made a face; the Huntress' smug was not lost on him. "In any case, I believe we need to talk."

"Is this... official business?" she asked, voice low, but the scout could hear the hint of curiosity slipping into the tone.

Shiro gave an uncomfortable shrug. "It is... and it isn't," another step towards the flames, "there've been... reports of Fallen activity in and around the Meridian Bay."

That caught the Lady Guardian's attention. "The Buried City?" Fortuna asked, "I thought the Cabal had the place on lockdown." She tossed her poker to the side, rising lazily to her feet.

The other Exo nodded. "That's what I thought too, but Lord Saladin... well, he seems to think differently."

Lady Fortuna was a statue. Her arms met in a loose hug around her stomach, while her face turned away from her company to stare at the ground. "What does he want?"

#destiny the game #fanfiction #bungie #destiny #exo #fanfic #shiro 4 #rise of iron #iron lords #alternate universe

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black-strike-otp · 6 years

Text

LT : Chapter 4

This was going to be extended a bit with another POV but my wife called so!! We’ll keep the short chapter theme going for a while.

There was nothing here, once. Nil but an emptiness; an inescapable rage, a thirst for revolution. Change was in fact, inevitable.

These lands were barren, once. Eradicated and reborn. Again and again, the variations in time defined so much of the landscape that would return to its past given the chance.

In so little words, they were much of the same.

< But you are not the same as you once were. >

He would grumble, but resisted in the presence of company. Always listening on the edges of thoughts; he should have known Scorponok would have a listening ear to his internal dialogue.

< There is nothing wrong with you, > the bug informed him. A tone of kindness; an affirmation of concern and friendship.

< I am going to forget who I am… Who I was, > he disagreed faintly. An afterthought, more or less.

A chatter of laughter echoed in his thoughts. Not his own.

< No one is going to let you forget yourself, Blackout, > the minicon protested. < You’ve been acting as a leader for practically a year now. It’s not a situation you’re used to. You followed your wish for freedom, only to follow Megatron- >

< Do not speak that name to me, > Blackout sharply cut in.

< - you need a break, > Scorponok continued, < It’s not your state of mind to lead. Well, at least not helping lead an entire population depending on you. Your thoughts have been jumbled. You say you feel lost. Find your way. >

Easier said than done. If the solution was so simple and right in front of his face, he would have taken its grasp by now. Obviously.

With a growing black cloud of petulance, Blackout could feel the retraction of his partner from his mind. A part of him knew what the mechanical scorpion said to be true. Between trying to ‘rescue’ these neutrals in need of a true leader and warrior to guide them and protect them, the work on the transmission tower, the barrage of questions, checking on the upkeep of their workers, taking time for his friends, his sparkmate… He was stressed and overworked. How did Megatron put up with this, when he’d actually put effort into all his work once? And why did anyone or try stealing their way into this position?

Most for the obvious reason: power. They put themselves on the top without raising a digit for their followers.

But these bots had put their trust in him. And, without realizing he had done so, he offered a servo. Now they relied on him.

It was temporary. Thank Primus, it was only temporary.

With a nudge of his thoughts, the former ‘Con could feel his silver and gold platted scorpion’s location. Like a taunt string that attached them; he got a vague but undetermined sense of him. He could make a guess that the small mech was likely within half a hic’s distance of his location.

Before he could get into an internal debate on whether to request the bug return or not, Blackout’s audios could pick up the distinct call of his designation in a familiar voice.

“Blaccckkkoouuutt are you going deaf, mech?!”

Smirking, the obsidian titan turned just enough to see the owner of the voice approaching him.

“I see the medic didn’t take my request to neutralize your vocalizer.”

“If he so much as tried, I would have- well… No, I’m sure Venus would have broken off an arm before I got to react, actually.”

Blackout released a heartily laugh. He could envision that all too well from the fiery hot-pink accented femme. She’d always been a fighter. Plenty of attitude and sass, but when you went to strike at her she hit back twice as hard. She certainly didn’t take slack and wouldn’t accept disrespect.

As the mech approached him, Blackout offered out a servo. The violet-toned mech grinned, clasping his digits with a fierce grip of his own. They each reached out for each other’s shoulder, though, the smaller mech’s landed more upon Blackout’s upper arm.

