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chockfullofsecrets · 4 years

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Critical Role: Staying Warm

(Read on Ao3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: (sequel to One Minute) Molly doesn’t think of himself as a very patient person. Less of a thinker and more ‘charge in with prop swords spinning and see what happens’, him. Even so, his current urge to shove Caleb to the floor of their cart and tickle him to pieces seems a little extreme.

It’s a cold night, and Molly’s patience is rewarded.

Word Count: 2375

A/N: I don’t know if anyone actually reads tickle fic for this fandom, but I’m having a great time writing for it so here we go :)

Molly doesn’t think of himself as a very patient person. Less of a thinker and more ‘charge in with prop swords spinning and see what happens’, him. Even so, his current urge to shove Caleb to the floor of their cart and tickle him to pieces seems a little extreme.

Only a little, though - it’s been weeks since that tavern in Zadash, and he would think that he’d misread Caleb entirely but for the way he keeps looking at him and startling a little every time Molly waves back, sometimes forgetting his train of thought entirely. There’s something there that he’s itching to pry into, but his years with the circus have taught him the importance of minding his own business. They’re on the road, and if his interference ends with Caleb going off the rails any more than he already does he’s pretty sure one of his other teammates will smother him in his sleep.

Good luck to them, anyway. He has it on good authority that he’s hard to kill, not to mention that he has a shiny new sword courtesy of Mr. Caleb Widogast himself.

He’s putting the scimitar to good use, spinning it lazily as he paces the outskirts of camp on a night watch. It’s been getting colder, frost lingering in the mornings in a way that he’s never seen before, and the rest of his friends are huddling under every warm thing they own in their tents - everyone except Caleb, his watch partner, who he can barely make out by the dying fire.

The fire flares - they have the silver thread laid around, but Caleb still insists both on sitting his own watches and keeping a light up so he can actually see. More than once, his hypervigilance has ended with the entire group shaken and shouted awake only to find that the impending threat is something harmless and smugly unconcerned at sword-and-spell-point of seven sleepy assholes.

Nott can make all the jokes about midnight snacks that she wants, and Molly honestly doesn’t care as long as their alarm system works when it needs to, but it does lead him to wondering what in the nine hells has their resident wizard so on edge in the first place. Which makes him think about getting Caleb to lose that edge, which makes him think about - nope. No.

Patience is terrible.

He strolls back around to the fire, tail flicking forward to catch the traces of blistering warmth as the fire blows his way; even his tiefling blood demands a bit of thawing eventually. Caleb, he notices disapprovingly, is shivering even with his knees practically brushing the spindly branches they’ve scrounged up as kindling. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine,” Caleb says quietly. He hasn’t so much as twitched at Molly’s approach, eyes fixed somewhere at the edge of the firelight. Molly squints over, confirms that there’s nothing out there that deserves attention more than him, and snags one of Caleb’s hands to check the temperature.

It’s ice cold. “It’s close enough to the light for me to see colors, dear. You’re practically blue.”

“Jester will be thrilled,” Caleb deadpans. Molly rolls his eyes and sticks his free hand down the back of Caleb’s neck - still cold, which is a little more concerning and continues to prove that his coat is more for storage than any kind of protection. That gets Caleb’s attention, the last syllable of his retort choked out as he briefly relaxes against the warmth of Molly’s hand before jerking away.

“Not if she has to turn you un-blue in the morning, she won’t. I know you’re not so keen on fire, but I imagine cold damage isn’t great either.” Molly straightens up and nudges Caleb’s knee with his boot. “Scoot over, we’ll cuddle until you get warm again.”

“W-was? No!” Caleb barely looks warmer even with a flush high on his cheeks, which only encourages Molly to flop down on crossed legs and reach out an inviting arm.

“Come on. It doesn’t need to be weird, let’s just get your fingers back to a normal color.”

Caleb shuffles his feet and eyes Molly distrustingly, still prominently blushing, but finally he shivers again and sighs and moves a reluctant inch closer. “Fine. But only for a little while - we are supposed to be watching too, ja?”

Molly hooks an arm around his shoulder and tows him in, their crossed legs knocking together. “Mr. Caleb, are you proposing that I might forget my solemn duties to the group? I am hurt, I’m offended - ah, shit, what is it?”

Caleb has gone an entirely new shade of red, dangerously stiff under Molly’s arm. Molly resists the urge to check if his cheeks are actually warming. “Okay, I lied, this is now weird. Care to tell your new heat source what’s going on? Are we too close?” He smirks despite himself. “Not close enough?”

Caleb makes an agonized noise, head bowing. “Sorry, sorry, I don’t know - ah - you are very warm as is, Mr. Mollymauk. Thank you.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a drifting cloud that joins with the smoke of the fire. Molly watches him teeter back towards equilibrium and very deliberately does not think about what he could do to upset the balance.

“Hey, I’m warmer too. People are good insulation.” Caleb interrupts his own brooding to shoot him an incredulous look, and Molly decides to change the subject for both of their sakes. “Hey, tell me what you were reading today.”

“In the cart?” Caleb’s voice is light, distracted. “Ah, I was reading about -” Watching his face in profile, Molly has a perfect view of Caleb’s brow furrowing, his mouth working in incomprehension. “Um. A spell,” he finishes lamely.

Molly gapes. “Caleb,” he says slowly, “I have seen you speak in more detail about magic when you are seconds out of being catatonic. If you don’t tell me what’s wrong with you, I’m going to go get Jester.”

He prods Caleb accusingly with a finger, and Caleb squeaks. The sound tweaks something down in his stomach, an urge and a memory he’s been suppressing, and Molly’s eyes narrow. “Wait.”

Caleb shivers, and Molly is fairly certain it has nothing to do with cold. It might, in fact, have everything to do with the grin that’s currently taking over Molly’s face. “Molly, Entschuldigung, I just forgot-”

“You,” Molly continues, smacking his lips on each word like it’s dessert, “are distracted. You get distracted every time I so much as wave at you. You and your perfect memory are forgetting things. And, as my memory is still working more or less the same, I happen to remember a particular instance where you forgot how to tell time-”

He crooks his fingers just so around Caleb’s shoulder, and the resulting flinch almost sends the other man tumbling out of his grasp. “Stop,” Caleb blurts, the red from before flooding back into his face as he pins Molly with a frantic glare. “Fine, I am distracted, it is awful and it is all your fault because when you wave at me you do this thing with your fingers-” He waggles his fingers in brief demonstration, jerky with misplaced adrenaline, and Molly can’t keep himself from laughing delightedly. “Stop that! I am annoyed, Molly, if I cannot even sit next to you and I am not sure how to make it stop-”

“Oh. Oh, gods, please stop, I can’t.” Molly gets out between cackles, tugging a sputtering Caleb back in until he really is cuddling him, his chin resting on ginger hair. Caleb resists initially, flailing to stay upright, but eventually all five-foot-something of his grumpy self is leaned begrudgingly into Molly’s side. “Do you really forget what you’re saying every time you think about me tickling you?”

Caleb is tellingly silent.

“Mr. Caleb, that is adorable.” He heaves a satisfied sigh with the last of his laughter, can feel his tail flapping contentedly somewhere behind him. “I think I might be doing you a favor, then, to put you out of your misery.”

“And how, Mr. Mollymauk, do you intend to do this?” Caleb snipes, a little petulant. Molly visualizes the pout that might go along with it and almost starts laughing again.

“Tickling you more, of course,” Molly declares, tightening his grip as Caleb makes to struggle again. “Hey, hey, it’ll help! I knew it, I knew you liked it - I was hoping you’d decide to do something nice for yourself for once and come ask, but this is fine. Gives me something to look forward to.”

“To look forward - Molly, I will not ask you to - I can’t -”

Caleb’s voice is strained, as if he’s just now realizing that asking is something he might actually want to do and he’s trying to shove the realization back down his own throat, and Molly is so, so tempted to push him, to let his fingers hover over sensitive skin until Caleb can’t do anything but plead with him to just get it over with, but instead he just hums noncommittally. “Alright, calm down, we’ll save that one for another day.”

He waits, rubbing a thumb in small circles on the harsh jut of Caleb’s shoulder until he feels the other man settle slightly. “This is not ideal,” he mutters, self-loathing laced in every word, and Molly’s heart squeezes uncomfortably. He squeezes Caleb back just as tight.

“Oh, woe to you, you need to laugh once in a while. If you don’t give yourself what you need, your body’s going to come calling for it eventually, Caleb.” Caleb makes an affronted noise at that, but Molly just retaliates with a sloppy kiss to the top of his head. “Right, then - how do I want to do this…”

“Now? Wait, scheiße-” And then Caleb stops talking, because having an enormous raspberry blown into the side of your neck is the sort of thing that is very difficult to talk through.

He shouts, soft but startled, and Molly manages to get a couple more raspberries in under the scruff regrowing on his chin as he pinpoints the moment when the feeling stops being shocking and starts getting ticklish - Caleb almost whines, shoulders ratcheting up around his ears. Molly can feel him practically vibrating, each breath hitching in his chest as he tries to prevent it from becoming a laugh. “W-what is thahat-”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, you’ll recognize this one,” Molly teases, rearranging his hug until his fingers can get under Caleb’s coat. He kneads gently at the softness just below protruding ribs, triumphant as Caleb gasps and dissolves into insistent giggles and twists frantically with absolutely nowhere to go. “I know you’re forgetful, dear, but do try and remember to be quiet? It’s the middle of the night, you know.”

“Molly - bitte, bitte, I cahahan’t!” He feels Caleb working an arm out of his hold, but instead of using it to do anything that would actually stop the tickling it sounds to be stuffed against his face. It fills the purpose for now, but Molly makes a mental note to try and break Caleb of the habit of covering up his smile later.

“You can’t remember? Poor thing.” One hand stays at Caleb’s side, drawing out intoxicating bursts of stifled laughter, and the other strays up to the leather of his book holsters, fingers pushing through to the sensitive area underneath. “Ugh, this is hard. One of these days I’ll get you to take these off first, hm?”

Caleb’s too far gone to protest the potential distance from his beloved books, head jerking back as Molly sees an opening and darts in to blow another raspberry on a defenseless stretch of neck. His hand doesn’t move with it, and for a brief instance his unabashed peal of laughter is exposed to the night air. Molly drinks it in, fingers stilling for an instant, then redoubles his efforts to get up under Caleb’s holsters and tickle the tops of his ribs where he knows from previous experience it’ll send Caleb into absolute fits.

For all his implied forgetfulness, Caleb does seem to realize that they’re out in the open and mere feet from the rest of their sleeping group - Molly has more or less stopped caring about that particular nuance, but Caleb registers the encroaching attack on his sanity as fingers digging into his upper ribs and jerks out of Molly’s grip with unprecedented strength, narrowly avoiding the fire as he crashes onto the dirt. It wouldn’t be too difficult to stop him regardless, or chase him down - Molly’s tail twitches at the thought - but those, too, are perhaps best saved for later.

The cold is almost welcome after minutes of tussling, and Molly takes a deep bracing breath before leaning over to assess the damage.

He gets a good look at Caleb’s face, red and flustered and wreathed in a laughter-bright smile, as he clutches his chest and wheezes for breath. “You,” he gasps, “you are a dangerous one, Mr. Mollymauk.”

Molly beams down at him. “Am I?” he asks, more pleased than innocent.

Caleb, sprawled on his back, looks wryly over with blue eyes that seem nearly alight. “Would you have stopped before or after I woke up everyone in the camp?”

He shrugs. “Well, you didn’t ask nicely for your favor. Do that, and maybe you’ll earn yourself some consideration.”

Caleb’s head lolls back to the sky, eyes slipping shut, and he does at least seem like he’s considering it. “You call it a favor, but somehow I do not feel very encouraged to thank you.”

“I could make you,” Molly quips, gratified when Caleb’s eyes snap back to him. “But I won’t. Because we’re on watch.”

“... and what happens when we are not on watch?”

“You’d better hope you learn some manners by then, Mister.” Molly fixes him with an indulgent grin, lets Caleb pick himself up off the ground and shake his head ruefully.

Then, surprisingly, he reaches a hand down to Molly. They don’t quite manage eye contact, but the soft “thank you” reaches Molly’s ears and plants itself somewhere deep in his chest that, blazing warm, is entirely untouched by the weather.

#tickling #critical role #widowmauk #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #chocfic

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khelsale · 3 years

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13 Essential Badminton Tips for Beginners

Badminton is an adolescent, well-disposed game; even still, if you're getting the game inquisitively, it's dependably imperative to several pieces of information. Here are 13 top Badminton tips for novices that will assist you with improving.

So in case you're a juvenile hoping to improve quickly, continue looking for some top Badminton tips.

Perpetually warm-up fittingly

Our first Badminton tip is to attempt to heat up appropriately is so basic for any game. It very well may be ideal if you got your muscles warm so they can connect with no issue. This will help keep away from unreasonable wounds and will set you up for some quick Badminton.

Ideally, it may be ideal if you got some amazing growing close by running or avoiding done before you play. See our Badminton warm-up direct for a model warm-up arrangement that will kick you off up.

Gain ability with some fundamental footwork

Badminton is a quick game; it requires a decent extent of accessibility and speed to play well. It very well may be ideal if you had reasonable and beneficial footwork to have the choice to get around the court with no issue. yonex shuttlecock

Badminton doesn't utilize a ton of headways that individuals are utilized to. In Badminton, you occasionally utilize any running or running. Badminton depends upon much truly pursuing, influencing, and bobbing. Getting a basic view of how to utilize these headways will help an unfathomable plan.

See the video from Badminton Famly under where they disclose moving to the four corners of the court.

Get settled with your hold.

The fundamental thing to get not some time before you can get any shot right is the hold. Regardless of whether its forehand, strike or ask handle, it's key to get settled with how you hold the racquet in every manner.

Practice it reliably at home. Get your racquet and work on changing from forehand to strike and two or three fundamentals shots. The more you do it, the more standard exchanging and discovering your grasp will change.

Lee Jae Bok from Coaching Badminton has an incomprehensible video on getting the Badminton to deal with right. It's something you change once the correct way, and it winds up being so standard you don't need to consider everything.

Know the rules

This may seem, by all accounts, to be an evident one. Yet, you can't expect to get a considerable amount of wherever playing a progression of Badminton if you don't have even the remotest hint about the norms. As of now, this doesn't mean knowing the rulebook everything being equal. In any case, it recommends understanding the essentials of scoring, serving, what's in and out, and what you may have the choice to.

Nothing can be more overwhelming for adolescents by, at that point, learning the guidelines unusually. That is the clarification we set up or control Badminton rules. It covers the rules in a wonderful adolescent manner with a relationship with more isolated helpers if you need to find extra.

Watch some quality YouTube content

We're fortunate these days to push toward such a huge load of amazing substance on essentially any subject you could need to learn. Badminton is no exemption; YouTube makes them flabbergast, illuminating Badminton channels. This has, as of late, improved all through the long stretch, particularly in 2019-2020.

You can discover Badminton content on any piece of the game. Regardless of whether you need to get settled with the strike serve or the strike cut drop shot, there is a video showing you how. Head over to our total guide on the Best Badminton YouTube channels and look under the illuminating area to begin.

Keep your racquet up.

This tip is extremely annoying. Ordinarily, individuals need to drop their arms to their sides when they're not dynamic. It very well may be ideal if you combat the motivation to do this a great deal of the time, particularly in case you're playing at the net in copies.

Right, when I say keep your racquet up too, I don't mean over your head; I mean having up and gazed upward and outwards so that arranging is speedier. Raising your racquet from your side each time is moderate so keep your racquet up.

We alluded to duplicates of netplay; take a gander at this video, including Kevin Sanjaya Sukamuljo. He's consistently orchestrated his racquet up. If he's near the net, he may have his racquet much higher to block. By the by, dependably have your racquet up fairly.

Take the necessary steps not to try to be awesome.

Various adolescents present the error when securing some new significant data to get each viewpoint heavenly. Take the necessary steps not to center in an especially colossal aggregate on getting everything right, decently rotate around gaining ground.

In case you're learning one more shot, center around learning the individual pieces of the strategy. Now, welcome a comparative proportion of energy on going along with them all. The odds are you will not have managed each point, and that is fine. Zero in on predictable updates that will amount to immense overhauls over the long haul

Flawlessness itself is distant; the best players who whenever lived never accomplish impeccability. Perceive that you'll submit botches and that you'll find several things harder to overpower than others. In any case, long you spin around little updates that will impact.

Play with an elevating viewpoint

It is inconvenient; nevertheless, players beat themselves under the careful gaze of their progression on the court a ton of times. If you understand you're going up against a more grounded player, don't think, "smart gosh I will get wandered now." Rather, consider it a chance to learn. In the current circumstance, you don't have anything to lose and all to acquire; the other player is expected to win, go out there and play wholeheartedly.

Positive reasoning can be hard for a couple. It isn't easy to stand up and hold your ground. It very well may be ideal if you built up an uplifting outlook on and off the court.

Remove up when hitting.

By a long shot, most imagine that power in Badminton comes all from the muscles and strength. They see top players that play with such animosity without a doubt. They're applying a particularly extraordinary arrangement of power. Young people build up the tendency for pushing superfluously, making a reasonable undertaking.

Your muscles should be allowed to move straightforwardly; you can't make an enormous heap of racquet speed if you're holding your racquet tight and focusing before hitting. You're making the fundamental strides not to lift weight here; you're attempting to make power through advancement. Stay loose up when hitting, and let the racquet and your swing accomplish more vital work.

Recuperate back to the middle

Badminton is about control; you, generally, ought to be answerable for the vehicle and the social occasion. You might not want to be the one running any place on the show to get the van back. You ought to be the player dependably in the point of convergence of the court, picking where to play right away.

When you play, you overall need to consider returning to the mark of the union of the court after each shot. The mark of the union of the court can change contingent on the condition, yet that is for some other time. From the mark of the union of the court, you're a practically identical parcel away from each corner. This works on it to appear at the going with a shot.

Have a defense for each shot

Right when you're from the outset start, it's more insightful to zero in on the essentials and decide to return the vehicle reliably. As you improve, begin to consider which shot you should play and why. This winds up being critical for a more significant approach when you play.

Play each gave a reasonable result, regardless of whether it's trying to urge your foe to play it back to a specific spot or through and win the point. You will not, overall, get what you're seeking after at any rate. It's more tricky to an essential procedure than no strategy in any capacity whatsoever.

Develop your steadiness and get fit

Badminton is an irksome game. Beyond question, even as an adolescent, you'll sweat quickly. Developing your general prosperity levels will help you improve; you'll have the decision to play longer, resuscitates, and get around the court less perplexing.

As a novice, you can develop your steadiness in various propensities:

Do some light running/running 2-3 times each week.

Avoiding bit by bit for 30 minutes

Play more Badminton

Cool-down and stretch in the wake of playing

Also, as immense as heating up effectively before playing is chilling off and unwinding up in the wake of playing. As a young person, it's so major to promise you to cool down continuously and stretch your muscles in a little while.

