#and avoiding and lying and arguing and concealing and wanting and all that more. maybe there isn’t enough

[palukoo]

man writing like slow burn repressed shit is sooooo funny bc it’ll have you like 75k into a fic like well I don’t know I think maybe I’ve had them be figuring stuff out too soon like maybe they are too in touch with their emotions like I don’t know that they’d have come to terms with their feelings enough to actually express those feelings in any real way and then you’re like well. it has taken them a while to get here has it not. but one must always wonder is it long enough? and well no it never fucking is.

[onfreckledwings]

“You know I didn’t mean it, right?” Dean says one night.

Cas squints in that way he does as he looks up at Dean through his lashes across the library table. He tilts his head in question.

“What I said that night. Before you left...after Mom.”

And that’s all it takes for the wind to leave his sails. Deflated. The memory is still fresh in his mind, even after all this time. And despite Cas’s best efforts, yeah. It still stings. He lets his eyes fall to the names scratched into the mahogany of the table. He stares at them: at Jack’s name and his, at Sam and Dean’s initials.

At Mary’s.

Why does that something always seem to be you?

You’re dead to me.

He lets his index finger trace the letters of her name. Grief, guilt, and loss unfurls from behind his rib cage and grips around his heart like tentacles.

He’d said he was sorry. Cas knows he is. Logically, at least. He’d be lying if he said doubt didn’t sometimes reside quietly in the corners of his mind, in the chambers of his heart.

His forefinger is tracing the ‘W’ next to the ‘M’ when he tries to hold his stiff upper lip, tries to conceal the raging inner battle from Dean.

“Of course.”

And it’s the best Cas can do in that moment. He regrets it almost instantly, because it sounds like bullshit, even to him. So he tries to deflect, to end this conversation before it begins. He rises from his seat and takes both of their scotch glasses in hand.

“I’ll go get us some more,” he says, plastering his best attempt at a smile on his face as he starts heading for the kitchen. Dean’s footfalls are quickly behind him.

“Cas,” he calls out, and Cas tries his best to steel himself against the ache in his chest as he continues walking.

Being human sucks sometimes. He used to be able to flip on a proverbial robotic switch whenever he needed to avoid feeling, to avoid emotion, because angels were soldiers first and foremost. And because emotions were always the doorway to doubt, it was important to be able to turn them off in order to preserve the objective of the mission at hand.

Now though, after Jack pulled him out of the Empty, grace left behind, he’s finding it exceedingly more difficult to hide behind a mask. Especially now that his built-in armor is gone.

He feels everything so much more intensely now. And he hates it, particularly in moments like these. Because he doesn’t want to feel insecure, he doesn’t want Dean to feel guilty, he doesn’t want to rock the boat.

When he steps down into the kitchen, he notices how Dean’s footsteps don’t follow his over the threshold. He puts both glasses down on the counter as he reaches for the bottle of Macallan 12 in the cupboard. He unscrews the cap and begins pouring.

“Don’t do that.”

It’s a small, quiet thing. Cas’s hand stills over the rim of the second glass before he glances over his shoulder at Dean.

“You don’t want any?” He tries going for nonchalance. But he can tell with the weight of Dean’s footfalls that it doesn’t work. He rotates on his heel to face the man as he approaches.

“Not the scotch, Cas,” Dean says, low and quiet. He steps down gingerly into the kitchen then, wincing slightly before stopping at the opposite end of the island. His green eyes bore holes into Cas’s, and it feels like he’s staring into his soul.

Maybe he is.

Cas can’t help the worry that cloaks him as he watches Dean move. Can’t help the guilt he feels at not being able to help. He drops his shoulders then as he turns around, pouring the amber liquid into the second glass before capping the bottle and placing it back on the shelf. He feels rooted to the counter, and so he sips his scotch in an elongated pull. Avoiding.

“Look at me,” comes the soft plea. He hates how sad Dean’s voice sounds; how guilty and rough and burdened.

Cas inhales deeply, and turns to place Dean’s glass in front of him on the island. He can’t help but map the freckles dusted across his cheeks.

Whatever Dean sees in Cas’s eyes must be distressing, because he’s looking at him with such pity and sympathy and Cas feels shame creeping up his neck. He looks down at the fabric of his navy blue t-shirt, picking at an invisible piece of lint by way of distracting himself from Dean’s stare. But then he hears soft footsteps before he sees Dean’s feet approaching into his space.

Cas lifts his chin and tries a fake smile again, reaching to take a sip from his glass. He hums softly as the hints of vanilla, butterscotch, and an array of berries flow down his throat.

“It really is astonishing how they’re able to combine so many different flavors in this,” he tries. Because he really is fine. It was almost a year ago, and there’s no use rehashing something that’s already been dealt with. It’s stupid that it still feels like a sharp ache in his chest — because Dean’s already apologized, so it really shouldn’t matter anymore, right? — and so Cas is trying his hardest to brush it off.

But then Dean’s reaching to take his glass out of his hand and placing it on the counter before his hand encircles Cas’s wrist. His eyes shoot up to meet emerald green, and he feels paralyzed, because lying to Dean has never been easy.

“Don’t,” Dean says again. “Don’t do the whole brave-face thing. Not with me.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not,” he says with a scoff, more on instinct than anything else. But then Dean’s setting his jaw, eyes piercing, and Cas relents. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve already apologized. It was a long time ago, Dean.”

“It does matter,” Dean grits out through clenched teeth. “The fact that I hurt you...matters. You ain’t a machine, Cas.”

Dean takes a labored breath, taking his free hand to rest it against his chest.

“...it kills me that I ever even said ‘em,” he says, green eyes pleading into blue. “You gotta know that.”

Cas shakes his head, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. His eyes begin to burn, and he sets his jaw as he closes his eyes. He refuses to let Dean see him cry—because he still feels like it’s his job to protect him, grace or no— so he turns his back to Dean to grab his tumbler of scotch and knocks it back.

The smooth burn on his tongue settles into his stomach, and it grounds him, allowing him to bite back the tears that threaten to fall. He braces himself against the counter, and Dean’s hand falls from Cas’s wrist to his side.

“You weren’t wrong,” Cas murmurs in the stillness. “I made some really poor choices over the years that put you and your family in jeopardy.”

He keeps his voice eerily steady and even, sighing heavily as he lifts his chin to look at the ceiling again. “I didn’t blame you then, and I don’t blame you now. It wasn’t like I didn’t deserve it.”

Dean’s hand grips his shoulder and he spins Cas around to face him.

“You didn’t. God—” he says, green eyes ablaze with ferocity. And Cas wants to argue, but then Dean is pulling him towards his chest.

Cas goes rigid and tries to push back against the force of Dean’s embrace. “Dean, your back—”

“Is fine,” Dean bites out and forcefully yanks Cas into him. “Come here.”

Cas’s eyes flutter shut involuntarily as his chest crashes against Dean’s, and he lets his arms encircle Dean’s waist gently, mindful of the still tender wound in the middle of his back. He chokes back a whimper as Dean’s arms envelope him, one hand resting between his shoulders and the other cupping the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean whispers against the shell of Cas’s ear, voice thick and gruff. The warm caress of Dean’s breath chases goosebumps across Cas’s skin. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Cas murmurs gently against the line of Dean’s jaw, rubbing circles near the small of his back. “It’s okay.”

Dean’s breath saunters, and Cas can feel a warm wetness trickle down the slope of his neck, seeping into his shirt.

He wishes he could meld Dean into him then, just to envelope him completely, to shield him from everything that could hurt him the way he once could.

But Cas is human; and all he can do now is hold Dean.

So he does.

He buries his nose further into the crook of Dean’s neck and breathes deeply, relishing the scent of his shampoo, scotch, and simply the essence of Dean Winchester.

God, how he loves him.

“I forgive you,” Cas whispers around the tears clinging stubbornly to his throat. He lets one lone tear slip down his cheek as Dean’s fingers curl into Cas’s hair.

He feels the stifled sob before he hears it, and he pulls back gently to search Dean’s eyes as they spill over freckled cheeks.

Cas reaches to cup Dean’s face before resting their foreheads together. “I forgive you.” He drops one hand from Dean’s face to place it over his heart, feeling it thrum beneath his fingertips. “Please try to forgive yourself.”

Dean screws his eyes shut as he clenches his jaw, and Cas knows he wants to protest, wants to berate himself and scoff at the idea of self-compassion. So he lifts his chin to press his lips to Dean’s forehead, letting the kiss linger for only a moment.

He swears Dean leans into it.

“Let me check you,” Cas says quietly, reaching to place his hands gently at Dean’s sides and urging him to turn around.

“‘s fine, Cas,” Dean says, but lets himself be moved so that he’s bracing against the island. Cas reaches for the hem of Dean’s black tee, lifting it up midway to inspect the once-gaping wound in the center of his back.

It’s mostly healed by now; Jack had gotten Dean through the worst of it, but Cas’s stomach churns at how close it could have came to a different outcome entirely.

So he sees to it to check the wound every day, tracking the progress of its healing and closely monitoring Dean’s recovery. The pink, puckered skin is still raised slightly, promising a gruesome scar in the future. But it’s nearly fully closed up, and there’s no sign of infection.

Cas lets his thumb trace a large circle around the wound, and Dean shudders at the soft touch.

“It’s healing well,” Cas confirms. He removes his hands and lets Dean’s shirt fall back down, smoothing the fabric down his ribs. “How does it feel?”

Dean turns in his arms, and Cas starts to step back when Dean’s hands fall to his hips, anchoring him there.

He gets lost in those beautiful forest greens.

“It’s okay,” Dean murmurs. “It just pulls sometimes. Kind of catches when I move too quick.”

Cas nods, and feeling emboldened, reaches to flatten his palms against the planes of Dean’s chest.

He takes a heavy breath, eyes downcast with guilt. “I’m sorry I can’t heal the rest of it.”

He feels Dean shake his head as a finger curls underneath his chin, lifting it to meet their eyes again. Cas’s chest aches when Dean’s palm cups his cheek, grazing the stubble.

“You’re back,” he whispers gravelly. “‘s all that matters.”

Cas nods, and his heart begins to hammer under Dean’s locked gaze. He feels like he should step back in the interest of personal space, but then Dean’s eyes are flicking between his, to his lips, and back again.

Cas freezes as his breathing quickens, and then Dean is slowly leaning in to brush his lips against Cas’s own.

The world stops.

Cas reaches up Dean’s sides to cling to his shoulder blades, and he lets himself fall pliant when Dean presses him against the counter. Dean’s tongue is a butterfly caress against Cas’s mouth, and he opens to let him inside.

It’s a gentle, smoldering thing; not urgent or frenzied, neither panicked nor rushed. Something heavy and ethereal blooms behind Castiel’s ribs and spreads through his limbs, leaving sparks and tingles in its wake. He lets himself sink against the counter, and welcomes all of Dean’s weight as he presses into him.

It feels like grace.

Cas reaches up further, one hand cupping the rough stubble of Dean’s cheek, the other carding through sandy-brown strands of hair that have grown slightly longer in the midst of his recovery.

Cas tries to stifle a whimper as Dean’s tongue flicks languidly against his own, mapping the peaks and valleys of his mouth. His heart aches, aches, because he never thought — ever — that he’d be lucky enough to feel this. To have this.

Tears slip out from behind closed eyes, trailing down his cheeks. The cool air of the bunker chills the warm rivulets on his face.

Dean shifts minutely, dipping his chin slightly to move away for air; but not before he sucks Cas’s bottom lip between his own, gently nipping with his teeth. Claiming.

Ragged breaths fill the kitchen as they both heave for air. Foreheads rest together as Cas drops the hand from Dean’s hair to rest it over his heart.

It’s pounding just as hard as his.

“I love you too,” Dean chokes out around a muffled cry as one hand frames Cas’s jaw, the other falling to grasp against his ribs, fisting into his shirt.

Cas’s legs nearly give out then. He pulls Dean into his chest, cupping the back of his head to bury Dean’s face into his neck. Dean’s arms wrap around him like a vice, and he sobs quietly into his skin.

Castiel kisses Dean’s temple, lips ghosting the shell of his ear. “I love you so much.”

[frombeyondtheblackhole]

Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 9.1

[TW: Blood, violence, severe injury, bone related gore and zombie/undead related body horror. Please take care of yourself and stay safe. Warnings bracket the worst of the potentially triggering content and a summary is provided if you feel the need to skip that part. Some violence and minor injuries are outside the brackets. If there is a specific TW that you would like me to include in the future feel free to let me know and I will do my best to add it.]

Quackity, Purpled and Charlie, spent over an hour searching through the woods and the land around Las Nevadas, well mostly just Quackity and Purpled while Charlie hovered around asking annoying questions. Neither The Zombie nor Foolish were anywhere to be found. 

Quackity told Purpled and Charlie to Head back to Las Nevadas and look there while he did one more check around the perimeter for any clues as to what happened. Quackity took his time. Now that he was by himself he was able to think more clearly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned.    

Quackity wasn’t exactly sure what he had witnessed. He’d never seen something exactly like it, one minute Foolish was standing in front of him and the next he was gone and this zombie lady was in his place. He might argue with the other Las Navadas recruits, and they might not have the best opinion of him, but one thing was certain, if anyone messed with them, especially on Las Navadas property, They were messing with him and he wasn’t about to let anyone push him around, not anymore, never again. 

Quackity looked up as he rounded a sand dune, the walls of Tubbo’s “cookie” outpost looming up on the edge of Las Nevadas land. Quackity Scowled. One problem after another. The whole conflict about the walls hadn’t really been resolved, Tubbo was being stubborn, unreasonable. But that wasn’t a priority at the moment, he would deal with that latter, right now, he had bigger problems. 

Quackity followed along the wall and stopped short on the road in front of the Las Nevadas toll tunnel. Ranboo and Tubbo stood on the road coming from the other direction.

They stared at each other, neither side moving. Then Quackity broke into a smile “Hey there, Fancy running into you two here. You seem to hang around here a lot, have either of you seen Foolish or a strange looking Zombie by chance?”

Ranboo fidgeted and looked away but he was always fidgeting and he was never one for eye contact so that wasn’t exactly a tell. 

Tubbo on the other hand, Quackity had been in the same cabinet with him during Schlatt’s presidency, and in the cabinet during Tubbo’s presidency, he knew what the kid looked like when he lied. 

“A Zombie you say? What makes you think we would have anything to do with that?” Tubbo shrugged. 

Quackity didn’t drop the smile. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I am talking about.”

“Honest big man, there are no Zombies here, that's why we built the walls.” Tubbo insisted.

Ok so the kid was getting better at lying. Quackity frowned but the smile returned a moment later. “That's all good. Just be careful, she did something to Foolish, he’s gone missing, I’m worried that if she is allowed to roam free and do whatever she wants then she might do what she did to Foolish to someone else. You understand. I would hate to hear that one of you two went missing.”   

Tubbo and Ranboo looked at each other.  They definitely knew something they weren’t telling him. 

“Thanks for the warning big man, we’ll let you know if we see anything,” Tubbo smiled tightly before grabbing Ranboo’s arm and pulled him aside to whisper in his ear.

Called it. Quackity smiled, his sharp gold tooth glinting in the sunlight. He turned on his heel and headed back down the tunnel towards Las Nevadas. 

---

Cleo looked down at the dark water lapping against the stone pier where she sat, her legs dangling over the edge. The air smelled of salt, cold stung her lungs. She wasn’t shivering despite the fact that a crop top and shorts was chronically under dressed for the weather. She didn’t really notice. 

Her heel bounced against the wall of the peer as she stared out to sea. Snowchester was secluded, nice and peaceful, but it also felt vacant. There were houses but no one lived in them. Not that that was anything all too strange, Hermits built empty houses all the time, but these felt different. The empty houses the Hermits built were intended just for show, or to conceal functional builds. These houses once housed people, and now were abandoned.  

Cleo looked up at the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow and the clunk of boots against the wood at the beginning of the peer. Tubbo and Ranboo stood looking back at her. Tubbo had his hands in the front pockets of his coat and Ranboo stared at her over Tubboo’s shoulder. He never seemed to blink, it was a bit unnerving. 

Cleo pursed her lips “Um, thanks for letting me stay here kids, but-”

“You can’t stay here anymore,” Tubbo blurted out. 

Cleo blinked.

Ranboo flinched “Sorry about all this, it’s just…”

“Don’t worry about it kid,” Cleo said, getting to her feet, “I was going to leave anyway,” She shrugged.   

“Oh really,” Ranboo sighed.

Tubbo frowned “Why? What changed?” 

Cleo chuckled hollowly, “I could ask you the same thing.” 

Tubbo pursed his lips but didn’t push the issue.

Cleo walked past the two of them and started up the path.

“Wait,” Ranboo called

Cleo stopped.  

“Where are you going to stay now?” Ranboo asked. Tubbo just glared at her.

Cleo shrugged and smiled a bit to cheerily “I’m sure I’ll find a nice cave somewhere, after all I am a Hermit,” 

“Um,” Ranboo looked off to the side, tapping his fingers together. “If you need it there’s a hotel in the Greater Dream SMP. It’s big and red, hard to miss.”  

Cleo chuckled, “I’ll be alright, don’t worry ‘bout it.” 

Tubbo was still glaring at her. She turned to leave again.

“Just know that if you try and mess with us we can and will defend ourselves,” Tubbo said.

Cleo didn’t turn around “Oh, I know,” She smirked as she walked away. This Tubbo kid had guts, she could respect that. 

---    

Quackity taped his fingers against his arm impatiently as he waited in the ditch on the Greater DSMP side of the speed tunnel to Snowchester. After talking to Tubbo and Ranboo he had watched from a distance and followed them here. 

The splash of oars cutting through the water reached Quackity’s ears as a boat made its way towards his hiding spot. Quackity took a steadying breath, stealing himself as he listened carefully. The boat scraped against the shore and there was a crunch of sand as someone got out of the boat. Only one person. 

Quackity stood up and moved into view. The Zombie jumped, summoning her sword as she spun around to face him, teeth bared.

Quackity held up his empty hands and took several steps back. “Woe, woe woe. Hold on. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You think?” She scoffed. She didn’t attack but she still had her guard up. 

“Just tell me what you did to my friend and maybe we can resolve this peacefully,” He smiled tightly. 

“I didn’t do anything! And even if I did, why would I tell you? You already tried to kill me once?” She said. Then her expression changed, as if just remembering something. She lowered her sword and straightened. “What do you know about perma-death?” She asked calmly.

Quackity sucked in his breath and took a step back. Was this a threat or a legitimate question? He looked at the determination in her eyes… It was both. 

He fought the urge to summon his axe. 

“Do you really think you can kill a Zombie? I’m already dead. The rules don’t apply to me!” She strode forward and pointed her sword at him. Quackity staggered back looking up at her standing over him on the edge of the pit framed by the crystal clear sky behind her.   

Was she bluffing? 

Fuck. 

She spun on her heel and ran the other direction, across the field. 

The trance was broken. 

[TW: Blood, violence, body horror. Skip to the next bolded text to avoid the worst of it] 

“Shit, Get back here!” Quackity scrambled up the bank, summoning his crossbow and letting loose the bolt. It struck her in the leg, but she didn’t even seem to slow down. Had she even felt it? An ender pearl replaced the crossbow and a moment later he felt a sudden rush as he flew through the air, switching to his axe mid-flight. He crashed into her back, embedding his axe between her shoulder blades.

Quackity pulled his axe out of her back and staggered backwards. She wasn’t dead. She hadn’t despawned yet. Maybe she had been telling the truth about being unable to die. Oh wait, she was moving.

She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees coughing up dark sickened blood. She staggered to her feet and turned around to face him again, fire and determination in her eyes.

How was she still standing? That last hit had to have broken several ribs. Quackity glanced at the exposed ribs poking out from under her crop top, edged with decayed flesh. Those had been that way before. Maybe broken bones didn’t matter?  

[TW End: Summery: Quackity chases after Cleo, she tanks a bunch of damage but is able to keep fighting despite severe injuries]

Why were his knees shaking? She hadn’t even scratched him this time, and she wasn’t as good at combat as Dream or Techno. Yet she refused to die? 

He clenched his teeth and scowled, “I’ll give you one more chance. Tell me what you did with Foolish?” He demanded. Now he was bluffing. 

“I. Don’t. Know!” She yelled as she lunged at him, summoning her sword mid swing as she brought it down on him. 

He didn’t have time to block. Instead he moved back and swung the axe up. The blunt side of the head struck her in the chin as he felt her sword cut into his shoulder and graze his chest.

She staggered back and switched her sword out for a gapple. 

Oh no you don’t. Quackity raised his axe about to lung when he felt someone jump on him from behind. Arms wrapping around his neck in a choke hold. The axe returned to his inventory as he grabbed at the arms around his neck. They were invisible, his attacker was invisible.  

“Cleo, Run!” the invisible man shouted. 

She froze, the gapple halfway to her mouth “Etho?” 

“I said run!”

She turned on her heel and started running, only pausing for a moment to eat the gapple and keep going. 

Quackity clawed at the arm around his neck. This Etho guy was invisible. That ment he wasn’t wearing armor. Quackity summoned a sword in reverse grip and stabbed behind him. He heard Etho hiss as the sword grazed him. His grip loosened and Quackity was able to wrestle free. Summoning another pearl he threw it, getting away and landing near some trees. He staggered against one of the trees, coughing and rubbing his neck. He gritted his teeth, his face twisting into and ugly snarl. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She got away. And she had an accomplice.  

They made him look like an idiot. He quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He had promised never to let himself feel helpless again. Never to let other people control him. Yet he had let himself get pushed around by some random Zombie and one guy with an invis pot. Fuck this. He needed to do something about this. He couldn’t let this stand.

[creativeashproductions]

Banjo Riff // Platonic!Reggie Peters

IN WHICH: Luke rejects Reggie’s ideas for country music one too many times leading to the friendship fracturing and putting the bands future in question. Luke, with the help of his girlfriend the reader and his friends scramble to make it up to the bassist.

Warnings: Swearing, hurt!Reggie, Luke being an ass, fighting, angst, and fluff

Words: 3.2k

A/N: This idea has been sitting in my notes for MONTHS now. Song referenced is Lay Here With Me by Maddie & Tae (featuring Dierks Bentley)

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

If there was one thing Sunset Curve, then later Julie and the Phantoms would rely on, it was the battle between Luke and Reggie. Since the conception of a band between the friends, Reggie had always wanted to play a country song. He had learned how to play the banjo in preparation, but Luke rejected both the idea and songs as always.

"You said our sound was vintage '80s and '90s rock music Luke. The band evolved into a pop-rock sound-"

"Because our band changed from Sunset Curve to Julie and the Phantoms. I love you, man, but there's no way we're going country." Luke finally snapped with a heated glare on his face. Luke didn't mean to snap so severely, but it happened.

Luke watched as Reggie's face completely dropped into the kicked puppy expression that tore everyone apart. Instead of making light of the conversation, Reggie mutely nodded in response before turning to grab his bass for the band practice. Luke's stomach dropped at the rather odd behaviour, but Luke blamed his response on his current writers' block.