Blackout grinned, shaking him a little.

“Hey hey- easy I just got out of my appointment.”

“Sorry ‘Cade.”

“S’alright big guy,” the officer stated with a lopsided grin, releasing his grip to brush at his shoulder.

Worry manifested upon Blackout’s appearance. He glanced over Barricade’s frame briefly, looking for any signs of lacerations or places where samples may have been taken. Common sense would have reminded him anything of such a manner would have been taken beneath the dark armor, but it didn’t stop him from checking.

“How’re you feeling?”

Glancing back up to him, the short mech gave a cocky grin. He flexed an arm, his soft purple optics amused.

“Pretty good!” he offered. “Nothing’s changed. The doc, well… It wasn’t my usual- Venus looked like she wanted to rip him apart and I can’t say I don’t blame her. He had quite the attitude but I can’t… resent him for that…”

Traces of pity resounded through Blackout. Although he, too, was in many ways considered a monster, at least he was considered ‘predictable’. Bots still had a harder time trusting a mech with an undiscovered disease that triggered with seemingly no reason.

“So you’re… healthy?” the giant inquired under his breath.

“As healthy as I can be and have been,” Barricade agreed with a nod. “Nothing’s changed for better or worse. They still recommend routine monitoring and my extra quota of energon to keep my hunger from spiraling out of control.”

Blackout frowned a smidgen. He was no medic; no official background in anything of the sort, so he’d have to trust their input on the matter. Not that it seemed to matter. The dormancy of the ailment of dark energon seemed to be of its own doing.

Shifting around, Barricade side-stepped to the titan’s side. He let out a low whistle of appreciation as Blackout turned to join him in looking at the shape behind them.

“Wow, it’s coming along great.”

“It’s done now, actually,” Blackout stated matter-of-factly. “We’re just testing some things; fueling it up, making final preparations.”

“Got plenty of energon?”

“We’re still filling the stock but… I hope so.”

‘Cade gave a nod as he stepped closer; his friend close at heel. They walked past mechs and femmes wandering around, hard at work. Upon approach, the shorter mech reached up to place a servo against the hard metal exterior with a smile.

“The Guardian’s Light, huh?” Barricade glanced to Blackout as he spoke. “You know, I may not have met this mech, but I can tell he was really important to you. I’m sure he’d appreciate the reference in the space vessel’s name, in his honor.”

Embarrassment flourished in the larger mech’s frame. A simple rumble pressurized in his chassis in response; radiating into his throat like a feral dog. His darkened optics moved to the side as he clenched his fist at his side.

He could have saved him. A thousand times, he could have saved him. Done away with Neutroboost, or warned him better, or shown his concerns. Demoted the fool or offlined him. Refused to let the old mech go at things alone; no matter how stubborn he was that he could still hold the universe upon his shoulders.

Guard didn’t have to do that day. He didn’t deserve to.

Snapping his digits, Barricade captured his attention with a jolt and blink of his optics to the mech. He was offering a sad smile of understanding.

“You looking a bit lost in thought there bud, you okay?”

“Fine, ‘Cade… Thank you.”

“You saying thank you? Uh-huh… Everything alright?”

“Yes; fine.”

“This isn’t you being sour about that mech is it uh… what’s his name,” Barricade tapped a digit against his mouth. “Oh- yes uh, Argonut or something stupid? You don’t need to worry about that flirt; I told him off about flirting with all the femmes.”

Casting a placid glance to his friend, Blackout spoke with a little too much curiosity and interest, “What did this mech do, exactly?”

“Oh- slag you didn’t know, did you?”

“I’m waiting,” responded the obsidian mech.

“Scrap well- you don’t need to kick his aft because I already did it mech- so stay chill. He’s just been caught you know, flirting with the ladies. Venus and Novastrike included with several others.”

“Hmmm.”

“Listen it’s fine Blackout, I already let him know his place.”

“You’re just sticking up for him because he probably reminds you of a younger you,” the larger mech responded with ease. His appearance of indifference was not lost on Barricade, who tapped his pede on the floor lightly.

“I mean- maybe-” ‘Cade grunted, appearing frustrated. “But you don’t need to say or do anything. I took care of it. You can trust me and believe me.”