A decent cool-down will consistently slash down your inside warmth level, recommending that your muscles will not set up and turn into a web sensation superfluously quickly. Extending your muscles this way while they're warm will help improve adaptability and lessen the headway of lactic ruinous, inciting muscle endurance and squashing.

If you don't have even the remotest clue of what to remember for your cool-down, look at our guide for a reasonable Badminton cool-down step-by-step practice.

Related solicitations

How could I improve my badminton limits?

Try and practice at any rate 2-3 times each week, without help from some other individual or partner, and work on unequivocal limits pondering a conspicuous objective. By and large, the quicker procedure to improve your abilities is to set up considerably more dependably with mindful practice.

#Badminton #khel sale #sports #yonex #shuttlecock

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seokjxnnie · 5 years

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celestial (pt. 1) | kth (m)

genre: (future) smut, angst, demon au, incubus!taehyung x reader warnings: blood and violence, aloof asshole taehyung length: 5.3k

↳ her flesh and blood imparts immortality to any demon, but the incubus protecting her from the hunt requires something else of her body.

masterlist | part 2 ↠

a/n: let me know if you would like to be tagged in future updates! thanks!!

Everything was a little out of focus, but those piercingly red eyes were impossible to dismiss. Long, slender fingers unbuttoned her shirt. A heavy, aching fatigue paralyzed her, yet she still managed quiet mewls when a pair of lips cascaded tender caresses down the side of her waist. A scarce twinge of pain followed each stroke of a tongue, inspiring her to lightly squirm, but strong hands held her hips down. Eventually, with each kiss against her skin, she felt better, revitalized. Her vision gave to a slow fade.

She stirred in her sleep, rousing awake.

A dream. An inexplicable yet vivid dream. She wasn’t sure how long she napped for, but it must’ve been for too long if she felt this lightheaded. Sluggishly, her eyes opened, adjusting to the light as she stretched in silky sheets.

Her body suddenly went rigid, remembering she didn’t have silky sheets. A jolt upright and she found herself in a foreign environment. She was in a bed she didn’t know, in a room that wasn’t hers, wearing clothes that didn’t fit her. Before fear crippled her limbs, the door opened and revealed a kind face.

“Oh, Princess, you’re awake.” Soft eyes greeted her. “My name is Seokji—”

She flinched and tousled back when he approached and extended a glass of water to her. There was a throb in her head that elicited a pained exhale from her.

“Don’t move so suddenly! You’re probably still a little weak from all the blood you lost.”

An unearthly chill swamped her skin at such menacing words with inference she couldn’t grasp. Her heart thumped violently against her chest. Her throat tightened with the threat to suffocate. “Where am I? Who are you? Who changed me out of my clothes?” she assaulted him with panicked questions.

“Taehyung did. He had to heal your wounds and your clothes were soaked with blood. I’m washing them right now.”

Although he was seemingly speaking to her in an incomprehensible language, his words somehow brought on an ambiguous, fleeting series of images of her mind, bursts of what she could only hardly make out to be violence and gore. Even so, they were just passing visuals that failed to illustrate a coherent recollection.

Plagued with confusion and terror, her limbs quaked and her head pulsed. She darted her gape around the room in search of means of escape. “Please just let me go,” a frail, fractured voice pried from her quivering lips.

Seokjin swallowed, lips tautening into an apologetic frown. “Listen, I know this all might seem crazy and scary, but try to stay calm so you don’t overexert yourself.” Gingerly, he attempted to extend the glass of water to her once more, “I can explain everything.”

Her breaths fell as tremoring wisps before she contemplated whether it was idiotic or in her best interest to believe in the sincerity the stranger projected. She peered down at her foreign attire, finding herself in basketball shorts and a Spongebob t-shirt – both of which were too generously sized for her. The harmless image of the apparent pair of men’s pajamas she was in seemed to suggest something far from a hostile kidnapping. Then briefly, her gaze shifted to the drink stretched out to her, recognizing that her pounding head was begging for it.

“It’s safe, I promise. I’ll show you,” he insisted, bringing it to lightly touch his lips before he took a gulp in hopes of evaporating any of her apprehensions of it being contaminated. “See?”

Wary hands reached out to accept it. Reluctance quickly turned to eagerness when she felt how good it was to soak her dry tongue and quench the dense throb in her temples.

She’s never had a hammering headache in this magnitude before. She’s also never ‘lost of a lot of blood’ before which, according to him, was why she was feeling the way she did. All over again, she was swathed by a haunting uneasiness.

Hence, in spite of his warm smile and seemingly benevolent efforts, when his hand extended out in offer of taking away her quickly emptied glass, she instead tossed it at him. In the distraction of having him fumble to catch it, she made a hasty lunge off the bed and a beeline for the bedroom door – the alternative of the bedroom window was unhelpfully high and would’ve instead made for a slow and clumsy escape. Veering around him and his wide blinking eyes, she threw open the door and sped out, her bewilderment readying her to weave through whatever she has to in order to make it outside and scream for help. Unfortunately, it was a swift transition from the bedroom’s doorway into a face-first collision with a broad chest of another unidentified figure. Dizziness returning in an amplified form, she stammered back.

“Jesus, take it easy,” a tongue clicked before big hands claimed her shoulders and held her upright.

She peered up to find familiar eyes – the same eyes from her dream. They didn’t have the same red quality, but the matchlessly penetrative glance they delivered couldn’t be mistaken. Was her mind so inundated that it had fabricated a dream of the man now standing in front of her trailing his lips down her side?

Taehyung, she recalled Seokjin’s mentioning earlier. The visual prompt of his familiar face suddenly made for an enrichment of her memories, triggering another barraging flash of bloody imagery. Nausea settled down on her and her sights started spinning again.

He caught her when her knees submitted to a buckle. “You’re not supposed to be up and about yet,” his criticism resonated with a deep voice. Arm swinging around under her knees, he picked her up. A quick nod at Seokjin reassured the older that he can handle it from here.

She would’ve struggled if she wasn’t entirely crippled by fatigue and anxiety. However, as he began carrying her down the hall, she was suddenly confronted with a strong sense of nostalgia. The humble and rustic walls looked as if she’s been acquainted. It wasn’t until he sat her down on a couch of a living room that she then taken back to an amicable elderly face eight years ago.

“This is the town shrine,” she mumbled to herself after the fragments of reminiscence assembled to refine a certain memory.

For as long as she could remember, the girl could see supernatural beings. In childhood, they had never bothered her more than a brush of curiosity. And so, as a kid she had even called the things her imaginary friends, being that apparently no one else was able to see them and she was consistently being dismissed as having a wild imagination. Approaching adolescence, she began to recognize the eeriness in their ghastly looks, becoming increasingly concerned that she wasn’t growing out of her ‘imaginary friends’. Her developing maturity allowed her to find the fear in seeing things others couldn’t.

As a result, at 12 years old her parents took her to a shrine seeking advice from a gentle-faced elderly monk. There was a brightness behind his crinkled eyes when he smiled, and a cosiness played in his voice whenever he talked. He assured her parents that it was nothing to worry about, that all her visions were the product of a creative mind. Nonetheless, he still imparted her with a bead bracelet, assuring that as long as she kept it on it would protect her. Her parents appreciated the monk’s white fib in an attempt to help her feel better. Although it didn’t dispel the monsters, she felt an attachment to the bracelet and kept it on till present day.

Now in the same shrine eight years later, she blinked at and fingered the same beads around her wrist. Their original dark brown colour was now tinted a deep red. Before she even had the chance to add to her amassing puzzlement, she stiffened as five other strange men joined them in the room.

“Oh, the Princess is awake!”

“I thought I heard voices.”

Seokjin followed, entering and setting down her folded clothes on the table in front of her. “I managed to get the stains out,” he greeted her by her name with a lively grin, “but I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything about the rips and tears.”

Her eyes broadened, terrified, when she held up her shirt with a monstrous bite taken out of its side. She gasped and jerked back in retreat when she at last remembered the earlier pain that had thoroughly conquered her body. All too vividly was the reminder of the demonic face of the child that clamped its teeth onto her ribs. All the overwhelming emotions from the entire day suddenly barraged her, provoking her to shake uncontrollably. Stinging tears welled up in her eyes.

“How do you know my name? Who are you guys?” she whimpered through a broken and frail voice, sinking into the couch to increase her distance from everyone.

__________

The day was eerie from the start.

The walk from her dorm room to campus was darker than usual. It wasn’t due to gloomy weather of any sorts – it was actually a sunny morning, perfectly characteristic of the budding summer season. The shadows were actually casted by the blankets of monsters that spread, hardly leaving any landscape vacant. Two-headed cats hung on trees, three-eyed foxes sprawled across garden beds, double-ended snakes spiralled around stair railings, crows two feet tall enveloped benches and stone sculptures. It was routine to see them often, so much so that it was often hardly a chore to walk on through as if she didn’t see anything, to pretend as if she wasn’t stiff with anxiety and fear. But today was different. Their presence has never been so ample. While none of them flocked to her, she could feel their hungry stares searing into the back of her head, as if stalking her as prey. A chill snaked up and down her spine.

“What are you staring at?” A classmate joined her side and reeled her out of her troubled daze. Their paths often overlapped, heading to the same lecture.

She had long ago given up on talking about the things that she could see. “Oh, nothing, just thinking about the lengths I’m willing to take to get out of that argumentation assignment due tonight. If I asked you nicely, would you hold a knife to my throat?”

The classmate snorted. “Christ, relax! It’s your birthday tomorrow! You get it done tonight and won’t have to worry about it when we celebrate.” Excited pats warmed the girl’s shoulder. “You think I’d let myself forget and let you off that easily?”

With such an uncanny start to her morning, even she forgot.

She tried not to act distracted and insincere when she thanked her peer.

While eager to find distance from the horde as she entered the school, she instead found dismay in her lecture. Windows lined the side of the class, and lining the windows were an abundant layer of more demons. The students carried on as if the room wasn’t dramatically dimmed by the obstruction of the copious densities of the monsters, as if they didn’t see the multitude of brutish, ghastly faces glowering at them – at her.

She sank into her seat. Not only the horror, but the loneliness has never felt as smothering as it did now.

What’s going on? Why was today as unusual as it was? She didn’t know, and will probably never know. It’s been this way of her whole life – no one around her could ever answer her questions about her experiences with anything other than a look of concern. Nonetheless, she swallowed the fear accumulating as a swell in her throat and reminded herself that she’d just have to carry on and hope that the strange themes will curb on its own by the end of the day.

So, once she finished her classes, she found refuge in a deep, quiet corner of the library away from the windows to finish her assignment due at midnight. Hours bled into the tedious clicking and typing of her laptop, and although mind-numbing, it adequately served as a distraction from the eeriness that lurked a just a few walls away. So much so that the anxiety of the supernatural gradually dispersed to instead make room for the fatigue of her studies.

The library was completely silent – it was now late and the occupants must’ve cleared out. She, however, just had a couple more paragraphs to refine before she could leave too. Eyes strained and dry, face stretched by frequent yawns, and mind dazed from the droning of the past few hours, she remembered submitting to the droop of her heavy eyelids.

Just for a minute, she promised herself, just to rest my eyes.

Regardless of what she insisted, the brief moment of ease and tranquility was mesmeric. So much so that when she finally did bring herself to stir and scarcely open her eyes, she found the time to be 11:42pm with no accomplishment of additional work from when allowed herself the break an hour ago. The panic surged through her, bolting her upright with consciousness and playing her fingers in a hurried and tireless employ.

It was 11:59pm when she clicked on “submit” and a green checkmark responded on her screen to inform her of a successful submission. She threw herself back in a slump with a sigh of relief. Stretching in her chair, she relished in the release of tension in her body to accompany her close-call victory.

Happy birthday to me, the girl quietly tittered to herself when the time on her laptop blinked midnight.

Packing herself up, she was drawn from the excited thoughts of being engulfed by her bed when she heard a childish sobbing coming from another corner of the library.

She froze, stiff and cold. What was a child doing on a college campus at midnight? The catalog of horror movies she’s watched could provide some ideas, none of which too kindly for her. Pulse thumping so rapidly that it seemingly burned a hole in her throat, she remained unmoving, waiting to see if the cries continued. Maybe she was so worn out that she was hearing things, she tried to rationalize. She remembered a psychology article she read, outlining something along the lines of the mind tending to fabricate false stimulations to the senses amidst a backdrop of paranoia, which was easy for her to develop in the dark and isolated environment she was in now. Although she might just be desperately reaching.

A rigid breath of distress pushed past her gritted teeth when she heard the whimpering continue. She wasn’t imagining it.

Prompted by the sliver of concern that it was actually a child in the need of help, pale and clammy fingers dug for her keys before wedged them between her knuckles as a makeshift tool of defence. Then, she cautiously made her way towards the sound. An attempt to console herself came with the reminder of her phone’s function of a blaring SOS alarm. She thumbed the power button in preparation to hold it down and trigger just that if necessary.

Up ahead, she saw a little boy sitting at a table with his back turned to her, whines and sniffles produced from the face that rested down on folded arms. The child’s shoulders quivered up and down as he sobbed. Gingerly closing their distance, she didn’t see any other company.

Someone’s visiting little brother? A staff member’s wandering son?

“Hey, are you alright? Are you lost?” she asked, employing a soothing and reassuring tone before reaching out a hand to tap his shoulder.

The kid spun around to reveal a demonic face – pale blue skin, eyes beady and red, teeth jutting and serrated, far from the anticipated face of innocence and vulnerability. Gasping, the girl would’ve lurched back if the thing didn’t latch onto her shoulder with its claws, breaking skin and drawing blood. She cried in pain, only wailing louder when his jaw widened and protruded to clamp down onto the left side of her ribs. An agonizing ache thundered throughout her entire body and forced her to her knees. It felt like the monster child had started lapping at the blood he drew from the wound he created. Then, it felt like his robust set of jaws was curtly removed from her side. With her senses blurring towards a deterioration from the sudden trauma that rendered her faint and close to unconsciousness, she was losing the ability to perceive reality as anything other than indistinctive and uncertain.

Her pale face dropped to the floor when she lost control of her movements over the immense pain. Under hooding eyelids, her hazy and departing vision managed to dimly distinguish a set of legs that straddled and knelt down on the demon’s chest. Vaguely, she watched as its thrashing and resistant body abruptly drop to a limp when a fist brutally landed on the creature’s face. Puncturing through its skull, a gaping hole was left when the hand retreated.

Everything dulled to a black.

A dream. A stir awake. A jolt upright in a bed she didn’t know, in a room that wasn’t hers, wearing clothes that didn’t fit her. The door opened and Seokjin entered with a glass of water.

__________

It was just past 3am, she learned. She had been unconscious for three hours.

A man named Namjoon was seated next to her on the couch, a wary distance away in consideration of her comfort amidst a disorientation. Next to him, Seokjin. Across from her on the other sofa, they introduced themselves as Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook, who was perched on top of the backing of the couch. Taehyung remained leaning against the frame of the living room’s doorway.

Her eyes were darkened with exhaustion and dewed with distraught. Hoseok had reached out to offer her a box of tissues. Soon, fibres of the damp and crumpled napkin in her hand produced a speckled and velvety texture on her fingertips.

Although still on edge, she’s decided to submit to cooperation. She couldn’t fight back anyway, burdened by not only the physical stress and wear, but also by its allied emotional strain when complete recollection of tonight’s dreadful events returned to her. Or at least for what she was conscious enough to record.

Moreover, this group of seven men might’ve been strangers, but they were strangers who promised answers to her confusion. For the first time in her life, she just might be able to finally understand… everything. Her fear of them had grown less aggressive – if they wanted to hurt her, they would’ve done so by now, as opposed to all keeping a sympathetic distance and projecting similar looks of concern from their eyes.

“When you visited the shrine as a child, the monk knew exactly why you could see things others couldn’t. But, you were still a kid, you weren’t ready to understand yet,” Namjoon spoke softly, prudently.

Jimin, foreseeing her overwhelming plunge into a reality different from what she’s known, moved mindfully not to further rouse disturbance within her when he departed and quickly returned with a hot cup of tea to soothe. She took the mug from him with a timid thanks, deciding to trust the gentle qualities reflected in his consolatory smile. It came as a reward, the hot sips calming the sharp strikes to her temples and dissipating the bloat in her airways.

“What wasn’t I ready to understand?” her voice came out feeble and splintered by a stubborn sniffle.

He replied, “You come from what our people consider a line of royalty.”

A loaded statement. A challenge to process. She only registered the first half of it. “’Our people’...?” she tentatively repeated.

“Demons,” Yoongi uttered the word she’s been waiting to hear, “the kind you’ve been seeing since you were young.”

An indecisive gaze trailed over their faces, unsuccessful in realizing any severe differentiations. No one had colourful skin, excess limbs or features, barbaric and unearthly characterizations, none of what she was used to seeing.

“But you all look human.”

Demons come in different forms, they explained. The stronger ones were able to suppress their demon traits and resemble humans, with the trade-off of being able to be seen by them. They’ve blended in, even walking among society, undetected and only perceptible to other demons.

It all sounded like an exert straight out of a supernatural young adult novel. It only escalated from there when she questioned the latter half that addressed her relation in all of this.

Every century, a human is born with the blood that can prolong a demon’s life if consumed after the ripening of adulthood. Devoured in its entirety, the celestial flesh and blood granted immortality. That celestial being was her.

The hammering in her head resurfaced. An apprehensive throb in her chest imitated the same pattern. Denial was the overpowering emotion in this instance, however. The girl scoffed a slight laughter of disbelief that accompanied the shake of her head. “That’s ridiculous. That can’t be. It… I can’t be…”

Except it would’ve explained why a mass of monsters stalked her yesterday morning. They were waiting. And right on time, at the stroke of midnight that marked her 20th birthday, the demons that mainly left her alone her whole life suddenly wanted to make a meal of her. Most of all, it would’ve explained why she was the only person she knew that could see the supernatural element.

Tautness abruptly overcame her once again when she made the connection that the seven men in front of her were also demons, possibly with the same intentions. Had they only brought her here just to surround her and have her all for themselves? The tips of her digits drained pale by the deathly anxious grip she had on her cup.

Jungkook realized the brewing fright and unease in her silence. With wide eyes, he threw his hands up in defence. “Woah, wait! Not us though! We don’t eat humans,” he exclaimed.

“Not all demons have desires for immortality and intend to hurt humans. But, we are here to protect you from those that do, Princess,” Jimin added, a trustworthy look glossing over his irises to complement his promising words.

She grimaced, “Don’t… call me that,” she muttered under her breath.

“Most of us have been under the monk’s care since we were young,” Seokjin explained. “He knew what would happen when you turned 20, and he wanted to protect you. We all grew up knowing that. When he passed away a couple years ago, the seven of us took over the shrine as well as the responsibility of making sure you’re safe.”

Her shoulders deflated at the solemn news, reminiscing the elder’s kind eyes that had comforted her many years ago. “So,” her wilted gaze reluctantly flickered up at them, “that demon earlier… it was you guys that stopped him?”