"Let's start with Flying Solo." Luke proclaimed, hoping Reggie's favourite song would cheer him up. Alex's curious gaze bounced between the two other males in the band just as Julie wandered into the garage.

Before Julie could even question the tension, Reggie had started the beat on the pad stationed on the keyboard. The young female immediately jumped into the first rehearsal song with ease. Every attempt Julie was about to question Reggie's uncharacteristic quiet, the bassist started a different song.

"What's his problem?" Julie questioned as Reggie packed up his stuff and practically sprinted out of the studio. He'd rejected the offer of a pizza movie night.

"Luke here decided to be an asshole again." Alex's tone of voice was sugary sweet in comparison to the glare he sent his guitarist. 

Luke flinched at the furious expression on his bandmate's face. It wasn't a secret Julie and Reggie gravitated to each other in sibling bond. The two had been friends since infancy through their parents; Julie was there when the Peters started fighting. Reggie was there when Julie's mom passed away.

"Don't kill me!" Luke pleaded, scrambling around the piano from the intimidating Puerto Rican who had a solid punch. Julie's anger faltered at the guilt on the boy's face, "I was frustrated, and I shouldn't have taken it out on him!"

"What did Reggie do to deserve it?" Julie asked from the other side of the piano, acting as a barrier between the teenagers.

"He asked about the band doing a country song," Luke admitted with a grimace. His hazel eyes dimmed once more.

"What is your issue with country music? Your girlfriend is literally a country singer Luke!" Alex cried, stepping in between the two feuding bandmates.

Rock n' Roll Luke Patterson had been dating a well-known country singer for close to two years now. Luke had always been adamant that country wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but if you looked in the false bottom of the console in his car, you'd see a different story. Beneath the Eagles, Nirvana, AC/DC, and Gun N' Roses CDs, you'd find countless CDs of his girlfriend. He even had a playlist with a name that concealed the music in it.

Luke was a secret country fan, but he'd take that to his grave before he let anyone other than you know that.

"I don't have an issue! I don't think our band would benefit from branching into that music genre!" Luke argued with his bare arms crossing over his chest. Both Julie and Alex were about to respond when the studio gained another inhabitant.

"Would anyone like to explain why Reggie stormed into my house holding his songbook? He literally dropped it in my garage and tried to light it on fire?" You asked from the double doors with said book in your hand.

All three out of four members of Julie and the Phantoms recognized the book with a country landscape. The sight caused all their stomachs to drop at the obvious symbol of Reggie's hurt feelings.

"Funny story-"

"Luke Patterson...did you hurt his feelings about his love of country?" You asked through clenched teeth. Your response was Luke wincing at the anger blistering in your tone, "Did you ever think that country music is his comfort music? Fix this, Luke. Reggie, of all people, doesn't deserve your frustration."

You turned on your heel with Julie following in the attempt to find the forlorn bassist, most likely being hard on himself. You checked the beach house Reggie's dad had gotten in the divorce to no success. The school auditorium was empty, and so was the stable where Reggie worked part-time for the horses. You had returned back to Julie's house to sit on the porch to brainstorm.

"Isn't this the week he's with his mom?" Julie questioned with a furrowed brow. You could only shrug as Julie pulled up the calendar she shared with Flynn.

Reggie's parents had somewhat amicably divorced two years ago after attempts of reconciliation through therapy. Reggie had sat down with them to tell them how he felt with them fighting, if you recalled. They decided to do a trial separation for a few months and, in the end, had mutually agreed to divorce.

"I think Mr. Peters is taking care of his mother in a different state. She broke her hip, and now she's being moved into a retirement home." You offered the girl the encapsulated sunshine in just her smile.

"I suppose we'll try the Carter-Peters home." Julie breathed, bouncing on her feet to your car parked in front of her house. Julie's fingers tapped the screen in a chat thread she hadn't touched for months.

Your keen eyes easily read Carrie Wilson's name at the top of the thread that had been dormant since the end of their friendship. Apparently, Julie received little help in the frustrated sigh she released and the increasingly violent tapping of her screen.

"As usual, Carrie is no help," Julie announced with disgust in her voice. She squeezed the hand you placed on her knee before your hand returned to the wheel.

"One day, you'll have to tell me what happened between the two of you."

"Old news. Happened just before you moved back from Nashville." Julie once more avoided talking about the issues. 

It was the same response every time you questioned the friendship that had fractured in the few years you'd been in Nashville. Before you left, Carrie and Julie had been attached at the hip, and when you came back, they were at each other's throats. Well, mostly Carrie was because Julie had too big of a heart to stand up to her former friend.

"Well, the beat-up van is still there." Julie caught the van, more of an eyesore, to be honest, sitting in the three-car driveway. The van was shared between Reggie and Flynn as a joint gift from their parents when Reggie's mom moved in with Flynn and her father.

"We both know Reggie-"

"Would walk to work through his problems. The number of times I've found in walking downtown…" Julie trailed with a shake of her half up half down hairstyle she left uncovered by a hat. Another symbol of her finding herself outside the grief that had concealed her.

"Oh, thank god." Flynn moaned from the front porch with her headphones resting on her shoulders instead of her ears, "He's been playing his old bass that makes that odd high pitch squeak noise. I couldn't take it. Get him out!"

You opened and closed your mouth with the inability to find the words, but Flynn knew already, "Doors unlocked. He's in his room."

"Thanks." You informed the fashionable teenager before brushing passed into the house. Not much had changed since Reggie had moved part-time into the house; his parents shared custody.

Flynn was right; the sound of that screech was like a bread trail to the last bedroom in the hallway to the left. The door opened a smidge to reveal Reggie sitting in the dim room with just his bedside lamp on. He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, Reggie." You breathed from leaning against the door jam, "I'm not sure what Luke said but don't give up on writing. Your songs mean something, Reginald."

"Then why doesn't Luke even read my lyrics? He barely read the title of my last one before tossing it aside!" Reggie whined before taking on a caricature of Luke's voice, "'Home is Where my Horse Is'? Reggie, stop putting your songs in my book!"

You couldn't help the snort at his interpretation of Luke, "That's a...uh...an accurate voice?"

Reggie didn't even crack a smile.

"Okay, maybe don't push Luke's buttons but imagine turning this hurt into songs!"

"Okay. Can I be left alone?"

"Sure." You sighed, turning to leave the room again, "But first. Don't get rid of this Reg. You have good songs." 

You left Reggie's songbook on the dresser by his door on your way through the Carter-Peters household. Flynn sighed in relief when Reggie didn't continue using his old bass and even waved as you and Julie pulled away from the curb.

Reggie's eyes had stayed on the songbook you left on his second-hand dresser as if it would get up and bite him. All he could see was Luke rolling his eyes when Reggie had opened the book to show him a new song he'd written. Reggie was tired of only being known for playing bass.

"I brought you some leftover pizza." Reggie wasn't aware he'd been staring at the songbook for hours by then. He was only aware of Luke when he offered a peace offering in the form of Reggie's favourite food.

"I-"

"I'll go grab a soda from the fridge." Luke retreated just as quick as he had entered the bedroom. Seeing Luke was like rubbing salt in the open wound, and once more, Reggie's emotions flared.

Reggie was already at the fire pit in the backyard when Luke had argued with Flynn overtaking one of her sodas. The soda that had dropped on the back porch as Luke saw Reggie's fingers about to drop the songbook in the crackling fire.

"Reggie!" Luke shouted, ignoring the cold spray of soda on his bare arms. The hazel-eyed guitarist shoved Reggie away from the fire.

"What the hell, dude?" Reggie groaned, rolling onto his stomach to push himself to his sit on his knees. His blue eyes seeing Luke stomping the ignited corner of the songbook that had caused them issues.

"What the hell were you doing, Reggie?" Luke demanded with the songbook held tight in his grip. The glare on the messy-haired teenager directly pinned on his best friend, "Why would you try to destroy the book?"

"What's the point of having something our band won't branch into?" Reggie shrugged, moving to sit with his knees pulled to chest, "I've tried to keep the peace but Luke. I'm starting to understand why Bobby left the band."

Luke's heart clenched at the honesty Reggie was revealing, "What do you mean?"

"Screw the blood pact." Reggie grumbled, recalling the oath Alex, Bobby, and he had done to keep the truth from Luke, "Bobby didn't leave because he got an early acceptance into Juilliard."

Luke's eyebrows furrowed together, "What?"

"Luke...you tend to get possessive over the music we make. You brushed off Bobby's opinions, and we all didn't want to hurt your feelings. You've had a shitty time with your parents, but like Bobby, I feel like you don't appreciate our talents."

"What? Dude, you're killer on the bass! Alex's insane on the drums!"

"We know that. Maybe Bobby should have told you the truth on why he was leaving. I don't think you noticed but 

"Luke. The songs we perform are all written by you. It was fine, but then when Julie joined, all of a sudden, you were okay with someone else writing with you. But you've never even looked at the songs I've written."

Luke silently listened as Reggie rambled on about how he, along with Bobby, felt underappreciated by the guitarist. 

"And now you've been bit by the writers' block bug, but I think the band should take a break. Get our heads back on straight. Before we destroy the band, destroy our friendships." Reggie told his best friend with tears rolling down his face, "Just a week or two."

Luke's mouth hung open as Reggie circled around him to enter the household, but the telltale sound of the lock engaging broke the teenager. But Luke wasn't one to give up, so he created a group chat with Alex, Julie, Flynn and you. A single text that had all of them meeting at the studio.

"He quit the band?" Alex demanded, taking the songbook from Luke's hand, "What the hell?"

"One second he's in his room, and the next he's about to burn that! I may not like-"

"Luke, have you even read a single song he wrote?" You asked your boyfriend with your arms resting down on your knees. The boy in question half-heartedly shrugged with his eyes on his battered shoes.

"How are we gonna fix this?" Julie asked with a frown marring her pretty face usually lit up with sunshine. Her question was left to waft in the forlorn atmosphere in her family's studio.

"Give me that." You demanded towards the band's drummer with determination lit up in your eyes. Alex hesitantly handed over the songbook to your grabby hands.

The other individuals in the room watched as you settled into a chair with a stray acoustic guitar you'd left. Your eyes focused on the notes Reggie had placed around one of the unfinished songs. The soft melody was played a few times before you noticed Alex creating a beat with his drums.

"If I just tweak the song to make this piece the verse instead of a chorus." You mumbled under your breath with a pen scratching the paper. In a different colour, you jotted down the lyrics of a song you'd been working on previously. It was a song you'd struggled with the ending.

Alex huddled around you to add his own notes for the drums, "Definitely a song with a soft backing beat."

"Perfect. I just joined what he has with a song I'd given up a while back. The two songs are the last two pieces of a puzzle." You informed the drummer. Both of you unaware as Julie, Luke, and Flynn watched your brainstorming.

Luke felt out of sorts not being included in writing a song, but he thought it was suitable to not work on it. It gave Luke insight into how Reggie felt not being included in songwriting.

"I have an idea." Luke interjected with a grin, "Reggie's always wanted to see a real ranch. Do you think your uncle would be okay with us staying at the ranch?"

Your eyes flitted up to the mischievous hazel of your boyfriend's scheming gaze, "My uncle adores having people on the ranch. He'd enjoy teaching Reggie the ways of ranch life out of a city."

"How are you gonna get Reggie out to Nashville without it being band business?" Flynn questioned from her position on the couch, "He did just ask for a break from the band."

"Uh...I could pretend to enter a music competition." You offered hesitantly as you'd never actually performed on a stage for the group. You'd kept your personal life separate from your successful career as a country musician.

So you conspired with your friends to make amends with the bassist.

One Month Later, Nashville

The beat-up van pulled into a parking spot in front of a building. The band had seen the building in pictures on your Instagram. Alex, Luke and Julie all shared a look Reggie couldn't catch with his mouth wide open at the city.

"So, where's this competition?" Reggie inquired with his steps in line with Julie. The distance between Reggie and Luke is still noticeable.

True to Reggie's word, the band had come back together after two weeks of a break, but the bassist and guitarist's friendship was still fractured. A particular cloud of awkwardness followed each attempt; Luke tried to branch it together.

"Uh, not here. Y/N invited me to tour the recording studio she uses through her label." Luke offered to the confused bassist. As usual, Reggie barely cast a glance at the guitarist.

"C'mon!" Alex called out from the open doorway with the new addition of you by his side.

Luke was quick to nearly tackle you in a hug and a lingering kiss on your lips. The band all made sounds of feigned disgust. Even Reggie joined in the usual banter within the group.

"Hey, Reggie, do you want to see how us country artists do it?" You quipped with your arm interlocking with his. The cold leather of his jacket raising goosebumps on your arm as you dragged him to the recording booth.

As soon as he was comfortable on one of the spinney chairs by the producer's side, he watched like a hawk. The band had never been in a real professional recording studio owned by a label. It was interesting to everyone, but mostly they all watched Reggie's reactions.

"I was working on this song." You spoke from inside the booth. With a nod, your producer began playing a portion of the song.

"Is...is that-" Reggie was cut off by as Luke interrupted him.

"Your song? Yeah." 

Reggie stared at his best friend, "What?"

"You were right, Reggie. I didn't appreciate what you could bring to the band, and I'm so fucking sorry about that. You have excellent songs even if I'm not a fan of country music." Luke genuinely informed his best friend with his hands clasping his, "I want you. Both you and Alex to have a bigger role because we started this band together. We all share responsibility."

"So for now. Alex and I finished one of the songs you had written. I was wondering if you'd like to make it a duet? Release it as a single with a full writing credit."

Reggie absolutely beamed in response to your question. He was in the recording booth beside you in mere seconds.

For the week the band stayed on your uncle's ranch, Reggie was in the studio with you going over the song. It is a song you released as the leading single for your upcoming studio album with Reggie and cemented his career. It wasn't the last time you did a song with Reggie. In fact, he set himself up as a sought after country songwriter.

"Holy shit!" Luke shouted as soon as Reggie told him the success of one of the songs had brought interest to Julie and the Phantoms, "I could kiss you! I'll never doubt your skills!"

Reggie and Luke's fractured friendship healed with the promise of a yearly visit to the ranch in Nashville. Plus, Reggie impressed Luke and Alex with the banjo riff in a country song the band released on their third studio album featured by you. Reggie would always be thankful he had the chance to record ‘Lay Here With Me’ with you.

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[anxiousstark]

Can you stay a little longer? | JJ MAYBANK

Warnings: Sadness, angst, pain, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1635

All Rights Reserved. The author, me, don’t allow any type of copy or adaption.

A/N: If you guys like Teen Wolf or Dylan O’Brien, I have a Teen Wolf Rewrite. I would be so happy if you guys check it out.

BIG MASTERLIST

You were freezing, but those were the consequences of going out on the boat pretty late at night. Nevertheless, sometimes you needed to be on your own to recollect yourself. The smooth movements of the boat being moved by the gentle waves made you feel a little more relaxed. A chill running through your body, cursing yourself for not bringing a cloth to put over your trembling body.

You had turned off the engine of the boat, letting it float freely. You were a little farther from the usual, and it wasn't intelligent of you to do so, especially so late at night. But you were convincing yourself that you would know how to go back and that everything would be alright. Well, not everything.

Getting up from when you were sitting, you walked closer to one of the sides of the boat, peering down at the dark water. It seemed like the waves were luring you in, telling you to jump. But of course, that wasn't a smart idea.

"Hey," A whisper startled you, turning around you saw a pair of blue eyes, which made you question yourself how they could be so bright when it was so dark, maybe it was the moon illuminating his stunning eyes. He went closer, arms embracing your waist. "Shouldn't you go back to the Chateau?"

You shook your head. "They won't stop fighting." The tension between all pogues could be cut with a knife. Kie wasn't talking, ignoring everyone, and walking away as soon as she could. Pope tried to be strong, running after her all the time, trying to comfort the girl he was in love with. Then, things between John B and Sarah didn't seem to go well. It made you think that they would end up breaking up, which would tear both of them even more.

You couldn't stand that tension anymore, that is why you were now in the middle of the sea, on the boat all the pogues cherished. However, John B would be so mad. Everyone would be mad, but he was your own blood, your big brother.

You sat down, sighing, blinking as quickly as possible to avoid tears falling down your cheeks. Luckily enough, if you couldn't hold back the tears, the dark night would do so for you.

JJ Maybank sat down next to you, arm around your waist, bringing you closer to his cold body, which was strange because JJ was always warm. Every winter, when both of you were lying together on your shared bed in the Chateau, you would press your cold feet on his warm legs, trying to heat your feet.

"Mmh, you know what I really really really want right now?" His fingers caressed your hair, sometimes getting stuck between some knots. "One of those milkshakes you love so much, damn, my mouth is watering."

You laughed, eyes closed, nose nuzzling on the crook of his neck.  Every summer you bought this banana milkshakes, they were delicious. The first time you asked John B to buy you one in front of JJ, the blond guy laughed loudly, thinking you were childish because milkshakes were for little kids. As days went by, his curiosity got the best of him, looking at your milkshakes with a little envy and interest. The time came when JJ was brave enough to ask for a sip, from that day onwards he decided you had to give him a couple of sips, not wanting to buy his own because he wanted to share with you. But you didn't mind, you never did.

You opened your eyes when you felt some drops against your arm. "Fuck," He muttered. "You need to go back. A storm is coming, and fast." His eyes left the sky, now holding your gaze and seeing how you were shaking your head. He whispered, offering you a little smile. "It's dangerous," He got up, his warmth leaving your body. You walked closer to him while he turned the engine of the boat on. "You need to go back." He repeated while turning the boat around, determined to carry you back to the Chateau.

You couldn't hold back anymore, sobbing violently. "I-I don't want to." Gosh, you probably looked like a disaster. Wet hair due to the rain, runny nose, red eyes, etc.

"I don't want you to go back neither." His hands ended up on your cheeks, thumbs rubbing your cheekbone. His teary eyes took turns, looking between your eyes and your mouth, trying o decide where to focus his attention. "It's dangerous. I want you back home safely. I want you back home with all the pogues." His lips and breath caressed yours. Your hands grabbed his neck, pulling him closer while his lips seemed terrified of kissing you deeply, but you weren't so you put him as closely as possible.

The way back to the Chateau was full of tears, heartbreaking sobs, and bodies clutching to each other, embracing. JJ's biggest fear came when the boat had stopped, meaning you guys were back, and that you had to go back before John B and the others would have a heart attack searching for you.

On the distance, you saw the other pogues, they seemed to be stressed. Kiara was the first one to notice you, pointing, which made the other pogues look in your direction, running towards you. Before they could come closer, you turned around, glancing at JJ that was now behind you, hand on your lower back. "Can you stay a little longer?" He shook his head, making you whimper.

"I want to," His lower lip trembled. You saw JJ's vulnerable side again, his hands going to his mouth, he bit it, trying to control his tears. "But I can't."

"Y/N!" Your head snapped back. Your brother was running towards you, eyes full of tears, hair a mess. Your boyfriend helped you get down off the boat, but he stayed. A body collided with yours. "Are you crazy?" Over his shoulder, you were met by the glances of your friends, full of worry, embracing each other. It was the first time in a couple of months since you had seen them so close to each other. "It's 1 a.m! What were you thinking, uh?" His hands were now on your shoulders, shaking you lightly.  "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"I was with JJ." Everyone stopped on their tracks, not daring to say or do anything.

"John B," Kiara moved him away, going closer to you and hugging you as tightly as she could.

"No," He firmly stated when he guessed what Kiara's intentions were. "This is not the first time you've done this." He was in front of you again, eyes glaring deeply into your eyes. "Do you know how worried we were? Haven't you thought about us?"

"Haven't you thought about me?" You replied, shocking everyone with your firm voice. "You guys are constantly arguing, and I'm tired of it." Your voice got louder. "You," You pointed at your brother. "You have Sarah, you guys love each other so fucking much, but you are wasting your time in stupid arguments that will tear you both apart if you don't stop!" Tears filled with rage and sadness ran down your cheeks. "Pope," The boy jumped a little when he thought about you yelling at him. "When are you going to tell Kiara that you are in love with her?" Now, you looked at the other girl. "When are you going to stop concealing your feeling for him?" Both of them glanced at each other sadly.

"Y/N..."

"Why him?" Your voice cracked. "There are so many people in the world. There are murderers out there, and people who have done disgusting things." Sarah took a step closer to you, her heart breaking for you. "However, whatever is up there," You glanced at the sky for a couple of seconds. "Decided to take JJ."

"Let's go back, okay?" Your big brother out his arms around your shoulders, letting you rest your head against his chest. "It's raining and you are freezing."

"He took JJ." Your sobs were even harsher than before. They whimpered, missing their blond. They had lost a friend, a pogue, a family member, but you lost all that and a boyfriend, for sure the love of your life.

You turned around, still in John B's arm. JJ was looking at all of his friends, crying violently. His face was red, hands between his locks, gripping it hard. He was still on the boat. His eyes met yours, droplets of tears wetted his lips that were trying to offer a smile to calm you down.

"Let's go inside." Sarah decided to talk for the first time. "We can play your favorite film on the background, I will cook your favorite dish, and we will cuddle, okay?" She hoped to comfort you, but nothing could, at least she tried, and you knew you were loved. Furthermore, you noticed how her hand grabbed John B's hand tightly, sometimes sharing glances full of love. They finally understood that if they were together, it would be easier to go through JJ's death.

Kiara and Pope walked in front of the three of you, their hands lightly touching until Pope was brave enough to interlock his fingers with Kiara's ones. They also understood.

For the last time, you turned around. JJ Maybank wasn't in the boat anymore. You knew what that meant. It meant you had to let go. You wept, worrying your friends as they thought you were more peaceful now. Shaking legs made you fall to the floor, thankfully your brother was holding tightly onto you. Questions of your well-being were drowned by your cries.

JJ Maybank couldn't stay a little longer.

[tanoraqui]

AU where I gently tweak character ages to my whim so that when Jame is outcast, the next time Tori sleeps and reaches out for her reflexively in his dreams...he can’t find her of course. She’s lost in the dark somewhere. But he wanders the edges of that darkness searching, crying as he can’t let himself be seen to do while awake…and he stumbles into Kindrie’s garden

Tori is seven years old and dreaming. He wanders around, admiring the many pale-flowered plants, before he notices that one of them isn't a flower at all, but a white-haired, blue-eyed toddler sitting quietly in the corner.

(I don’t think it’s at all normal to slide from dream to soulspace at the age of 4, but this is Kindrie, who is just a little bit of a prodigy - and, of course, Tori, likewise.)

Tori nearly backs away in disgust, filthy shanir ringing in his ears in his father's voice (and this isn’t even the shanir he wants to see, wants with every lonely, not-quite-guilty-yet fiber of his being.) But the toddler’s eyes well up with tears at his disgust and Tori has never interacted with a baby before but he’s always been responsible. So he wipes the sneer from his young face and tentatively sits beside the boy, and asks what's your name, is this your garden, are there any adults here? (Kindrie, yes, a shy look toward the faint impression of a woman's face in a mossy wall.) Are you lonely, too? ...Do you want to play?

Tori wakes up before he gets much farther than explaining the strategies of tic-tac-toe. He doesn't go back the next night, because he wakes up inexplicably exhausted, like he hasn’t slept at all. He dismisses it as a half-forgotten dream.