“I do believe you,” Blackout murmured, looking briefly up to the name painted on the side of the lightweight battlecruiser.

It wasn’t an awe-inspiring creation like many other Decepticon vessels had been that Blackout had traveled on, but it was new and whole and functional for their needs. Most of the engineering was top of the line. Her majestic hull was painted in a startling likeness of Guard’s own armor hues; with the lettering on the side a non-metallic low-key gold that could be altered with a keystroke on the command center to try hiding the name for more discretion.

It wasn’t customary to paint spacecrafts, but this was no ordinary craft. She was a means of justice and vengeance.

Blackout glanced to Barricade once more, realizing the mech was staring at him with intent.

“Not holding anymore secrets from me, are ya?”

Blackout groaned in response, placing servo to faceplate. “I wasn’t keeping a secret from you. You knew Novastrike and I were together.”

“You didn’t tell me that you two had bonded for months!” ‘Cade cried out, pouting. “I’m your Amica Endura.”

“Well, you know now,” Blackout muttered, moving his servo to scratch the back of his helm. “It wasn’t something everyone needed to know.”

“So, you’re calling me a gossip.”

“No… although-”

“Ah! No, I see how it is.”

“ Cade,” Blackout stressed, dropping his servo only to reach out to his comrade. “It was… personal. I… I didn’t know if…”

Curiously, the former cop flicked his optics up to meet Blackout’s. There was a struggle in the larger mech’s gaze as he vented sharply, dropping his servo.

“Hey… Blackou-”

Blackout cleared his vocalizer sharply and abruptly, cutting Barricade off as he spoke quickly: “I’ll be sending out a message for Nighthawk in the coming days to let him know we’ll be on our way. I just need confirmation on the record of our crew to make sure everyone’s accounted for background lines up. Will you be okay here?”

A bit stunned, Barricade let out a shocked laugh. “I’ve lived years without you alone Blackout; we’ll be fine. I’ll keep everything and everyone in line here for ya, don’t worry.”

“You’ll stay up to date on your energon?”

“Even if I don’t, Venus will make sure I do.”

Slowly, Blackout turned his optics down to look at his servo.

His position here was temporary.

This travel was temporary.

He felt out of focus. Goals were in mind, but nothing set in stone. Freefalling into the unknown; not sure where to go, what turns would lead him where. The certainty of sure-footing had been gone for years now but it felt like the problems and concerns were piling up.

Dammit, he hated that he cared. This new line of purpose left him exposed and raw. He felt soft. No manner of criticism or reassurance left him feeling any different. Sure, he was still laser-focused, intent on revenge, a walking weapon and more but he had to take a step back more than ever. Every consequence could cost him.

He couldn’t afford to lose anymore. Vulnerable and sickeningly worried on the outcomes.

“You don’t need to worry about us, Blackout, we’re all adults here,” the mech reminded him. “I can take the reigns a bit and help keep the peace.”

“Peace, huh?” Blackout chuckled darkly. “Not really a line of phrase I ever imagined us saying.”

“Heh. Yeah, me neither. What’s that make us, ambassadors?”

“Frag no.”

The duo’s abrupt laughter had some nearby bots hard at work turning to look back quizzically. They’d shrug it off though, steadily going back to their business without further question.

“You better tell me bye the day you go, you ugly fragger.”

“Certainly, ‘Cade. I can’t go without telling my Amica Endura farewell.”

Barricade offered a smile, but it wavered. He blinked his optics rapidly a few times.

“You better come back. I kinda know you weren’t actually dead now all those years I thought you were.”

Blackout grinned; a peering of derma showing. “Oh I’ll come back, alright. Victorious too.”

Pausing to speak with some of the workers, Venus placed a servo against her hip and smiled to herself as she scanned the area only to lay her optics upon Blackout and Barricade. The two idiots, hugging it out in the open where some bots even stopped to stare and gawk.

She jumped a bit as something clicked to her right.

“Oh- Scorponok…”

The bug whirred mischievously, tapping something adjusted on his frame.

“Camera,” he reported. “Used for expeditions. Now blackmail.”

A wicked grin flashed across Venus’ faceplate.

“Oh, you sneaky little scorpion,” she scolded gently. “Send me a copy.”