Hoseok nodded, “Taehyung did. If he had come any later, you would’ve…” he shivered at the thought of it.

She swallowed, disturbed as well by the recollection of the grisly red eyes and the agonizing pain that came with the sinking of its jagged teeth, how she was likely seconds away from being reduced to an indistinguishable pool of blood and guts. Her eyes stuttered in their peer up to Taehyung, who had remained quiet and still by the door the entire time. He was stoic and difficult to read, but she had been deprived of the resilience necessary to look at him for longer than a blink. This was because she was uneased by the idea that he had been the one to undress her from her red-stained and tattered clothing earlier. Whatever he did though, the claw and bite marks no longer marked her skin.

Stammering fingers traveled to graze her side, acknowledging the lack of an anticipated ache upon contact. “H-How did you…?”

Namjoon gestured to her wrist. The bracelet that the monk gave her, he also gave it to Taehyung. He was apparently faster and stronger than any of them. Wearing the beads simultaneously for a long interval formed a bond between the two of them. Taehyung was her familiar, was the term Namjoon used. It was a bond that meant Taehyung’s duty protect her overpowered his instincts as a demon. It was what provided him the ability to close her wounds and prevented him from personally gaining vitality from her flesh. They had scented the beads with his blood, Namjoon continued to explain, which will come as a warning to other demons. They shouldn’t be bothering her anymore for the most part.

Dwelling in such a prolonged stage of bewilderment was exhausting. Being awake in the middle of the night after just barely recovering from a penetrative pain that spilled her blood was exhausting. Wrestling between knowing to believe and wanting to deny such outlandish fables was exhausting. She sat still, quiet, numb, tired, fingering the bracelet around her wrist, now understanding why they produced their red tint.

“Someone’s going to tell her, right?” Yoongi blurted.

She looked up. What now?

Namjoon sighed, eyes dropping as if he was about to disappoint her. “Taehyung is…” he paused, clearing his throat and shuffling a nervous hand through the hair at the back of his head, “an incubus.” The air surrounding them seemingly tightened. “Which means—”

“I know what that means,” she deadpanned, stopping him before he had to embarrass himself— embarrass her any further, and before the red tips of her ears spread to blot more of her face.

A reminiscence of the elective mythology course she took during freshman year reminded her that incubuses gained life energy through sex. Incubuses were also supposed to be nothing more than a myth, but how could she be surprised when monsters and familiars and immortality-granting blood were a factual aspect in her reality?

No longer being able to stand emotionally smothering herself, she leapt to her feet.

__________

While finally in her own bed, in her own room, wearing her own clothes, she was restless. In spite of her relentless tiredness, she couldn’t sleep. Swaddled in an uncomfortable warmth prescribed by the summer heat and a fidgety apprehension, the ensuing sticky layer of sweat that draped over her skin made for a painstakingly long journey until the state of drowsiness.

She had politely asked to leave. She had thanked them for their care and for their explanations, but she was in dire need to be alone in her state of exhaustion and disorientation. They didn’t stop her, however Hoseok and Jimin insisted on walking her back to campus residence at this time of night. She declined and asserted her request to be unaccompanied. Again, they didn’t stop her, perhaps out of sympathy and condolence.

Alone at last, the girl was lost in her thoughts and it kept her up. While her eyes idly traced the uneven patterns of her ceiling, her mind tirelessly ran several trains atop numerous winding tracks that overlapped, each one trying to make sense of her situation, trying to assess how she was going to handle the disarming truth she had still so desperately sought for. Most rails ultimately ended in collision.

The sun was already beginning to rise, peeks of radiance generously filtered in through her opened blinds and made for an unaccommodating setting for sleep. A huff of frustration sat her up and trudged her towards her window to drop close the shades. Already a crack open, her fingers first wrapped on the underside of the window’s frame to open it further in hopes of it catching a heavier breeze. She had just started to lift the glass pane when a tall, dark silhouette came into view.

She gasped and recoiled backwards, her release of the window allowing it to fall. Her hand hadn’t retreated far enough yet, she realized when her finger got caught in the panel’s drop. Pain surged up the length of her arm when the frame slammed down on her index. Yelping, she dropped to her knees before wrenching her digit free, finding a bloody trench framing her nail.

She didn’t have more than a second to grimace at her injury when the complete opening of the window required her immediate attention. Clambering back, fear seized her lungs when the shadowy figure that was suspended on the tree branch immediate to her window had climbed in. Before a scream managed to pry her throat open, their closing distances allowed her vision to sharpen the facial features of the stranger.

“Jesus, you humans scare so goddamn easily,” Taehyung huffed, sitting on the sill with one leg hovering above her bedroom floor and the other swinging five storeys above ground.

Anger surfacing, she exclaimed through gritted teeth, “Were you there this entire time?”

“Yeah,” he replied, curt and without a shred of shame or penance. “I actually followed you the entire way home, but I guess humans are inattentive too.”

She would’ve clenched her hands into fists in resentment if she wasn’t met with an immediate aching jolt from her fingernail. “I told you not to,” she instead spat an irritated murmur, which promptly transitioned into a hiss of discomfort when she wiped the blood from her finger.

Her scent flooded his senses. “Yeah, well look how easily you hurt too. How your species has survived this long completely escapes me.” After a patronizing scoff, he leapt down from the window and slumped down onto the floor next to her, legs folded in front of him. He captured her wrist with the injured finger and brought it close to his face. She resisted, face contorting into a scowl, knees withdrawing to her chest, and hand tugging back in response. He reinforced his grip. “Just relax. I’m trying to help,” his tongue clicked with impatience.

The girl swallowed, eyes locking with his unwavering, assertive gaze. The echoing reminder that the supposed ‘familiar’ had healing abilities prompted her to retire her defences, although she was unsure of how it was exactly going to unfold.

Another sharp inhale dropped open her jaw, stunned when he plunged the tip of her finger into his mouth. “What the fuck are you do—” she began to shout before wrenching herself free from his lips, only to reveal undamaged skin that made her abruptly pause in disbelief. Rotating it in view, she confirmed that her finger was no longer bleeding, the nail was no longer cracked, and the likelihood of bruising was no longer promising.

Is this how he does it? She only briefly pondered. But just as quickly, her eyes dropped closed when disrupted by the recollection of her supposed dream of him running his lips down her shoulder, down her waist, before she had woken up suddenly unscathed.

This is how he does it.

And that wasn’t a dream.

Taehyung interrupted her silent stupor, “A ‘thank you’ will do—"

“Get out,” she lowly rasped. A series of troubled and shuddering winces debilitated her upon remembering the unintended mewls and whimpers he had drawn out of her in half-consciousness. “Get out!” her snarl escalated to a roar. She reached behind her before hurling a pillow toward him off her bed.

He jumped to his feet, his tensed lips sputtering a string of frustrated profanities and curses at her apparent unexplained outburst, especially after his kind deed. “Fine!” he barked. Spotting his basketball shorts and Spongebob tee slung on her computer chair, he snatched them up. “And I’m taking these back!”

The incubus leapt out her window and disappeared, which she firmly made sure of with her own eyes. The girl threw herself back flat on the ground, flustered, burying her face in her damp palms when she couldn’t strip herself of the lingering sensations of his tongue against her skin.

#bts smut #taehyung smut #armiesnet #kim taehyung #bts #bts scenarios #bts angst #taehyung scenarios #taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts supernatural au

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thecousinsdangereux · 5 years

Text

fic preview: over the wide skies up above (and the earth below)

Pairing: Blake/Yang (RWBY)

Playlist: On Spotify

Notes: This is a preview of a thing that I may or may not be something I actually finish post ski!au. Basically, it’s all for @twelveclara who wanted a Greek Gods AU. You’re lucky I adore you, you dumb bitch. I’ll fix this up and write more for you some day. Happy birthday. <3

—

She was picking flowers: roses, crocus, and beautiful violets. Up and down the soft meadow. Iris blossoms too she picked, and hyacinth. And the narcissus, which was grown as a lure for the flower-faced girl by Gaia. All according to the plans of Zeus. She was doing a favor for the one who receives many guests. It was a wondrous thing in its splendor. To look at it gives a sense of holy awe to the immortal gods as well as mortal humans. It has a hundred heads growing from the root up. Its sweet fragrance spread over the wide skies up above. And the earth below smiled back in all its radiance. So too the churning mass of the salty sea

[From the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, translated by Gregory Nagy]

—

They meet on a Sunday morning, on the first day of Winter, under a cloudy and snow-filled sky.

It’s a collision only barely avoided; she swerves, but the white petals still brush against her cheek, sticking out every which way and thus not as easily dodged as the form carrying them (barreling around the corner without any particular concern or hesitation). The juxtaposition hardly stops there, because the resulting stream of expletives feels in direct opposition to what follows it: an apology that — when directed at her — sounds soft and familiar, despite the lingering profanities.

The thought doesn’t make any sense, but she hardly has time to consider its meaning when it first hits her; it’s quickly followed by a scent — floral and strong and overwhelming — that hits just as hard, turns the world over on itself, shifts the seasons, melts the ice around them.

“Shit, sorry! I’ve got so many of these fucking things that I can barely see and I’ve got to get them to the greenhouse in like five minutes and I’m really running late and are you okay?”

The flowers — she can see them more clearly now: long-stemmed and white with a brilliant yellow center ringed in red — obscure most of the woman’s face. But her long blonde hair spills outside of the boundaries of the dozens of stems barely contained to the two large buckets she holds in front of her chest. Blake finds herself briefly distracted again (distracted from a distraction), this time by the looping curls, the different colors of gold that glint among the strands despite the overcast skies. But then the woman shifts, trying to see around the stems, and with the movement, a new wave of the scent hits her and it’s all she can think about again.

“What is that?”

“What’s what?” The woman laughs and finally pokes her head through the flowers. The bright smile that appears is one that Blake cannot differentiate from the first bloom of Spring. “You mean like, the daffodils or — whoa.”

She can’t pinpoint the reason for the change, but something makes the woman’s eyes (the color of the sky at 5:30 am in the middle of June) widen when they first meet Blake’s. The surprise steals her smile, but it returns almost immediately, stronger than before.

“Whoa,” she says again. “Where have you been?”

Blake’s a college freshman — one who got a fake ID at 16 and has been to frat parties and bars and clubs — and so she’s heard the line before (or something like it, ‘all my life’ tacked on at the end), but she’s never heard anyone say it like this woman does. The emphasis is in the wrong spot, the tone out of place, the emotion behind it incomprehensible.

(Stranger than all that, her instantaneous thought — one she only just keeps from escaping her own lips — is waiting for you.)

“I — what?” she says instead.

“It’s the day before Christmas break! I’ve been here all semester and I’ve never seen you before. It’s not that big of a school. So, like, where have you been?”

The girl shifts her cargo to the side — as though to give herself a better view — and the warm leather of her coat, the soft wool around the collar, belong on her frame as much as the dark gold belongs around her neck (a woven scarf, color deeper than her hair).

“Not in the greenhouse,” Blake settles on. “I didn’t know we had one.”

“Yeah, I could have guessed that.”

It comes with a laugh and Blake’s not sure whether to be offended or not, but the woman quickly continues, before Blake can settle on any one expression.

“The Botany program is pretty small. Not too many people other than us visit the far field, let alone the Greenhouse.”

“Botany?” It’s not what she expects, but it feels right.

(Blake’s not sure how she knows what feels right. But she doesn’t question it either.)

“Yeah. Plants are sort of my thing.” The girl lifts one of the buckets as though to prove her point, and Blake is once again reminded.

“Yeah. What are those? They smell — ”

(Perfect. Like something she’s been searching for.)

“Really good right?” She laughs again; a breeze, but one strong enough to bend the trunks of trees. “Yeah, people use it in perfumes all the fucking time. But I think I like the pure version of it best.” Leaning forward, the woman tips the bucket in Blake’s direction, allowing her to get another whiff. “Poet’s Daffodil. Narcissus poeticus, if you’d be into me showing off.”

She’s leaning in, breathing in deep, but her surprise at the name is such that it nearly sends her rocking off balance and crashing face-first into the delicate stems.

“Oh, you are into me showing off.” The woman shifts again, but the flowers can’t obscure the brightness of her grin. “Hold on, let me take some notes for future reference. Is it the Latin, foreign languages in general, or the vast depth of knowledge that does it for you?”

“No, I — ” Blake barely recognizes the laugh that escapes from her own lips. “No, it’s just. I’ve never seen it before. The flower version of Narcissus, I mean. But I’ve read about it a hundred times. The man, at least.”

The woman’s head tilts in thought, but her expression clears quickly.

“Mythology nerd, huh?”

“Classics major.”

“Oh, super mythology nerd.” She tips the bucket forward again. One of the flowers slides against Blake’s cheek. “You better take one then. You can show it off to all your friends. Spin it however you like. Something like, you got a mythological flower from a mythological girl.” She pauses. “Okay that didn’t actually make sense, I don’t think. I meant like, you got a flower from a goddess. Because I’m like -- uh, I dunno -- what’s the hottest goddess?”

“The last person who answered that question got into an awful lot of trouble, in the end,” Blake quips, but finds her smile aches. (She also finds she has an immediate answer, though it’s not one of the three that Paris had to consider in the contest that lead to such trouble for the Greeks and Trojans both.)

“I think I remember the basics of that one. How about you take the flower and my number instead of a golden apple and we’ll skip the bad ending.”

It’s sudden, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like Blake’s been waiting for a while.

“Forward,” she says despite all that, because it’s almost as though she has to. As though there are steps to take that she’s not allowed to skip, lest she upset a balance she wasn’t aware existed before now.

It’s a dramatic thought; she’d laugh at herself if — when she reaches into the bucket to grasp one of the stems — she didn’t feel the world sigh in relief.

“I’ve never really seen the point of wasting time.” The woman shrugs, tone and words light, but only in the same sort of way (required, practiced lines). “There’s just not enough of it.”

“You sound like you’re a hundred years old and on your deathbed,” Blake laughs, but oh, her heart is clenching. And she’s taking out her phone. She’s making a new contact. She’s already thinking about the first time she’ll text this woman and she doesn’t even know her name.

(There isn’t enough time. Somehow, she agrees, and that makes her want to get all of it in now, while she has a chance.)

“Or I’m someone who is very late in dropping off some daffodils that don’t really like the cold much. Even if I have a very valid excuse in wanting to stick around.” She pulls away with several long strides backwards; it seems genuinely regretful, but she brightens a little, seeing the flower clutched in one of Blake’s hands (and her phone in the other). “818-815-6247. Let me know if you want to see the greenhouse. Or tell me about the prettiest goddess. Or do anything at all.”

She takes another step back and Blake nods twice, before realizing she’s missing something.

“Wait! I’m — ” It comes out sounding a little more desperate than she would have liked, but then, the woman turns back towards her quickly enough for a single petal to fall off of one of of the flowers, so maybe pretenses aren’t really something either of them are concerning themselves with. “I don’t know your name.”

“Yang.” It’s not the name she expects, but it slides into place easily enough.

“Blake.” (Somehow, that’s not the name she expects either, even though it’s her own.) “I’ll text you. Call you. Soon.”

“Good.” She catches another flash of that smile before Yang turns away. “And I’ll be waiting. Or — trying to. I’ve never been very patient, though you’d think I would have learned by now.”

“A lot of practice?” Blake calls after her, takes a step towards her (doesn’t notice).

“Too much, I think.” Her laugh carries, blonde curls whip in the wind as she walks off. “So try to have mercy on me this time.”

Afterwards, she smells of daffodils (of dark green leaves, of a meadow that stretches on and on and on, of mint and hay and dirt and weeds and the whole of spring), as though it’s coming from her pores rather than the flower she places in a small glass on her nightstand. The scent persists through showers and nights out and all the smells that come with living in a coed freshman dorm. It lasts for days (or eons) and stretches back in time, too; she finds it tucked away in memories where it has no place, couldn’t possibly exist.

(She’s five and her mom takes her to pick blueberries, she’s fourteen on a field trip to the botanical gardens, she’s seventeen and trying to find a perfume that suits her, she’s nineteen and stepping out of her late night Byzantine history seminar. And it’s there — it’s always there — just out of reach: the field over, the next flower, a slightly different perfume, a whiff on the wind that she chases across campus for ten minutes before giving up.)

(She’s older — ageless — and she doesn’t recognize herself, but it’s there too.)

The scent of flowers lingers and Blake doesn’t mind.

She also texts Yang before it can begin to fade.

—

They first meet on Helios’s Day, on the morning of the vernal equinox, under a bright and clear sky.

She watches from behind the treeline, but even from a distance, it’s obvious, the way the ground rises to greet her when the woman walks past: stalks lengthening, flowers unfolding, grass brightening into a more vibrant shade of green with each step she takes. The world is in bloom and it follows the unspoken instructions of only one creature that roams its face.

Hesitation is not a trait often associated with the gods, but the god of the underworld feels it now, unwilling to interrupt the celebration that the very Earth seemingly wishes to partake in, but desiring it all the same. She is used to the damp, dark coolness of the world below, and the sun always seems beats down with an unfamiliar and uncomfortable heat, but today it feels indomitable and irresistible.

Today, she wants to step out into the light.

Vines wrap around her as soon as she does — nothing binding or restrictive, but welcoming — a soft touch that greets her in time with the smile of the one who controls them. She does not appear surprised at the intrusion, nor displeased, but when she walks closer and white flowers — fragrant and familiar — spring up all around them, certainty sprouts as well.

“The receiver of many guests. Giver of good counsel. It’s not often we see you up here.” The tone is teasing, different from what she typically hears, and it warms her cheeks, places a shade of color there that others would not recognize. (She barely recognizes it in herself.) “What have you come to the surface for?”

She has an answer to the question, but it’s an honest one, not one she typically gives freely.

She gives it freely now.

“Sometimes, I miss being around things that are alive.”

The goddess doesn’t belittle when she responds — though her smile stays playful — like so many others would.

“I may be able to help you with that.”

The ground shifts again and one of the flowers at her feet lifts, stem lengthening to four times what would be natural, until it’s sliding between her fingers, depositing itself in her palm, releasing itself from the Earth when she lifts it to her nose and breathes deep.

“Everything dies when I go below,” she says softly, and with regret.

“Not this.”

She stares into the goddess’s eyes (crocus, monkshood, bellflower, wisteria, lilac) and believes her words, impossible though they are.

“I’m Kore.” The name doesn’t quite suit her, though the king of the underworld had known it before now. “You should call on me whenever you want to feel something that is alive.”

“And what if I feel that always?”

Kore laughs. The whole of the clearing blooms.

“Then you should call on me always, Hades. Whenever you please.”

—

There’s no need for any pretense. No desire for it, besides.

They graduate from text to voice quickly — within the span of a week — and when Blake calls, Yang answers on the first ring. When Blake asks if she wants to hang out, Yang rattles off seven different options without pause.

(“I’ve been thinking about what we should do together since we first met,” Yang says, not really an admission, not when the truth is so easily accessible.