But soon enough there’s another night - when Ganth raged at dinner, when the other half of the bed felt especially cold and empty - when he goes looking for the peaceful little garden again, and finds it after only a little bewildering wandering. Kindrie is there, and lights up to see him.

Maybe they just play tag, and water the plants - or water plants and end up splashing water at each other, Tori drawing Kindrie into not flinching at the sudden movements… Or maybe Tori asks, “Do you know how to play marbles?” and Kindrie says yes but points out that that there aren’t any marbles here, and Tori, with all the confidence of a young lord, says, “Well that’s dumb,” and conjures some marbles to play with. Because it’s a dream, and you can do that in a dream! (It’s a soul and most people can not do that in a soul, but the children who will one day be Creation and Preservation don’t know that.)

And then! They just! Hang out! No less often than once every few weeks, and sometimes every night for nearly a month. When they're young, it's more effort; it takes Tori days to regain his strength each time. When they're older, they both have more nights too busy or anxious to sleep, or too hurt and weary to choose anything but dreamless dwar.

By day, Tori keeps swallowing down his father's poison, but by night - obviously he, Tori, isn't a shanir. Obviously. it's Kindrie's dream garden. But Kindrie is - well, he's just a little kid (Tori thinks from the ripe age of 3 years older). He doesn't have claws or anything; he's not dangerous like Jame was. And by mutual unspoken agreement, neither of them talks in detail about their waking lives, but if Tori were to mention his father's view on shanir - well, Kindrie has been drinking his own poison since birth. Bastard, worthless shanir brat, and all the curses of the priests and their benefactress... He wouldn't argue, I think, with anything Tori said.

(As for that benefactress..she nearly catches them once, for sure. She's surprised to see another dreamwalker, but her reflexes are good: she flings a curse at Tori that would hit most souls like a well-aimed arrow, or at least like a discreet tracker tag. It bounces off his back as he dashes away; he barely notices. Kindrie is terrified. A door has developed over the years, from frequent use, between here and Tori's Haunted Lands keep. It's always been concealed behind a curtain of vines, but after that incident with Lady Randir, he hides it so thoroughly that Tori has difficulty finding it from the other side, next time he visits.)

The first time Kindrie follows Tori back through that door is when Tori, age 12, has broken his arm falling out of a tree, and been put sternly to bed but left too restless for proper dwar. Kindrie has learned enough in his classes for young could-be-priests to realize that this isn't a dream, but (guiltily) he hasn't told Tori, because Tori - best and only friend, and something like an older brother - will freak out about shanir things, and possibly never come back. This is the worst possible outcome.

But right now, even dreaming, Tori is cradling his arm with remembered pain, and Kindrie knows that when he grows up (if he grows up), he's going to be a healer (he has already been made so exquisitely aware that his talents lie in healing, himself if no one else). So he convinces Tori to take him back through the door to explore Tori's dreadful keep, and together they gather the ladder and hammers and etc. required to repair the few fallen beams.

(Ganth roars when Tori wakes up with an arm far more healed than one night of dwar sleep should have healed. Filthy shanir, monster! But he calms without delivering more than a few extra slaps. Tori dances desperately around the truth, because his dreams with Kindrie - best and only friend, something like a younger brother - are something they've never needed to swear to keep secret. The kendar who'd examined the break in the first place says, "Lord, my eyes are growing old, and Torisen is young and strong - maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. A fracture, not a break. And he slept well.")

(Not a lie, just barely not a lie.)

(But these are kendar who would, in a couple years, every single one of them swear to take any dishonor onto their own accounts so that their young lordan could escape this place. It's not the first not-a-lie, and it won't be the last.)

"How can I?" Tori asks, agonized, surrounded by gentle white flowers, in one of the rare times they speak explicitly about the things they endure by day. Though Tori still doesn't give his full name, nor his father's, and Kindrie's given little more detail of his location than that he's studying to be a priest. He's never named the woman against whom he sometimes locks his doors so tightly that even Tori can't get in.

"One of us should escape," says Kindrie, who's 3 years younger but plenty old enough to be bitter.

(A few days after that, waking, Ganth demands that Tori drink a cup of wine with a drop of blood in it, "To my health", and something dark and rotten will take root in Tori's soul-keep. But it's so small, and hidden for now, not to mention ineffective, that Tori doesn't notice - and Kindrie hasn't come over to help clean up since the near-disaster of that broken arm.)

Less than a year after that, Kindrie is having a particularly bad day, the sort where even in his garden, he's doing little more than curl up in a silent ball. Tori sits nearby, sketching a map of the Southern Host's camp, so as to remember his new environs better. Unprompted, he says, "You know, I don't actually mind people thinking I'm a bastard."

"That's because you're not," Kindrie says, quietly into his knees, but just a little waspish.

"Maybe," Tori concedes. "But also it's..." He waves his hand at undefinable concepts, because he'll never be good at introspection. "Everyone assumes things, about me, about Lord Ardeth - assumes the worst, assumes the least of me. But it's not right at all, it's just because they hear the word bastard and think those things - so who's to say they're right about any other bastard?"

Another day, Tori is restless, pacing, and wearing armor even here, and won't say why. He doesn't need to - he's been keeping Kindrie abreast of the events with the god-kings, Karnids, and brewing war (though not every detail - not how the high priest spoke to him). If only as a listening ear at which to talk it all through, figure it all out.

He still doesn't, truly, overall mind people assuming he's Ardeth's bastard. But he hates the stupid games around that and being a Knorth at the same time, the spying and the constant not-quite-lying - and tomorrow, they reach Ukakarn, with enemies unknown.

"Kindrie," he says abruptly, can you keep a secret on his tongue - but that's a stupid question because all of this is secret, and always has been. "Would you mind knowing my name?"

"Tori?" Kindrie says, answer and question, blinking as his attention is pulled away from the flowers he's been meticulously winding around a trellis.

"Torisen," Tori says, with that same abruptness. "Torisen Knorth, son of Ganth Grey Lord." And because he cannot bear to unburden himself without offering something - "Lord Ardeth knows - that's why he's been mentoring me, and spying on me, this whole time. But I think he did mean it, when he said he wants to help me regain my father's seat - that's why I mean it, when I say I'm quite sure he'd help me get you out of this place" (the priests' college) "if you want. He could send for a new healer to attempt Dari's rotten teeth..."

He trails off in the fact of Kindrie's odd response: avoiding Tori's eyes, a small smile that he's failing to suppress.

"What?" Tori says, maybe more sharply than he should.

"It's just...my grandmother was a Knorth. I heard someone say it, once, when they thought I wasn't listening." Kindrie's mouth keeps trying to smile, but his glance is anxious, because the last thing he wants is to sound like he's angling for something. Like he's bringing this up - or worse, making it up - because he, like Lord Ardeth, wants some in on the hypothetical future highlord. He's known this for years after all; he never mentioned it before because it was a treasure for just himself. By old, unspoken agreement, there's a lot they don't share about their waking lives.

But Tori lights up. "Really? Do you know who?"

"Her name was Telarien, I think."

Tori, who has studied his so-empty family tree, who has been alone since he was 7 - stops his pacing and turns with hands outstretched. "Why, then we're cousins!"

(Tori has offered this more than once, and each time Kindrie has declined - no politically machinated release nor clever trick, nor even (once, when Tori was in a particular Mood, and maybe thinking of his sister) some sort of rescue heist. Because the priests' college is terrible, but it's familiarly terrible, and who knows what greater disdain and torment might be out in the rest of the world?)

And then came Ukakarn.

Tori doesn't show up cradling his hands, or the blood on them, and weeping, the next night, his dire keep under siege next door. He doesn't flicker briefly in and out, as his torturer disallow him true rest. He doesn't come to Kindrie's garden at all, because he has been taken into the bowels of Ukakarn, which lie in the same shadow that consumes the land north of the Haunted Lands - the same shadow, unbeknownst to any of them, that swallowed his sister.

But he's not dead. Kindrie can tell, can feel, that he's not dead. And Kindrie is a healer (in training) and this is his best friend and cousin and rightful lord (however illegitimate the blood claim may be, for the latter two). So he doesn't hesitate a moment before plunging into the darkness that has swallowed the place where Tori's soul usually looms.

It's a little bit like swimming, through shadows thick enough to choke on. It's a bit like finding the will to get up in the morning, struggle that that often is. But Kindrie, though only age 13 or so, has a great deal more expertise than Tori, age 7 did, and more natural talent as well. Off in the physical world, the priests deem him truly comatose this time, but he breaks through to Tori's haunted soulscape - running with cracks of fire, as though about to explode. Overlapping with a grander house, a manse whose dark hallways Kindrie doesn't know. He wanders, searching desperately, pressing against not shadows but the end of his own tether.

He only finds Tori when he catches a glimpse of a slim, ghostly figure he thinks is him - but her armor is white and her hair is long, and when Kindrie follows her, they end up in a cell that's dank yet too-warm, with Tori crumpled and chained to one wall. Kindrie watches the woman break those chains - then she looks over her shoulder and meets Kindrie's eyes, hers bright silver, and he knows this must be the sister Tori has let slip mention of - older, somehow, tender and wroth at once.

The surprise breaks his focus, sends him careening back into the shadows, and to the safety of his own hidden garden.

Kindrie is a bastard, except that he has a cousin. He's a rotten little shanir - yes, the best healer in his generation, even if he has no other prizes to his name. He's worthless and useless and unwanted - except that he has a friend whom sometimes he can still make smile, who has never been just a dream, who leaves the flowers of Kindrie's soul-garden blooming a little brighter every time he helps tend them, and who has scattered the place with marbles and books and even a sword. Kindrie has cleared away some of these, and kept others, hidden as carefully as the door behind the vines, and never once mentioned to Tori that this is a weird thing to be able to do. Also, illegitimate though he may (seem to) be, Kindrie is a Knorth and Tori - well, he was scared to leave, and he did it anyway.

So, in the fashion of Knorths, Kindrie stages his escape from the priests' college that night, about seven years earlier than canon, and he makes his way as fast as possible to camp of the Southern Host.

Nothing else changes about Ukakarn, except this: Rose Iron-thorn doesn't die, because Tori's hands aren't too badly injured to keep their grip on her, because Kindrie walks, clumsily rides, and pleads his way onto illicit trade caravans going down the valley, he spends as much time as he can in Tori's keep - no longer lost in shadow, but still cracked with flames, eroding with exhaustion, dust-drenched for lack of water. Tori is no help - if he notices at all, in more than a daze - but patients rarely are.

(Rose isn't in the water to guide their boat through the sea, but Kindrie, for lack of any proper sleep himself, keeps Tori going, and Tori keeps his few people, and all together, they find the safe shore.)

Tori has told him about the Caineron commander of the host, so Kindrie goes directly to the god-king of Krothifir. Quite frankly, tfw a moderately unhinged 13-year-old kencyr with a shaved head (for not being tracked by description) bursts into your royal court and starts insisting that a precious few of your army have survived the dread fortress that captured them, and are even now in desperate need of a rescue party in the near desert. Please believe me, Kindrie begs, I know it from a dream (a perfectly normal, if rare shanir trait - though it is on the tip of his tongue to shout at the kendar guards in the hall that this is their future highlord dying in the desert out there, and why aren't they moving already.

Kroaky lets Kindrie convince him to make a royal visit to the optomancers' Eye, and they are of course just in time to watch Tori's little group straggle back into camp. Exhausted though he is, Kindrie dashes off right then, maybe with a tipsy wolver at his heels. Krothen, alas, takes longer to get down the cliff - a king needs pomp and circumstance, after all. Gendar Caineron is dead before either arrives.

Once Harn is back on his feet and in command, he quietly adds Kindrie to the lacking ranks of a medic squad. Within a month, Kindrie has picked up the nickname "Whitey", for his growing-back hair and, of course, mirror to Blackie. (I'm sure the boys try to keep it subtle, and let the story be that Kindrie just happened to have a vision of these escapees...but it's not like an ever-growing proportion of the host isn't already politely not commenting on the fact that their Blackie is clearly a full-blooded Knorth.)

...and then they lived happily ever after, the end

(except Tori still won't admit to himself that he's a shanir until after Jame has metaphorically kicked in the door of the Kencyrath and less metaphorically set multiple parts of it on fire)

[perriewinklenerdie]

Roomie dinner (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hi guys! How are you? I hope you’re all doing fine (this already sounds like a generic English task of ‘write to your friend in England’ so we are already in an *awesome* place, right? :D). I’ve been busy this last couple of days, my internship has just started and I’ve been learning a lot :D it’s in those moments that my brain decides to throw ideas at me, and this fic is not exception to the rule. 

Summary: One week after the incident at the hospital, Claire’s friends discuss what exactly is going on between her and Ethan.

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @awhmilkywey @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie @mvalentine @starrystarrytrouble @akshara16 @maurine07

Enjoy! <3

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Jackie fell into her seat by the table, stretching out a bit. She’s spent the whole day running around the hospital, doing her best to avoid nosy interns that decided that it was their right to know everything that happened in there. Throughout the day, she would have to fight with herself to not berate them the way she’d like to, a tiny voice that sounded suspiciously like Claire ringing in her ear.

Don’t be rude

The blonde doctor has spent the last three days slowly getting back to her routine of being a doctor, after her recovery was over. During that time, Jackie hasn’t seen her very often, both with her work and with Claire staying at the hospital for the night. Dr. Hirata insisted on keeping her there for that additional time, just to be sure that all the residual effects would subside, and the threat was gone for good. No one could fault that logic, so no one, not even Claire, the most stubborn one of them all, argued about it.

This night, Sienna insisted on them all having what she’s insisted on calling ‘roomie dinner’, inviting Rafael and Bryce to tag along. They lost so much over the span of last week, and for a moment, it felt like they could lose so much more. At the end of the day, no one was invincible. Thankfully, though, they didn’t have to find out what the world would look like without Claire and Raf, because the latter was already sitting by Jackie’s side, and the former was said to arrive in the next ten minutes.

All her friends were talking among themselves when she asked the question that has been on her mind since the moment she saw the interview on TV.

“So, when was somebody going to tell me that Ramsey and Claire have a thing going on?”

The table fell silent in an instant. Elijah raised an eyebrow, asking her to elaborate silently, Sienna’s eyes widened in what she could describe as alarm, Raf nodded in understanding and Bryce grinned, leaning towards her and putting his hand on her shoulder.

“Believe me, if I knew, I would have told you. Ramsey is my gym bro, but he doesn’t talk much. Well, much about his private affairs, anyway.” He managed to lean away right before she could smack his hand with hers, laughing at her serious expression.

“I’m not sure there’s anything going on.” Sienna worded her answer slowly, thinking through every part of it so she wouldn’t slip up. To tell the truth, she didn’t know the details. All she knew was that both Claire and Ethan had feelings for each other, but she was unaware of any development in the situation.

“You’re lying.” Jackie leaned towards her. “Your lower lip twitches when you lie. But okay, I’ll get it out of you eventually. Raf? Have you noticed anything?”

He took a moment to dig through the heavy fog that surrounded the events of the day they got poisoned, trying to remember anything about Ethan’s behavior towards Claire for that day. Slowly but surely, he managed to fish out a couple of moments. How utterly terrified he was when he saw her in the room. How gentle his touch seemed to be every time he examined her or simply held her hand.

“He was… soft? For the lack of better word?” he answered hesitantly. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen him do, and I’ve known him for some time now. It was the first time I’ve seen him panic.”

“I knew there was something there.” she mused, catching Sienna’s gaze. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. As though you haven’t seen his behavior for the past week. He barely left her side. I’m pretty sure he used up his vacation days just so he could sit by her bed all day and night.”

“Maybe he’s just worried. Or maybe my hunch is right.” Bryce chimed in, rushing to explain when all his friends turned to look at him. “You should have seen his face when we were all working out with Claire back in the day and she mentioned that she wanted to look good naked. He was so taken by surprise that he tripped.

“If I remember correctly, we all stumbled.” Raf noted, not buying the idea.

“That’s true, but you and I didn’t get a look of longing in our eyes and our necks didn’t get red from blushing.” Jackie laughed triumphally, patting him on the back. “I’m telling you, Ramsey has it bad for her.”

“I, for one, believe it.” Aurora shrugged, drumming her fingers against the rim of the glass. “They were kinda close even back when we were interns. Something was off after that, but now they seem to be back at it.”

“He said it himself, he’s not single. Claire almost suffocated while trying not to laugh, and you could almost see the effort he put into not looking at her.” taking a sip of water, she leaned back against her chair as she continued. “Not only that, but the past few days have made it evident that something is brewing. Not only is he worried, like us, being her friends, or like June and Baz, being her coworkers. He’s affectionate. He has that look in his eyes whenever I see them together. He doesn’t even bother hiding their joined hands.”

As they were all discussing, Sienna tried to think of something to say. She didn’t want to reveal what she knew, as she felt that it wasn’t her place to do so. Claire would tell them herself if and when she wanted to. Elijah looked at her, nodding towards the other three people by the table. She shrugged, turning her head towards the entrance of the restaurant.

“Happy couple is here. We might get some answers.” Bryce grinned, pointing everyone’s attention to two people that just walked in. Claire waved at them shyly, her smile bright, and took a step towards them before she was stopped by a hand pulling her back. She gracefully waltzed into Ethan’s waiting arms, her face lighting up even more, mirroring his entirely. They talked quietly about something, his fingers skimming the rim of the lapel of the jacket she had thrown over her shoulder. Only then did Sienna notice that it was in fact Ethan’s coat she was wearing, not her own, hence why it was so big on her.

He leaned down to whisper something, his lips brushing against her cheek before squeezing her hand and letting her go. She walked towards her friends as Ethan turned to leave when Bryce called out. “Hey, Ramsey! Don’t go! We’re about to order booze and eat ridiculous amounts of food.”

Claire bit down a smirk, looking over her shoulder at him, nuzzling her chin against the soft material of his coat teasingly. His eyes darkened, feeling a challenge in the way she looked at him. Nodding so gently that no one could really tell his head even moved, he made his way over to the table, pulling the chair out for Claire before taking a seat next to her. He could feel stares of people sitting around him, to which his only reaction was a roll of his eyes along with a heavy sigh.

“I’m going to need something strong…” he cursed under his breath, causing Claire to giggle, her hand flying towards her face to conceal it. She couldn’t, however, fool Ethan, who’s hand has already slipped into hers, their fingers tangling.

As the evening progressed, the conversation moved fluently from subject to subject. They all studiously avoided mentioning the horrific situation they found themselves in a few days ago. Bryce talked them through the procedure of Kyra’s surgery, ending just before their food arrived. No one asked about Sora, for which Rafael was quite grateful, instead talking about all the things he wanted to do next.

Claire laughed at Bryce when he tried to steal some fries from Jackie’s plate, and she caught him in the act. She mouthed ‘watch and learn’, then waited until Ethan turned away and successfully stole a piece of meat, straight from his fork. Aurora, who for most of the evening remained silent, slowly clapped at her, earning her the attention of the attending. That, in turn, caused him to investigate and come up to the correct conclusion.

“Are you okay, Claire? You’re looking a bit flushed.” He leaned closer when she shook her head, denying that there was anything wrong. “You look guilty. Is it because, perhaps, you stole food right off my fork?”

“Busted!” Bryce exclaimed, mocking her when she smiled, cutting a piece of her steak and passing it to Ethan.

“At least I got caught after the fact, not in the middle of it. Your laughter gave you away.” she pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest. “You never announce your attack. Amateur move, Lahela.”

Ethan looked incredulously at the woman sitting next to him. Guarding himself and his heart from her for most of the time they knew each other made him unaware of just how much he was missing. Now, sitting there, among her friends, seeing how comfortable she was around him, even though no one knew what was going on between them, made him hope for what could be his to have every day. Lightness in his step, easiness of his smile and the woman he wanted for so long, finally in his arms. When she looked back at him and their eyes met, he felt his every rational thought flying out the window.

Sienna pulled their attention towards her when she cleared her throat.

“I’d like to say something.”

When everyone fell silent, she breathed shakily, gathering her thoughts. “I love you all so much. Well…” she hesitated, looking at Ethan, who’s eyebrow shot up in surprise, before laughing. “How about respect for now?” they nodded in agreement, after which he let her continue. “I don’t know how I would survive it all without you all. I’m never going to take you for granted because nothing is forever.”

She made the point to look at Claire and Ethan, very obviously trying to impress upon them the message she was trying to push through. “Life’s too short to question yourself. It’s too short to not say what you feel. It’s too short to not love people.” Her voice cracked at the end, catching Claire’s hand when she offered it to her. “Life’s too short to wait.”

They raised their glasses, reminiscing about all that they’ve lost and all that they’ve gained. After a long moment, Ethan smiled, gripping Claire’s hand tightly as he looked at her. His words were a mere whisper, directed right at her.

“I’m not wasting any more time.”

[liibrii]

Ojiro Aran x Reader

Part 2 of this scribble

Genre: angsty with a happy ending 

Warnings: Inarizaki shares 1 brain cell and the manager is using it 24/7 ; some cursing

A/N: after that first part I felt really bad for breaking reader's heart so here we go. 

For the remaining days of the training camp Aran can't look you in the eyes. Somehow that hurts more than his rejection. Your heart lays in shards and pieces yet that doesn't sting nearly as much as the awkward glances and silence and the careful tip-toeing he does when you're around. You try your best to act as if nothing happened. Hiding behind laughter and smiles is so easy nobody on the team notices you're heartbroken.

It all changes once you return home. Your room is so silent when you hide under covers and hug your favourite plushy. Your throat itches and every breath hurts. It's just a stupid crush, you keep telling yourself, just a crush that will fade away. Yet in that moment it doesn't hurt any less. You burry your face in the pillow to muffle your sobs.

Before the summer break started you made plans with other third years to meet at Kita's and watch the stars. Hours before you were supposed to meet you come up with an excuse and stay home. You aren't sure you could handle Aran's presence without bursting into tears.

You shudder at the though of the coming weekly practices. If only you had put more effort in finding another manager. Quiting the club would be so simple then.  

Summer practices were the ideal time for mischief. With no homework so much time was left to freely ponder how best to rig the vending machine. At turn you saw a prank practically begging to be pulled. Watermelon dowsed in chilli oil, some salt in a water bottle, volleyball covered with slime that could easily be blamed on sweaty hands, ah the opportunities really were endless. It was the time when your talents shone the brightest.

At least they did in previous years. Now you just want to reorganize the storage and return home as soon as possible.

“Are ya feelin' okay?“ asks Kita after helping you move some very heavy boxes.

Your heart drops. Has he noticed you've barely been holding back tears? “What do you mean?“

“You've been behavin' these last weeks.“

Ah. His reasoning catches you by complete surprise. Part of you wants to laugh, part of you wants to smack him. A part of you is disappointed he hadn't noticed you really need a shoulder to cry on. “Such observational skills Shinsuke, no wonder coach picked you to be the captain.“

“Did somethin' happen between you and-“

“Nothing happened.“

He knows you're lying. The light pat on the head he gives you tells he sees the hurt you've been so thoroughly concealing. Your throat starts itching again and tears threaten to spill before you bite your lip, too stubborn to let them fall.