“Will do.”

#Lex Talionis AU #OTP AU #OTP Lit #OTP Friends #Sad OTP

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writing-ro · 7 years

Text

Too Good To Refuse

Series: The High and Noble Houses of Cybertron (1/?) Rating: G for General Audiences Fandom: Transformers Prime, Transformers - All Media Types Characters: Nightingale (Cybertronian June Darby), Bluefire (Cybertronian Jack Darby), Optimus Prime Ships: Nightingale/Optimus Prime Tags: Arranged Marriage, Royalty AU, Engagement ceremonies, Robots wear clothes Also Available: AO3, Fanfiction.net, DeviantArt

Lady Nightingale gives her hand away to help her people. Could love possibly blossom from such an arranged marriage?

Nightingale read and reread the letter on the datapad before setting it down between the two others she’d received. It would be a great honor to be the bondmate of the new Prime, and a union of Lady Nightingale of the High and Noble House of Kalis with Optimus Prime of the High and Royal House of Iacon would ensure the security of the people of Kalis for the next several generations.

She pondered the reason for this potential union, and it all led back to the recent insurgence of the Decepticon movement. It had had not lasted long, she thanked Primus and the Thirteen for that, but of all the city states that were affected by the fighting, Kalis was one of the worse, only barely preceding Kaon, which had been razed in the hunts for the Decepticon leadership.

She still clearly remembered the morning the war had started, here in her own home city. She and her creation Bluefire had been out with some others of her court, walking the streets as ordinary citizens. While of the HIgh and Noble House, her grand-carrier on her sire’s side had been a common archivist, and her own carrier had been well-born into the entertainment guild, until she’d become alt-mode exempt and studied medicine.

It was as she and Bluefire were watching some street performers when the first bomb went off. Several of the guards had thrown themselves between the explosion and the civilians, taking the blasts and likely saving a few lives. Mechs emerged from the crowd, armed and firing wherever they wished, though several had aimed their weapons at herself and Bluefire.

The guards had ushered her and Bluefire to a safe hiding place, and they had huddled with others, nobile and civilian alike, until the Iaconian guard had come and informed them that the attackers had been thrown back. Leaving the hiding place, she nearly cried from the destruction around her. But instead, she steeled herself and ordered some guards to take Bluefire back to the palace while she herself went to the nearest medical station.

She’d used her training from her younger days, when she had been allowed to study before taking over her duties as Head of the House upon her sire, carrier and elder brother’s passings, and worked side by side with medics to save as many of her people as possible. None died under her servos, but when she returned to the palace, she’d nearly broke from the sheer number and magnitude of the injuries.

That attack was not the last Kalis suffered. Her city state was situated directly between Iacon and the Neutral Territories. As peace had been the rule almost since the Quintesson War, their armies were not built, and so they provided the easiest path to invade the Capital City. Iacon also recognized this, and Sentinel Prime had written her a missive ostentatiously asking permission to hold troops in her State. It was of course a formality, as no High and Noble house would dare refuse the Prime, and so the troops came.

Some of the harshest fighting of the war happened in Kalis. Her people’s homes, livelihoods and many families and friends were destroyed with bombs, gunshots and blades. The Prime’s Autobot forces eventually pushed the Decepticons back, but what was left in the ashes was barely able to be called land, let alone be viable for anything.

She’d done all she could for her people. She opened the palace’s lower levels for refugees, hired as many as possible into the palace’s staff, worked hours in medical centers and the camps helping in any way she could. Bluefire joined her in this, acting as a courier and a helping servo in the camps. It wasn’t until she had nearly entirely depleted the House’s treasury that she realized it would take so much more to help her people. She has taken to praying almost night and day for a solution. One of her advisors finally gave her one.

And so the announcement was made that she would exchange her servo in marriage for aid in restoring Kalis. And all she could do was wait. And wait. And wait, until the proposal was accepted.

And for the response to come from the House of Prime had astonished her. The missive had been the equivalent to a contract, with conditions for the proposal. The bonding would take place a groon from the official engagement announcement. A preliminary amount of aid was sent with the letter, but the first true payments of relief would be given the day of the announcement. Bluefire would not be in line for the traditional Primal succession, but would be able to become Lord of Kalis upon coming of age. A very reasonable, in fact a generous offer for her servo.