“That was four days ago,” Blake feels she has to add, but Yang just laughs.)

Yang — without flowers blocking her face — is more beautiful than anything Blake’s ever seen. It’s more than the sharp cut of her jaw or the muscles of her forearm or the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles; Yang is attractive and anyone would agree, but it’s more than that. (Something curls in Blake’s stomach and settles in place at the sight, roots growing quick and deep.) And maybe it’s more for Yang too, because her expression — when Blake steps into view, climbing up over the crest of the hill that marks the start of the far field — holds more than Blake can measure.

College is strange, and the relationships formed within it, stranger still. She’d met Sun at a freshmen karaoke mixer that she’d been dragged to by her roommate, and in the span of a few hours, they’d gone through every stage of a relationship imaginable: strangers (the awkward first meet), rivals (when he and Ilia had picked the same song and Blake had been dragged along in solidarity), possible partners (when mixer had become unofficial and the alcohol had come out), and (finally) best friends (when the awkward flirtation and intoxication was behind them).

But this — Yang taking her hand and leading her towards the greenhouse — is different, and that must be apparent to both of them, because Yang hardly looks surprised when Blake doesn’t step away, even once they’re inside.

“Why botany?” Blake asks, tone softer than the question merits.

Yang’s lips curl and Blake gets caught on the corner like it’s a hook; she wants to press her fingers against the indent, and then do the same with her mouth.

“I like making things grow. Wherever I go.” Her smile is unabashed, even when she continues. “Cheesy, I know. But I like making things come alive.”

(Blake thinks of vines growing in places they shouldn’t be able to, thinks of flowers sprouting from the cracks in pavement, thinks of the roots of trees spilling out over and digging into rock. She thinks — most of all — of Yang’s hands on all of them and on her as well, a different sort of challenge that Yang never took as such.)

“It’s not cheesy it’s — “ As she searches for the word, Yang’s gaze does something similar with the planes of her face (searching, though Blake doesn’t think she finds what she’s looking for, and finds herself coming up similarly short). “ — sincere? Earnest?” She shakes her head; neither are quite right. “Whatever it is, the world needs more of it.”

The honesty doesn’t sound as sweet coming from her lips, but Yang doesn’t appear to mind. She smiles again, wider this time, and the plants around them pulse with a soft sigh, a tangible exhale of oxygen. And when Yang walks along the rows -- running her fingers gently along the leaves and petals and stalks -- when she speaks each of their names, Blake could swear the vegetation leans into her touch.

The thought is less strange when coupled with her own: that she wants to do much of the same.

She searches for patience, then.

She’s had practice with it too.

(She used to have more of it.)

—

She doesn’t last long.

But then, how could she?

Only a week later, one of Yang’s friends throws a back-to-school party and Blake gets pulled along, as seems to be the new trend.

(“It’s weird,” Yang says, much in the same way she always does, with a grin lighting her face. “She’s normally a lot more particular about her guest list.”)

There’s alcohol waiting for them as soon as they walk in, and they each throw back a shot before moving any further, though the (surprisingly) fancy cocktail Blake picks up shortly after is one that she nurses for the rest of the night, at least until her hands find better uses.

Yang’s hands find them more quickly than Blake’s; she’s tactile and gregarious and fun and she touches people as she greets them, throughout conversations, when she says goodbye. But she touches Blake most of all: her hand on the small of her back, her fingers threading through the hair that rests at the nape of her neck, her chin resting on Blake’s shoulder.

It builds and builds and there’s not enough time and so Blake reaches down, tugs on Yang’s hand and pulls her outside. It feels like the only place they can be — tucked into the corner of the balcony of Yang’s friend’s lavish apartment with the night sky overhead — when she kisses her.

There’s no surprise in the action, but there’s plenty of everything else.

(Blake considers all the Greek words for affection, for feeling, for lust, for every form of love known to the poets, and disregards them all.)

Her lipstick is dark, and it’s smeared over Yang’s mouth when she pulls back (later — that night and in the upcoming weeks and months and years — she’ll find it in other places: Yang’s neck, her thighs, her sheets). The stains Yang leaves is of a different sort, but Blake first notices it in the taste left on her lips. She runs her tongue along it, brow pinching in thought, and Yang laughs as she watches her try to figure it out.

“Pomegranate,” she explains. “It’s the lip balm.”

Blake can’t see how that accounts for all of it and kisses her again, just to be sure.

—

The first time they kiss, the world springs into revelry.

The humans flourish under the bountiful harvest; their yields triple, they write songs about the season, they throw feasts without excuse, and each of the gods benefit from an upsurge of tributes, from the smallest villages to the largest city-states.

She hardly notices.

Instead, she focuses on memorizing the way Kore tastes.

—

She meets a boy in her Ancient Greek Lit class, finds his translation of the first line of the Odyssey to be interesting. The word polytropos, he argues, should be taken as an active description; Odysseus is not controlled but in control of his fate. ‘Sing to me, Muse, of a compelling man; sing through me the story of a man who could shape the world around him’, the boy writes, and Blake gets caught on the intensity in his expression as he reads it, is taken by his confidence and passion (forgets to argue against the lengthiness and the clear liberties he takes).

He greets her after class, suggests they study together sometime, and that’s what Yang finds them doing a couple days later, tucked away in a corner of the library, pouring over words translated a thousand times, Adam finding a way to disagree with every previous version of them. Yang slides into the conversation and the seat next to Blake without needing to be invited, her warm smile at ease even when Adam switches to Greek, speaks fast and condescending.

“Well I don’t know anything about any of that,” Yang says easily. “But Blake told me that myths were supposed to be enjoyed by everyone, right? That they were passed on from generation to generation, like bedtime songs or campfire stories. Seems like getting all wordy and pretentious doesn’t really fit that idea, right?” She smiles, and Blake’s gaze shifts towards it, away from the clear ire in Adam’s eyes. “I’d go with Blake’s version.”

In the hour they’d been at the table, Blake hadn’t offered her own translation (hadn’t been asked), but it’s scribbled there, within the margins of the pages of printed out Greek, and Yang’s fingers brush against the pen strokes as she leans in, their shoulders brushing against each other.

“Tell me about a complicated man,” Blake reads, voice soft.

“Yeah.” Yang nods and completely ignores Adam’s glare. Blake finds doing the same to be easy, his magnetism fading away, swept aside by stronger forces. “Sometimes you’ve got to admit that something like that can’t be totally summed up in a word or even in a sentence. There’s something kind of beautiful about that too — I think — admitting the complexity in such a simple way.”

“I… think so too.”

Adam doesn’t last for much longer, quickly tiring of not being the center of attention. He slams his books shut and shoves his chair out with force when he stands and Blake can’t remember what it was about him that appealed to her in the first place.

“I don’t like him,” Yang says after he leaves, a simple declaration as she steals a sip from Blake’s water bottle.

Blake blinks. Considers. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ll be studying with him again.”

And she doesn’t.

(It’s not normally that easy, she thinks, later on, and isn’t sure what she means by that at all.)

—

The humans tell tales about them, before their story is finished.

Time is odd like that when you are immortal and infinite. Beginnings and ends and middles get jumbled in a way that they never do for those who have a life to live in a linear manner.

It starts small: maidens whispering to each other, children making up rhymes, mothers telling stories to put their daughters to sleep. There’s a soft reverence in these traditions, and though she does not catalog the words they use, she picks up on the meaning. It settles in her chest — the warmth of it — different from the sort that presses at her heart when Kore is near, but significant in a distinct way.

The tales change over time, warped by the teller and the listener alike, move further from the truth. But the humans could hardly know of the color of Kore’s hair, the tone of her skin, the color of her eyes, and what did it matter when the genders were confused or the courtship was pressed into a single day? The meaning persisted, the good intentions enough to sate the both of them.

The stories lengthen, turn into poems, turn into songs, turn into performances, turn into epics. And one day Hermes tells them — amusement in his voice — that they have started to record them, to actually write them down.

But they carry on, much in the same way.

What harm could human words -- written or no -- have on the lives of the gods?

#rwby #bumbleby #writing #this fic would be such a huge undertaking but here's a disjointed start just for you #Greek Gods AU #kinda #hfkjsadhfhalsd #gay egotistical bitches #Blake's translation of Homer is from Emily Wilson who we love and respect and admire in this house

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house-of-tykayl · 4 years

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cystar tho (headcanons)

imagine

cyborg and starfire are the cuddliest couple ever. the PDA is incredible. star will perch on his shoulders like he’s a climbing post/bird perch and generally just drape herself all over him bc he’s got a lot of surface area and she wants comfy. and cy will just grab her out of midair for huggles before letting her float away again like a balloon headed straight for the atmosphere. star will float higher when she wants to look over his shoulder at something (bc hes the only titan taller than her) and sometimes cy will just reach up and touch her waist and lead her around in the air like that while they chat

the other titans support them, but are simultaneously disgusted by the excessive amount of PDA. cy sometimes milks star’s affection to troll everyone, especially at the breakfast table. “hey star i havent had my morning kiss today” “oh apologies” “do that long tongue thingy again babe” “if you two dont let me eat my waffles in peace for just ONE morning i will open a portal to the seventh circle of hell and chuck the both of you inside”

star is living for the unabashed affection bc cyborg has no qualms about being proud boyfriend in public. like he’ll wrap an arm around her and go “hey star’s my girlfriend :)” and the grocery store clerk’s like “we know, that’ll be $15.99″ and star’s just beaming, holding the plastic bags full of snacks and unorthodox food combinations

if cy’s generous with the lovin wait till you see star lmao. “you are looking most beautiful today!” she keeps saying shit literally no one else will say, either (possibly) coz of the robot thing or just coz starfire’s being starfire, and cyborg’s just like *clutches_chest.jpeg* because she a lil weirdo but she makes him feel normal and appreciated and that he’s great the way he is, that he’s desired even if a lot of him isn’t organic anymore. like yes!! my boyfriend is comprised of 80% robotic parts!! he is extremely strong and the “cool”!!! is he not absolutely wonderful???

ok but starfire can almost never get enough touching, and cyborg’s just like aight *picks her up and carries her around on his arm for an hour* and she’ll just be giddy the entire time

more under the cut

star doesnt have a lot of preconceived notions of what a normal human relationship is, outside of things she sees on TV and robin’s incomprehensible push-pulling over the years. so she doesn’t care one bit about the fact that she’s cuddling a robot. she’d figured starting a relationship with anyone on earth would be something different for her regardless– so a lot of the things cyborg used to think a partner would find problems with, end up not happening because man, this alien chick. “may i lay together with you in your bed?” “girl are you saying you wanna sleep while standing up?? on my charging port???? surrounded by 3478012 cables and wires?????” “is there no room? then may i sleep on the floor?” she just wants to be with him

heck more bed shenanigans would involve like, cyborg awkwardly trying to lie down on star’s bed, and it feels weird coz he hasn’t slept in a real bed for years and while it feels nice he’s kinda sinking into the mattress and he’s self-conscious about leaving a dent in the frame?? or like rolling over at night and squashing star which would be awkward coz he’s more than a little heavy?? then star hops in and cuddles close and is all like shhhhhhhhh slep time

silkie is usually very happy about cyborg’s presence in star’s room, if only because he can gnaw on cy’s legs while they sleep. cy begins to think it’s also revenge since there’s a lot less space on the bed with himself in it, and silkie struggles to find room near starfire to sleep at night. they eventually just get a bigger bed. silkie is a lot less stressed– but cyborg still wakes up with chew marks in his legs

if either of them are too tired from a battle that day, the other will carry them to bed. BB laughed his ass off the first time he saw starfire princess carrying cy to his room (star’s perfectly capable of carrying his weight but her arms aren’t necessarily long enough to hold onto him properly, making it a little cumbersome and awkward), but cy just tiredly gives B the finger

cy will talk to star in awkward broken tamaranian and she’ll get all giggly. everyone else assumes it’s cute flirting, but he’s actually whispering dirty, raunchy shit. that she taught him. and she continues to teach him tamaranian, occasionally dropping new words while otherwise speaking english, and waiting for him to ask about what they mean.

cy will sometimes smack star’s ass and then run for his life before she can return the favor, because he always ends up with an overly-enthusiastic handprint-shaped dent in his ass. it’s a terrifying game of tag. BB will chase them chasing each other with a camera to add to his album of “cyborg’s dented ass” photos that he shares with the whole titans network

cy teaches star about the niches in earth/american culture, the kinds of things that are a little harder to learn about on your own, or things she otherwise wouldn’t have had a reason to learn. he tells her about old american tv shows and explains obscure slang words and how to make telemarketers hang up first and what the contra code is and why he mashes it in every time he boots up a new video game. it’s a crash course mix of useless trivia and miscellaneous culture that makes star’s head spin– but she’s excited about learning all the same, the power of just knowing more makes her feel more comfortable on a planet where she is always a foreigner

it’s kinda why star adores all the different nicknames cy has for her like “fly girl” “baby doll” etc because it makes her feel “in” coz she gets all these cool nicks of names like other earth people!! she fits in!!!! and he’ll say it so fondly it makes her blush half the time. cy definitely notices and thinks its super cute at how excited she gets over pet names. she tries to nickname him back at one point but it felt awkward and she struggled to come up with them, and cy reassured her that he liked her saying out his name anyway, its cool. just be yourself babey

cy loves teaching star things in general, he’s patient and she’s always an eager student. he once took a few hours showing her how to play video games and while she didn’t really take to it, she did learn how to not break the controller whenever her virtual car’s about to crash into the divider (she still shrieks when it happens though)

initially, star is a bit nervous about touching some of cyborg’s robot parts like the implants and consoles coz she’s not sure how to deal with them? alien tech is one thing and earth tech is another, and then there’s the advanced shit that made up cyborg’s body and literally keeps him alive. she’s petrified at the thought of accidentally breaking something like what if she presses the button that turns off his lungs???????? and cy is like why the fuck would i have a button to turn off my lungs?? so one day cy just sits her down so she’s leaning back against his chest, and he looks over her shoulder as he shows her how to navigate his arm console. press this button and choose this option, no the screen wont break even if you press hard, dont use the browser to download malware on my arm like BB did, etc. the ui’s pretty intuitive and star gets it pretty quickly, then she gets all excited. cy teaches her about all the maintenance he does on his body and how his charger works and all that shit and she like oooooo

“if the t-car is your baby, does this mean i am its mother? cyborg does she like me enough? should i assist in changing her oil? *panicking* WILL SHE ACCEPT ME AS HER ADOPTED K’NORFKA?!”

(the t-car is a sassy one, easily jealous and protective– but ultimately, she does approve of starfire, if only just barely)

they spend a lot of time in the garage together. whether cy’s fussing with the t-car or putting together a new gadget, star’s a helpful assistant when it comes to welding or heavy lifting. and while she doesn’t necessarily get programming, she still helps cy with all the calculations and math involved in it; the concept of physics as she has encountered on earth is primitive compared to tamaran, and cy will often challenge her to crack a tough equation before his computer can. while the computer usually gets a result first, star will just explain that its answer was wrong in the large scheme of things, before she starts going in depth into that nerdy science shit to find a more effective way to wire whatever project they’re working on and cy’s just like ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ heart eyes ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ at how smart she is

they fucking love food. while all the titans are hanging out in the common room, star and cy spend an inordinate amount of time in the kitchen. star will literally eat anything, at any time, and cy would go like “yo star want a sub??” and shes like “YES I WOULD LOVE THE EDIBLE SUBMARINES” and they go make the tallest sub ever and then Eat it

they just cook together a lot, one of them being head chef for the hour and the other being the kitchen assistant. cy’s usually in the lead when they’re making food for the other titans (to prevent food poisoning), and star is happy to learn new recipes that aren’t lethal to her friends– that, and licking all the mixing bowls clean. cy purposely gets sauce etc on his face so that star will see and lick it off too. then star will very unsubtly smear food on her face so that cy will wipe it off with his finger and then things get handsy. (they’re both aware it’s a game, but they pretend like they don’t.)

cy gets them matching aprons and a tiny chef hat for star. she asks him why it’s so tiny or even necessary but he just thinks its cute af on her lol

it helps cy’s ego when star will also eat literally anything he puts in front of her while enjoying it unironically. of course, cy quickly learns that starfire’s favorite “earth” foods are things that most people wouldn’t consider food at all, so while he’ll prepare Real Food for himself, he had to start a new custom cookbook for the random combinations of ingredients that starfire likes to ingest. he’s torn between feeling like his chef skills go to waste on her, or being proud at how good he’s become at figuring out the kinds of food combos she likes based on the flavors and consistencies she’s inclined to. but ultimately she’s just so cute and happy when she smiles at the taste of m&ms on raw steak that cyborg’s just like ahh. fine.

cyborg: *sighs while writing* “edamame in a cherry-chocolate reduction: get a handful of fresh edamame, washing is optional, pour hershey’s chocolate sauce all over it, add cherries but don’t remove the pits or the stems, sprinkle in some drops of 7up, then cover that shit in mustard. stick it all in the microwave for 1 minute, doesn’t really matter what temperature? prep time: 3 and a half minutes. the fuck did i just write”

star: *wolfs down that edamame shit like its the best goddamn thing ever*

raven:

meanwhile, while cy can’t stomach star’s tamaranean food, he does go out of his way to learn how to prepare the stuff himself, for whenever star’s sick or feeling down. the nostalgic taste of home tends to help her feel better. the bowls of wustlepus might keep trying to strangle him, but hey, cy can handle it

cy used to think we was master of stuffing his face, but he quickly found out that you do not challenge an alien with 9 stomachs to an eating competition and expect to win. it’s still fun, of course, to pick a restaurant and watch her slowly but surely put away food with a grace that cy doesn’t (care to) have. robin and BB cheer will them on, raven is disgusted but plays referee anyway (even though it’s not like the result ever changes)

“are the table manners required for today’s duel of excessive food consumption?” star will ask cy innocently, but she’d be smiling a lil smugly because she knows she’s gonna win like always

(at some point, the restaurant manager will start eyeing them nervously from the doorway of the staff room, unsure about whether to ask the titans to leave before they run the kitchen dry, or to take advantage of the publicity.)

cy and star are a couple that isn’t inclined to subtle about anything. that means smooching all the time. mwah noises. flirting. glomps. yelling at shit together for fun– cy just expresses himself loudly, while shouting at each other is a form of affection on tamaran. they’ll sometimes wrestle, sometimes arm wrestling and sometimes all out full-body on the floor (actual wrestling tho, not a innuendo; star usually wins). they keep denting walls and furniture with their messing around and the other titans are like /(e_e)\ *passing out earplugs* and at some point robin is like guys… just… keep it in your rooms please

but being loud isn’t exclusive to daytime. nobody fucking knows how the hell an alien and a robot get it on, but based on all the god damn noise at night, they’ve apparently figured something out. maybe more than one something. it is a mystery

“hey, star… ever heard of a vibrator?”

most of their making out happens in the gym tho, let’s be real. they’ve been checking each other out for years in there. now they just get frisky after (or during, or before) a workout, culminating in yet another “workout”. they never lock the door, and after enough incidents the other titans just end up boycotting the gym entirely in lieu of the other training room

with the added privacy, star opts to work out in the gym without a top on. or a bra. then she heads for the treadmill