You take a moment to compose yourself before returning to the gym, glad Aran is nowhere to be seen. Some of your boys are gathered by the bench and you hear the twins arguing. At first you don't care, after all it's a normal occurence. Your curiousity is only sparked once you hear the mention of your name.

“What are they fighting about this time?“ you ask Omimi when you come closer.

Immediate silence falls on the group as they all look at you. Great, what did you do this time?

Atsumu grabs the letter laying on the bench and hands it to you. Your heart drops. You don't have to read it to know what it is.

Your name on the envelope is written so big it's impossible to overlook and it's sealed with a glittery heart sticker.

“Open it, open it,“ urges the blonde and Osamu immediately berates him to leave you be.

You wonder who it could be from. Or maybe you don't want to know. It doesn't fill you with any kind of giddines or anticipation, just with slight nausea accompanied by shaking hands.

You hear a fight erupt behind you.

“Senpai, should we stop them?“ Ginjima points at twins rolling on the ground. You shrug, not really caring what they are up to.

“They could get hurt,“ says Omimi.

“Don't worry Omiren they have no brain so there won't be any permanent damage.“

You stuff the letter in the pocket of your jacket. The tears you've been trying so hard to hold back start running down your cheek and you hurry away before boys could notice.

The letter lies unopened on your bed. You've been contemplating throwing it away on the way home but decided against it. It would be too harsh, throwing someone's feelings away without even considering them. You remove the glittery heart sticker and read the paper inside.

Dear y/n,

you're truly amazin'. Everytime I see ya my day becomes better-

You stop reading. Not because you wouldn't care, but because you recognize the handwriting.

The plan was genius. Bulletproof. Absolutely fantastic without any loopholes and no way of anything possibly going wrong in any way.

All Twins needed to do is make Aran believe someone else is competing for your heart. Stoke his jealousy till it becomes stronger than his utter embarassement over having completely misunderstood your confession.

Only they had no idea you knew the handwriting of everyone on the team in case you ever needed to forge their signature.

Moments after reading the love letter you decide to talk to Osamu the coming day. What point would there be in playing with him? You weren't looking forward to the conversation in the slightest still, better let him down gently as soon as possible.

You try to get him outside after practice ends but his brother doesn't seem pleased only one of them is having your attentin. You grab Osamu's arm, ready to drag him away. “Sorry but we gotta speak in private.“

He doesn't even flinch under your tries to move him. “'Bout what?“

You don't want to do it, but if he refuses to move you had no other choice. You pull out the love letter and watch as all the colour drains from his face. “This.“

“Why would 'Samu know anythin' bout that?“ interferes Atsumu waving frantically and as if that didn't already raise your suspicions he continues to blabber on and on till Osamu stops him.

“Stop Tsumu. We've been found out.“

After they explain their genious plan you need a moment to grasp what is happening. “Okay. Let me get this straight. You thought making Aran jealous would make him confess?“ They nod. “Right. How does me thinking Osamu's got a crush on me help?“

“Yer weren't supposed to know who wrote the letter,“ mummbles Osamu.

“Samu sweetie, you have the most memorable handwriting I've ever seen. By that I mean unreadable. And you used the wrong kanji here, by the way.“

God, when did your boys become such idiots?

“We're sorry.“

If you weren't feeling so many emotions at once you'd find their crushed faces hilarious. Instead you sigh. You're exhausted. And in a need of ice-cream, preferably with some cookies on the side. “Right. Let's never mention this again.“

“Then Aran-san and ya-“

“Aran doesn't like me, alright? It's fine, I'll get over it. Now get your asses back to practice!“

“I never said I didn't like you,“ says a familiar voice from behind your back.

The faces twins make while backing away to leave you alone with Aran make you wish you'd disappear into thin air. It takes all the strength you have to turn. It's the first time in your life you aren't happy to see him. You stand in silence, avoiding his gaze and condidering running away. Aran speaks up before you can act.

“Sorry for avoidin' ya. I've been meanin' to talk with ya but couldn't think of what to say.“ He fidgetes with a rose in his hands. “I'm sorry.“

“Why?“ you weakly ask, unsure if you want to hear the answer.

“When you... confessed. I thought it was a prank. And I never let you explain cause I got scared. I like ya, y/n. But I could never tell if you were messin' around with yer flirtin' or I was just readin' too much into it.“

“Why would I mess around?“

“Well... I never thought you'd actually be interested in me... I mean yer so amazin' ya know. It's no wonder ya have secret admireres. Ya keep track of everythin' the team needs, yer always cheerin' me up when I need it the most.“ His shoulders slump as he utters his next words. “I never believed ya could be in love with someone as borin' as me. I just want ya to know I do like you. More as a friend. Though ya deserve someone better.“

Aran is confessing to you. He is proclaiming his love for you, holding a rose, looking like the prince charming straight out of your dreams. And yet your annoyance grows with every word that comes out of his mouth.

“Excuse me?“ you interrupt. “What the hell do you mean I deserve someone better?“

Your words take him aback. He tries to mummble his way out of this particular pickle but you're having none of it.

“Gosh Aran you can be real impossible sometimes! First of all, how dare youeven think I would ask you out as a joke?! Is that how low of an opinion you have about me?! We're friends for fucks' sake you know me better than that! Second of all, why on earth can't you see I've been head over hills in love with you since we were first years?! And I swear, if I have to hear one more oh I'm nothin' special, I'll throw some hands, you hear me?! You are amazing! The best possible friend one could ask for, you have the patience of a saint, you're fun to be around, and so much more! What do I have to do to get this to stick in your head?! Use super-glue?! I don't want anyone else! I want you.“

Aran looks completely shocked as tears form in his eyes.

Oh no. Now you've done it.

“Please don't cry cause then I'l cry and this will get even more embarassing.“

He chuckles. “Sorry y/n.“ He takes your hand in his. “I really, really want to be your boyfriend.“

You're the one trying not to sob now. Ah, how the tables have turned, you think and nod. You can hear cheering somewhere in the distance but you couldn't care less. You grab Aran’s jacket and pull him down, crashing his lips to yours. They're soft and warm and you don't want to part from him, ever. He hugs you and you're glad he's holding you so close because right now you couldn't stand on your own. When you part he presses a kiss to your nose and then forehead.

“I love you,“ he whispers.

[gerrystamour]

kiss away young thrills and kills

For: @daily-thots-ofhistory​

@daily-thots-ofhistory​ said: for the fic request, Nureyev's first birthday with Juno (whether that's really his birthday or Juno just giving him a birthday or something else! Whatever you'd like!)

So I took a few liberties, with it being super introspective and whatnot, and not super focused on jupeter. Hopefully, the requester likes it! ;p

-

Peter woke up in Juno’s bed, yet the former detective was nowhere to be found. However, the sheets next to him were still warm when he slid his cool fingers across the soft linen. Juno had probably gotten up to get a head-start on his morning, maybe even secure a shower first before the other ladies aboard the Carte Blanche beat him to it.

With a tired yawn and a languid stretch, Peter rolled over to grab his comms off of the bedside table to check the time. When he did, he also caught the date and froze.

Thirty-eight.

Peter Nureyev had turned thirty-eight, and he had slept through it. Well, he hadn’t quite slept through it, given the ache in his thighs and hips and the pleasant memories of the night before. But midnight had come and gone, and he had forgotten to mark it with every bit of melodrama he could muster. 

It had been the closest thing to a “tradition” he had for his birthday, watching the seconds tick down until the clock read four zeroes and the date moved forward. Then he would turn his gaze to a mirror and study his face, his hair, the skin of his throat and chest, looking for the evidence of his body failing him, as if the difference between 23:59 and 00:00 would change him as much as a full decade would have.

Peter would stare for what felt like hours, pulling his sagging face tight, poking at the dark bags under his eyes, sliding his tongue along his yellowing teeth. Objectively, he knew all along most of this worry had been in his head, that his face was still mostly smooth, his teeth perfect and white, and the bags under his eyes easily concealed. Objectively, he knew that even if all of those ideas had been true, they hardly actually mattered, least of all to his beloved detective.

Thirty-eight.

Peter was all of a sudden too old to round down to thirty-five, but still too young to round up to forty—not that he wanted to round up. He was officially, completely, in his late thirties, and he wasn’t sure where that left him emotionally.

At present, he was lying in his lover’s bed, rubbing the still-warm spot where Juno had been laying, and pondering linear time. He wondered whether it made sense to rail against it so hard, and if he should feel bad for being the way he was about his age and appearance.

But when he’d been travelling alone, all he had were his looks. 

Sure, Peter had wit and charm, too, but it was mostly looks that got him in the door. Nothing disarmed a rich idiot like a pretty face. 

But as he aged, Peter had quickly learned the unspoken rule the hard way. Rich idiots didn’t just want a pretty face to own and call theirs, they wanted pretty and young faces.

The first time a mark had scoffed at him for attempting a seduction when there were softer, younger, more inexperienced young men to choose from, Peter wasn’t sure who he was more disgusted with; the near ancient art dealer chasing after people only a quarter of his age, or himself for thinking he could compete. Later he had known it was the former, if the liberal use of his knife had been anything to go by, but there was still a fair bit of shame due to the latter. 

It had been after that job when he began his entire routine of painstakingly covering up every single flaw he found.

Thirty-eight. 

The same age Juno had been when they met. Things had… shifted after meeting Juno Steel. 

Seeing the way the lady held himself in his oversized trench coat and thick turtleneck sweater, the way he had worn every single minute of his own thirty-eight years on his face and his shoulders had moved something into focus. The time they spent in Miasma’s tomb, the days he went without his make-up, without the touch-up dye for his roots, even without a toothbrush. Yet without fail, every time he caught Juno looking at him, Juno had seemed… stunned, blown away. His desire for Peter had been unmistakable.

Even during that terrible time, Juno had wanted him.

Of course, that hadn’t cured him of his anxiety regarding his continued usefulness and success with his waning appearance. 

For a time—a period of forty-eight hours cumulatively—he had considered letting his silver hair grow out, as Juno’s had been allowed to. If his beautiful, dear detective could look his age, why not Peter? Together, he didn’t have to depend on his appearance, his desirability on its own.

Then Juno had left, and Peter was back to his old ways. There was no avoiding it, he told himself, and so he returned to dying his hair, doing up his face in oppressive layers of concealer and other make-up, to working his body through long hours or stretches, work-out routines, and yoga.

Things had changed again when he joined the crew aboard the Carte Blanche. With Juno’s return. He had found himself the youngest on the crew, the “baby” as Rita would exclaim when it was brought up, and suddenly every fear and anxiety he had seemed… petty, and even mean to say aloud, even jokingly. 

How could he think himself ruined by a grey hair when their captain had half of her face rotting from radiation? How could he complain about the self-inflicted ache in his neck and shoulders when the rest of the crew had their own plentiful aches with far less room to criticize themselves for it yet never make a sound about them?

It had been a startling revelation during one of his nightly conversations with Juno that his fixation with his appearance had begun when he was with Mag. There had been different heists where they had depended on Peter’s baby-face, and when he began growing out of said baby-face, those jobs were jeopardized. He could remember the day his appearance had sharpened enough that Mag decided it was better to age him up with his presentation and adjusted their jobs accordingly. It was something Mag had claimed required sacrifice, and discomfort even.

Peter hadn’t realized just how far he had carried that man’s teachings in that regard. It had been so tightly packed away in the farthest reaches of his mind, something he kept hidden away since he was seventeen.

Ultimately, it had been a comment from Vespa of all people that had made him truly think about his nonsense. 

They were preparing for a heist, something small for some money, just fleecing some rich idiot for as much as they could. It was just after his leg had healed and they got off that planet, and he and Juno were going in as a married couple. Peter had questioned Buddy’s insistence on that cover every time, but she had blown off the question, instead informing him that they were executing their plan the following day.

Peter had, largely without pausing to consider his words, idly mention needing dye, that all of his existing stores had been destroyed when the ship crashed into the ocean.

“The hell do you need hair-dye for, Ransom?” Vespa had bit out around her mouthful of dinner. 

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, my roots have grown in quite a bit and—” Peter had started, pointedly ignoring Juno’s grumbling.

“You’re s’posed to look like a married couple,” Vespa interrupted with an eye-roll. “You can’t go in there looking twenty-five when Steel looks forty.”

“But I—why—I don’t look twenty-five,” Peter argued, furrowing his brow.

“It doesn’t matter how old you look, Ransom! We get it, you’re used to working alone, whatever,” Vespa snapped before she took a breath. “When you’re working with someone else, it’s better to match. So if you dye your hair, Juno has to dye his.”

“But—”

“For this job, you can’t look like a trophy husband, Pete,” Buddy said, seemingly annoyed by the interruption to the family meeting. “You would stand out. I will gladly pick you up some dye after the job to sooth your ego, but not before. Now, can we get back on track?”

They were right, of course. That didn’t mean he particularly liked it. But he couldn’t continue to get away with making himself look younger and younger while he ran with a band of thieves who were all clearly older than him. 

Peter wasn’t exactly graceful in his allowance for aging, of course, but he was working on it. He started by allowing the silver in his hair to grow in, and wearing less concealing make-up around the Carte Blanche. He hadn’t thought he had made much progress in the “being okay with aging” angle of his growth and unpacking of his emotional baggage.

Yet there he was, lying in bed on his thirty-eighth birthday, stunned he had missed it. He hadn’t just missed it, he realized, but he had forgotten it was coming up at all.

Peter was startled from his thoughts as an arm slid around his waist, skin warm and damp from a shower. “Sorry, babe,” Juno whispered against his shoulder blade. “Didn’t realize you were that far away.”

That was one of Juno’s probing statements; when Juno had a question and wanted the answer, but would have dropped if Peter didn’t respond. That simple statement was equal parts apology for the startle, and inquiring after what had him so distracted. It would have been so easy to say he had just been daydreaming, to roll over and distract Juno with kisses and gentle touches, but…

“It’s my birthday,” Peter whispered, and if it hadn’t been for the way Juno stiffened against his back, he would have thought the former detective hadn’t heard him.

“It is?” Juno’s voice was strained as he asked it, and Peter realized belatedly his error.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head, my love,” Peter reassured him gently, covering the hand splayed over his lower abdomen with his own and tangling their fingers together. “I hadn’t said anything about it. I usually don’t—this is the first birthday in a very long time I haven’t been alone for.”

“Oh,” Juno whispered, and Peter shivered at the kiss pressed to the centre of his back. “Is there anything you wanted to do?”

“Mm,” Peter hummed, rolling over in Juno’s arm to kiss him chastely, warmth bursting in his chest at the hesitance in Juno’s voice. “Perhaps we can… stay in bed? Together?”

Juno smiled against his lips and laughed. “Yeah, Nureyev, I think we can,” he replied and then asked, “Anything else I can do for you?”

“You’ve already done more than enough, love,” Peter replied softly, tucking his head under Juno’s chin. “Just being here is perfect.”

“Sap,” Juno grumbled, and Peter laughed.

“And you love me for it,” he replied, smirking as he felt the heat of Juno’s flush crawl down his neck.

“So what if I do?” Juno grumbled petulantly, and Peter laughed at that.

“Say it,” Peter said, but it was more of a question, really. A request for reassurance. At the last moment, he softened it with a quiet, “Please?”

“Fine,” Juno grumbled jokingly, pulling back so his mismatched eyes met Peter’s own. The prosthetic for his implant was always a few shades different than his natural eye, which Peter was fairly convinced was an intentional choice of Juno’s. 

With a grin, Juno added, “Peter Nureyev, I love you, and I love that you’re a sap, and no I will literally never stop complaining about it.”

Peter smiled at that and accepted the kiss Juno had for him, sighing as it deepened and allowing himself to be rolled onto his back, Juno slotting in between his legs with a soft sound of his own.

“Hey,” Juno said, pulling back and biting his lip nervously. “How about I make that one dish I made a few weeks ago? The one with the flatbread thing you like so much?”

“Why would you make something so time-consuming?” Peter asked, truly puzzled. “Plus, we had decided it uses too much of our supplies, but doesn’t make enough for the crew.”

“I wasn’t going to make it for the crew, Nureyev. I want to make it for you,” Juno replied with a laugh. 

Peter blinked at him a bit dumbly, before asking, “For… me? But why?”

“It’s your birthday, babe. I want it to be a nice one,” Juno said, seeming a bit puzzled. “I mean, I get not liking your birthday, but that doesn't mean I can’t do something nice, right?”

“Oh, you’ve already done enough for me, love,” Peter sighed, pulling Juno into a solid kiss to distract him from the tears that had filled his eyes.

Yes, he still hated that time moved ever forward, and yes, he had another year at least of unpacking to possibly be “okay” with it. There was a chance he would always have the nagging voice of Mag in his head pointing out each new wrinkle, every new patch of silver hair growing in.

But he had his beautiful detective in his arms, and a family out in the halls of the Carte Blanche if he would reach out and accept them… he couldn’t reasonably ask for much more on his thirty-eighth birthday.

[thebiscuiteternal]

“Once More, Again” Gen, Reincarnation, Yunmeng Reconciliation, Fluff and Angst, Creepy Frogs, Promises of Cats

__________

The night hunt wasn't supposed to be a big deal at all. A flock of possessed birds had scared a caravan of travelers away from their camps. A simple cleanup job, one that didn't really even need him.

Then one of his disciples comes running up in a barely concealed panic.

"Jiang-zongzhu, we have a... problem."

Coiling up Zidian to return her to her ring shape, Jiang Cheng scowls at the man. "What kind of problem? Is there another flock?"

"Ah- no... it's..."

A loud wail breaks through the trees, the source easily pinpointed as the small, dirty girl one another disciple is gently trying to shush as she guides the child into the clearing.

"That's our problem," the first disciple says, scratching the back of his head. "We found her in what was left of the camp, but none of the caravan members claim her."

"No one at all?"

"They say they have no idea who she is. She doesn't feel like she's connected to the birds, but-"

Scowl deepening, he goes to the child and crouches down. Surprisingly, she stops crying the moment she's aware of his presence. Scrubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she raises her head to stare at him.

He involuntarily sucks in a sharp breath.

The shape of her jaw and nose, the tilt of her brow, the spatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks, those are all different, but looking into bright silver eyes, he knows- he knows it can't be anyone else.

Sniffling quietly, Jiang Yanli reaches for the hem of his sleeve and clutches tight.

Little Meilin has been fed and bathed and safely ensconced in a veritable nest of blankets in the guest room closest to his own before he feels like he can breathe again.

Asleep and smiling, her hair shining from the oil one of the aunties had put in it, she looks like she has been living in Lotus Pier her whole life.

Or like she never left.

He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall.

No. No that's not fair.

He won't make her live in someone else's shadow. Even if she carries the same soul, she is Meilin, not Jiang Yanli and must be treated as such.

He briefly considers not telling Wei Wuxian. Wouldn't this fall squarely into that "past life" bullshit of his?

He sighs. Again, no.

Maybe it's a sign of weakness on his part, but he summons up a butterfly messenger. With a short succinct "A-jie reincarnated and is staying in Lotus Pier," he sends it off. He will contact Jin Ling properly in the morning.

---

"This better not be a trick, Jiang Cheng. That'd be low even for you."

Jiang Cheng freezes like he's been stabbed. He stares at the other man, looking for any sign of one of his usual bad taste jokes, but Wei Wuxian is pale and disheveled and angry and... oh. He really does think Jiang Cheng would lie about this to lure him back to Lotus Pier. After everything, he still...

He can't muster up any anger for this. He just feels tired all of a sudden, all the way into the marrow of his bones, and he doesn't want to be here anymore. "Liu Jiao will show you to her rooms," he says dully as he motions one of the maids who has been helping with Meilin forwards. Then he turns and leaves without waiting to see what kind of reaction Wei Wuxian has to that.

He's fleeing and he knows they can tell and he can't bring himself to care.

He tries to throw himself into work as a distraction, but quickly finds he can't concentrate for shit. After his fourth failed attempt at penning the necessary letter to Jin Ling, he decides he might as well give up.

Pointedly avoiding both Meilin's room and the area where he'd left Wei Wuxian and his ever-glowering husband, he heads out to one of the lesser-used piers. Workers gathering the autumn flowers wave in greeting, but thankfully give him space, and he settles in to watch and hopefully not do too much thinking.

---

It's nearly sunset and he's starting to doze a little when the pounding of tiny feet against the planks of the pier startle him fully awake. A giggling squeal of "Cheng-ge!" is all the warning he gets before his lap is suddenly full of squirming child.

"Cheng-ge? Who's Cheng-ge? Are we so familiar, now?" he chides with no actual bite at all as he flicks a button nose and her grin only gets even bigger. "Someone's been teaching you cheek, A-Lin."

"Can't possibly imagine anyone who would dare."

The flinch is entirely involuntary and he tries to smooth it over, but little fingers dig into his robe and he sees worry flicker over those bright eyes.

"Cheng-ge?"

"It's nothing," he says, patting her hair, then braces himself and looks up. It catches him off guard again to find Wei Wuxian watching him with a look of regret... maybe even apology.

"Mind if I sit?"

"Whether I say yes or no, you will anyway, so I might as well say yes." He'd intended it to come out sharp, the retaliation that he hadn't been able to manage earlier, but has much less heat and much more resignation than intended. Maybe it's because of that change that Wei Wuxian actually hesitates.

"If you want me to go-"

Leaning out of his lap, but refusing to get up or let go of his robes, A-Lin reaches out and tugs on Wei Wuxian's trousers in a clear demand.

Well... Maybe some things don't change, he thinks, rueful smile mirrored on his former shixiong's face as the latter obeys and kneels down beside them.

They sit in awkward silence, bound together by tiny hands holding a vice grip their clothing, until croaking songs begin ringing out from near the water and A-Lin perks up.

"Frogs! Cheng-ge, Xian-ge, can I catch one?"

He expects Wei Wuxian to automatically take over and say yes, but when he turns his head, the other man is just... watching him again.

He shakes it off and taps A-Lin on the forehead. "Boots off and let me tie up your skirts. If you get too muddy, the maids will throw you in a bath before they'll let you have dinner."

The girl wrinkles her nose, then nods and begins wrestling off her left. Practice born from another very squirmy child lets him work easily around her efforts, and she is shortly running off, laughter ringing behind her.

"You're... good with kids."

He scowls at Wei Wuxian. "That would be more of a compliment if you didn't sound so surprised," he says flatly.

"Ah." Wei Wuxian has the barest grace to look embarrassed, turning his gaze to the planks under him as he scratches his cheek. "Well... when I first met Jin Ling, he was such a brat, and then when I thought of who raised him-"

"Seriously not helping your case."

"Ugh, would you let me finish? Anyway, it turned out he was a good kid under all the thorn brambles. Which, again, considering who raised him-"

He really doesn't have the mental fortitude for this right now, he decides. Biting the inside of his cheek, he starts to get up, but a hand gripping his wrist stops him. "Wei Wu-"

"Please."

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Then he sits back down.

The hand on his wrist doesn't let go, and when he forces his eyes back open, Wei Wuxian is staring at that point of contact between them, thumb brushing absently against one of the tendons in an old familiar gesture. "When I got your message, I almost passed out," he finally says. "I was so afraid to let myself believe it. I thought I couldn't possibly be lucky enough for it to be true. I know I don't deserve for it to be true. I convinced myself you had to be lying, because somehow that actually hurt less than the possibility she was really here."