The other letters were responses from the High and Noble House of Tarn and the High and Royal House of Vos. Tarn would have her wed Duke Shockwave, and while they would send relief, she would have to live in the palace of Darkmount, and by Tarnish law, she wouldn’t be able to oversee her state, her bondmate would. And Shockwave had become a cold being since his face and servos had been taken by an old order. He saw the world in statistics, and her people, while they may not suffer, would not flourish under his rule.

The letter from Vos was little better. She would be wed to Winglord Solarwind’s youngest creation Starscream, and she knew she was only considered because of her seeker bloodline and how Kalis provided an access to Iacon. She had met the young prince at a festival event not long before the insurgence. He was smart and educated, but egotistical and with an ambition to prove himself better than his siblings and wingmates. A bonding between them would barely hold, and the strain of it alone would make both their lives miserable.

As she thought of it, she had never met the new Prime. His existence had been announced shortly after the start of the war, when Sentinel had been gravely injured and Alpha Trion had presented Optimus as the new heir of the Primacy. She knew he’d been at the forefront of the fighting in Kalis, but he didn’t stay in the palace like most of the generals had. But all stories and reports said he was a kind and fair mech. He stopped the razing of Kaon immediately upon taking up the Matrix, and he seemed to care about the common mecha.

Well, this arrangement wasn’t about love. It was about her people, and what was best thing for them. And this offer was too good to refuse.

With that thought, she signed her signature on the drafted letter for her future bondmate, agreeing to the contract.

“Carrier, are you sure about this?”

Nightingale turned from the servants doing her detailing to see her creation. Bluefire had her optics, but he took after his sire all the more. The same helm, his colors of dark blue and red flames, along with his silver face and details. Even their alt mode was the same, a truck against her seeker frame. He had also been decorated in silver, with all the fine symbols worthy of his position as Heir of a High and Noble House.

The years had dulled the ache, but in moments like these, she could feel the rough edges of her broken bond. The only reason she had survived the break was the fact the two of them had been blocking the bond near constantly for the past several vorn, and he had been offworld when his ship malfunctioned and was destroyed in a freak accident. And it truly was, despite some bots’ wonderings of if she’d killed him. Idiots, why would she kill her own bondmate, no matter how rough their relationship and strained the bond became.

“Yes, I am absolutely certain, Bluefire,” she told him. “Of all the courses of action available to us, this is the best for you and for our people.”

“But what about you, Carrier?” Bluefire asked. “Is this your best course of action?”

Nightingale took a deep vent and stepped over to him, placing her servos on his shoulders. “Bluefire, I know you worry about me, but in truth, my happiness does not matter. This is duty, and I am bound as the Head of our House to follow my duty.”

He vented as well. “I understand, Carrier. I will also fulfill my duty to our House.”

“Good.” She patted his shoulders. “Now, you hurry and get your last minute details done as I get mine.”

He nodded and turned, his cape flaring out behind him as he left. She turned herself back to her maid’s care, standing for them as they finished detailing the blue symbols for engagement and bonding over her servos, faceplates and chassis. They then slipped a half-skirt over her hips and matching ribbons about her wings and arms, and a long cape between her wings, which trailed behind her several feet. Silver with energon blue embroideries over it, they complemented her white, green and yellow color scheme, and were a prelude to what her bonding gown would look like. Rumor said the Prime had commissioned it from a high quality arachacon seamstress, and the fabric was so silken, Nightingale could believe it. Only the best for the Consort of the Prime.

The final piece of her appearance was a circlet of silver, with a trio of gems clustered in the front to set in the center of her helm crest. One gem was green, the Colour of Kalis; one was dark blue, the Colour of the Primacy. The third was light blue, the Colour of Sparklight and Primus, the symbol of love and light.

So ornamented, she left her chambers and made her way to one of the vestibules of the throne room. Inside the hall, all the nobles of Kalis, Iacon and the surrounding states would be waiting. Bluefire stood with her; as the highest ranked in her House, as well as the Heir, he would hand her to the Prime’s care. Two young femmes, the creations of her lady’s maids, held the train of her cape, ensuring it would not snag behind her. The Prime would be directly across from of her, in the vestibule on the other side with his own attendants.