“you never wear clothing, cyborg, so why should i?”

cyborg keeps dropping his weights on himself and just ends up covered in dents, two mangled prosthetic legs, and having done no training at all

they’re such a peppy excited pair that sometimes things can get a bit too wild. there’s a pile in the back of cy’s room made up solely of dented/crushed/melted/ripped arm and leg prosthetics, all damaged because cy was busy pampering his superpowered alien gf a lil too much. starfire feels super bad but cy is like, he has to fix his limbs after a lot of battles anyway, it’s no big deal. he also hasn’t bothered to suggest a workaround yet because watching her lose control is hot (and maybe getting his hand melted is kinda kinky)

they sometimes troll the other titans– usually robin– by whispering in tamaranian behind them and snickering, pretending like they’re talking about them. robin used to be extra miffed by this, but after learning that cy’s tamaranian is actually still shit enough that he has yet to learn to string together a proper sentence longer than 3 words, robin knows they’re just fucking around with him. at one point robin turns around on the couch and throws some tamaranian right back at them and cyborg’s like :O what the fuck? what the fuck?? and star’s like yeah actually robin asked me to teach him tamaranian too. and robin’s like :) and cy is grumpy he can’t antagonize him with it anymore (and that it’s not exclusively his and star’s code language anymore, but really, you can’t own a language like that)

star likes to cart cy around while flying, but he’s just so bulky that he doesnt look all graceful and shit like robin; he just looks kinda goofy dangling in the air with her holding him under the arms. but even if he felt a little self-conscious, he forgets it quickly when she lets him skim the ocean with his feet or take him up over the clouds– he’d thought he lost everything with the accident that left him a robot, but getting to fly like this is something he never could’ve even dreamed of even when he was all human. like. this must be what it actually means to be living. everything happens for a reason

cy gets a UV lamp installed in his body just in case they get stuck somewhere and there’s no sunlight for star, he can’t replace the sun but it might help

he also turns his heaters up a bit when they’re cuddling coz he knows she likes warmth, as long as he’s not running the risk of overheating his system, but his metal parts can be cold to the touch and while she doesnt mind it at all he just wants her to be cozy….

cy’s like the only titan taller than star, so she usually floats to be eye level with him. he big and bulky and strong and he reminds her of galfore, and that’s part of why she always felt protected and safe around him. not to mention star’s been getting taller than most earth people her age; she sometimes feels like a tall poppy, sticking out of the crowd too much. so she lowkey enjoys being smol for once compared to cyborg, especially if she ever feels like hiding behind him, or being carried by him, the comfort of a sort of bodyguard that she doesn’t necessarily need but is there if she wants

i keep bringing this up but star sitting on cyborg’s shoulders/arms like. the result is this tall stack of a couple that towers over all the other titans– then like everyone will be chilling on the couch when they hear making out noises from above and they look up and its just star floating around cyborg’s head as they smooch and everyone’s like -_-

all the meme fun aside, they’re always able to confide in each other whenever they’re upset. they’ll sit together in silence and just lean on each other or hug and wait for someone to spill. if (when) it comes down to “will i ever fit in?”, because that kinda worry never completely goes away, they’ll be reassured that they know the few places they’ll always be accepted– and that’s in the titans, or in the unconventional relationship between a half robot and an alien nuclear bomb

star likes being around cy coz he’s so sturdy, in more ways than one– he’s strong enough to tank stuff so it’s safer to roughhouse with him. she loves being able to give the biggest of hugs without worrying too much about crushing a ribcage (earthlings and their Fragile Little Bones!)

cy loves how small star is compared to him bc shes fun to pick up or pluck from the air and cuddle ♥ and she’s so warm, just radiating heat both literally and metaphorically and she’s so full of life and heart, and cy’s once again reminded of what it really means to be human– by a goddamn alien, no less

they like to touch each other’s faces, just caressing n stuff like they do in “how long is forever” and the teen titans go comic #24, staring into each others eyes and shit and going all (uwu) they just love to touch each other okay even back when they were just friends!!!!!!!

HAVE I MENTIONED THE SMOOCHES. star will just kiss cy all over his face because its fun and she knows he likes it. then cy returns the favor, except with increasingly exaggerated kissing and nomming noises because it makes star laugh and blush like crazy. it’s horribly embarrassing for anyone else watching. star & cy are usually standing in the middle of the corridor by this point, and then robin was gonna head to his office, but once he sees the path is blocked– by this no less– just returns the way he came without a word

if anyone tries to make star feel uncomfortable for being alien or misunderstanding something, which does still happen sometimes, they’ll quickly find out they’ve got the goddamn terminator comin for their ass. or they’ll turn around and see 6 foot tall robot man with arms crossed and red eye glowing and he’ll be like (: hey there (:

star keeps leaving the garage with motor oil all over her face. none of the other titans knows how to address it, or if they even should, so they don’t

anyway theyre in love

#:)#text #cystar #im weak #yes i referenced teen titans go because ttg actually has the wholesome cystar content can you believe this. episodes just about them #and theyre really cute #fight me irl #might edit this later its a mess #long post

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years

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Day 3: Delirium/Fever

(Day 3 of @whumptober2019 prompts: Delirium/Fever… this one kind of works for both!)

He’s been scrubbing the floor for four hours but the bloodstains won’t go away. He’s been scrubbing the floor for days but it’s never good enough and the blood won’t go the fuck away.

It’s in the floor, it’s on his hands, it’s pounding in his veins and behind his eyes and he’s got a pretty bad concussion probably, maybe? Nathan thinks he’s running a fever, but Nathan and Abraham went to bed (Abraham ordered Nathan to go to bed, and at least he gets to stay out here in the living room on the little plastic mat, at least there’s that) and left him here to clean, and he can’t focus over the sound of the chain attached to his ankle rattling every time he moves.

He keeps cursing, and Abraham says animals don’t curse, and kicks him again mostly in the head and he’s going to die if his headache gets any worse, he really will.

There’s a hook in the wall that the chain fastens onto, and he can reach the bathroom and most of the living room, and that is the whole world right now, the living room and the bathroom, and why doesn’t anyone ever keep knives in the living room when a kidnapping victim just really needs an easy way to stab someone?

The blood won’t come out.

When they came to this place, a place Abraham said he’d found on Google Maps and decided was perfect, just perfect, there had been someone already living here. Well, that’s inconvenient, Daniel had heard Abraham say, muffled through the divider that cut the trunk off from the rest of the car. He’s not supposed to show back up here for three months.

W-w-wwhat are you g-going to d-d-do, Bram?

I’m going to fucking kill him, what do you think I’m going to do? Stay here, baby.

Nathan is murmuring reassurances to him and none of them mean anything, but no he’s not, not really, because Nathan and that fucking bastard are in the bedroom (sleeping? He hopes they’re sleeping but Abraham keeps saying it took me so long to find you, baby, you can’t expect me to wait any longer - it’s you or we get your little boyfriend to show me what you liked so much about him) and Daniel has a thin plastic mat on the floor next to the couch because beds are for people and the blood won’t come out.

He should have shot that fucker right between the eyes, he should have, but he didn’t and now he’s just trying to stay alive long enough to figure out what happens next. His skin feels like ice, his teeth chatter as he works hard on the floor, but there’s fire underneath the ice and he stares down at the pooling blood. He’s been scrubbing for days, days and days, and it won’t. come. out.

All the pretty words they say, Nate and Abraham, are shattered glass shards stabbing, stabbing into his brain, stabbing like Abraham stabbed the man in the cabin and left him to bleed on the floor while he beat the shit out of Daniel some more, some more, more more more more more-

You’ll be good for me, won’t you, pretty? Open that mouth up. If you want it to stop, beg for more.

What the fuck, you son of a bitch-

Bad language, little Red. Oooh, I like that name. That’s a good name for a pet, don’t you think, baby?

Bram, y-y-y-you can’t, you h-h-have to let him guh-g…g-g-go!

I don’t have to do shit, baby. Don’t worry, you’ll get to have your fun with him, too, just not until he’s learned a few things.

Bram, p-p-please don’t-

You beg better in the bedroom than out of it, Nate. Go take a fucking shower. This fucker keeps giving me dirty looks and I’m going to teach him to be a good little dog for once.

He probably had like six concussions by now. Do concussions stack like dominoes? He tries to think of concussions, of bruised brains jostling around inside skulls, stacked up one after another, jiggling gray matter. How many concussions to reach the moon? He thinks, and snort-laughs at the idea of a line of skulls going up into the atmosphere, but that makes his head hurt again and he can’t stop scrubbing until the blood is out.

He has to stop and curl over himself, press his forehead to the floor, and wait for the bile to go back down his throat. The world spins around him, round it goes and where it stops nobody knows.

Daniel had been unconscious again when they got here. By the time Abraham yanked a mumbling, spitting, furious Daniel out of the trunk and threw him onto his injured side in the dirt, the man who had lived here before was already lying dead in his own living room, a documentary about prairie dogs still playing on the TV.

Nate, his head down and his eyes on the ground, had helped Daniel stand up, and they’d stood there as Abraham cut the rope that tied his ankles together.

“You h-have to l-l-let him g-go,” Nathan had been the first to speak, with a slight pleading whine to his voice Daniel had never heard him use before.

“I don’t have to do shit, baby,” Abraham said with a laugh, a sweet, almost seductive little chuckle that pierced through the fog of pain in Daniel’s mind and made his heart clench up with fear. “I get that we had some problems, before-” “You k-k-kidnapped me! We d-d-d-didn’t date, you kept me l-l-locked up!” “Right, that. So I agree that I did some rash things when I thought you were going to turn me down. We got past that, ‘til you got all mad about it again. But that’s okay, sweetheart, I forgive you for leaving. But I can’t forgive you for cheating on me, and with this little shit at that.” “He d-d-didn’t do anything wrong, Bram, he’s j-j-juh… just my friend.” Nate was nearly begging again.

Abraham had grabbed Daniel by the hair, jerking his head back upright, and Daniel groaned at the spike of agony through his skull as he tried to force his eyes open. “Is that right?” Abraham asked, in a very soft voice. “Were you two just friends? No cheating?”

Daniel squinted at the blurry clear eyes and spat old, brownish blood right in his pretty face. “Fuck yourself with a rusty knife, asshole,” He slurred out around a busted lip.

Honestly, the punch to the face (and the resulting black eye) had been almost worth it.

He was gone for a while again after that, and when he came to he had a metal shackle on his left ankle and a chain that ran to a ring in the wall and his world was now the living room and bathroom of a cabin in the woods. He’d spent his whole life in the city - Daniel had never even been to ‘the woods’ before.

What woods was he even in?

He could ask Nate, but Nate was jumpy and frightened and meek and silent now. The Nate he’d gotten to know - had been friends with, and sort of more than friends - had been the nervous type, sure… everyone knew he had a bad ex… but he’d also been sweet and sarcastic and kind of quick-witted.

All of that seemed to be totally overwritten suddenly. Like there’d been two Nates, the one he knew and the one with this Abraham asshole, and Nate had just… left his skin behind when Abraham showed up and gone right back to something else entirely. He’d known Nate’s ex was violent, but Daniel had never realized there had been more to it than the usual abusive stalking bullshit.

Nate had never mentioned that he’d been abducted before.

The rattle of the chain along the floor sounds like bells inside his mind, ringing churchbells but he’s standing right under them, like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells of Notre Daaaaaaame…

Daniel wants to laugh, there’s a bubble of something like hysteria caught in his throat, but he doesn’t dare. Laughter would ring the bells even louder, the rich and the ritual knells…

Instead he hunches over and keeps scrubbing at the floor, dimly aware that he is pouring sweat that chills his frozen skin even further. He just, he can’t stop scrubbing until all the blood it out.

Nate said yesterday the blood was gone, but Daniel can still see it.

The blood won’t come out. It won’t come out. His head pounds and he hasn’t kept any food down since they came here, it all comes back up with the dizzy spells and the headaches.

Until the fever is gone, all Daniel Michaelson thinks about is the bloodstain in the middle of the floor (the one Nate and Abraham swear they can’t see) and he scrubs and he scrubs and his hands start to bleed, but at least that feels like something other than hot or cold and he rattles his chain and listens to the bells of Notre Dame.

When Abraham comes out to check on him the next day, he’s finally given up, lying on his mat, with bright red cheeks and clammy skin, twitching a little under the single thin blanket he’s been given.

He doesn’t know what they say. He hears Nathan talking, and Abraham’s lower, deeper voice, and the sound of an argument and then the sound of Abraham hitting Nathan that makes him curl up tighter, pulling blanket over his head to try and drown out the incomprehensibly loud noise.

They leave him there on the mat, and so much of him hurts but their voices sound too much like the bells of Notre Dame.

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scarletta-ec · 4 years

Text

Ophiuchus

He's gazing up above again. He does that a lot these days.

Deep inside, far away, something pulls or draws him in one way. It's like he's on the verge of remembering something.

But he's never forgotten anything. He may have brain damage, but his memory is fine. He is merely faint. His left pupil is blown. But that's fine, he couldn't see out of it anyways.

There are days where he needs a bucket for his nausea. The household has its servants for that, but occasionally he had to crawl out of his bed to get it himself. The entire room spins if he tries to hold himself high, and his head throbs if he bends over.

“Father, when you look up like that, what is it you are searching for?” Little Aile asks.

Yes, indeed, it has been many years and she's not a little girl anymore, he knows this. However, she's still rather tiny, and usually bedridden herself. What's she doing so far across Marlon?

His gaze breaks as he blinks at her.

“Nothing, of course. Maybe we should put a painting up there since I'm staring at it so often.” he airily chuckles.

She huffs as well. Her sister slides past through the door to clean his bedtable.

“Aile, you didn't have to come all this way. Our birthdays were last week. This cold air isn't good for your lungs.” she says.

“I did try to stay home, but I couldn't let the year pass without seeing you a— seeing you.”

Nervous smirks all around. Her mother was nowhere to be found, and her birthday was last week, too.

He knows this as well, but he also knows a secret. It wasn't his birthday last week, as his daughters so believe. He didn't know when it was. His wife said he could share hers, due to his lack of proper documentation. But that was part of another secret. It wasn't a lack of documentation due to poverty.

He was remembering things he couldn't know. Such things that you leave behind in childhood, like the name laser-engraved on his crib.

... what is a laser?

His nursery was cold and dark. It was poorly supervised, too. He was allowed to walk out. So he did and never went back. He could no longer tell if he knew this before or only just now.

“...er... ather... Father? Have you gone from us so soon?”

He was gazing up above again.

His bedtable was clean now, and he gazed up at his sweet eldest daughter giving off a light smile. He gently smiles back and tilts his head.

“Help me to my desk, Yukina.”

Aile stood back she did so, hands carefully held outward in case they faltered. Brought to his office chair safely, he masked his pounding head with a grin and a thanks.

“Shaw's not in the house, is he?”

He pulls out a pen from the container on the desk and begins testing its flow.

“No, he's all the way over in Elphegort again. You just missed him.”

He does a few random swirls until the carved valleys in the paper turned the proper black.

“What will he bring back this time, I wonder?”

“More Yatski wine, undoubtedly. The cabinet's getting full of it. I really would like some clothes from there again. The style is so quaint.”

He begins making tornado shaped scribbles.

“He knows I can't drink. I hope he picks up some of Miss Clarith's baking for me instead. Is he by her church?”

“Probably not, he's supposed to visit King Thorny for trade deals.”

The pressure on the pen dials up, as he begins to hunch over the desk.

“Wow… Shaw's really taking this firm up there, hm?”

“I hardly understand even half of what's on his papers about it. It's hard work, but he insists Evillious can establish nationwide, mutually lucrative trade through our family.”

“Bold statements about a continent that just tore itself apart for a few decades straight…”

The paper rips from him grinding the pen tip all the way into the varnish of the desk.

He's shaking with rage, and the women can't quite pick up on the sound of his teeth grinding.

“That damn boy… he thinks he can glue this mistake together? We're meant to tear this godforsaken farce down…” he hisses through his clenched teeth.

“Dad…?” Yukina says, placing a hand onto his shoulder. This has an effect on him, as all tension instantly evaporates.

He looks back with the exact same smile he gave to mask his pain.

“Dear, do you think you could get me some aspirin?”

She wordlessly nods with a relieved sigh and Aile trails behind.

Of the things he knows, whatever that just was, isn't really one of them. He was merely gazing at the paper, testing his pen as his daughters idly chatted.

It's getting harder and harder to keep himself lucid. It's not the correct word, but he feels as though he's losing something… no, it's like something is changing.

He's mad because he is bedridden. Yes, surely this is why… The world has dealt him a bad hand in the prime of his life, and he's bitter. This he knows, and he knows he shouldn't be. Shaw is accelerating the Freezises up the social ladder. As they speak, he is cozying up with a foreign king. The savvy businessman that is Keel Freezis is proud of him.

But in the pit of his stomach, something makes him lurch forward with… disgust. An unprecedented rage and discomfort. Surely… he needs to be wheeled outside for a bit, when the air isn't so cold. Being cooped up like this… isn't good… he knows.

But there are other things he knows.

Pristine white halls, floors, and fuzzy black windows attached to paperless typewriters, through which letters spill and scroll past.

They're not windows, they're screens. What is a screen, though?

Pure white linens and pillows upon bunk beds in eighteen rooms, and not a single space meant for him. So he slept in someone else's bed, and then in the cold cradle below deck. What is this place? This is not the crib he emerged from— nor is it the dark place from which he escaped. Similar, but not exact.

There is more he knows.

His mother is dead. He never met her, never saw her, as a child nor as an adult. But he definitely killed her himself.

Keel didn't want to remember anything else. Details about his life that were wrong and fake were the worst. But the most perplexing was…

He blinks hard, breathing deeply. Were his eyes shut the whole time? Surely not, for the paper before him had… schematics scrawled onto it in an unfamiliar handwriting, surrounded by equations he couldn't possibly have the answer to without an abacus. He didn't understand what his own hands had made right in front of his eyes. He grits his teeth.

“It happened again…”

Most perplexing, and what frightened him due the incomprehension of it all, were these alien images spawned from his hand and mind when he let them loose.

Feeling as though the blood in his veins had become lead, he swiped the paper off the desk, mangled it between his hands and crammed it into the nearby rubbish bin, full with other scrapped schematics and diagrams.

Whatever knew these things, it wanted to share it with him. Wanted to share it with others.

This was getting out of hand. It may result in him collapsing on his way to a hearth, but by Held, he will dispose of these unholy scripts by himself. No one else should lay their eyes on these.

A cold grip shot through his nightshirt, and he whipped himself around to face a startled Aile.

She sheepishly holds out the glass of water and aspirin pills.

Regaining his composure, he sighs, takes the pills, and upon her return, asks Yukina to put him to bed. Wordlessly, he lays back, eyes closed, as the girls retreat out the door.