Jiang Cheng swallows back the pain that swells in his chest. His mouth tastes bitter. "Still not helping your case," he mutters.

But he still doesn't pull himself free.

Wei Wuxian laughs, the sound small and pained. "I know, I know."

"I did what you wanted," Jiang Cheng snaps, unable to stop himself. "This whole year, I-"

"I know." The grip on his wrist tightens and Wei Wuxian inhales shakily. "You did nothing to deserve it and I thought the worst of you anyway. I'm sorry."

He doesn't know how to respond to that, but he's saved from having to figure it out when a tiny figure stumbles along the docks, soaking wet and clutching one of the biggest lake frogs he's ever seen, short of a frog demon. "Did you fall in?" he asks, getting up again. "You look like a drowned-"

"He knocked me over! Look how fat he is!"

Big shiny eyes blink at him from the nest of her arms, then the creature makes a croak that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Maybe it is a frog demon.

A baby one, or something.

Wei Wuxian looks similarly nonplussed when he joins them, eyeing the frog with clear discomfort. "Eh... meimei, maybe you should let that one hop on home, yeah?"

"Aw, but he likes me!"

It does indeed seem to be very comfortable with being cuddled, which doesn't improve his opinion of it one bit. "We'll let someone look it over while you're In your bath," he says, subtly elbowing Wei Wuxian when it looks like the other might argue.

Fortunately, the other man catches on and nods. "Have to make sure he's nice and healthy."

"Okaaayyy."

---

"This is the creepiest thing I've ever seen."

Jiang Cheng can't argue with that, especially since the frog he's now definitely sure is some kind of demon is becoming creepier by the moment. Already, Wei Wuxian' prodding has caused it to turn from brown to a vague shade of greenish-purple and belch smoke.

When it opens a third eye, Lan Wangji has apparently had enough. "It should be exterminated," he says, starting to draw Bichen.

The frog hisses.

Hisses, showing off rows and rows of very un-frog-like fangs.

"Oh, fu-"

---

"Where is QiaoQiao?"

"You named it-"

"Escaped," Lan Wangji cuts in before Wei Wuxian can finish boggling at the choice.

"Yes, it escaped," Jiang Cheng says, mentally refusing to acknowledge that they agreed on the excuse. A-Lin pouts, and he gently ruffles her still-damp hair. "You can chase frogs any time you like, you know."

"But QiaoQiao was special."

That's... one way of putting it, he thinks as he tries not to shudder. "Why don't we find you something else special? What other animals do you like?"

"Hmnh... I like cats?"

"We can do cats. We'll find you the best cat," Wei Wuxian says, clearly relieved to hear no mention of dogs or more frogs.

Jiang Cheng allows it.

A loud rumble, far too loud for the tiny body that makes it, cuts into the conversation, and A-Lin hugs his sleeve to hide her face going bright red. "'m hungry," she mumbles into the cloth sheepishly, and he can't help the smile that tugs at his mouth as he crouches to scoop her up onto his hip.

"I think we're all hungry. Let's go see what the kitchens have in store for us tonight, hm?"

---

Having already seen A-Lin eat once already, Jiang Cheng takes more than a small amount of enjoyment in watching Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji openly stare as she inhales a fifth meat bun without chewing or coming up for air.

"What are you, a snake yao?" Wei Wuxian asks when he remembers how to work his jaw.

She puffs her cheeks at Wei Wuxian in an adorably offended huff. "I said I was hungry."

"No shi- kidding," Wei Wuxian quickly amends when Jiang Cheng glares. Then he grins. "How do you feel about spicier food?"

"You are not corrupting her with your chili oil addiction."

"It's not an addiction-"

"I wanna try. Can I try?"

His first instinct is to say absolutely not. But two pairs of eyes are giving him the soulful pleading look, and he sighs and fights the urge to roll his own. "Fine. But only a little," he says, picking up the bottle himself because Wei Wuxian wouldn't recognize the concept of "a little" if it bit him in the ass. "Chew this time."

"Well?" Wei Wuxian asks as she swallows the bite.

"It's okay."

He resolutely does not smirk at his former shixiong's crestfallen expression.

"Only okay?"

"Hot is good, but smoky is better," A-Lin pronounces with all the gravitas of a trained food expert, and both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian can't help grinning at that.

"Everyone's a critic," Wei Wuxian says as he elbows his husband, who has a sleeve over his mouth in a clear attempt to pretend he's not been charmed as well.

Jiang Cheng is absolutely not smug about that.

---

"So, what are you going to do?"

Dessert is long gone, Lan Wangji has retired to bed, and the three of them are left sitting in the main hall, A-Lin clinging to his robes with honey-sticky fingers as she sleeps.

"We'll put out word, but unless someone comes to claim her, she'll stay here." Wei Wuxian continues to stare at him with that inscrutable expression, and he finally sighs. "I'm not going to turn her into A-jie. Past lives should stay in the past, remember?"

Wei Wuxian flinches and looks away.

Good.

The silence stretches long again, then his former shixiong huffs quietly. "I don't..." he starts, then licks his lips nervously and changes whatever tack he was about to take. "How are you planning on raising her, then?"

He gently pets long hair, and A-Lin responds by burrowing against his chest and shoving her face against his collar. "To figure herself out. If she wants to cook, if she wants to cultivate... hell, if she wants to make a living catching frogs, that's up to her. She's already put in her duty to this family."

"Good. That... That's good."

Still petting soft, fine hair, Jiang Cheng considers his next words carefully. "Until she's old enough to travel easily, you know she's going to demand visits from her Xian-ge."

Wei Wuxian stiffens and his head snaps up. "And... you... You're okay with that?" he asks, a faint glimmer of something akin to hope in his expression.

"At least until you deliver that cat you promised," Jiang Cheng says dryly. "I'm holding you to that. In writing, if I have to."

"You would," Wei Wuxian replies, rolling his eyes, but there is no missing the relief in his posture.

Nor the loss of tension in the room.

[marshmallow-phd]

Midnight Hours

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Summary: For you, being a good witch was easier said than done. Something dark was lurking inside of you and the others knew it. When you’re forced to tag along with Soomi and help a local wolfpack face a coming evil, you’re sent on a path that breaks into a crossroads. While you struggle with your inner demons, could the wolf Sehun be the key to your ultimate fate?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I Final

**

This was the last place you wanted to be. It didn’t matter that the situation was different this time around. It didn’t matter that you’d argued that this was the last thing any of you should have been doing with the blood moon right around the corner. Granted, you were only using that angle to try and get out of it, but you thought you still had a good point. Baekhyun muttered something about jealousy before scurrying off.  

You were not jealous. Why would there be any reason for you to be jealous of Mina? This time around, you wouldn’t have to cover her in water to get her to back off. 

Uneasy was the feeling you would say she gave you. Her hair still reminded you too much of the woman from your visions. It would be too much of a coincidence for her not to be, given the timing of her arrival and the fact that she was sticking around much longer than Dana had anticipated. You didn’t voice this assumption in order to avoid an argument or hurting Dana’s feelings. Mina was her best friend after all. She was supposed to be trusted. But you couldn’t quite hop on that particular train. 

You tapped your foot at an impatient pace against the concrete. Sehun had run off somewhere “real quick” and left you alone leaning against a red brick building where you were supposed to be meeting the others. A pounding headache made your forehead throb. You rubbed the skin, hoping that would help sooth it, but nothing helped. 

“You okay?”

You jumped a fraction from Sehun’s unexpected reappearance. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, even plastering on a smile. “Just tired.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. Wanting to change the subject, you pointed to the braided white string peeking out of his pocket. “What’s that?”

Noticing the string, he quickly stuffed it into his pocket. “It’s nothing.”

Now it was your turn to narrow your eyes. What was he hiding? 

Too curious for your own good, you pounced on him, clawing for his pocket. But Sehun was quick. He kept you back with his ridiculously long arms and no matter how hard you fought, your fingertips only brushed against the surface of his jeans. 

“Come on, Sehun,” you grunted through gritted teeth. The effort you were exuding was making you break out in a slight sweet on your forehead and upper lip. He, however, seemed to be nothing but amused. “Just let me see it.”

“No.” The jerk didn’t even sound a bit out of breath. 

Huffing, you stopped fighting and stepped back. “Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“Oh, no. We’re not playing that game.”

“Fine. Tell me what’s bothering you and I’ll show it to you.”

You gaped at him. Seriously? He was going to try and pull that on you? “Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Liar.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Because you’ve been in a mood ever since Dana brought up getting together with Mina again.” He raised an eyebrow at you, waiting. 

“I have not been in a mood,” you scoffed. 

“Yes, you have,” Sehun said. A predatory look flashed in his eyes as he stalked towards you. With no chance to jump out of the way or escape, you found yourself trapped between him and the wall, an arm on either side of you caging you in. 

Resisting the urge to gulp, you looked at each arm. You tried to convey boredom and an air of unaffectedness in your eyes. “Do you really think you can intimate the answer out of me?”

Sehun was taken aback by your comment, even straightening up and breaking the cage he’d put you in. “Th-that’s not what I was trying to do.”

“Maybe not consciously, but that’s typically the tactic you wolves tend to leans towards.”

“Sorry.” Sehun cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. It wasn’t the kind of apology you could entirely believe, but you’d let it slide. “But I still want to know what’s bothering you. And don’t say nothing, because I know that’s not true. I can tell. You’re constantly fidgeting and more argumentative lately.”

Wonderful. He was picking up on your other nervous habits. “Maybe that’s just who I am,” you said as you started picking at your cuticles. 

He placed a hand over both of yours. “(y/n)-”

“Hey!”

Lottie bounced up to the two of you, her smile shining brightly as Tao skidded to a stop behind her. Sehun shifted his hand so his fingers were interlaced with yours. As much as you appreciated the turn of events, you had a feeling this conversation would be revisited in the future. 

“Hey,” you greeted with a fake cheeriness. A queasiness was bubbling in your stomach. Sehun had developed this ability to read your face even when you were trying desperately to keep it neutral. How could he pick up on the microscopic changes in your expression? How could he read the emotions that you’d once been so good at concealing?

Or maybe you were never good at it from the start and Soomi and Mother Willow were just being polite and not pushing you to open up in the same way Sehun did so easily. 

“So we have some good news!” Tao beamed as he wrapped his arms around Lottie’s waist. 

He was hands down one of the touchiest of the wolves when it came to his mate - and that was a very competitive title. The boy would pout or whine if she put space between them or needed to leave the room for a second. You were half surprised that he didn’t follow her around everywhere. You’d once commented about it under your breath which earned a side eye from Sehun. He mentioned later that Lottie actually did have to have a talk with Tao about it. 

Apparently several of the mates have had to have “that talk” because a wolf’s natural instinct is to keep that contact and proximity. The longer they go without it, the more agitated they become. 

“Jongdae was the worst because he let it go on for so long,” Sehun had said as he played with your hair. The two of you had been lying on his (your?) bed, talking about nothing and everything, basking in the time alone. “He’d snap at the tiniest thing. Then when she had to live here at the house with us, it got even worse because she was near but he was still being stubborn. A few of us started being a little flirty with Jiyoung, pushing Jongdae’s buttons for the hell of it.”

“That is so mean,” you’d scolded, but any power was lost behind the chuckle that came with it. 

Sehun shrugged. “He kind of deserved it. He was an ass to Jiyoung for something that wasn’t her fault.”

You’d mulled over these new details you were learning about the wolves. Sehun had been a bit cranky in the beginning of your stay here, but he didn’t have to suffer too long before giving in. 

“What about Junmyeon?” you’d asked suddenly. 

  Sehun frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Kita was gone for a few weeks, but I never saw him get agitated about it.”

“That’s because he’s had practice at holding it in.” he explained. “Can you imagine having to be in charge of all of us? All the time? He’s got being calm and collected down to an art.”

That made sense. You’d seen the craziness that came with such an unusually large pack on a daily basis. You just hoped that Sehun didn’t try to sew himself to your hip.

Lottie elbowed Tao in the stomach, sending him a disapproving look before turning back to you. “What Tao means to say is that Mina dragged Dana into helping her with something before joining us so they’re running late.”

“Kyungsoo’s annoyed, as you can imagine,” Tao snickered. 

Sehun looked at you with a very pointed expression. Your response was to stick your tongue out at him. 

“So, what now?” Sehun asked the others. 

A grin spread across Tao’s face, crinkling his eyes. 

Lottie rolled her eyes. “We are not going shopping.”

In a flash, the smile was gone. In its place was his signature pout, but he didn’t argue. 

“We could always go ahead and go over to the festival,” you suggested. 

Now it was Lottie’s turn to shine. “Yeah! That sounds like a good idea. Let’s go!” She twirled out of Tao’s arms, taking his hand, and headed towards the center of the business district before he could voice his own opinion on the idea. 

White tents with open fronts lined up in rows facing each other, taking over the streets where patrons typically parked to visit the more permanent stores in the area. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, the square was full of people milling about. They traveled in chaotic lines, going from tent to tent, stopping to examine the wares and products made by both local craftsmen and traveling artists alike. 

“Jiyeon should really think about putting her own work up for one of these things someday,” Lottie commented. 

“What does Jiyeon do?” She was one of the older mates - the first one, if you remembered correctly - but you hardly ever saw her or Minseok, the two of them seem to prefer to keep to themselves. When you did see her, she was usually with Evie. The two of them were close, almost like sisters with how in sync they were. She, too, had a motherly feel to her, but you couldn’t bring up the courage to start any sort of conversation with her. 

“She’s a photographer,” Sehun answered. 

“More like Minseok’s personal paparazzi,” Tao snicked. 

Lottie yanked her hand out of his. “Would you stop. Jiyeon can take pictures of whoever she wants as much as she wants. Especially Minseok.”

“Besides, everyone knows you’re just bitter because she’s never wanted to help you with any of your ideas,” Sehun added. 

“She took Kris and Evie’s engagement photos!” 

“Which is different than your fashion shoots.”

Blowing out air, Tao stomped off to a booth that was free of any photography. He pretended to be extra interested in the hand knitted beanies that were hanging from a display tree. 

“I’m not going after him,” Lottie said. 

Sehun huffed. “Fine. I’ll babysit him.” He walked off towards his friend, leaving you awkwardly standing there with Lottie. To your relief, she was kind enough not to try and force conversation. Instead she turned her attention to a Halloween themed booth. 

Little clay figurines covered the tables: black cats with their curved backs, Jack-o-lanterns with welcoming grins among, friendly ghosts among other cliche symbols of the season. One figure that you’d seen all too often caught your eye. Carefully, you picked up the green-skinned witch with the black and purple striped socks and pointed hat. Her nose was large and hooked, her hair frizzy and crimped. The typical picture that children thought of when they heard the word “witch”.

“Does that ever bother you?” Lottie asked quietly enough to not be overheard by the creator. 

You shook your head. “No. You get used to it. Especially when you remember that, to everyone else, you don’t really exist. You’re a fairytale or scary story. I can’t take offense when they don’t know any better.”

“But it can’t feel good when everyone see witches as ugly and evil.”

“Not everyone does,” you countered. “There’s a lot of stories where witches are good. Charmed, Halloweentown, Glinda the Good Witch. Although, if I’m honest, Wicked is one of my favorites.”

“The musical?” Lottie tilted her head, confused.

You laughed. “Yeah. I saw it once, years ago. Mother Willow didn’t approve - she doesn’t like any stories that involve our kind. But Soomi wanted to see it and I wanted out of the woods for a bit so we went. It was funny.” Your eyes drifted downward, lost in the feelings that had emerged with the memory. 

“I felt… I felt like I was watching myself on that stage, almost. The main character was judged and ostracized because she was a little different, even amongst those who were supposed to be extraordinary and different as well.” You cleared your throat, turning back to the table and putting the figure down. “Sorry. Got a little deep there.”

“No, its okay,” Lottie said. “It’s how you felt. I’m sure it was nice to find a parallel like that.”

You nodded. “It was.”

“Sorry to cut this short, but Kyungsoo called. They’re coming to join us now,” Tao said. Sehun was frowning beside him and looking right at you. Apparently, he heard your tiny confession. 

“We can still wander around for a bit longer,” Lottie pointed out. “They’ll find us and we can go around again.”

“Come on, Lottie. I want to show you something.” Tao dragged his mate away towards another tent that seemed to be selling clothing items of some sort. 

“Is that what’s been bothering you?” Sehun asked in a low whisper as he stepped inside your bubble.

“We’ve already been over this,” you groaned. “I’m fine. I’m not feeling like the freak anymore. Especially not with you.” You nudged his arm playfully in hope that he’d loosen up. It didn’t work. 

“I want you to be happy.”

“I am.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“That’s because you’re forgetting what’s bound to happen in a few days,” you hissed. “The blood moon is almost here. No one has been able to figure out what the hell is supposed to be coming and I haven’t had any more visions to clue us in. So, just lay off, okay?”

Sehun sucked in his lips. Part of you wanted to stomp off and be a brat, but what good would that do? 

Even though it was kind of Sehun’s fault for pushing, you felt bad for snapping. But his mind had been on a single track lately. You were still terrified at what awaited during the blood moon. And you hated not being prepared. You just wanted him to understand. If he understood, then you might be able to open up about your suspicions about Mina. But this exact argument was keeping you tight lipped. 

Sehun sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry.”

“At least that one felt real,” you muttered. 

Sehun poked your forehead teasing, getting you look at him. “Can I tell you something?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“I love you.”

You swallowed back a whimper. There was that word again. 

A pregnant silence grew between you two. Was he expecting you to say it back?

“Oh, Sehun! Hi!”

Of for the love of- 

Irritated, you whirled toward the newest interruption, this time in the form of a bubbly, bouncing blonde named Mina. She was dressed to the nines, clothing absolutely inappropriate for walking around on the concrete for a long period of time. Soon she’d be complaining about her feet hurting in her over-the-knee boots and you’d be damned if she was going to beg Sehun to carry her on his back. 

Dana scrunched her face apologetically next to her friend. “Sorry we’re late. Again.”

Mina waved off the apology as if it was meant for her. “It's not a big deal.”

“You kind of have a bad habit of that, don’t you?” You raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. 

Mina shrugged it off, deciding that your argument wasn’t worth her time. “How much have you guys looked at already?”

“Not much,” Sehun replied. 

“Good! We can walk around for a bit. I really love cute, homemade things!” Mina started towards Sehun, her hand stretched out like she was going to grab ahold of his arm. 

Oh, no you don’t. 

The thought had barely manifested in your mind before a piece of the asphalt split and lifted in time to trip up Mina. She stumbled, barely being caught by Dana in time. Kyungsoo flickered his gaze in your direction, pressing his lips together to hold back a laugh. Sehun, however, did not find the humor in the situation. Whatever. 

Claiming your territory, you stepped in between Mina and Sehun, taking the latter’s hand. “Yeah, let’s go see what else is on display. I think I heard a band playing earlier.”

Mina caught the implication of the contact. “Oh. Are you two… together?”

“Yes,” you said matter-of-factly. 

“Interesting.” The corners of her lips turned up. “Duly noted.”

“What’s it to you?” you challenged. 

“(y/n)….” Sehun warned behind you. 

“It’s just good information to have,” Mina replied. She even batted her eyes innocently. Or maybe you made it up. Either way, you could feel your insides boiling. 

“Why?”

“That’s enough.” Sehun dragged you away from the group, around the tents to a more private area. 

Over your shoulder, you caught an amused look on Mina’s face. She didn’t find it as funny when the wind suddenly picked up, covering her face in her hair and messing up her hard work. 

Letting go of your hand when you were out of sight of other people, Sehun sprung on you. “What the hell was that?”

You set your jaw defiantly. “What was what?”

“You were absolutely fine before Mina showed up. Okay, I get it, she’s a flirt, but I’ve never seen you treat someone like that. It’s not you.” The look of disappointment on Sehun’s hurt worse than any scolding or lecture from Mother Willow or Soomi. “You’ve never used your powers to deliberately hurt someone.”

“She wasn’t actually hurt,” you mumbled, unable to meet his eye. 

Sehun whipped his head back and forth, deepening the cut. You hated hearing him talk like he knew every facet of who you were. He didn’t know everything. He had known you for a month, give or take, not years. You weren’t see-through, a book so easily read that a toddler could make out the words that described who you were. 

“You know what? Fine,” you snapped. “You want to know what’s been bothering me? And why I just did that? The reason’s the same. I don’t trust Mina.”

Instead maybe looking relieved at finally understanding or something to that effect, Sehun looked… disgusted. “You don’t trust her? What for? You hardly know her.”

You scoffed. “I know, but listen. Remember my visions? The woman who’s been with me in the woods?”

“You never saw her face,” Sehun argued. 

“Not her face,” you agreed. “But I’ve seen her hair. Her blonde hair. And her hand. It was pale. Like Mina. And after all this time, she just randomly decides to come visit for several weeks, right around the blood moon?”

“That doesn’t mean it is Mina. She’s Dana’s friend. Why would she be a danger to the pack?”

You threw your hands in the air, frustrated that he wasn’t giving your theory even the slightest chance. “Who knows anyone’s motivation these days? And from what Kyungsoo said, they haven’t been as close the past few years. Maybe she thinks Dana is being held against her will. Maybe some other wolf rejected her for his mate and now she hates all wolves. Maybe she’s just psycho! Who knows!”

“But you don’t know its her!” Sehun shouted. 

“Which is why I’d rather be safe than sorry!” you said even louder. 

Covering his face with his hands, Sehun growled, “I will never understand what the others mean by jealousy being cute.”

“This isn’t jealousy!” you screamed with all the power of your lungs. “I’m trying to keep everyone safe! No one else has seen what I’ve seen! I don’t want you to get hurt when I could have stopped it!”

“And what if you’re wrong?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He didn’t trust you. He didn’t believe you. He wasn’t even giving you a chance, chalking it up to some stupid misguided feeling of jealousy rahter than considering what you’d seen in your visions. What good was it to have a mate if he didn’t listen.

The gravel under your shoes crunched as you whirled on the balls of your feet. You weren’t sure what direction the woods were in this deep into town so you just started off in any direction.

“(y/n), where are you going?” Sehun called out after you. 

“To the farmhouse!” You refused to call it home. Once again, you didn’t have one. 

Behind you, a huff and the quick steps of a stupid wolf before he blocked your path reached your ears. “It’s not that way. If you want to go home, I’ll take you.”

Staying silent, you waved for him to lead you in the right direction. At least you wouldn't have to walk the whole way. 

The entire time you kept several feet in between you, mostly to keep him from reaching out to take your hand, but also to keep yourself from kicking him. Which was getting more and more tempting as you thought about it. Once you were in the car and traveling down the road, you closed your eyes to block everything out. Forehead against the glass, you tried to fight back the tears. 

He didn’t believe you. The one person in the world who was supposed to always be on your side and he didn’t believe you. 

It almost too good to be true, the sense of belonging, the feeling of acceptance. It was an illusion, brought upon by fate and hormones that pulled him towards you. It wasn’t enough. It had never been enough. Suddenly, the three words he’d said to you felt empty. And you felt lost. So completely lost.