She had the ceremony memorized. At the signal, she would enter the hall, escorted by Bluefire, as the Prime entered from the opposite side. Bluefire would take her to the center aisle, and announce that the House of Kalis willingly gave her to the House of Prime to be bonded. Then he would step away as the Prime willingly accepted the offer and her servo. He would lead her to the dias and present her to the Chief Priest of Primus, and the Chief Senator, asking if they held any objections to the betrothal.

If neither had an objection, then they would kneel, and the Senator would hold a small energon good to them, first the Prime to take a bite, then to her to finish the good. After, the Priest would anoint them with the Marks of the Betrothed on their left cheekplates and the Mark of Primus between their optics. While the rest of their finery would be removed after the ceremony, those two marks would remain, until the actual bonding, where they would be replaced by the Marks of the Bonded, which would last until they naturally faded.

She had performed this ceremony herself numerous times, standing in the Chief Senator’s place as members of her court finalized their engagements. And once, she had been in the Prime’s place, accepting Bluefire’s sire as her betrothed. The higher rank always accepted the lower, as was the rule. And now she was the lower, and would be given to the Prime.

In the time she had recalled this, her HUD alerted her that it was very close to the time of the signal. She pulled herself out of her thoughts and looked to Bluefire. His gaze met hers, and while no words were exchanged, she knew he was ready to give her away, and he was asking if she was. She wasn’t, if truth were to be told, but she would not let it show.

The signal came, a tune played by the musicians chosen for the ceremony and the doors opened, She and Bluefire stood tall and strode into the audience hall, slow enough to seem unhurried, but fast enough that it was only a few minutes later they met the Prime in the center aisle.

And he was not what she had expected. Sentinel Prime, the few times she had met him, had been so proud you could practically see it rolling off him. He was also short for a Prime, still taller than her, but not too terribly much.

But Optimus was different. He was at least a full helm taller, maybe even two. He also was more humble in his stance and field, and he walked tall, but it was almost as if his ruby red cap had weight in the end and must stand tall to keep them off the floor. His plating was decorated with the same symbols that were on her, and he wore a jeweled circlet as well, his being gold. His faceplates were stoic, but there seemed to be a hint of something in his otics. She would almost say it was kindness and gentleness, but she couldn’t observe long, for ceremony must be followed.

“Who stands here to take Lady Nightingale from the High and Noble House of Kalis,” Bluefire asked, his intonation perfected after much practice.

“I, Optimus Prime of the High and Royal House of Prime, stand to take Lady Nightingale as Consort and Bondmate, and bring her into the House of Prime.”

Oh, his voice. If Nightingale could find no other redeeming factor in the Prime after the ceremony, she would remember his voice and how divine it sounds.

“I, Bluefire, Heir to the High and Noble House of Kalis, ask of you what you will provide for Lady Nightingale in exchange for her servo and spark?”

“I will provide a home, to give her shelter. I will provide energon, to keep her fed. I will provide companionship, that she never be lonely. And I will give her my spark, that we may be one before Primus and the Law.”

“And what will you provide the House of Kalis in exchange for her servo and spark?”

“I will provide the House of Kalis with monetary support, for the sake of the people of Kalis. I will also provide a stipend to the Heir of the House of Kalis until he comes of age and takes the place as Head of his High and Noble House.”

Bluefire nodded. “The House of Kalis accepts this offering, and we give you the servo of our Lady Nightingale.” Bluefire took Nightingales right servo and held it to the Prime.

Optimus Prime bowed deeply over her servo, lightly pressing his lipplates to her backs of her digits. “It is my great honor to accept this gift, and to bring the Lady Nightingale into my House.” He raised his left servo and took hers from Bluefire’s.

Bluefire nodded and stepped away to stand at the edge of the dias. Optimus Prime then turned Nightingale and guided her up the first step of the dias, presenting her to the Chief Priest Mechalight and the Chief Senator Halogen.

“Who stands before us seeking a union?” Halogen asked.

“I, Optimus Prime of the High and Royal House of Prime, seek to make a union with the High and Noble House of Kalis, and to take the Lady Nightingale of the House of Kalis to be my Consort and Bondmate.”