Rubbish bin in hand, Aile stops by the fireplace to burn her father's garbage, like Yukina asked her to. Curious about the outburst he had before she made him aware of her presence, she pulled out the most recent paper, and flattened it as best she could and read it by the light of the fire.

Strangely, it was signed only “FREEZIS” at the top, and signed normally at the bottom with a name she's never seen before, in a similarly unfamiliar handwriting. Past all the technical nonsense she had no hope of deciphering, was a signature of a “Seth Twiright”.

Aile never penned her father as a creative like Yukina.

#EC #evillious chronicles #scarletta scribbles #story of evil #keel freezis #aile freezis #Yukina Freezis #seth twiright

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

And so we run (ch.8) - Traumathicc

A/N: This... took longer than I thought it would. Anyway! The disscussion over if backpacks are acceptable weapons is totally valid discourse.

”Courtney! Did you find something?”

Bianca waits for a few seconds but Courtney isn’t responding. Gia watches her all too familiar routine of automatically reaching down and grabbing the gun at her hip as she casts her a worried glance.

Just as Bianca’s about to call a second time, Courtney finally reappears. It doesn’t take long for the both of them to figure out that something’s wrong.

”Are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost or something.” Bianca tries in a softer voice that doesn’t really suit her.

Courtney stays silent for a moment. Then she takes a deep breath.

”It wasn’t anything important. Just… just a dead deer. Let’s keep moving.”

She walks past Gia and Bianca and starts powerwalking into the woods. Bianca sighs and follows her. Gia has to get into a small sprint to catch up with the both of them. She makes sure that Courtney is far away enough that she doesn’t hear them. Then she tugs at Bianca’s sleeve.

”There was a voice”

”What the fuck are you talking about?”

Gia had no idea there was such a thing as a loud whisper up until this moment. Fascinating. She rolls her eyes.

”Back with Court. I swear I could hear someone talking that wasn’t her.”

”You sure it wasn’t that deer?” Bianca snarks.

”Deer don’t sound like… like that.”

”That? How that?”

”I dunno… in… agony?”

Biancas jaw clenches. She looks at Courtney. Then Gia. Then Courtney again.

”Look, let’s just- let’s just say it was a deer, ok? And please. Never bring it up again.”

”But-”

”Please.” Bianca gives her that vulnerable look she had back at the tree again. “Don’t do it for me.”

Courtney suddenly turns around.

“What’re you two whispering about?”

She has a little too much forced optimism in her voice, and her smile is a bit too wide for someone who saw a dead “deer” five minutes ago.

“Just talking over the plans for a potential raid. Y’know, point A to point B stuff.” Bianca ensures her.

”Oh, good!” Courtney beams and turns back to the road ahead. Bianca starts biting her lip. Gia decides against pushing the subject and just looks down at her feet for the next ten minutes.

Then Bianca stops and Gia almost trips over herself trying not to bump into her.

”Do you guys see that?”

”Smoke” Courtney confirms. ”Yeah. Let’s investigate.”

They take a detour around the clearing where the trail of smoke is rising up from behind the trees. Courtney finds a large rock and they all huddle behind it, weapons drawn. Bianca, who’s positioned in the middle, perks her head up to get a better look at the situation. When she ducks back down, she has a smug look on her face which Gia knows means they just struck gold.

”There’s food, packed meals, supplies, clean water, all unattended!” Gia really needs to teach Bianca how to whisper like a proper human being. ”This is- it’s almost too easy!”

”Exactly” Courtney whispers back (at least she knows how to, Gia thinks) ”There’s a huge risk that this is actually a trap. But we still shouldn’t pass up this opportunity. We need to be careful.”

They slowly get up from behind the rock all at once and start walking towards the unattended camp in what Gia likes to call “the starfish formation.” Bianca walks forward facing the front, while Gia and Courtney walk with their backs turned to her, facing the back and sides. Gia can practically smell the food when, sure enough, a bush to her left starts to rustle. She sighs. Of course this was a fucking trap.

Bianca breaks up the starfish immediately and goes to investigate, gun in one hand and pocketknife in the other. It’s like the bush tenses up, and Gia swears she hears whispering coming from it.

What follows is basically a blur of red hair bursting from within the bush like one of those aliens in old horror movies. Bianca points her gun at the head of what appears to be an unarmed girl, safe for her backpack which she could technically swing at someone’s head if she so wished. The fact that this girl literally brought a backpack to a gunfight doesn’t really matter though, as another girl suddenly pops out from the thick vegetation and draws a bow at Bianca’s back before either Gia or Courtney can do anything.

“Drop the gun.” Her voice is calm, but tense with worry. Clearly the unarmed girl means a lot to her.

”I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you. What w-”

”I said DROP. THE. GUN.”

Well, the girl is officially pissed. Why does Bianca have to be such a cunt now of all times?

”Ivy, please.” The girl with the backpack suddenly speaks up. ”They clearly just want the food, same as us. And there’s more than enough to to around! Besides, we can hunt if we run out, maybe they can’t?”

Ivy sighs. ”You’re right. But I won’t drop my weapon until they’ve dropped theirs.”

”And why should we trust you?” Bianca snaps.

”Just drop them. Please. For your own sake.” Gia can’t help but snicker. Backpack girl is clearly more than done with Bianca’s bullshit.

Bianca groans and actually puts both her knife and gun down. Gia and Courtney follow suit. Ivy looks pleased and puts her bow on her back. Then she walks over to her friend.

”I’m Ivy. And this is my partner, Jinkx.”

Courtney, Bianca and Gia all introduce themselves. Of course, all of them already vaguely know each other from the training period, but back in that place opening up to strangers was generally frowned upon. Both by the organizers and the contestants.

Probably because you could be talking to your future murderer.

A more than awkward silence ensues before Bianca speaks up again.

”Why would you even jump out like that anyway? You’re not armed! I could’ve killed you!”

Jinkx’s face grows red with embarrassment. “We were going to try peaceful negotiation at first…”

“... And it didn’t exactly work out. Well, I’m glad we’re all still in one piece.” Ivy fills in.

“Well, that’s about the stupidest thing I’ve heard today.” Bianca mutters.

“Also, for the record, I’m not unarmed.” Jinkx reassures. “I have knives in the bag!”

“Then whY WOULDN’T YOU TAKE- you know what? Forget it. Let’s just grab the stuff and get out of here before whoever set this up gets back.”

Ivy and Courtney have already walked over to the camp and started piling up on food and supplies. Gia is about to join them when she’s almost impaled by a knife thrown seemingly out of nowhere. She lets out a small squeal and reaches for her gun.

”Looks like we’ve got company… Again.”

Everyone draws their weapons in silence as Roxxxy and Detox step into the clearing. A chill runs down Gia’s spine when she realizes Alaska is missing.

”What? Not even a ’hello?’ That’s rude.” Roxxxy smirks and points her spear at Bianca.

Gia’s heart almost explodes out of fear when she hears Bianca sigh. The fact that she just scolded Jinkx for having an apparent death wish suddenly seems very hypocritical.

—————————————————————

”Y’know, I’m getting real tired of you people pointing shit at me all fucking day. Do I look like a fucking landmark to you cunts?”

Bianca’s right hand is ghosting the handle of her gun. But she steadies herself.

Not yet.

”She’s right, she doesn’t” Detox snickers. ”Although I reckon she’d make a nice pincushion…”

Roxxxy laughs a little too hard at that joke. Detox proceeds to take out both her guns at once and spin them around on her fingers by the trigger like some sort of cliche action character. The guns both stop spinning at the same time, perfectly synchronized, and pointed at Bianca.

What did she just tell these two bitches?

“Where is the Reaper?” It’s Ivy who speaks up. She already has a bow loaded with three arrows pointed at Roxxxy.

“She’s off dealing with our little… provider.” Roxxxy gestures towards the now dead campfire. This results in Detox giving Roxxxy a look dripping with annoyance and mild disappointment.

“What? I figured we’d let them know since they’re ‘bout to die anyway!”

Detox just sighs and curses under her breath. In another life, her and Bianca could possibly have made very good friends.

”Well, speaking of which, this has gone on for long enough, wouldn’t you agree?” Roxxxy takes a step forward, her eyes practically nailed to Biancas. ”Any last words before we release you from this miserable shitshow?”

Bianca’s hand is gripped around her gun now. Her finger grazes the trigger.

Not yet.

”Nothing? How about you?” She turns to Ivy and Gia. Then to Courtney. ”Really? Fuck, you guys are boring. What about Firefox in the back?”

Her eyes lock on Jinkx, who’s standing in front of a pile of packed sandwiches with a knife in each hand.

“... leave.”

Detox raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“I… said… LEAVE”

Now.

Bianca draws her gun, without taking her eyes off Roxxxy. She’s about to lunge herself at this bitch with everything she has when, suddenly, she hears a strange *woosh* to her right.

Then what sounds like someone getting stabbed.

Her and Roxxxy turn at the exact same time. Bianca’s eyes don’t even have time to take in what she’s looking at before she hears Ivy whispering.

“That… that wasn’t me… I didn’t make that shot…”

Detox’s guns are at her feet. Her hands are instead clasped around the arrow that just buried itself in between her ribs. Her eyes are glazed with shock and confusion. She turns to face Roxxxy, who has dropped her spear and is just staring at her friend in disbelief.

”oh…”

Roxxxy lets out a strangled sob as Detox hits the ground with a sigh.

”NO!”

Everyone, including Bianca, stand frozen in position as Roxxxy practically throws herself over to her fallen partner and starts cradling her lifeless body. She gently presses their foreheads together as she half sobs half mumbles incomprehensible nothings to ears that will never hear again.

It’s horrible to watch. Gia has her eyes closed and head tilted down, and Courtney is covering her mouth with her hands. Jinkx is still paralyzed from the shock of it all. She hasn’t moved an inch since she gave them the warning.

As much as Bianca would love to turn around, she has to remind herself that they’re all still in relative danger. Grief does not only breed sadness, it breeds anger. Hatred. Spite.

A lust for vengeance.

*creak*

The sudden and unfamiliar noise fills the campsite. Bianca barely has time to register it before Ivy shouts ”EVERYONE DUCK!”

Another *woosh* whines past Bianca’s head, and another arrow hits the ground just two feet away from Roxxxy. This causes her to look up, and suddenly her expression changes.

”You…”

Something red flashes behind the trees left of them, and the sound of footsteps now has everyones full attention. No one says anything as Roxxxy grabs her spear and bags and starts running after the assailant. No one moves as the noises of their heels hitting the wooden floor fades into the wilderness.

Jinkx is the first one to walk over to the abandoned corpse. She gets down on her knees and strokes the hair out of her face. Then she presses her fingers against her eyelids, closing them.

”She looks so tranquil… it’s awful.” Jinkx whispers as she lays Detox down to rest.

”Should we… bury her?” Gia asks hesitantly.

”It isn’t safe to stay here. We should take everything that we’ve gathered and leave before Roxxxy eventually comes back.” Courtney replies.

”You’re right.” Ivy puts a hand on Jinkx’ shoulder. ”We’ve done everything we can already. Let’s move.”

Bianca stuffs as many bottles of water into her bag as she can. No one else says anything for the remainder of the raid. As they set out into the woods again, the sun is already setting.

#rpdr fanfiction #gia gunn #bianca del rio #courtney act #jinkx monsoon #ivy winters #roxxxy andrews #and so we run #hunger games au #traumathicc #tw blood #tw death #detox icunt

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sparksinger · 5 years

Text

Live to Tell

I have finished my sandwich fic! :D

You can find it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544365

or on ff.net here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13189059/1/Live-to-Tell

I’ll post it below a cut as well for those who want to read it via this post ^^

Trigger Warning: Mention of a rape.

Cordelia sat up in bed against two pillows, the duvet pushed to one side. Despite the cold Montana weather, Cordelia was clammy and heating up with a slight fever. A fever that had nothing to do with any type of illness. She sighed and tied her auburn hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck to get it off her shoulders. She let her bangs hang down, smiling slightly at the memory of Optimus’ reaction when she had debuted them.

Cordelia eased her key into the front door and unlocked it, stepping through as it swung inwards into the hallway of the ranch house. She walked into the lounge where she found Optimus sitting in his favourite armchair. The fire was lit, and the bright orange flames cast strange and beautiful lights on his knight like armour. He sat with his right foot resting on his left knee and cradled in his hands was a well-worn copy of Arthur Golden’s Memoirs of a Geisha. All that was missing from the scene was a par of half-moon spectacles. Upon seeing Cordelia enter the room, a broad smile made its way onto his noble face. He placed the book on the side table next to the chair and rose in one fluid motion.

He pulled her into a strong embrace, resting his chin gently on the top of her head. She returned it in kind, rising up on her tip-toes so that she could get her arms around the metal ‘collar’ that adorned his neck. His armour was cool and smooth beneath her touch; it felt like home.

He took a step back to appraise her with a tender look from his kind blue optics. He left his arms resting on her shoulders while he looked at her, nothing but love and gentleness in his earnest blue gaze.

She looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes, a habit she’d developed whenever she was embarrassed about something. Optimus noticed this and gently curled his fingers underneath her chin, tilting her head upwards so that she was looking him directly in the eye.

“I see you’ve had a haircut little one.” Optimus said, letting a few strands of her red hair fall between his fingers. Cordelia smiled in response, blood rushing to her freckled cheeks, causing them to go a deep shade of red. Optimus noticed this and smiled at her with just his optics in that special way of his. Her new hair now sat evenly on her shoulders in neat even layers. It was straight and sleek, and her small face was now accentuated by a heavy fringe.

She smiled shyly at him and tucked a strand of her behind her left ear. “Do you like it?” she asked quietly, dropping her green eyes from his gaze.

“Of course Lia; any way in which you wear your hair will always look beautiful.” She eyed him incredulously and rolled her green eyes at him.

“Obviously you’re not biased at alllll.” She said, drawing out the last word.

Optimus raised a brow and feigned innocence. “Me? Biased? Never. I think you have the wrong Cybertronian there Lia.” She just laughed and let Optimus help her out of her jacket.

Cordelia’s eyes misted over at the memory, causing her vision to become blurred and woozy, as if she was looking at an oasis in the middle of the desert.

She felt as if she were in the middle of the desert now; only there was no oasis waiting to provide her with the essential sanctuary that she so desperately needed.

She turned her head to look at the slumbering figure next to her.

Optimus Prime lay recumbent in the bed next to her, resting on his stomach, both arms folded to support his head. His optics were shut, and his mouth was pouting a little as he recharged. Every now and then he would exvent a little louder than usual as his systems played catch up with the amount of air he was currently cycling. The vents on the back of his head were responsible for ‘inhaling’ air and the vents that were situated where his ‘nostrils’ would have been were responsible for letting it out. Occasionally he took in too much air from the environment which caused the tiny fans within his central processing unit to spin too fast, causing everything else in his head to vibrate. The result was a sudden and short expulsion of air which hilariously sounded like he was snoring.

Cordelia tore her eyes away from his resting form and slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed. Grabbing her fleecy dressing gown that had been a Christmas present from Optimus, Cordelia padded quietly into the en-suite. She turned the light on to its lowest setting so that it provided just enough light for her to see what she was doing.

She sat down on the toilet and relieved herself before getting up and examining herself in the floor-length mirror. The hardship and stress of the last two months was written all over her face. Her eyes were faded and tired, seeing the world around them but taking nothing in. Her hair, once thick and glossy, was now dank and hung limply. There was no body or shine about it anymore, and her once vibrant auburn shade was now more akin to a rusty copper coin.

Her hand slowly and shakily made their way down to the bottom of her top. She grasped it between trembling fingers and lifted it to reveal the small but definite bump situated between her hips. She touched it gingerly with one hand, pushing against it slightly. The surface was rock hard and didn’t give at all under the slight pressure that she applied. She could not pull her eyes from it; this seemingly harmless bump. A bump that contained a life nonetheless. A life that she carrying.

Hiding it from Optimus was getting more and more difficult. She was sure that he would figure it out for himself sooner rather than later, but the thought of him finding out was more than she could bear. She wasn’t letting him pick her up as much as she had used to when he was his full size, and when he was utilising his human sized holoform, she very rarely allowed him to embrace her. She knew the sudden change in her behaviour both hurt and confused him, but bless his Spark, he carried on as if nothing was amiss.

It was killing her to keep deceiving him this way, but she couldn’t see an alternative. The thought of losing him after all they had been through together was incomprehensible; she knew she’d rather lose her own life than his love.

She wiped fiercely at her eyes, catching the few stray tears that had made their way past her defences. A quick glance at her watch told her it was seven minutes past two in the morning. She knew Optimus wouldn’t wake until seven in the morning at the earliest, so she had a few hours to herself at the very least.

She grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the laundry basket and put them on briskly over her knickers and tucked her bed socks into them. She exited the bathroom and made her way quietly to the door, pausing to look over her shoulder at Optimus.

He lay just as she had left him, the moonlight penetrating a small gap in the curtains, coming to land on his silvery back. He looked beautiful and other-worldly. She offered him a guilty smile and closed the door silently behind her.

Once on the landing, Cordelia made her way to the stairs and descended them carefully, mindful to avoid making too much noise.

She slipped her feet into the snow boots that were situated by the front door and shrugged herself into the thick khaki green parka jacket. She eyed the hat and decided against wearing it as she quietly pulled the front door open.

The cold air bit into her cheeks and stung her eyes; her breath swirled in pretty patterns around her as she made her way briskly to the car.

Cordelia risked a quick glance over her shoulder to look at the upstairs windows of the ranch house. They were all still in darkness. A thin layer of frost coated each window in all four corners, reminiscent of children’s cartoons at Christmas time. Cordelia pushed the guilty thoughts to the back of her mind and dug her car keys out of her jacket pocket.

Although the air was cold, it was nowhere near cold enough yet to freeze her doors shut. That weather would come in December and January. Optimus had the useful ability of being able to send heat to any part of his body, and on such occasions as when the car doors were frozen shut, he would cup both of his enormous hands around the body of the car, thawing the ice within seconds.

Cordelia was grateful that she didn’t need that particular talent at this moment in time.

She folded herself quickly into the blue Volvo C30, turning the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life, the heating systems kicking in to warm up the vehicle. She didn’t bother fastening her seatbelt; she wanted to be away from the house as quickly as possible.

She wasn’t planning to go far; the ranch had a modest acreage and she was planning to stay within the property boundaries.

Right now, it felt as if the walls of the house were physically pressing down on her, and she just needed some time alone in a space that was outside.

She eased the car into gear and drove slowly out of the horseshoe shaped driveway; praying that the rattle of the snow chains on the car’s tyres wouldn’t wake Optimus. She kept a vigilant eye on the house in the rear-view mirror, but all the windows remained dark.

Cordelia allowed her shoulders to relax as she increased the distance between herself and the ranch house. She winced inwardly when she thought of Optimus’ reaction to waking up to her absence.