[gingerwritess]

SPILT COFFEE WITH PRE DATING IDIOTS

ok i just realised i should be labeling these as parts of a series cause that might be REALLY confusing to new readers oop

SO this is following the dick-grab/only one chair ordeal! lets get some tension started up in here. i’m craving blushy loki and tension so this should get things moving in that direction for our pre-dating idiots ;)

part 10/infinity of Loki’s Happy Ending, masterlist is linked in my bio!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Break rooms at the Avengers tower are always...strange.

Today, there’s no “enhanced beings” or trained assassins eating donuts, it’s just a gaggle of technicians and facility operators huddle around the coffee pot.

Oh, and one probably psychopathic god-disguised-as-a-neurosurgeon-fake-boyfriend.

...that’s not even the strangest thing anymore.

You are a bit surprised to see Laing—uh, Loki—is the one in the middle. He’s the one they’re all laughing with, he’s the one telling the jokes, he’s—

“No, I think I’m going to keep her for a while, gents.”

—talking about you.

Oh, for the love of all that is holy, you just wanted some coffee.

You steel yourself for an onslaught of inevitable lying through your teeth, plastering on a small smile and pushing past Loki to get to the coffee pot.

“Gonna keep me, huh?”

A chorus of friendly chuckles goes around the little circle as Laing—god, no, Loki— just takes a sip of his own coffee with a sure “mmmhm.”

You force out a laugh. “Gee, thanks for letting me have a say in that decision, Robbie.”

“Mmhm.”

Okay. Disclaimer. You hadn’t had your coffee yet, so brain power...wasn’t on. And this might be the first time you’ve seen Laing without a lab coat, so maybe there was a blinded-by-your-fake-beauty bit of distraction as well.

Turning around with a roll of your eyes to head back out the door, you grab Laing’s chin in your free hand and plant a loud kiss on his cheek.

His entire body tenses.

...which only cracks the ceramic mug he was gripping apparently too tightly, hot coffee sloshing all down your front.

“Lok—LAING!”

Shoving him away, you grab a handful of paper towels and try to blot away the liquid, but the stain keeps spreading and Loki just stares in stunned silence as you stuff more napkins down your shirt.

The whole breakroom is watching.

A glance around brings you to a pause. “Heh...” you give a nervous laugh, reaching behind you for the god in question. “Isn’t he a weird little guy?”

Your hand fists in Laing’s shirt, dragging him right out the door behind you.

By the time you’ve shoved him into your office and slammed the door, he’s regained some smidgen of reality, not so frozen, eyes not so glazed.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” you huff, digging around your desk drawers for napkins. “I just needed to get us out of there, y’know? I don’t want people asking questions, not many humans can break a mug like that—”

“Why did you do that?”

He’s still standing in the doorway, still Dr. Laing, still holding the broken handle from the coffee mug.

“Do what?”

“You know.” He takes a cautious step towards you, taking the idea of side-eye-ing to a whole new level.

“What, give you a kiss?” Straightening back up with a sigh, you resolve to just try to soak up the stain on your shirt with tissues. “We’re dating, Laing, and since you’d decided to use me as gossip material, I thought you’d appreciate me ‘acting the part.’”

He falls silent, watching your every move as you swipe furiously as the giant brown stain on your shirt.

“I don’t.”

You glance up at him, eyebrow quirking. “So don’t act the part?”

“Don’t...touch me,” he slowly replies, turning a piece of broken mug over in his fingers.

“Okay...that’s not going to make for a very convincing act, but you got it.” Something about him seems to have turned almost nervous, so you shoot him a small smile. “No touching.”

He nods, clasping his hands behind his back.

The way he rocks up onto the balls of his feet is very uncharacteristic.

A little bit childish. Completely unintimidating.

Ever since that unfortunate accidental dick grab, you’ve tried to make sure that Loki knows that it was an accident. This can’t get any more awkward than it already is, but now with that almost-accidental kiss going over so well...

Here goes nothing.

“So how’s work?”

His head cocks to one side. “Why do you care?”

“Just trying to make conversation.” You shrug and try for another smile, but his eyes narrow.

“We don’t have to speak to each other.”

“You’re just bursting with rainbows and butterflies, aren’t you.”

“Clearly.”

“Fine,” you sigh, giving up on trying to clean your shirt and slumping back in your desk chair. “I forgot, I’m just your pretty little pork chop. Don’t need to talk or anything—”

“That’s quite enough, little sausage.”

Standing abruptly from your desk, you round the corner in two steps and stomp towards this insufferable fake doctor, hand raised and hurtling through the air towards his face.

He catches your wrist before the satisfying—but completely pointless—smack echoes through the room.

“Don’t touch me,” he growls, switching back to Loki in the blink of an eye. “Next time, you lose your hand.”

“Then don’t talk to me like that.” You try to struggle out of his grip, but he holds you tight.

“Fine.”

“Fine! Now let go of me!”

He drops your wrist with a roll of his eyes, stepping away from you as you do the same, glaring as hard as you can possibly manage.

It’s been a while since you saw his real person, saw the real Loki, you realise. Maybe that was for the best.

You can’t help but stare, trying your best to turn it into a disapproving glare, but knowing you’re failing.

Loki’s decaying.

Literally, his body looks like it’s sinking in on itself: he’s thin, thinner than before so you know it can’t be healthy, and one look into his eyes shakes you to the core—skeletal.

His eyes are sunken, greying. Hair knotted and greasy, cheeks hollow, he raises a tired eyebrow at you.

“Seen enough?”

You thickly swallow your pride.

“Where are you living, Loki?”

“I’m not moving in with you,” he drones, kicking out one of the chairs in your office and lowering himself into it—every move looks like it could break him.

“Okay...wasn’t gonna offer, but good to know.”

“Most nights I stay in a lab here,” he quietly continues. “Just using a cloaking spell. I know I look terrible, you don’t have to remind me.”

“When was the last time you showered??”

“Laing showers every night. I can’t exactly waltz into the showers whenever I want.”

“So things you do as Laing don’t actually help...you?”

He shakes his head with a thin smile. “The one casting the illusions still exists, separate from that which they cast. It’s not meant for long term arrangements.”

Your mind is reeling. No wonder he looks so awful, if nothing he does in one form helps the other—

“Oh my god, Loki.” Your eyes widen in shocked realisation. “When was the last time you ate??”

“I just had a pastry with my coffee,” he frowns, running a hand through his tangled hair. “You saw me, I spilled it all over you.”

“No, Laing had breakfast. When did Loki?”

He thinks for a moment, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

“I don’t count the days.”

You steel yourself and point at your desk. “Under the desk, Loki. Don’t argue.”

He laughs, raising his eyebrows at you. “Going to turn me in, now that you know my weakness? Should’ve known.”

“No.” You snap your fingers, pointing at the desk again. “You’re gonna take a nap while I go get you some food. You’re gonna sleep, not Laing, not fake Loki, you. C’mon.”

“I most certainly am not—”

“Yes, you are. You’re a couple of days away from dying, Loki, and I don’t want to have to explain how my fake boyfriend died for the next few months.”

Okay, that was too easy.

He gets up, nearly stumbling as he trudges to your desk, narrowed, tired eyes on you the entire way.

You’re expecting him to argue, to threaten you for speaking in such a condescending manner—but he sinks to his knees, gripping the edge of the desk for support, and curls into a little ball under your desk.

You don’t know what to say. Or do. Or think. This is...new.

“I’m desperate,” he calls out hoarsely, eyelids already drooping. “That’s the only reason you win.”

“What?”

“If you use this opportunity to betray me, I’m past the point of caring.”

“I’m not going t—”

“When you do,” he cuts back in, “I won’t blame you.”

I suppose he is taking a rather large leap of faith here, choosing to trust you enough to conceal him.

“Just, um, sleep.” You flash him a slightly awkward smile to which he nods, and you turn for the door, flicking off the lights. “I’ll get some food.”

Silence, save for a few ragged breaths that gradually slow to a steady pace.

This is a perfect opportunity to turn him in.

He practically admitted defeat.

But he hasn’t hurt anyone, done anything for the past month; if anything, he’s actually helped people.

In fact, the god hugging his knees to his chest under your desk, immediately slipped into an exhausted rest, seems nothing like the crazed god who led a swarm of aliens to conquer your planet.

Nothing.

You push the thought of reporting him from your mind, focusing on the bigger question:

What in all hell do you feed a dying god??

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

feel free to send me ideas!!

if you enjoyed…what if i linked my venmo…haha no i jest…no obligations….just in case….u don’t have to ha ha…….unless… ??

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys @highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine @stubby-toe-589331 @fandomnerdsarecool @retrofantasyland @arch-venus25 @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @littleredstarfish @marshyrebelcloud @okie–loki @atterodominatus @stfxlou @pandacookieowo @tonakings @shinisenko @tinchentitri

[darks-ink]

Third Time (’s a Charm)

Is the title a reference to the fact that we’re dealing with a trio of half-ghosts, or is it a reference to the fact that this is the third time I’ve written about the Accident for this event? Who knows!

Prompt: An AU where Sam and/or Tucker also gain ghost powers Prompt by: @dalv-co-official Word count: 9,036

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

---

“Nothing is going to happen,” Danny said, trying for bravado to hide the worry that niggled in his chest. “I’m gonna go in, check it out, and then come out. It will all be perfectly fine.”

“Yeah!” Tucker agreed, nudging Sam playfully. “Chill, dude. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Sam made a face at the two of them. “I don’t know, Danny. I have a bad feeling about this…”

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her, softer now. His chest felt like a roaring void, a whirlpool of worry. “Come on, give me that jumpsuit if it’ll make you feel better.”

“You’re gonna look like an idiot.” She smiled a little as she passed it to him, though. “Your parents are a bad influence.”

“Well, it’s gotta do something, right?” Tucker cocked an eyebrow at the suit in Danny’s hands. “I mean, I don’t know about Mr. Fenton, but Mrs. Fenton has to have a reason to wear those things every day.”

“I think my dad is just very convincing.” Danny pressed the jumpsuit against his chest, guessing at the size. It looked about right. A recent creation, then. Lucky him. “I mean, look at me. I’m gonna be wearing the same thing and I don’t even know why.”

Tucker huffed, a smile on his face. “You know why.”

“Don’t give me that,” Danny bit back, unzipping the jumpsuit. “Now look away so I can put this on.”

“Doesn’t it go over your clothes?” Sam asked, before obligingly turning away. “I mean, I’m not an expert, but…”

“Maybe if they’re sized properly, but I grow too quickly for my parents to keep up.” Danny quickly took off his pants, then pulled up his jumpsuit until it rested at his hips. “So it’s tight, and that makes it a pain to wear over regular clothes.”

He stripped off his shirt as well, sticking his arms through the sleeves of his jumpsuit and pulling it up entirely. “Almost ready.”

“Just tell us when you are ready, man.” Tucker shook his head, not turning around. “I don’t want to see your pasty bare chest.”

“Uh, rude.” Danny zipped up the jumpsuit, then ducked down to grab the shoes and gloves. “You can look now. Just gotta put on the last bits.”

Sam turned around, then snorted. “Nice socks.”

“Your support is appreciated as always,” Danny retorted, pulling a black rubbery boot over his space-print socks. “Don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Yeah, speaking of support…” She reached over to his, then tugged on something on his chest. A sticker peeled off, which she helpfully flipped around to show him. “Bet you don’t want to go walking around with this on your chest.”

‘This’ was, in this case, a logo of Jack Fenton’s face.

Danny made a face. “I definitely do not. Sam, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Alright, alright, enough banter already.” Tucker batted at Sam until the logo stuck to his fingers. “Ugh, now it’s on me. I’m getting rid of this thing.”

“Please do!” Danny called after his retreating back. “Knowing Dad, he’s got another three dozen of those things lying around.”

“Don’t speak such horrors into being.” Sam swatted him in the shoulder, and Danny ducked down to pull on his other boot. “You should know better than that, Fenton.”

“You’re overestimating his intelligence,” Tucker replied, before Danny could. “I’ve thrown the sticker into a trashcan. It’s up to whoever is cleaning the lab from here.”

“Hey!” He stuck out his tongue at his two best friends. “Rude. Also, you’ve just made it my problem again by doing that.”

“Well, I’m not gonna burn it for you, man.” Tucker handed him one of the two gloves. “You can do that yourself if you survive this.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to die, Tucker. I’m just checking out the Portal from up close, and letting Sam take a few photos. Perfectly safe.”

“Nothing in this house is safe,” Sam pointed out, quirking an eyebrow. “Our lives are in peril every moment we spent here.”

“Alright, well.” He shrugged. No arguing with that. “In that case, we’re all gonna die sooner rather than later, and checking out the Portal isn’t gonna expedite that.”

“’Expedite’?” Tucker repeated. “Wow, big word. You learn that from Jazz?”

“You’re all bullying me, and I’m leaving.” Danny tugged on the second glove for effect, then pushed himself off of the table he was perched on. “Gonna walk right into the Portal, and this will be the last thing you’ve said to me before I die.”

“Thought you weren’t going to die?” Sam asked, picking up her camera again, slinging the loop around her neck. “You seemed very confident in that.”

He very much was not. Something about the Portal made his skin crawl, made him feel like he’d swallowed ice.

“Right,” he said, mustering a grin. “Well. It’s the point of it that matters.”

“Like you’re going to die without us anyway, dude.” Tucker huffed, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smile. “Let’s be real, we’re all in this together. Either that Portal explodes and takes all of us out, or nothing happens and we’re all fine.”

Sam shot him an icy look. “Just so we’re all clear, if something does happen, we’re blaming it on Tucker. Right?”

“Right,” Danny echoed. “You’ve brought this upon us, Tuck.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” Tucker rolled his eyes, then shoved Danny towards the empty arch of the Portal. “You’ve said it a dozen times yourself. It doesn’t work. As long as you don’t electrocute yourself on a power cable, you’re safe as can be.”

“Yeah, no, double down.” Danny nodded, pausing in the mouth of the Portal. “That’s exactly what’s gonna fix this, Tucker. Double down on the promise of death.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tucker said, flapping a hand. “Sam and I will be right here, yeah?”

Sam nodded, lifting up her camera. “For real, Danny. If you’re dying, you’re taking both of us with you.”

“We have so many issues,” Danny declared, laughing. “Alright, well. I’m going.”

“Don’t die!” Tucker shouted after him. The Portal’s insides lit up with the flash of Sam’s camera.

A click sounded. Danny hadn’t even noticed the button before he pressed it.

“Uh,” was all he managed before everything turned green, then white, then black.

---

“We are so screwed,” Sam murmured in Danny’s ear, and he jerked awake. Huh. When had he passed out?

“I’m saying we blame Tuck,” Danny mumbled back, rubbing his eyes with his white-gloved hand.

Wait.

“Look who’s catching on!” Sam clapped him on the shoulder, and Danny scowled at her.

Uh.

“Are all colors weird for you guys too, or is that just me?” he asked Sam’s bright blue eyes and white hair. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sam wearing this much white.”

“It’s criminal,” she agreed breezily. “But don’t worry, your hair has also gone very white.”

“Aw, you didn’t even mention his ectoplasm green eyes.” Tucker crouched down next to Sam and, hey, his colors were all weird too. His golden yellow eyes crunched. “It matches the Portal behind you. Very nice.”

Danny paused, then turned to look over his shoulder. The Portal’s arch was still the same shiny metal as before, but its entire inside was concealed behind a wall of swirling green ectoplasm.

“So turns out that it just needed some human sacrifice,” Tucker added on, swatting Danny in the leg. “You can tell your parents that, in case they ever want to build another one.”

“Uh, no?” Danny turned to glare at Tucker. “You can tell my parents that, Tuck. You’re the one who tempted fate by saying we would all die together if it turned on.”

“I said it was gonna explode,” Tucker corrected, rolling his eyes. “And clearly it didn’t.”

“Ah, so I just imagined the bright blast of light that spilled out of the Portal?” Sam shoved him lightly. “Just admit it, Tucker, you’ve brought this upon us.”

“Me?” Tucker dramatically clasped a hand to his chest. “You are the one who talked Danny into going into that Portal. Equal blame.”

Danny sighed, pressing his forehead against his hand. “Alright, how about this. We’re all equally screwed. Can we please put some thought into the fact that we all appear to be ghosts?”

“Friends forever?” Tucker tried cheerfully. Sam kicked him in the shin for this suggestion. “Ow, jeez, I thought ghosts couldn’t feel?”

“Let me try.” Sam pinched Danny’s arm.

“Ow, Sam, why?” He swatted her away. “I already died, I don’t need this.”

“Looks like your parents were wrong about the unfeeling part of ghosts,” she decided, nodding to herself. “In both the physical and emotional way.”

“Great, brilliant, fantastic.” Danny clapped his hands together, drawing the attention of both of his friends back to him. “Can we please focus? We’re all ghosts. Now what?”

Sam and Tucker shared a look, then both shrugged.

“Depends,” Tucker decided. “Can we leave this house? Do we have to haunt somewhere specific? What are the rules to ghostly existence?”

“Why are you asking me?” Danny swept a hand around, gesturing at the lab. “Clearly my parents don’t know what they’re about, either!”

“I mean, they made the Portal,” Sam pointed out. “It killed us, yes, but it seems to work just fine now that it’s on.”

“Great.” He rolled his eyes. “Just needed a little blood sacrifice. I’m so glad.”

“Alright, smartass, so what do you suggest?” Sam crossed her arms, the glow around her body brightening in sync with her glare. “Your parents are the most dangerous to us, here!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Danny growled back, flailing his arms. “What I really want is for us to go back to being human, but—”

Something in his chest, in the very core of his being, stirred. His glow brightened into a flash of light, and Danny was forced to shut his eyes to avoid being blinded.

When the light faded away again, and Danny opened his eyes, he saw…

“Wow,” Tucker breathed, tugging on Danny’s white jumpsuit. “Dude, that’s crazy. Us next!”

“I don’t know how I did that!” Danny swatted Tucker’s cold hand away, feeling his heart thump up a storm. “I just felt something weird in my chest! Like I stirred something.”

“Something cold?” Sam asked, eyes wide. “Like…”

“Cold-hot-cold, constantly whirring?” Tucker finished for her, turning to stare at her. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, that was it.” Something buzzed underneath his heartbeat, and Danny paused for a moment to dissect the feeling. “Oh my god, I still feel it. It’s just… quieter.”

“Quieter,” Sam and Tucker chorused, looking at each other again.

Light flashed again.

“I can’t believe that that worked,” Tucker grumbled, straightening his now-red barrette. “I mean, seriously. What on Earth is going on?”

Danny made a face, turning to look behind him. The Portal’s surface still swirled, stirred by an unseen force. “I don’t think it’s anything from Earth, Tuck.”

“So we’re, what, in-betweeners?” He scoffed, and Danny turned back to look at him again. “A little human, a little ghost?”

“I don’t know, but you know what I do know?” Sam pushed herself up onto her feet. “I’m gonna go figure that out somewhere that isn’t here. We can tell Danny’s parents that we’ve been up in his room the whole time, or something.”

“Yeah, that… that sounds like a plan.” Danny scrambled up onto his feet as well, then offered a hand to Tucker to help him up too. “We need to figure out what this is. If it’s just temporary or what, and what the effects of it are.”

“You sound like a scientist,” Tucker complained, stumbling when he stood. “But I guess you’re right.”

“Up we go, then.” Danny grabbed his regular clothes, then paused. Nah. He could redress in his room. “Anyone else feeling like their skin is crawling just from being near the Portal?”

“Yeah,” both of his friends answered. They all stopped to look at each other.

“We are so messed up,” Tucker decided.

“Do you think they have ghost therapists?” Sam ducked to pick up her backpack, and Tucker did the same. “They have to be traumatized as all hell, right?”

“I thought we were, like, part ghosts?” Danny passed by them to head to the stairs first. “Wasn’t that what we just decided?”

“Half-ghost therapists, then,” Sam corrected. “Same difference.”

“I hate every part of this conversation.” Tucker started on the staircase behind Danny, then stopped. Looked at Sam over his shoulder. “Are you coming too, Sam?”

A click and a flash of light. Sam appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Yeah, sorry. Wanted to grab a quick picture.”

“Why, in case we ever need proof of how we got so messed up?” Tucker rolled his eyes before making an impatient gesture at Danny to continue up the stairs. “Seriously, someone’s gonna find that and it’ll disprove all our lies.”

“Chill, I know how to hide photos.” Sam’s heavy boots started clunking up the stairs as well. “It might come in handy later. Who knows?”

“I’m not listening to you two fight again,” Danny told them, stepping into the kitchen and turning around. “Seriously, guys, can we please focus on what’s happening?”

Tucker and Sam also stepped into the kitchen, sharing a look.

“Yeah, alright.” Tucker nodded. “Sam?”

“Uh huh.” She nodded back. “Sorry, Danny.”

“It’s… not fine, but, y’know. I get it.” He shook his head, turning back towards the living room, to the stairs up. “But we’ve got more important things to deal with.”

“You make it sound so ominous,” Tucker griped, his tone light and joking. “I mean, we only sort of died, you know?”

“You’re horrible,” Danny told him. “I’m making the executive decision that we’re gonna be silent until we reach my room. All in favor?”

“Aye,” Sam piped up, slapping a hand in Tucker’s face so he couldn’t reply. “Let’s do it.”

Danny laughed, leading the rest of the way up without another word. Even Tucker remained silent after Sam removed her hand.

Finally, the door to his room clicked shut. He hesitated for a brief moment, then turned the lock as well.

“Okay, so we’re in private. Now what?” Tucker asked, turning to look between Danny and Sam.

“Just so we’re all on one line,” Sam’s purple eyes darted between Danny and Tucker, “All three of us are now, like, half-ghost or something. Right?”

“Is that even possible?” Danny frowned. “Like, I know my parents don’t think ghost and human can be combined, but they obviously don’t know everything.”

“You think either of us have a better source of knowledge?” Tucker scoffed, shaking his head. “I mean, unless Sam just happens to have some kind of goth-guide about this stuff?”

She shook her head as well. “Nope, sorry. Guess we’ll have to figure this out ourselves.”

“Ugh,” Danny groaned, throwing himself backwards onto his bed. “Alright. First things first… What’s first?”

Tucker snorted. “How does this affect our health? How ghostly are we, and how human?”

“Those are two separate things,” Sam pointed out. “But, yeah, those sound like a good start. What are things we need to look out for?”

“We need to start a list,” Danny decided out-loud. He didn’t move to do so.

“Digital or on paper?” Sam asked, grabbing a leaf of paper off of Danny’s desk.

“Digital, duh.” Tucker raised a PDA in the air. “I mean, anyone might come across a sheet of paper with this kinda secret stuff on it.”

“And ghosts typically don’t combine well with electronics,” Danny pointed out, pushing himself up until he was sitting on his bed. “Sorry, Tuck, but I think it might be smarter to stick with paper for now.”

“We can always burn it for safety,” Sam pointed out, stealing a pen from Danny as well. “Okay, so to summarize: figure out health, figure out ghost-human balance, and things we need to look out for. Yeah?”