Mechalight turned to Nightingale. “Do you accept this betrothal and union, Lady Nightingale of the House of Kalis?”

Formally addressed for the first time in the ceremony, Nightingale said, “I accept the betrothal and union between myself and Optimus Prime of the High and Royal House of Prime.”

Optimus looked to the Priest. “Does the Temple of Primus hold any objection to our union?”

“Primus holds no objections to this union of the House of Kalis and the House of Prime,” Mechalight said. “And as such, the Temple of Primus, holds none as well.”

Optimus bowed to the Priest, then turned to the Halogen. “Does the House of the Senators hold any objections?”

“We hold one slight concern,” Halogen said. “The Lady Nightingale has bonded once previously and borne an Heir to her House. But her Bondmate was passed into the Well of AllSparks, and we express concern over how well a new bond would take.”

Nightingale could hear some murmuring in the crowd behind her, but she and Bluefire had prepared for this.

Bluefire stepped forward. “The Lady Nightingale has been examined by many of the finest medics available. Her spark is whole and can easily form a bond and create newsparks for the lineage of the House of Prime.”

Halogen looked to Bluefire for a moment, then nodded. “The House of the Senators hold no objections to this union of the House of Kalis and the House of Primes.”

Optimus bowed to Halogen, and he and Nightingale knelt down. Halogen turned to a mechservant and took a small energon good from him. It was one half green and one half blue. He held it to show the audience, announcing “This cube represents Houses of Kalis and Prime. By accepting this good, they will accept each other’s Houses as their Houses, for good and for all.” He held the green side to Optimus’s lips. “Do you accept the House of Kalis as your own?”

“I do.” Optimus took a bite of the cube, cleanly splitting it green from blue, and chewed the bite with dignity before swallowing.

Halogen held the remains to Nightingale. “Do you accept the House of Prime as your own?”

“I do.” She took the rest of the good from him, noting briefly it was one of the best tasting goods she’d ever had.

Halogen stepped away, washing his servo in a bowl provided for him, and Mechalight stepped to stand between them. He started chanting in the Primal Vernacular, calling on Primus to bless the engagement and the future union. She knew the words, but she didn’t try to interpret them in the moment. Her mind was filled with recognizing she was officially betrothed to a mech she’d never met, and that she would be expected to bond and merge with enough to create at least one newspark. It would be nerve wracking, if she hadn’t been through this before.

Mechalight turned to a Temple Acolyte at his side and picked up a brush from the bowl they held. He turned back to the couple and stood before Nightingale, tilting her helm up. “With this brush, I mark you as betrothed, with the blessing of Primus. May he guide your spark to happiness in the bond.” He painted first the Mark of Primus, then the Mark of the Betrothed onto her faceplate.

“I thank you, High Priest Mechalight, for your blessing,” Nightingale said.

He smiled down at her, then took up his serious mantle again and went to Optimus, repeating the rite. After, he handed the brush back to his acolyte, and took Nightingale’s left servo and Optimus’s right, guiding them to rise “I present to you Lady Nightingale of the High and Noble House of Kalis and Optimus Prime of the High and Royal House of Prime, newly betrothed, and soon to bond.” He joined their servos and they turned to face the audience, who began applauding.

Nightingale kept her calm face as she looked out over the crowd, containing nobility from across Cybertron, or their representatives, if the lord or lady could not be present themselves. She found it hard to put on a smile for them, despite her knowing it was expected.

She had a notification come across her HUD. She didn’t recognize it, except for a little glyph she’d seen signed at the base of the letter sent to her from the Prime. She opened it and it was a short message, written in common glyphs as opposed to the High and Noble vernacular.

[We can pretend together.]

She was surprised, but didn’t show it as she glanced over at Optimus. He caught her gaze and his optics made her an offer. An offer to try, and nothing more.

She smiled, lifting her right arm to wave at the applauding crowd. Out of the corner of her optic, she saw him do the same. To the world, they looked like a couple happy for their engagement. Internally, they knew that they’d made a promise to not instantly hate or fall for each other, but to try and make it work best for them. It was an offer too good to refuse.

#My Fics #Too Good To Refuse #The High and Noble Houses of Cybertron #fandom: transformers

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