She was just beginning to relax when an enormous dark green foot was planted in her path. She stomped on the breaks, swearing quietly to herself. She was in half a mind to sound the horn in protest, but she knew Optimus would hear that easily, even from the distance she was at. Instead she leaned over the steering wheel and peered upwards through the windscreen to see to whom the giant leg belonged.

Hound.

Cordelia felt her features turn downward in a scowl. She pulled the key out of the ignition. It was pointless wasting petrol when she wasn’t going to get anywhere anytime soon.

Hound lowered himself into a squatting position, taking large drags from the giant bullet casing that also doubled as his ‘cigar.’ One giant finger beckoned her towards him.

Sighing, Cordelia opened the driver door and stepped out of the car, hunching herself up against the cold. She walked around the front of the car and sat on the bonnet.

“Where you off to at this time of night titch?” Hound asked, using his personal nickname for her. As he spoke, he blew giant smoke rings into the night sky, an impressive achievement when one considered that he did not possess a tongue.

Cordelia chewed her lip thoughtfully before answering him. She had to be careful; anything she said to Hound would surely get back to Optimus and she wanted to be the one to tell him of her…secret.

“Nowhere in particular.” She said finally, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “What’re you doing up this late?”

Hound chuckled and looked at her thoughtfully, the cigar dangling from between his lip plates.

“I’m on patrol of the perimeter. My turn this week. So far I’ve not found anything.”

“What do you mean ‘so far’? I’m not anything.” Hound raised a challenging brow.

“I don’t think so titch. You’re somethin’, that’s for sure.” Hound lowered himself to sit carefully on the ground, one knee brought up to his chest. He gestured to the car. “Just fancied a midnight drive did ya?”

Cordelia shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, so I figured a drive might help with that.”

Hound didn’t look convinced. “Most humans settle for a nice hot cup of methylxanthines.” At Cordelia’s bemused expression, he explained further. “Y’know; theobromine and theophylline?” Cordelia’s expression remained blank.

Somehow Hound managed to imitate a perfect sigh. “What is it? That hot liquid that humans drink?”

Cordelia laughed. “Coffee?” Hound shook his head. “Tea?” Hound slapped his leg.

“That’s the one! Why didn’t you just make a cup of…tea?” Cordelia smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Tea’s not gonna sort this one out Hound.”

Hound appraised the tiny human with grave optics. Something changed in his face before he folded himself into the Oshkosh Medium Defence Tactical vehicle.

“Come on kid. Let’s go for a drive.” Cordelia’s eyes widened in surprise. She had thought that Hound would immediately insist that she return to the house, and instead she was met with the sight of his passenger door hanging innocently open. “Well, are ya comin’ or not?” His voice jerked her out of her reverie, and she ran forward; clambering quickly up the steps and settling herself in the passenger seat.

The seat belt came down and fastened itself across her of its own accord. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you weren’t wearing your belt.” Cordelia shot the dash a scowl. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that either.” Hound said, a smile present in his gravelly voice. He pulled onto the road, the snow crunching nosily beneath his tyres.

The only sound for about twenty minutes was the gravel and snow being tossed around as Hound drove. He drove at a steady pace; a true professional navigating his surroundings. Cordelia was a little taken aback as she realised that Hound was heading for the same place she’d been driving towards.

He took a fork in the road that took them through a thick cluster of trees. After about 500 metres of the thick pines, they thinned and then gave way completely to a wide open space. It was full of crisp white snow; untouched save for the few footprints of various animals as they went about their nightly business.

Hound came to a halt, letting his engine turn off. For a few minutes, they sat in silence. Cordelia cradled the bump beneath her parka, tears threatening to pierce the dam she had built in her brain.

Light began to emanate from the steering wheel and Cordelia watched as it slowly built a human sized version of Hound. Although he was exactly the same as he usually looked at his full size; there was an overall softer look to the Autobot strategist.

Cordelia smiled, a little awkwardly. Hound’s sudden decision to use his holoform had surprised her, and she struggled to hide her reaction. Hound’s expression mirrored her own.

“It’s okay kid. I wasn’t expecting to use it either.” He said as if he’d plucked the thought straight out of her head. He rested his hands-on top of the steering wheel. “I gotta say; it’s weird to actually sit inside myself; I’ve never experienced it before.” Cordelia snorted.

She turned away from Hound to look at the glassy surface of the lake that was situated right in the centre of the meadow. In the summer, the meadow was bursting with colour and light. The grass would grow almost as high as her waist and the wildflowers would attract all manners of insects from miles around. It was a myriad of greens and blues and reds, pinks and pale whites. The lake was the centre piece, a perfect reflection of the blue, cloudless sky.

Now, in the winter, Cordelia felt that the meadow resembled herself. White and empty, void of life and void of hope. No amount of comfort or nurturing would thaw the ice that had taken hold around her heart. No one’s except the one’s that she wanted most. The one’s comfort who she was most afraid to seek. She was ashamed of herself. Of her thoughts; for even having them in the first place.

Cordelia tightened her arms about her slender torso, holding herself together as if she was about to snap in two. Hound noticed and twisted in his seat to face her fully.

He gently pulled her arms away from her with next to no effort and held both of her hands in his. She wouldn’t look him in the eye, and he didn’t force her to, nor did he speak. They just sat there in silence, the only sound being Cordelia’s shallow breathing as she fought to control her emotions.

She finally allowed her gaze to meet Hound’s and the pity within his blue optics was almost enough to crush her right there and then. She tried to pull her hands free from his grasp, but he held on to them. He brushed his thumbs over her bony knuckles, wordlessly trying to comfort her in some sort of human way.

“You remind me of him you know.”

“Huh?”

“Ironhide. You remind me of him. You are both fiercely protective of your secrets and those you love. You’ll fight for what you believe in, and once you’ve made your minds up, nothing can change it.”

Hound’s sudden mention of his deceased Spark-mate took Cordelia by surprise. She had known that Hound and Ironhide had been bonded for well over 12,000 years, but the gruff Autobot rarely spoke of his loved one, if ever.

Suddenly Cordelia found herself seeing Hound in a completely new light. No longer was he just one of Optimus’ soldiers, he was his own person, with his own stories. He had his own triumphs and failures; his own tragedies and successes. Ironhide was only one facet of his vast personality and Cordelia found herself somewhat embarrassed for seeing this only now. She took one of her hands from his and rested it on his broad green shoulder.

“You miss him.” It wasn’t a question.

Hound broke their gaze. “More than you know kid. It’s as if someone has cut off both of my legs and expects me to keep walking as if nothing has changed. I’m learning to heal every day; but I’ll never be fully whole again. That old fool stole my Spark long ago, and part of it died with him that day.” Cordelia watched as Hound’s optics glazed over as he spoke of his fallen love, and the pain and longing in his voice made her throat ache.

“I guess what I’m trying to say kid…is that you’re not alone. I know what you’ve been through this last year and a half has been…hard. I know you’ve wanted to give up and just lay down and accept your lot. But you haven’t; and that is something to be damn proud of.

“Optimus thinks the world of you…I’ve not seen him this content since before the war. So, I guess I’m tryna say…thank you.”

Cordelia was gobsmacked, she didn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay titch; you don’t have to say anything. Just…listen. Don’t keep stuff from Optimus that could hurt him. He only ever wants to help you. I promise you titch; nothing you do could ever drive him away. He worships the ground that you walk on.”

Cordelia sat up straight in her seat and looked Hound in the eye. “You…you know?” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

Hound nodded gravely. “Wouldn’t be much of a medic if I didn’t know now, would I?”

“Medic?”

He nodded again. “What do ya think this is for?” he chuckled, pointing out the red cross in the centre of his helm. “Yep. I was Ratchet’s student before and during the war. When he came to Earth, he continued to tutor me when he could; sending me his findings and observations about humans. Obviously, pregnancy was one of the first things he studied. It fascinated him. Do you know how far along you are?”

“Umm about ten weeks I think.” Hound chewed the end of his cigar thoughtfully.

“Would you mind if I scan you? I can give you a due date then.” In response, Cordelia began to unzip her jacket.” Hound shook his head. “You don’t need to take your jacket off. I can scan through all items of clothing.”

Cordelia felt the light tickle of Hound’s scan and shivered as her whole body erupted into goosebumps. “Done.” Hound said, offering her a small smile. “You are 10 weeks and 4 days pregnant. Your foetus is about the size of a kumquat. I reckon you’re due around early May.”

Cordelia’s hands found their way down to her small bump. It now felt real. She had a baby growing inside her. A baby that was totally dependent on her for absolutely everything; life, safety, love. She took a deep breath and looked down at her hands.

“You alright kid?” Cordelia nodded in answer to Hound’s question.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Hound spoke again.

“I’ll let ya in on one of my guilty secrets. Here; listen.” The radio flicked on and female vocals filled the space.

I have a tale to tell Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well I was not ready for the fall Too blind to see the writing on the wall

A man can tell a thousand lies I've learned my lesson well Hope I live to tell The secret I have learned, 'till then It will burn inside of me

Hound drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music. He leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his optics and just losing himself in the melody.

After a few bars Cordelia realised it was Madonna’s voice crooning through Hound’s speakers. They listened together in silence and as the song went on, Cordelia wondered what secret the song had been written about; wondering what man could tell a thousand lies.

The song drew to a close and Cordelia smiled gently at Hound. “I didn’t take you for a Madonna fan.” Hound grinned at her sheepishly.

“What’d I tell ya; one of my guilty secrets.” Cordelia smiled and made a zipping motion against her lips with her index finger before throwing the ‘key’ away over her shoulder. Hound smiled.

“I’m sure the boss has some surprising musical taste as well.” Cordelia laughed.

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.” Hound just smiled and looked ahead at the full moon. The night sky was clear and black, the moon hanging low in the sky. A pearl amongst a soft cluster of diamond stars.

“Hound; will you take me home please?” Hound wordlessly started his engine once more and headed for the ranch house.

They pulled into the horseshoe shaped drive way and Hound killed the engine.

“Home sweet home kid, ooh.” Cordelia followed his gaze to the front door which had been thrown open. Optimus stood in the doorway; visible tremors working their way down his long body. Cordelia swallowed past the hard lump that had suddenly formed in her throat and exited the vehicle. Hound’s holoform materialised beside her.

“Lia? Where in the world-“

“I’m fine Optimus, I promise.” Cordelia protested, walking up to her guardian. He placed a hand on her forehead, not satisfied with her explanation alone. He tried to surreptitiously check her over with a casual flick of his optics, but Cordelia knew him too well for him to disguise it effectively.

“Hey boss. I found her out on the road a coupla miles away so I brought her home. I’ll bring the car back for you titch.” Before Cordelia could reply, Hound’s holoform had vanished and he was driving himself back the way they’d come.

Optimus looked down at Cordelia worriedly. She stepped forward and took one of his hands in both of hers. Even at this reduced size, he still dwarfed her in all manners. He imitated a sigh and led her back into the house.

Once they stepped over the threshold, Optimus helped her out of her thick winter jacket.

They walked into the lounge and Optimus sat down on the Native American style couch and patted the vacant space next to him. Cordelia sat next to him, though not as close as she usually did. The tension between them was palpable, and neither of them could bear it any longer.

“Cordelia, please talk to me. Can you not bear for me to touch you because of him?” Her breath hitched in her throat. His words brought back the rough touch of Attinger’s hands on her body, holding her down while he forced his way inside her.

She shook her head, tears spilling over. She moved to embrace him, and he lifted her effortlessly into his lap. She allowed him to console her while she sobbed, relishing in the feeling of his strong hand rubbing soothingly up and down her spine.

She leaned her head against his chest and listened to the quiet thrum of his Spark. It never failed to calm her. Once her sobs had subsided, Optimus pulled back to look at her. He cupped her face gently in his hands, wiping stray tears away with his silver thumbs.

“Oh my little one, what has caused you such grief?” She couldn’t help but chuckle at his formality.

“Can I ask you something first?”

“Anything.” He said it with such conviction that Cordelia felt guilty for even needing to ask the question.

“You won’t ever leave me, will you?” Her voice broke on the last word, and Optimus’ optics grew misty with moisture.

“Never. Nobody or anything will ever come before you Cordelia. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone or anything; more than I will EVER love anyone or anything. Nothing you could do or say would drive me away. Nothing.” He wore the scars of war in his tired gaze, but he spoke with determination and love for her. And she knew it.

She took a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant.” His eyes widened in astonishment. At once they flicked down to her abdomen.

“You are with…child?” Cordelia nodded. “How didn’t I see this?” Optimus, wondered aloud, more to himself than to her. He turned to face her. “This is why you were sick all day until a few days ago?” She nodded again, biting her lower lip.

He moved his hands downwards to gently pull back the thin pyjama top she was wearing. His whole hand was bigger than the tiny bump.

“How long have you known?” His voice was quiet.

“About three weeks.” Cordelia replied, equally as quiet.

Optimus snapped his head up. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, she would have laughed at his expression. His optics were wide circles, his mouth hanging open like a vacant animal trap.

“Why didn’t you say earlier?” He asked, moving his hands back up to cup her face.

She placed her hands over his own. “I thought you would be angry.” She said, dropping her gaze from his.

“You thought I would be?” He didn’t finish his sentence; but pulled her to him, clinging onto her as if she was the only thing that could keep him afloat in the vast sea of his emotions.

“Oh, my little one; I would never be angry with you, ever! I will support you with whatever decision you make in your life. Your health and happiness are what is most important here.”

“I’m going to keep it. I can’t get rid of another one Optimus, I can’t, I just can’t!”

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.” He gently rocked her back and forth, cradling her head in a cupped hand.

She pulled away from him but rested her head against his chest and interlocked his hand with hers.

“When are you due?”

“Early May. What am I going to do? How am I going to afford a baby? What are YOU going to do?!”

“Easy little one, you’re panicking. I will provide all the financial support you need. I have an arrangement with Joyce. Call it ‘collateral’ for all the trouble he caused. I will love both of you, unconditionally and without stipulation. Anything that could come from you would only be loved by me.”

“Half of it will be from him.” Cordelia spoke with her head drooped; her chin resting against her chest.

“He has only provided the physical material necessary for creating another human being. You will raise him or her with love and patience, and I promise you that I will help you in every way possible with every aspect of this child. From right now until they leap the nest. And then forever.”

Cordelia giggled against his chest.

“What’s funny?” Optimus asked against her hair.

“It’s ‘fly the nest’, not leap the nest.”

“Oh.” Optimus smiled ruefully. “Come on little one, let’s get to bed. It’s late.” Optimus stood and easily swung her into his arms so that he was carrying her bridal style.

He carried her up the stairs and placed her gently in the king-size double bed before climbing in behind her.

“Will you stay with me until I’m asleep?” Cordelia asked drowsily.

“Always and forever.” Optimus replied.

The last thing she was aware of was his large hand draped over the faint bump on her abdomen.

Cordelia woke to the smell of something sweet drifting up the stairs. She turned over onto her front and checked her phone on the bedside table. It was past one o’clock in the afternoon!

She flung the covers back and leapt out of bed, sprinting to the wardrobe and grabbing the first items of clothing that her hands touched. Rushing into the bathroom, she combed her hair messily with her fingers before scraping it back into an untidy bun. She whisked the toothbrush around her mouth and washed her face simultaneously.

The reflection that greeted her in the mirror was flushed and pink-cheeked but looked miles better than it had done last night.

She hurried her feet into the thick boot-like slippers that were sat at the foot of her bed. She ran down the stairs, taking two at a time.

Optimus was in the kitchen, bent over something that he was cooking on the hob. He turned as Cordelia entered the room. He took her hand and let her over to the dining table where a single setting had been placed. A pot of tea was steaming on the table accompanied by a vase with a single sunflower in it. He pulled the chair out for her.

“Good afternoon little one, please sit. Your brunch will be ready shortly.” Cordelia raised a brow as she took the proffered seat.

“My brunch?”

“Mmhmm. I made pancakes with winter berries as an accompaniment. Here you go.” He placed a generous portion of pancakes in front of her. They had all been quartered and, in the middle, sat a small cluster of blueberries and strawberries. They smelled divine.

“Wow Optimus! You didn’t have to do this; I could have made myself some cereal or something.” Optimus waved her words away with a quick swipe of his left hand.

He draped the tea towel over his right shoulder and sat down in the chair opposite her. He poured her a cup of tea from the pot, adding a small dash of milk with two sugars; just the way she liked it.

“It was nothing. I want to take care of you; a pregnancy is hard work. I was up through the night researching all I could learn about the phenomenon. For example, your uterus is about the size of an orange and your foetus is approximately 3cm in length. The fact that such a microscopic, tiny cluster of cells has grown into something 3cm long in already ten weeks is astounding!”

His optics were brighter with excitement, his whole face changed with the expression of wonder. His eyes softened as they met hers.

“Pregnancy is a huge job for your body; you need to rest and ensure you are getting adequate nutrition.”

He rested his hands-on top of the table, lightly clasping them together.

Cordelia cut into the pancakes, her knife slicing through them as if it was butter. As she chewed, the sweet flavours of the pancake, the syrup and the berries all mashed together and danced on her tongue. The flavour was perfectly even in every bite she took, and the sweet tea was the perfect compliment to the food.

Cordelia finished her food in record time, laying the knife and fork down on the clean plate. She smiled at Optimus, taking in his features greedily.

“Optimus, I’m pregnant. Not ill.” He smiled guiltily at her, collecting her plate and getting up to go and wash it. He ran the hot tap and squirted some washing up liquid into the water, creating soft, white bubbles.

His hands became silver blurs as he worked the sponge up and down the dish before rinsing it and setting it down in the draining rack. He retrieved the drying cloth from his shoulder, wiping the plate dry and putting it back in the cupboard.

“I know Lia; forgive me. I just…may I be honest?”

Cordelia got up from her chair and went over to Optimus. “Of course you can; Optimus, you can always be honest with me.” He smiled and looked down at her fondly. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her onto the kitchen counter. Like that, they were at perfect eye level with each other.

“I am extremely excited about the birth of this baby. I have never had the experience of being a parent myself; it was not a common occurrence on Cybertron for Sparklings to come into existence. Besides, one needed to-“ she placed her hands on either side of his face, drawing his tirade to a close.

“Relax Optimus, you’re babbling.”

“I just worry that you wouldn’t want me to be excited for this baby…given the circumstances of the conception. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready to do.” Cordelia sighed and looked at Optimus through her expressionate green eyes.

“Optimus…I’ve already been made to get rid of one child. If he had been allowed to live, he would be eleven years old now. I don’t blame you for being excited – truth be told, I’m even feeling quite excited. What has this baby done except exactly what it’s supposed to do? It just came into existence like a clump of cells should – the circumstances behind that are not its fault. But what I can say is this; this baby will have no part of her father in her. I won’t allow it.”

If possible, Optimus looked at her with even more love present in his gaze. He raised his brow at the word ‘she’.

“’She’?”

Cordelia shrugged. “Obviously its too early to say what it is, but something in my gut is telling me that it’s a girl.” Optimus grinned widely at her.

“I have heard that a mother’s instinct is rarely wrong. We shall have to wait twenty-eight weeks to see if your hunch is correct.”