“Can we start sub lists?” Tucker dragged over a chair to their circle, plopping himself down. “Because I think we should look into those ghostly forms and possible ghost powers as well, but that falls under the ghost-human balance, I think.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah, sounds good. Maybe split ‘things we need to look out for’ into two categories? ‘Things that might be dangerous to us’ and ‘things we need to keep an eye on’?”

“Couldn’t you have suggested that before I wrote it down?” Sam scribbled on the paper, then nodded. “Alright, got it. Anything else?”

“How did we all become half-ghost, or whatever? I mean, I know I was in the Portal when it turned on, but what about you two?” Danny looked between Sam and Tucker.

“Well, I can answer that.” Tucker gestured at Sam and himself. “We were in front of the Portal, remember? When it turned on it pretty much exploded. Blasted all that energy and light outwards. Not sure after that, I think it knocked me out.”

“Same.” Sam frowned at the paper she held. “We definitely got hit in the splashback of the activation. Like, that surface? It kind of… spilled outwards, I guess? Before settling into the frame properly.”

“Hm.” Danny scratched his cheek, thinking. “Do you think that that makes a difference? That I was inside the Portal, and you two outside it?”

“What, like a difference in exposure?” Tucker shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe you’re a little more ghost, and we a little less?”

“I’ll add that to the list.”

Danny leaned back a little, prodding the ball of cold energy in his chest. “We need to do more research on ghosts in general, I think. You two still feeling that power thing?”

“In my chest? Yeah.” Sam tapped her pen on the paper. “It’s kind of quiet, now, but it picked up when I got angry at Tucker earlier.”

“Mine too,” Tucker supplied, kicking his foot against the leg of his chair. “Don’t ghosts have some sort of power center? What did your parents call it again?”

Danny hummed, running through his parents info-dumps about ghosts. “A… something with a C. Core? Yeah, I think that that was it. A ghost core.”

“This is exhausting,” Tucker decided, leaning back in his chair. “Like, both literally and metaphorically.”

“Amen,” Sam and Danny chorused.

They hung out in comfortable silence for a moment, before Danny broke it again. “Okay but like, what was up with that stuff earlier? When we looked like ghosts? Can we do that again? Should we do that again?”

“What do you mean, ‘should’?” Sam looked up from the paper to meet his eyes. “You think it might hurt us if we spend too much time as a human instead of a ghost?”

“I don’t know!” He flailed out his hands. “I don’t know any more about this stuff than you guys! But if we’re, like, half-and-half, that could be a thing, right? Or maybe regular shifting helps with the ghost core, or something.”

“Shouldn’t we figure out if we can keep shifting, first?” Tucker pointed out. “If we can’t shift, there’s no point in discussing its importance, right?”

“Okay, but I don’t think we should all go a the same time.” Sam tapped the pen on the edge of Danny’s desk. “We should use this opportunity to take a good look at each other’s ghost forms.”

“Why?” Danny frowned at her. “What’s the point?”

“There might be some kind of clue hidden in our ghost forms.” She shrugged. “And, even if there’s not, it would be nice to know what, exactly, we look like. Right?”

“Mirrors exist, Sam.”

“Ghosts are very perception-based, Tucker,” she countered. “Maybe there are details that you can’t see yourself.”

“So what if those details only show up to full humans, or full ghosts?”

“Guys,” Danny interrupted them. “Can we please chill on the squabbling? Who’s trying the shift first?”

“You,” they both replied, almost in sync, before sharing a startled look.

“You shifted back to human first,” Sam added, like it was an explanation. “And you were in the Portal, rather than outside it like us.”

“If any of us is more ghostly, or more powerful or whatever, it’s you,” Tucker tacked on.

Danny groaned, but, well. He couldn’t argue with that kind of reasoning.

“Don’t do it while lying down. Stand up,” Sam commanded, kicking him lightly in the shin. “You’ll have to get up when you turn ghostly anyway.”

“I want it to be acknowledged that I hate every part of this.” Danny jiggled his leg. “I’m changing clothes, first. That way we can see if our clothes are the same but inverted or if they were set when we got hit.”

“We’ll turn away.” Sam grabbed Tucker’s arm and turned him around.

“Thanks,” Danny told them dryly, chucking the black gloves onto his bed. He undressed and redressed quickly, then cleared his throat. “Alright, I’m gonna try the ghost thing.”

He prodded the ghost core in his chest. Mentally, of course. It stirred, kicked its whirring up a notch, but nothing else happened.

“Maybe you need to coax it?” Tucker suggested, brow creasing. “You said what you wanted from it last time, right?”

Danny scoffed. “What, so I gotta tell it that I want to go ghost?”

Light flashed. Danny stared down at his white boots.

“I hate this,” he declared. “Just so everyone knows.”

“Duly noted,” Sam told him, before twirling the pen in her hand. “Go turn, ghost-boy. Show us your spooky ghost form.”

“Hate this,” Danny reiterated, before slowly turning in a circle. He thought he could figure most of his appearance out already, since he’d only worn white and black when he went into the Portal. It wasn’t that hard to extrapolate from there, especially since both Sam and Tucker had white hair, and his black gloves and boots had clearly gone white as well. “Oooh, my colors flipped, I get it. What color are my eyes?”

“Green.” Tucker paused, like he was deliberating it. “Pretty much the color of ectoplasm, I guess. Very bright. They glow.”

“They glow?” Danny repeated. He glanced down at the glow around the rest of his body. “What, unlike the rest?”

“Oh, stop being an idiot.” Tucker swatted at him, and Danny caught the warm hand. “Rude. I thought ghosts were intangible?”

Well, that sounded like a challenge. Danny prayed this would work, felt the cold energy pour from his core, and smirked at Tucker.

And then promptly stuck his arm through Tucker’s shoulder.

“Dude,” Tucker swore, jerking away from Danny. “Warn a guy!”

“How’d you do that?” Sam asked, perking up even as Danny’s arm returned to its full opacity. “Can we all do that?”

“Spite, I guess.” He shrugged, prodding Tucker with his now tangible finger. “I just kind of willed it into being, and I felt the energy from my core run through me.”

“So, transparent is intangible…” Sam noted it down, then paused. “What are also basic ghost powers? Flight, right? Or floating, at least?”

“And invisibility, yeah.” Danny stared down at his hands. Invisibility and intangibility he didn’t really care about, but flight? That would be pretty cool.

He felt himself grow lighter, and grinned. His feet lifted off of the ground, and he leaned back. “That’s a yes on flight.”

“Dude, you can keep flight. I want to turn invisible!” Tucker declared, before promptly disappearing from sight. “Hey, why’d I go white?”

“Because you went invisible, moron.” Sam kicked the leg of Tucker’s chair for lack of actual leg, and he startled so badly he became visible again. She kicked him, too, for good measure. “Okay, so powers work in human form as well. What did you say you looked like?”

“Kinda white and transparent, I guess?” Tucker paused just in time for Danny’s flight to falter. He crashed down, thudding into the ground, and light flashed.

“Ugh,” he complained as his core churned loudly in his chest. “I think I ran out of ghost juice.”

“Alright, so we’ve got a limited amount of energy to run through, and if that runs out, we shift back to human.” Sam nodded, her pen scribbling quickly. “So we default back to human, it seems. Tucker, you next? Or did that little invisibility run you out entirely?”

“Uh, I dunno.” Tucker got up, then pulled Danny off of the floor as well. “Maybe if I don’t use any powers after shifting? We just want to look, right?”

Sam nodded, looking up from her paper. “Yeah. Let’s see how far you get. Go for it, Tuck.”

“Alright. Uh.” Tucker looked down at his chest, like he could prod his core better if he looked at it. Not that he could see it, but, y’know. “Going ghost?”

Light flashed once more, then withdrew until just a glow around Tucker remained.

“Please tell me my skin didn’t change color, too,” Tucker begged them, his eyes raising up to meet Danny’s. They were startlingly warm, a golden yellow. “That would kill me.”

“You’re already pretty dead,” Sam pointed out, ignoring the way Tucker’s eyes flared brighter when he glared at her. “And Danny’s skin didn’t change, did it? You’re fine.”

“Very warm, actually,” Danny commented, gesturing at Tucker’s outfit. “It’s all warm purple and orange. Well. Your hat is a little more cool-purple, but your pants are pretty orange.”

Tucker glanced down, as if to confirm, then made a face. “My pants? What about my sweater? What color is this even, magenta?”

He tugged on it, then twirled his hand. “Huh, it does look a little different from up close. Cooler?”

“Might be the ectoplasm underneath your skin.” Danny hummed, considering it. “Since you’ve got green underneath it instead of red?”

“Might be.” Tucker let of his sweater, then paused. Patted down his trousers until he found what he was looking for, pulling out… his PDA. Of course. “I can’t believe my PDA got ghost-ified, too. Look at it, all green and stuff.”

“Does it work?” Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Or has it literally died?”

Tucker blinked his luminous eyes at her, then turned them back to the PDA. He pressed a button, and the screen lit up. “Works,” he stated, somewhat unnecessarily. “But I felt that in my core. I think it might be connected?”

“Good to know.” She scribbled it down on the paper. Must’ve been using shorthand, because Danny was fairly sure she would’ve run out of paper by now. “I was wearing my camera, so that must be the case for me, too.”

“It it helps, I feel no desire to guard it with my very being,” Tucker explained, before pausing again. “Well, no more than usual, I guess.”

“Very comforting.” Sam noted this down, too. “You can shift back, if you want.”

“Going… human?” Tucker tried, and light washed over him. Left him standing in his regular clothes, still holding his PDA. “Hey, that worked!”

“Voice activated ghost-core.” Danny grinned at his friends. “That’s convenient, right? Better than random activation.”

“Might still activate randomly. You can just also force it.” Sam shook her head, then stood up as well. “Alright, here I go. Going ghost!”

Once again light flashed, and once again one of their trio had turned into a ghost. “Well?”

“What do you think? A ton of white.” Tucker dodged Sam’s flailing hands. “What, it’s the truth!”

“I think your colors are pretty easy to figure out too, Sam,” Danny pointed out to distract her. “You were already wearing purple, so you can guess your lipstick and eye color from there. It’s blue, by the way. Cyan-ish.”

“And your hair tie and skirt stripes are nice and red.” Tucker nudged her, playfully. “At least the soles of your boots are darker gray?”

“At least my shirt isn’t eye-searingly pink,” she countered, lifting the camera that hung off of her neck. Its strap had gone white, too, but the camera itself had barely gone any darker. “Say cheese!”

“Cheese,” Danny said. The light flashed, and he tried to blink the spots out of his sight again. “Ugh, I think that that thing is even more blinding than it was before all of this.”

“It might be. I definitely felt it in my core, so it might be running off of my ghost powers.” She sighed, reaching up to tug on her ponytail. “Hey, guys, is my hair doing anything weird?”

Danny looked. Huh. “Yeah, it kind of is? Looks like a flame. Kinda flickering in a non-existent wind, I guess?”

“Yeah, what Danny said.” Tucker reached up past Sam, swatted a hand through her hair. “Feels like hair, though. Might be a ghost thing? Danny’s hair looked kind of wind-swept, too.”

“Hair no longer obeys the laws of gravity, got it.” Sam nodded, and light swept over her, returning her to her human appearance. “I’ll add that to the list.”

“What good will that knowledge do us?” Tucker questioned, before shaking his head. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Sam sat down again, starting to quickly write down everything. “So. Ghost powers, which can be used in both forms, but it might be more exhausting in human form?”

“Definitely more exhausting in human form,” Danny decided, experimentally prodding his core. “My core feels way weaker like this, and ectoplasm is more conductive to those kinda powers, too.”

“That’s good to know. Hunger might be either increased or decreased. I’m feeling kinda hungry myself.”

“Starving,” Tucker declared, tone grim.

“Same. I think we both used a lot of energy by using our powers.” Danny sighed. “At least we have the excuse of being teenagers. I wonder if that’ll decrease over time, the hunger? Maybe we need to settle in.”

“Ghosts usually need time to get to their full power levels, I think.” Sam tapped the back of the pen against her cheek, then noted it down. “Maybe it’s got to do with our cores? They were easily exhausted, and I can’t imagine that all of that comes from the fact that we’re somewhere halfway, instead of full ghosts.”

“Might be linked to ectoplasm exposure as well.” Danny waved a hand around in a vague gesture. “There’s ambient ectoplasm in the air around my house, with my parents being, y’know, my parents. But there’s gotta be way more of that stuff in the Ghost Zone.”

Tucker hummed. “Do you think that eating contaminated food would help?”

“That’s disgusting.” Sam made a face at him. “I hate that you raised that possibility.”

“We can try it out. I’m used to eating that stuff, anyway.” Danny shrugged under their incredulous looks. “Hey, come on, sometimes you’re hungry enough that you can eat anything, yeah? It’s been a long fourteen years. Ask Jazz, it’s not that unreasonable.”

“I hate every part of this,” Tucker declared heartily. “We might want to stay over more, just in case. If ectoplasm is a big deal to developing ghost cores, we’ll pretty much starve them whenever we go home.”

“My parents won’t notice anyway. The moment they see that the Portal is on, they’ll move into the lab and barely leave it.” He leaned back against his bed. “And that way we can keep a close eye on our developing powers, too.”

Tucker groaned, then pushed himself to his feet once more. “I’ll call my parents and ask if I can stay over another day. We’ll see how school goes tomorrow.”

“Yeah, same.” Sam dug a cellphone from her pocket. “Maybe it won’t take that long to settle a core.”

“Or maybe tomorrow will be the worst day of school ever.” Danny laughed at the concept. “Although I guess high school already sucks anyway.”

---

Danny lowered his forehead against his desk. Carefully, so that he didn’t make a sound. Didn’t want to draw Lancer’s attention, after all.

“Same,” Tucker whispered, his voice quiet but clearly audible to Danny. “God, this lesson is so boring.”

“No kidding,” Danny whispered back. Next to him, Valerie Gray jerked.

“Who are you talking to?” she hissed at him. When he opened his mouth, she shushed him. “No, quiet. Don’t draw Lancer’s attention.”

Danny lifted his head to frown at her.

“That was weird,” Sam said, far too loudly to miss in the quiet of the classroom. Valerie didn’t respond.

“Oh my god,” Danny thought, as loud as he could make the thought. “Can we read each other’s minds?”

“What? Oh.” Tucker somehow conveyed the feeling of an awkward shuffle. “That can’t be a normal power for ghosts, right?”

“Maybe it’s because we all got hit by the same thing at the same time?” Sam suggested. She was frowning at her book, not looking at Danny or Tucker. “Or it’s because we’re all so close?”

“Emotionally or physically?” Tucker joked, his lip quivering as he repressed his smile. “I don’t care about the other ghost powers, but this is basically a superpower, right?”

“You don’t count flight as a superpower?” Danny prodded, staring blankly at Lancer. He was explaining… something. Danny didn’t care, the conversation with Sam and Tucker was far more interesting.

“You’re so loud,” Sam complained. “We’re all bored out of our minds, Danny, thank you. Lancer is talking about metaphors in English classics.”

“Oops. Sorry.” He tried beaming the feeling of a sheepish smile at them. “Okay but wait. Is this distance bound, or can we telepathically talk over long distances too?”

“I’ll add that to the list.” Sam shifted her notebook, moving a separate sheet of paper out of it. “So, we’re all basically superpowered half-ghosts now, or something?”

“It makes sense, though.” Tucker flicked his eyes at the windows, then moved them back to Lancer to pretend he was paying attention to the lessons. “We’re basically balanced between human and ghost, yeah? So maybe we’re supposed to protect that balance for the world, too?”

“The Portal acts as a gateway for ghosts to access Earth, and for humans to reach the Ghost Zone.” Danny felt understanding pour in from Tucker and Sam. “But the Portal can’t control that, so we have to do that for it.”

“We’ll need to work on our powers, then,” Sam decided, her pen scribbling more onto the very cluttered paper. “And maybe some kind of costumes. I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t want anyone finding out about this.”

Tucker scoffed over their link, remaining still and quiet at the same time. “We kind of come with those built in? We just use our ghost forms. Duh. What we really need are names.”

“Well, if we’re using our ghost forms, maybe we should have matching ghostly names?” Danny suggested.

“I don’t know. We’ll need names kind of similar to our actual names.” Sam hummed over their link. “That way we’ll be more inclined to listen to it.”

“What about something based on our last names, then?” Tucker gave an inquisitive prod. “It’ll be familiar enough for us to respond to it, but people won’t be quite as inclined to listen for it. They’ll think of Danny, and Sam, and Tucker, not Fenton, Manson, and Foley.”

Danny pushed some laughter over their link, undoubtedly pouring along some joy with it. “I like Phantom for myself, then. It sounds enough like Fenton that I’ll answer to it automatically, but not similar enough for people to link it immediately.”

“And it’s a ghost joke?” Danny could feel Tucker rolling his eyes. “In that case I want to be Ghouley. Get it? Ghoul-ey?”

“You’re both the worst, and I’m never gonna know a moment of peace ever again,” Sam declared, before immediately following it up with, “I’m gonna be Manes, then.”

“Manes?” Tucker repeated, doubt and hesitation pouring through their link. “You’re not that hairy, Sam.”

“Ha ha,” she replied, humorless and dry. “Manes are a mythology thing, Tucker. They’re benevolent spirits, basically.”

“That lines up pretty well with what we’re gonna be doing, I guess.” Danny hummed, forcing himself to make the sound across their link only. In front of him, Lancer continued to chatter nonsense. “More experimentation with our powers would be a good idea, for sure.”

“Your place after school?” Tucker paused, and Danny caught snippets of thoughts grazing past the link. “No, wait, that’s probably not a good idea with your parents. Uh, my house is probably too small to go unnoticed, too.”

“We can go to my place?” Sam conveyed a shrug. “My parents are rich, so we’ve got a huge mansion. We can hide in my room.”

“You’re rich?” Tucker spilled amazement through their link, but it was promptly washed away by Sam’s disgruntlement. “Oh, sore point, sorry. Yeah, no, that sounds good.”

Danny watched Lancer talk for a moment, not really listening to what he said. “Actually, I might try dropping past my house first. I can ask my parents for some more information about ghosts. Even if it’s not all correct, it’ll give us something to work off of, at least?”

“And we might be able to listen along with the link,” Sam realized. A vicious kind of joy came from her side of the link. “Hell yeah. Be sure to ask them about ghosts and their appearances. Maybe Tucker and I can tweak ours to match you. The jumpsuit isn’t great, but it’s better than a white crop top or a magenta sweater.”

“It’ll make us look more superhero-y, too,” Tucker pointed out. “We can all go for black jumpsuits, but accessorize it our own ways. Plus our eyes kind of match, too, don’t they? And we all have white hair.”

“Our eyes match?” Danny asked, before realizing. “Oh my god, they do. I’ve got green, you have yellow, and Sam has blue.”

“It’ll be a good way to test range, too. Tucker and I can go to my place, and you go to yours. Check in regularly to make sure the link is still working.”

“Sounds good.” Danny made a face when he realized that Lancer had stopped talking. “Oh, we’re supposed to work on an assignment, I think. Did anyone pay attention to what Lancer was talking about?”

“No, but I know enough about metaphors anyway.” Exasperation leaked from Sam. “We can do the work together via the link, I guess. Might be good practice.”

“Hell yeah, teamwork!” Elation from Tucker, so strong that Danny had to work to keep the smile off of his face. “You’re the best, Sam!”

---

“Testing,” Danny cast out over the link, standing in his kitchen. “Link still good?”

“We hear you loud and clear,” Sam replied. Tucker supplied a feeling of agreement. “Try to get the information into the link with as little paraphrasing as possible.”

“You are so demanding,” Danny told her, with absolutely no heat. “Fine. Going down.”

He hopped down the stairs, into the basement lab. It looked… Pretty normal, actually. The Portal had acquired doors since yesterday, when he had last seen it. They were striped yellow and black.

“Mom, Dad?” he asked, raising his voice. They were on the other end of the lab, working with all kinds of metal parts. “Are you busy?”

“Danny-boy!” his dad boomed, dropping everything in his hands with an enormous clatter. “We always have time for you, kiddo!”

“Can I ask you about…” He hesitated for a moment. Support poured in through the link, immediately. “Can I ask you about ghosts?”

“Ghosts?” Maddie looked up from the pile of parts as well, pulling her goggles off of her eyes to shoot him an incredulous look. “Why… Yes, of course, always.”

“It’s just…” Danny gestured at the Portal. “I know I’ve grown kind of skeptical about all that ghost stuff with age, but that’s… that Portal is pretty convincing. Can you… tell me about what ghosts look like? So I’ll know if I ever run into one?”

His parents shared a look, and Maddie hummed thoughtfully. Danny focused on her when she opened her mouth, trying to commit the words he heard straight to the link. “Well, ghosts are very varying in appearance. Even if they were living beings, before, they don’t retain those memories, so they can interpret themselves however they want.”

“So it’s based on their own will?” Sam asked over their link, and Danny repeated it to his parents.

“More or less,” his dad agreed, nodding. “They won’t mess with it much, though, because that’s a waste of their energy. Most of the time, a ghost will stick to the same appearance unless they go through a major change of power.”

“But they could?” Danny prodded. “If they wanted to?”

“I suppose, yes.” Maddie cocked her head, her eyes narrowing. “But ghosts don’t particularly care about such things. They are very basal beings, Danny. It’s all about energy, and changing their appearance usually won’t be worth it. You’ll know a ghost when you see it.”

He guessed so, yeah. The three of them had figured it out pretty quickly. “Yeah, alright. Um. Thanks.”

“Always, Danny!” His dad reached over to clap him on the shoulder. “We love to see our kids pick up an interest in ghosts! Is there anything else you wanted to know, kiddo?”

“More basic stuff, maybe?” Tucker suggested over the link. “Anything more about ghosts. Do they have a ‘ghosts for dummies’ guide?”

“I do, at least,” Sam added with a laugh. “We could try comparing it with the Fenton’s research.”

“Uh, actually.” Danny set a smile on his face. “Do you have some kind of… beginner’s guide, or something? So I can read up on the basics?”

“We’ve told you about the basics a dozen times, Danny,” Maddie chastised. She clucked her tongue, then frowned. “But, yes, I think we have something like that. Jack, honey?”

“Yes, we needed something to lead investors into the whole ghost story.” Jack nodded. “Apparently ghosts weren’t as commonly known as we thought.”

Danny grinned wider. “That would be great! I know you’ve told me all that stuff already, but I would feel better if I can read it, too. Just as a refresher, you know?”

Amusement over the link, from both Sam and Tucker. Danny sent them the feeling of flailing his hands at them in return. The amusement increased, now combined with laughter. Ugh. Jerks.

“Here you go, sweetie.” Maddie held out a stack of stapled paper. “This is the last copy we had left. Is that good enough?”

“Uh…” Danny flipped through the sheets real quick, sharing the basics through the link. “Powers, abilities in general, anatomy, how and why they function?”

“Sounds like a good start,” Sam replied.

“Yeah,” Danny said to Maddie, smiling up at her. “Thanks, Mom, Dad. This is great.”

“If you have any more questions, you know where to find us.” She leaned over to ruffle his hair, and he huffed at her. “Your dad and I would love to talk ghosts with you.”