Cordelia didn’t say anything but latched onto Optimus like a koala bear, locking her arms tight around his neck. He gently lifted her off the counter and she wrapped her legs around his waist, enveloping herself in the safety that was him.

They went about the rest of the day in a companionable silence; each glad that the other knew the secret that had lain between them.

Optimus let go of some of the sadness that had taken hold of him ever since they’d returned home from Hong Kong. Cordelia noticed it in the way that he walked; in the way he held himself. When he addressed his men, he stood straight and tall with his shoulders back and chest pressed out; the old Cybertronian instinct kicking back in.

Cordelia found herself feeling physically lighter, and the feeling of doom that she had been carrying around in the pit of her stomach was nowhere to be found. There was even a small gleam back in her deep green eyes.

Optimus excused himself for about an hour, to phone Joyce and sort out other ‘things that demanded his attention’ as he put it. He became suspiciously cagey when Cordelia asked what he was up to, merely smiling at her and suggesting she make a list of what foods she had been craving, if any.

Cordelia went upstairs and shut herself in the master bedroom. Telling Optimus hadn’t been nearly as painful as she had anticipated, and she wanted to kick herself for doubting him. This was the bot who had stood by her through thick and thin, who had saved her life more times than she cared to remember. He meant the world to her, and now she would have another to love.

Attinger was on the fringe of her mind, but she refused to allow him that power over her. As Optimus had said the previous night; he had only provided the physical material that was needed in order to conceive a child. Science and fate had done the rest.

She was doodling absent-mindedly on the spiral-backed notepad that Optimus kept on his bedside table when a soft knock on the bedroom door brought her back to reality. “Come in!” she called, not taking her eyes from the doodle filled page.

The mattress squeaked as Optimus lowered himself to sit on it. He smiled at her doodles and took the pen from her, adding his own squiggles here and there.

Cordelia shut the book and put it back in its place on the nightstand before turning her full attention on Optimus. He looked a little nervous.

“Cordelia, I-“ she held up a hand to stop him.

“Optimus, what is it with using my full name suddenly? What happened to Lia?” She studied him carefully as she waited for him to answer her question, watching as faint traces of pinkish-purple made their way into the edges of his optics – a Cybertronian blush.

“Sorry – Lia. I have invited Leo over for dinner. I don’t want you to think I was shooting the gun, but I feel that he needs to know of the child. I’m preparing your favourite; mashed potatoes with wiener schnitzel and assorted vegetables.”

Cordelia eyed him with a knowing smile. “So that’s what you were up to. I thought you were acting weird. Optimus; it’s fine. You’re right – Leo does deserve to know. He’s been like a father to me. Thank you.” She leaned forward and planted a light kiss on his cheek-plate. “Have you got the cooking under control?” he nodded. “Fab. Meet me out on the balcony. I want to see you.” He smiled, understanding her meaning straight away. His holoform disappeared with a small poof; the rumpled duvet being the only evidence of his presence.

She hurried into her fleecy hoodie and bounded towards the French doors that opened onto the balcony.

The balcony boasted impressive views of the surrounding mountain scenery, offering a perfect panorama of the pine forest. You could also see the lake from the balcony, a shining mirror glistening beautifully in the distance.

The tell-tale sounds of hissing joints alerted her to Optimus’ approach. She turned to face him, needing to crane her neck to meet his gaze. Even though she was on the first floor, Optimus still dwarfed the house when he was at his full size.

Cordelia held her arms out to him like a child, and his giant palm came down and scooped her up into his grasp of familiarity, comfort and love. He held her against his chest, his Spark reverberating through her whole body. She closed her eyes in pure contentment.

Wordlessly his radio clicked on, and Leona Lewis’ cover of Run began to sound through the speakers. Husky vocals filled the air, caressing Cordelia’s bruised soul, slowly knotting it back together to become one with the great Prime’s Spark.

Light up, light up As if you have a choice Even if you cannot hear my voice I'll be right beside you, dear Louder, louder And we'll run for our lives I can hardly speak I understand Why you can't raise your voice to say

At that moment, the song said everything that neither of them was capable of. The air seemed to shimmer and vibrate with the love between them.

Optimus swayed slowly on his feet, sending the pair of them this way and that.

I'll sing it one last time for you Then we really have to go You've been the only thing that's right In all I've done

Cordelia was suddenly aware of lukewarm liquid dripping down the back of her neck and onto her shoulders. She looked up to see Optimus weeping softly. She wordlessly patted his hand and he brought her up close to his face.

His optics were closed, but still the water seeped out from their corners, trickling quietly down his nose and coming to rest underneath his chin. The vents on the back of his head cycled more air in to counteract the air that he was letting out.

Cordelia placed her hands on his nose and leaned against him. “Talk to me big guy. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” She felt his lip plates begin to move against her body.

“I have failed you.” He said simply. Four simple words that weighed more than the heartache of a lost world. Four words that weighed more than all the grief and sorrow in the universe. “I let that man…do unspeakable things to you. I let my race…ravage your world as we ravaged our own. I failed you.”

Now it was her turn to comfort him.

They were an unlikely pair; a giant sentient robot and a small human woman, fiercely dedicated to each other. They shared the burden of partnership equally, each holding the other up whenever the time called for it.

She held him up against the succubus that was his grief. In return, he nursed her soul back to health and kept his demons at bay.

She stood in his palm and ran her hands slowly up and down the grooves of his triangular nose.

“You haven’t failed anybody. You haven’t failed me, and you haven’t failed this planet. Yes, Attinger raped me, but that is not your fault. Yes, other Cybertronians tried to hurt this planet and its population; but they didn’t succeed because of you and your Autobots! Do you remember what you told me when I blamed myself for humanity’s actions against you?” She felt him nod.

“You told me that you would never judge an entire race based on the actions of a few.”

He ‘sniffled’ a little, trying to control the continuous flow of liquid from his optics.

“I can’t allow my men to see me like this. They cannot see me in this state.”

“I don’t give a shit about that right at this minute in time Optimus. I’m here with you right now; you’re safe and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her words offered him the relief he needed, and he took a big cycle of air in and let it out slowly, ruffling her hair lightly as he did so.

“Thank you. Thank you my little one.” He brushed his lip plates across her hairline in a gentle kiss, clicking them softly. “I am sorry you had to see that.”

“Optimus, with me you just have to be Optimus. Not a Prime or the Autobot leader or a soldier, just yourself. Be the bot who smiles at the sunrise and chuckles when I trip over my own feet.”

“Thank you.” He said again, his rumbling baritone so low that Cordelia wondered how he was capable of pitching it so low.

They remained leaning against each other for a few countless minutes, each taking comfort from the other’s strength.

Optimus returned Cordelia to the balcony, setting her down on the varnished floor with the utmost gentleness.

“I need to go and keep an optic on the cooking. Leo will be here in approximately one hour.” He smiled and leaned downwards, gently planting another kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll have a shower and I’ll meet you downstairs shortly.” Cordelia said, grazing his cheek softly with the back of her hand.

Optimus folded himself back into the Western Star and reversed into the neighbouring barn where he would be sheltered from the harsh winter.

Cordelia hurried back into the bedroom, closing the French doors securely behind her. Although she had only been outside for a few minutes, the cold air bit into her skin with a surprising ferocity.

She grabbed her towelling bathrobe from where it hung on the bedroom door and hurried into the bathroom with it.

One hour. She had one hour to make herself look at least a little presentable before Leo arrived. She ducked into the shower and turned it on, giving the water time to warm up while she undressed.

Cordelia stepped leisurely into the shower, the steam curling around her slowly as it filled the room. As the water cascaded down her body, it erased the tension and stress that she had been carrying for the last three weeks. She rolled her shoulders, tilting her neck this way and that as she worked a thick lather of bubbles into her pale skin.

Reaching for the shampoo bottle, she held her left hand palm up as she squirted the lavender scented shampoo into it. She reached up and worked the suds into her hair, massaging her scalp with her fingertips, making sure the bubbles got to every part of her hair.

For a while, she just stood there, enjoying the simplicity of the shower as it washed away the dirt and grime of the day.

Dipping her head underneath the torrent of water, Cordelia rinsed the bubbles out of her hair, watching as the water turned the auburn to an almost black colour.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in the dressing gown, keen to keep out the sting of the cold air as the warm water left her body. She dried herself quickly and put on fresh underwear and then hurried into the bedroom to get dressed.

She opened the wardrobe and pulled out a grey roll-neck jumper and a blue and red checked skirt. She chewed her lip thoughtfully while she looked at them, wondering if she should wear them. She rarely wore skirts, having always felt more comfortable and confident in jeans. Shrugging, she pulled the garments off their hangers and started to put them on. To finish off the look she put on a pair of semi-transparent black tights.

She glanced at herself in the mirror and was pleasantly surprised with what she saw. The young woman standing before her looked chic and sophisticated, if a little apprehensive. Her hair still hung in wet clumps around her shoulders, so she quickly pulled a brush through it. She blow dried it quickly, turning her head upside down for extra volume.

She sat in front of the mirror on her dressing table and pulled out her makeup bag. She dabbed on a little foundation and used her little finger to apply some brown eyeshadow. To finish off, she applied a little blusher to give her pale cheeks some colour.

Sitting back, she appraised her reflection in the mirror. She offered herself a small smile and got up and dumped her dirty washing in the laundry basket before heading downstairs.

The smell of cooking meat wafted up her nostrils, causing her mouth to water ever so slightly.

Optimus had his back to her whilst he delicately prepared the food before him. He had cut the chicken as finely as Cordelia had ever seen it; barely four millimetres in thickness. Leaving the chicken to fry in the breadcrumbs over a low heat, he turned his attention to the potatoes. He mashed them efficiently and with purpose and when he was finished, there was not one single lump in the creamy mixture.

“Smells delish big guy,” Cordelia grinned, elbowing him gently in the side. He turned to look at her, and his optics widened in surprise.

“Lia! You look…you look ravishing. As beautiful as I have ever seen you and more.”

“I have a pair of legs after all!” she laughed, moving to set the table.

“Ah, I’ve already done that little one.” She was just about to answer him when they heard the doorbell ring.

Cordelia pulled away from Optimus and went to answer the front door.

She opened it and it swung open to reveal Leo. He stood relaxed on the doorstep, with one hand in the pocket of dark grey trousers. A white collar peeked out from underneath his grey wool-blend peacoat.

His eyes also widened once they alighted on Cordelia, softening as they fixed her in their steady blue gaze.

Cordelia stepped back to let him in and was surprised when he brandished a bouquet of flowers.

“For the lady of the house” he said, smiling.

“Oh wow, oh Leo you didn’t have to do that” she said, taking them from him. She put them down on the foot of the stairs and helped him out of his jacket. Once it was hung up on the hook he bent down and engulfed her in a bear hug.

He lifted her a few inches off the floor, bringing her petite 5’1” frame almost equal to his 6’3”.

She inhaled the smell of his aftershave, relishing in its scent. She hugged him back tightly, burying her face in his neck.

“Something smells good!” he explained, clapping his hands together.

Cordelia walked into the lounge ahead of Leo, on the hunt for a vase for the flowers.

Leo and Optimus regarded each other a little awkwardly. Things had been different between them since both Cordelia and Optimus had returned home after their time away. Optimus had tried hard to pick up from where they had left off, but Leo was not at all receptive.

Cordelia hovered while they shook hands, watching as Leo’s calloused palm was engulfed in Optimus’ silver one. Optimus shot Cordelia a look from the corner of one optic that said “I’ve got this” and she went over to the sink, reassured.

She found a vase in one of the cupboards and half filled it with water before cutting an inch off all the stems on the flowers. She placed them into the vase and then set it on the kitchen windowsill. They fit in well with the rest of the décor, and the mere sight of them brought a small smile to Cordelia’s face.

The egg timer on the work top pinged and Optimus hurried over to turn it off. He turned to Cordelia and Leo, gesturing for them to sit down.

“Please, sit. Dinner is on the way!” As he spoke, he took Cordelia by the hand and pulled out a chair for her. Once she had settled in it, he pushed her in underneath the table. Leo sat opposite, resting his arms loosely on the table top.

Optimus produced a wine glass and poured the dark liquid into it with more poise than a cocktail waiter. Leo nodded his thanks and took a sip. Optimus then placed a glass of lemonade in front of Cordelia.

Next came two steaming plates of wiener schnitzel along with a pile of garlic mashed potatoes and an assortment of carrots, runner beans and sweetcorn. On the side were two salads dressed with olive oil and white wine vinegar.

“Bon appetit!” Optimus said, drawing up a chair to sit next to Cordelia.

For a few minutes there was nothing but the sound of knives and forks scraping against plates.

“I have to say Optimus, for a giant alien robot, you are a bloody good cook” Leo said with a full mouth. He took another sip of wine and gestured to Cordelia’s lemonade glass. “You not drinking tonight Lia?”

Cordelia took a deep breath. She knew she would never have a better opportunity to tell Leo about the pregnancy than right now.

“No, I’m not drinking tonight. And I won’t be for quite some time.” Leo frowned, confusion etched into his features. “I’m pregnant.” She said the words before she swallowed them back down, where she knew they would be lost forever.

Leo half-choked on his salad.

“You’re what?! How?!”

“Well…I didn’t think I’d need to educate you on that part of life Leo.” Leo rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean Lia.” As he spoke, his blue eyes widened with understanding. His knife and fork fell to the plate with a loud clatter. “You mean – you mean that man?”

Cordelia nodded silently, not wanting to meet his gaze. Leo got up from his chair and hurried around the table to be at her side. He knelt and clasped both of her hands in his.

Her eyes welled up and spilled over into her lap. Optimus moved to stand behind her, letting his gentle hands rest upon her slender shoulders. Cordelia looked down into her lap, feeling more alone and ever despite the touches of the two she loved most.

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly, a simple statement of defeat. At once, two sets of hands embraced her. One flesh, the other metal. Two completely separate species coming together in a single act of love.

When Cordelia looked up to meet Leo’s gaze, she saw that his eyes too were swimming with unshed tears. He reached up and touched her face, the palm of his hand covering her whole cheek.

“My girl, you don’t need to be sorry for anything. Do you hear me?” Leo’s words came out shakily but full of conviction. “Optimus and I will support you, whatever you want to do.” Optimus nodded in sincere agreement.

“I know and thank you. I’ve decided I’m going to keep it…the baby. I’m due in early May. We’re going to start sorting out my first scan and pre-natal vitamins tomorrow.” Leo moved to sit back in his chair, as did Optimus.

“How are you going to pay for it? Babies and all that they need don’t come cheap.”

“I have that under control Leo. Joshua Joyce is going to cover all of Lia’s medical costs, from the vitamins right down to the midwife.”

“Good. Of course, if there is any way I can help, please, please let me know. I want to be there in every capacity possible.”

“Thank you, Leo. That means more than you know. Now, let’s not let this food go cold!”

They resumed eating, and within twenty minutes the meal was finished. Optimus and Leo tackled the dishes while Cordelia went upstairs to make up the guest bed. Leo was going to stay the night as he’d had a drink.

His Ranger was parked in the driveway next to Cordelia’s Volvo. Cordelia could see it through the little window that was peppered with the early evening snowfall.

She finished the guess bed off by adding the deep grey throw blanket. It went nicely with the rest of the room.

Cordelia was rather proud of the guest room. Before they’d had to flee the ranch due to the presence of Cemetery Wind, Cordelia had decorated the spare bedroom.

Three walls were painted a pale grey with the western wall painted a crisp white. In the middle of the room sat a generously sized single bed, adorned with dark grey bedding and variously patterned pillows. On the dark mahogany floor, a pale pink and grey blanket served as the centrepiece. In the corner of the room was a small grey armchair with a single pale pink cushion nestled into the seat.

She made her way back downstairs and paused at the doorway. Leo and Optimus were sat at the dining table, the dishes long dried and put away. Leo nursed a bottle of Budweiser whilst Optimus toyed with something too small for Cordelia to make out.

“Optimus, what really happened in Hong Kong? I know that…that man had his way with her. Why won’t you just tell me?”

Optimus simulated a perfect sigh and looked at Leo through tired optics. “I will not discuss what happened in detail without Lia’s permission.”

Leo let out an exasperated breath. “I appreciate that, but what happened to him? I can get the bastard behind bars for what he’s done.”

Optimus pinched his nose between a thumb and forefinger. “I can assure you that will not be necessary Leo. The matter has been dealt with.”

“’The matter has been dealt with’? What the hell does that mean?!” Optimus did not reply. “Do you know the hell she’s come from? The heartache and suffering that she has endured to get to where she is now?! Have you ever heard her wake herself up by screaming herself raw from the flashbacks of her father crawling on top of her? Have you ever had to pull her back from the edge, when it is her sole intent to jump?!”

Optimus exploded up out of his chair, bringing himself into Leo’s personal space.

“I have done all that and more! I have held her in the palm of my hands when she cannot breathe for the panic attack taking hold of her body. I have put her back together when she has torn herself apart. I have taken her hand and led her out of the darkness when there was no one else to do so!” His voice was perfectly even, but his tone was ice cold.

He moved away from Leo and went to stand over by the sink. Leo drained the last of the beer from his bottle and set it on the work top.

“I’m sorry. What I said was out of order.”

Optimus allowed his shoulders to sag. “I too am sorry Leo. What we need to remember is that Cordelia and her baby are the most important people in this situation. It is not a contest to see who can offer Lia the most comfort. She needs both of us right now and we are letting her down by squabbling amongst ourselves.” He clapped Leo on the shoulder somewhat awkwardly, but their argument lay forgotten between the mahogany floorboards.

“In answer to your question…why putting that man behind bars won’t be necessary. It won’t be necessary because I killed him. I shot and killed Harold Attinger in Hong Kong, shortly after he had raped Lia, although I was unaware of that at the time. I am not sorry for my actions, for he hurt my little one.”

Leo looked taken aback by this news, but not appalled. “I…I don’t blame you Optimus. I would have done the same. God knows I wanted to kill her father for what he did to her.”

Cordelia decided that she had heard enough and eased herself into her warm parka. She pulled her woolly hat on, making sure it covered her ears. The Montana winters were harsh and unforgivable and to even stand outside for too long meant risking chilblains.

She stepped outside onto the porch and looked up at the night sky. It was crystal clear, unblemished by pollution or smoke. The stars twinkled silently and solemnly; tiny silver dots on a canvas of black.

She hadn’t been standing out there long when Optimus and Leo came through the front door to join her.

Optimus stood on her left, Leo on her right. They stood next to her, pillar like in their sentry.

They each took one of her hands. She was tiny between them; as a flower between two trees.

Optimus turned to look at her, love and adoration apparent in his face.

“You’ve got this Cordelia Prime. You will live to tell of this. Your son or daughter will be the luckiest child to have ever come into existence on this earth; for they will have you as their mother.”

Cordelia smiled and looked ahead to the future.

She knew it would be full of tribulations and challenges, but it would also be full of love and happiness.

Most of all, she knew that she would live to tell.

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