“I honestly can’t tell whether they love ghosts or hate them,” Tucker stated through the link. It felt like he was frowning. “Like, they constantly talk about how despicable they are, but it’s like their lives are centered around ghosts and only ghosts.”

“I think they love the science behind them, but hate the actual ghosts,” Danny explained, glancing at the stapled paper. “Either way, I don’t want them finding out that we’re defying what they think they know of ghosts. Are we sleeping at your place, Sam?”

“Might as well.” She shrugged across the link. “We can order food, too. My parents won’t care.”

“Mom, Dad?” Danny shot them a hopeful look. “Can I, uh, sleep over at Sam’s tonight? We’re gonna work on homework together.”

They shared a look. Jack shrugged, and Maddie rolled her eyes in response.

“Yes, honey, that’s fine.” She ruffled his hair again. “But we want you back home tomorrow after school, okay?”

He nodded, rolling the paper in his hands. “Of course. See you tomorrow! And good luck with your ghost stuff!”

Danny sped back up the stairs, closing the link back to just his thoughts. “We good?”

“Yeah, that was great.” Approval from Sam. “Bring the paper, we’ll make some copies of it here so we can mark it and stuff.”

“Coming right over.” He picked up his backpack, closing the front door behind him. “Uh. Your address?”

A wave of embarrassment. “…Right. Here you go, it’s—”

---

“Going ghost!” Danny said, and light haloed around him until he was left in his ghost form.

Sam and Tucker hummed, circling around him. Judgment poured from their sides of the link.

“Well?” Danny asked, cocking an eyebrow at them—both in real life and via the link. “Thoughts?”

“So many,” Sam sneered. Disgust and distaste, the link said. “But it’ll do. Better than white. What’d you say at school, Tucker?”

“What? Oh, that. The jumpsuits are kind of superhero-y, right?” A mental shrug. “If we’re gonna be some kind of superhero-protector people, we might as well commit to the look.”

“So black and white jumpsuits, with details in our eye colors? We’re gonna need a mirror, I think.”

A mental eye roll from Sam. “Danny. Trust me, I have full-body mirrors. What we really need is for you to shift back and make a design first, before you’re committing.”

“Hm. Fair point.” He mentally commanded his core to shift him back to human, and surprisingly, it did. “Are we gonna start by scribbling up some designs and then comparing them, or are we all doing our own takes?”

“Tucker can put together some designs,” Sam decided, ignoring any signs of protest they might scour up. “Danny and I are gonna compare those ghost guides.”

Ugh, reading.

“Don’t give me that, Fenton,” Sam bit at him, and, hm. He was definitely gonna work on having thoughts to himself. “It’s your parents’ work, and your parents’ Portal that caused this.”

“Which you convinced us to mess with,” Tucker pointed out, smugly. “But, yeah, sure, I’ll whip up some neat costumes based on the jumpsuits. We want them just different enough that people won’t immediately think of the Fentons, right? What about logos?”

Sam and Danny shared a look.

“No logo, got it,” Tucker decided based on that, and possibly the disgust they were flooding their telepathic link with. “I’ll get on it. Have fun with reading.”

“I won’t,” Danny assured him, waving the stack of papers at Sam. “I’m gonna do this entire thing via the link just to make you suffer along, Tuck.”

“We’ve been talking via the link the whole time.” A flicker of annoyance from Tucker. “Seriously, we haven’t said a word to each other since we discover we could do this, I think. Certainly not since you’ve come here.”

Danny… had not realized that. Whoops.

“Keeping this a secret is gonna be hell,” Sam decided and, yeah. Yeah, it was gonna be.

She thumped him on the head with a book before he could say anything about it. “Read,” she commanded, and Danny wasn’t stupid enough to keep fighting her on this.

The two of them laid down on the floor, the stack on simplified ghost research in front of him, and the book in front of Sam. A clipboard with a pen laid in between them, with a rough list of things to look out for written down already.

“So are we going down the list, or are we reading through these things and noting down anything relevant?”

Sam paused for a moment. “Yes.”

“That was very enlightening, thank you.”

“Just read through the list, then a chapter of your thing,” Tucker interrupted. “Rinse and repeat.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks for your support, Tuck.”

A pleased rumble. “Always, dude.”

“Can we please just read?” Sam grumbled into the link.

Danny reached for the clipboard so he could read through the list. Hm. Just more of the same. Powers, workings of both the anatomical and psychological kind. Strengths and weaknesses.

He reached for the stapled stack of paper, flipping the first page. “Well, here I go. Someone bury me if I die.”

“Too late.”

“Touche.”

They spent the next eternity reading. Or designing suits, in Tucker’s case.

“So we’ve got basically nothing,” Sam concluded, looking at the clipboard. They had divided it up in two sections per point: the scientific Fenton take, and the spiritual goth take. For almost all points, they were completely different.

“Yeah. The few things we know about ourselves directly defy the things the books say.” Danny shrugged. “Besides, we’re hybrids, aren’t we? We probably don’t follow the known stuff anyway.”

“We’ll just have to figure it out ourselves,” Tucker said, a wave of comforting warm coming from him. “It’ll be fine. We’ll manage.”

A brief moment of silence as they all contemplated that.

“Anyway, I’ve put together some potential designs for our suits. Who wants to see?”

“If by see you mean ‘tear into them’ then yes,” Sam decided, already pushing herself off of the floor to go look.

Ah. There was the much needed normalcy.

---

Danny stared at his dad as the man walked to one end of the Portal, then turned around and walked to its other side. Left, right, left, right.

“He’s not even remotely talking about ghosts,” Tucker complained.

“Have you ever met my dad?” Danny asked with a mental eye roll. “He always talks about whatever you’re least interested in hearing about.”

His core stirred up, suddenly, a feeling of anxiety pouring from every side of the link.

“Uh,” was all Sam managed, then the Portal’s surface burst apart. Two ghosts entered the lab through it, violently green octopuses with bright red eyes.

Jack didn’t even turn around. Didn’t seem to notice in the slightest.

“Now what?” Tucker asked, doubtful. “Are we supposed to keep ghosts and humans separate, or…”

The ghostly octopuses flung their ragged tentacles at Sam and Tucker. Both half-ghosts dodged, falling off of their chairs.

“I suggest that we fight these, at least.” Danny shot a look at his dad, but the man had wandered off, and was now talking into a cabinet. “And quick, before Dad notices.”

He tugged on his core, shifting into his ghost form with practiced ease. On the floor, Sam and Tucker did the same.

The ghosts paused. Shared a hesitant look, now that they were faced with three matching ghosts, rather than an assortment of humans.

Sam’s electric blue eyes brightened as she grinned at them. The color returned in the swirling lines of her suit, creeping over her like vines.

Danny lifted up next to her, cracking his fingers. Flared his own green eyes dangerously. He finally knew the exact color of it, having replicated it in the minimalistic linework of his suit.

Tucker took up the last slot in the line, the golden yellow of his eyes reflected in the circuit-like lines of his suit.

“Boo,” they all said, perfectly in sync.

The ghosts warbled and dove back through the Portal.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Sam scoffed. Her side of the link conveyed a mixture of disappointment and challenge. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“Look at it from the positive side,” Danny comforted. “Now you’ve got even more time to teach us how to fight as a human before we gotta put it in practice.”

“Nah, man, I’m going crazy if I go through another round of training without actually hitting anyone.” Tucker settled back onto the floor, soundlessly, and shifted back to human.

Danny and Sam followed suit. “Here’s a solution for all of us,” Sam said as they did so. “We can just fight each other.”

“Hooray,” Danny and Tucker both cheered. Sam’s glare was heated, stabbing them right in the link. The flares of vivid cyan didn’t help.

---

“I can’t believe this,” Sam hissed over the link. Agitation, and a lot of it.

“Sam, we still can’t see what you’re looking at,” Danny reported, spacing out of his breakfast. “What’s up?”

“The newspaper finally acknowledged our existence!”

“Uh oh,” Tucker said, groggily. “That’s not excitement.”

“They’re calling us menaces! And dangers to society!” She practically flooded their link with anger.

Danny, in return, shot her some comforting warmth. “It’s fine, Sam. Whatever. When have you ever cared about what people thought of you?”

“But after all the work we’ve put into it!” She was practically shouting, now. Danny was certain that her eyes were, by now, so bright that her entire room was cast in blue light. “They can’t just— ignore every good thing we’ve done!”

“Sure can,” Tucker pointed out. “Look, Sam, chill. People know who—and what—we are. What we do.”

She grumbled wordlessly.

“We’re the protectors of Amity Park, Sam,” Danny soothed. “We are the people who keep this city safe, both the humans and the ghosts. We don’t need the newspaper to know that we’re doing a good job.”

“Ugh. How can you be so optimistic about this with your parents being,” a vague mental gesture, “y’know?”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” He looked up to where his parents were tinkering with some kind of invention. At the kitchen table, no less. He would have to sic Jazz on them again. “It’s just… the right thing to do, you know? Even if we’re the ones with these abilities because we were the only ones stupid enough to mess with the Portal, we can still do something.”

“We’re the protectors of Amity Park,” Tucker agreed. “Whether the people of Amity appreciate it or not.”

“How are you all so sappy this early in the morning?” She scoffed. “I am not awake enough to deal with this. Yeah, sure, fine, whatever. We’re all the great heroes of Amity Park, and the Ghost Zone and whatnot. Forget I ever complained.”

“Sure,” Danny said, throwing sparks of joy into the link. “So, I think my parents are working on some kind of ghost translation device…”

Both of his best friends groaned across the link, and Danny smiled into his breakfast. It had only been a little over a month, but he couldn’t imagine life as a regular human anymore. His core chirped happily in his chest, and his best friends chattered in his head, unheeded by distance.

Life was good.

[sickfic-with-kiko]

Hello! I found your blog the other day and I binge read everything!! I’m absolutely in love with your writing. So if you’re still taking requests, could I request a sick suga? Like he avoids everyone until practice bc he doesn’t want anyone to find out he isn’t feeling well (and he firmly believes he has it under control) but at practice he gets hit in the stomach with a ball and completely let loose and Diachi helps him away from the group and asks Suga why he hid his sickness from him?

The moment Suga had woken up, he knew something was off.

His cheeks were hotter than usual, and his head was swimming with a strange dizziness. It wasn’t an ideal way to start the day, and he could only hope that things would change for the better with time.

He firmly believed it would be gone before he even noticed, being the optimist he is. Everyone would have their sluggish days once in a while. He’d taken his temperature at home, and it was only slightly elevated, but he knew Daichi and Asahi would make a huge deal out of it.

So Suga decided to do the best thing any third year with a touch of cold could do- avoid them.

He ate lunch alone outside, and sat away from Daichi during classes. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel bad, but Daichi nagging him about self care wasn’t what he had in mind for the day.

And most importantly, he has everything under control. That’s just how it is for Sugawara Koushi, team uncle.

“Okay, let’s go! Everyone ready?”

Daichi calls out to the team, and everyone hops onto one side of the court to hear the captain speak. Suga shuffles to the end of the line, making sure that if his face is redder than usual, it won’t show.

His stomach’s beginning to hurt now, too. Despite all the things he’d done to conceal it, his cold wasn’t getting much better. He doubted it was something fit to be called a cold. That sounded too innocent.

“Suga-san, could you give me a few sets?” Tanaka hops over to him with a volleyball, and Suga nods. He stares at Suga for a split second, and comments, “Is everything okay? You look kinda… sick?”

Hiding his surprise, Suga laughs. “Really? I’m fine, Tanaka. Be nice to old guy Suga.”

“Yeah, Ryu! He looks fine to me!” Nishinoya comes to the rescue. He’s not the most observant person, and that’s the type of person Suga needs right now.

“Okay then.” Tanaka shrugs, and Suga internally breathes a sigh of relief.

Practice goes slowly, every second weighing him down. Suga feels like he’s steaming in a sauna. It’s too hot, and if someone were to push him the wrong way, he would surely hit the ground.

On top of that, his stomach is really starting to hurt. With every movement and jump, a layer of queasiness seems to settle in his chest. It’s not a good day for him.

Daichi is too busy coaching the other second years and practicing on his own receives. Suga doesn’t mind that, at all. Asahi is with him, his spikes serving excellent practice for the team’s defence.

Only a few more hours, and Suga can finally go home to rest. The first years are practicing with each other, on the court near him. The reward of home dangling in front of him is what keeps him going.

Everything was going well, until a rogue ball bounced off one of the first year’s arms, hurtling towards his direction.

It hits him right in the stomach, and it’s a cue his body takes to let all hell loose.

It all happens too fast. The initial collision hadn’t generated much force, but it was enough to set an already-nauseous stomach off to seconds away from vomiting.

Suga lands on his knees, hard. One hand clamps on his mouth, fighting the inevitable. A murmur spreads out on the court, that acknowledges something is very, very wrong. All eyes turn to him.

I’m fine, he tries to say. What comes out instead is a high-pitched burp, and a splatter of vomit on the floor.

“Oh, holy shit!”

“I’m so sorry, Sugawara-san! You’re…”

Sick. He’s so sick, and he can’t deny it any longer.

A gag tears out of him, and he brings up another splash of liquid. His nose and throat are burning, and his eyes are clouded with pain. His shoulders heave with the force of each retch, breathing uneven and hot. Does he have a fever?

“I’ve got you.” Strong hands pull him out of the mess, guiding him away to the gymnasium’s exit. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry.” Daichi announces to the rest of the team, that’s gone deathly silent. Not even Nishinoya or Hinata spoke a word.

Once they’re sitting on the grass outside the gymnasium, Daichi opens his mouth, and Suga braces himself for a lecture.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Daichi stares at him with disappointed eyes, and Suga shrinks. “I thought I had it under control. I did-”

“Leaving it alone until you puke from a flubbed receive isn’t ‘having it under control’, you know.” Daichi argues, just as Suga expected him to. And because he’s usually doing the arguing instead, he can’t make a rebuttal.

He sighs. “I know, I know. I just don’t like it. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Suga. Nobody on this team is going to think less of you for being sick.” Daichi rubs his back, comforting and strong. “You’re always a reliable vice captain, to them.”

Slowly, Suga begins to realise that maybe Daichi is right.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [5/8]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 4000 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Usually, Adaar liked nothing better than being on the road. Clear nights like these were best of all. It was easy to pick out constellations she knew, stars she'd once navigated by on her own, crisp against the velvet map of the heavens. She'd lain on a thin bedroll staring up at that sky more nights than she could count, and when she'd closed her eyes, she'd slept peacefully.

The view afforded her very little peace just now.

Four more days to Val Royeaux. Six more until this party that Adaar was supposed to appear at. She'd made up her mind as she left Josephine's office, though. She hadn't promised anything. Leliana had sent along the tools and information Adaar would need to deal with the House of Repose. Damn the woman, but she had done Adaar that small favor. 

Her people answered to the Inquisitor, not the Ambassador. When they arrived in Val Royeaux, she would do what needed to be done. No more games.

Josephine would be angry, but the damage to their friendship had already been done. What did one more blow matter? 

Best not to think about that. To hope, as was her habit, that Josephine had kissed her back and meant it. That it hadn't just been relief, or gratitude, or the heat of the moment, or… 

Adaar would send her back to Skyhold with Leliana's people when it was all over, but she would not be escorting them. The additional protection Adaar and her companions offered would no longer be required. They could ride far faster than a handful of carts. They would go south, to the Emerald Graves, and Adaar would get back to doing what she did best.

She did not plan to go back to Skyhold for a long, long time.

She shifted a little in the open bed of the cart, easing her legs out of one position and into another. Wouldn't do to get too cramped if someone crept up on them in the dead of night. She needed to be quick. Quicker than she'd ever been. She blinked her bleary eyes and surveyed the lonesome wilderness around their meager campsite again, searching for anything that didn't belong.

Behind her, canvas rustled. She turned her head to note it, squinting through the dim starlight. Paranoia prickled at her, insisting that an assassin had slipped by both her and the four others on watch, but the part of her still capable of logic expected to see one of their own party leaving their tent.

She just didn't expect it to be Josephine.

Adaar looked away, back to watching the road and sparse woods behind. She briefly considered the merits of lying down flat in the cart, concealing herself from view entirely, but that was both too childish and too dangerous. She knew how likely she was to fall asleep, even on these hard boards, if she arranged herself horizontally.

So she listened, with pricked ears, to Josephine's footsteps. She hoped they would circle away, paired with whatever guard had the unfortunate task of protecting people while they pissed, but instead, they drew closer.

Shit.

They hadn't spoken much since leaving Skyhold. She'd avoided Josephine, staying close enough to watch her back but far enough away to ward off conversation. Josephine seemed to have picked up on this, accepted it; she hadn't said anything beyond a simple greeting this morning.

But they'd also been surrounded by others: scouts, guards, Adaar's companions. Perhaps she'd just been waiting for the right moment, when they'd be overheard by the fewest possible ears.

The right moment for what, Adaar had no idea. Another plea for Adaar to understand? An apology for being so cursed stubborn about this? A reprimand for kissing her? An entreaty to do it again?

Josephine paused when she drew alongside the back of the cart, just within Adaar's peripheral vision. "Inquisitor," she said softly.

Adaar watched the woods. "Ambassador."

The cart dipped a little with Josephine's weight. For a moment, they sat in silence, two feet of space between them. Adaar saw Josephine's head tip back, taking in the view of the heavens, but only out of the corner of her eye. She didn't think knowing the way starlight looked on that face would make this any easier.

"I brought you something," Josephine said at last, and Adaar realized she held a small wooden box. She set it down on the cart between them and opened the lid. "If you're not going to sleep, you'll need your strength."

Adaar glanced down at the box. A pile of little round cookies nestled on a linen napkin inside it, some of their edges crumbling.

Well, maybe she could rule out a reprimand, at least. That was...something.

"I don't know that sweets are the best choice for a long watch," she said, but she took one, anyway. "I don't recognize these."

"Polvorones. My favorites. My father's, too. He sends me quite a few of them, for fear that I'll get too homesick, the way he's always done. I usually hide them away for myself, but…" She clasped her hands in her lap. "I thought they might be an adequate peace offering. Or the beginning of one, anyway."

Adaar turned her attention back to the road as she took a bite of the cookie. It crumbled in her mouth, on her hands, sweet with a trace of almonds. She swallowed, took a sip from her water skin to wash the rest of the crumbles down as she considered.

It was abominably hard to tell this woman No, which was why she'd avoided situations where she'd have to do it at all costs.

"Danaya," she said, raising her voice. 

Josephine's head turned toward her, but she didn't interrupt. Quick footsteps approached. 

"Yes, Your Worship?" the guard said.

"Watch the rear. I am being distracted."

"Yes, Your Worship," Danaya agreed, and wisely moved a solid thirty feet down the road to take her post without further comment. Good woman. Didn't make a single face whatsoever.

"I'm listening," Adaar said to Josephine.

She heard Josephine's relieved breath. She unfolded a napkin over her lap, and her elegant fingers dipped into the box to pick out one of the polvorones for herself. "I've been thinking, these last few days. I realized how poorly I've behaved. We had an agreement. If you still want to deal with the House of Repose directly…I am a woman of my word. I won't argue further."

Adaar blinked. The possibility of an apology had occurred to her, and not even as a long shot; Josephine was mindful of other people's feelings. She'd certainly noticed how...off...Adaar was. Adaar was not that adept at concealing it.

But this? She hadn't expected this.

"Okay," she said slowly, testing. "That does make things a little easier, since I planned to do just that when we arrived in Val Royeaux."

Surprise—distress—flitted over Josephine's face, but it quickly smoothed. "That is fair."

"I would have told you," Adaar said, compelled to defend herself, "but frankly, I don't hold up very well to your silver tongue. Best not to risk it."

Josephine chuckled, a little sadly. "No, I understand. I just have one request."

"For my sake, please make it a reasonable one."

"Even when you have every right to be angry with me, you are amusing," she said, but pushed on before Adaar could reply. "I would like to explain why I've been so opposed to your plan, to Leliana's plan. Prove to you that I'm not being mulish, or stupid, or naïve, or..."

"I don't think you're any of those things." Adaar picked up another cookie. She'd finished the first one without noticing. She did tend to eat her nerves. "Well, maybe a little stubborn. Usually that's a good quality. But if you'd like to tell me, go ahead."

Josephine dipped her head. "I used to be a bard, you see."

She paused there as if deliberating, and Adaar tried to imagine it. She was a deft negotiator, but Adaar had a hard time picturing her in such a place at court just now, with the pretty ocean-blue shawl held around her shoulders to ward off the chill, her long dark hair woven into a loose braid over her shoulder. Rumpled by sleep, or maybe a lack of it. She belonged among her books and her missives, her pen and her ink. Hard to imagine her hiding daggers in her clothes instead.

She'd had a letter opener in her sash that night. Adaar pushed the thought of it, its inadequacy, as far away as it would go.

"What, like Leliana?" she asked. "With the singing, and the story-telling, and…"

"The spying," Josephine finished. "Yes. I was young, attending university in Val Royeaux. It sounded so...romantic, so exciting. Trysts, secrets, fascinating people. Very different from my responsibilities to my family."

"Ah," Adaar said. "So even you can get tired of paperwork sometimes."

"Especially at that age." Josephine sighed, as if the memory embarrassed her. "So I put on a mask, told myself that my siblings would get along without me, and practiced the Game in as thrilling a way as I could."

"I suppose I can imagine that. Well," she amended, "parts of it, anyway."

Josephine nodded. "Parts of it, yes. The charming conversation, that I was good at. I had some skill with a harp, though my singing has never been as good as Leliana's."

Adaar made a mental note to find a harp at the first opportunity, then remembered herself and crossed it out again immediately. Her plans after Val Royeaux had not changed. She would maintain the distance between them. It was for the best.

The words would ring true someday, she was sure. 

"And the other parts?" she said. "How did that end?"

Josephine drew her shawl a little more tightly around herself. "Very poorly. You know that I am not a fighter. I had an aversion to violence, even then. But I convinced myself that I needed to play the part, that I could learn, that I would adjust to it. I practiced."

"You got hurt," Adaar guessed when Josephine hesitated.

"If only." She straightened up as if steeling herself. "During a particular intrigue, another bard was sent to kill my patron. We...fought, if you could call it that. It did not feel very much like the epic duels we sang about. I was terrified. I think that he was, too. We were at the top of a steep flight of stairs. He drew a knife, and I pushed him away from me…you can imagine the result."

Adaar could see the shame on her face. The guilt, even after all these years.

Adaar remembered the first person she had killed, too. The way she'd thrown up on her knees in the dirt after. It took a lot of practice to stop doing that part. Demons were easier. Hell, Red Templars were easier. They weren't really people anymore.

"It was self-defense," she said, trying to be gentle. "He would have killed you."

"But it was such a waste!" Adaar had rarely seen Josephine so animated: the words burst out of her, not loud, mindful of the guards, but sharp. Devastated. Her eyes gleamed, and Adaar fought the impulse to touch her, to comfort her. "And when I took off his mask, I knew him. We'd attended parties together. If I'd stopped to reason, if I'd used my voice instead of scuffling like a common thug…"

It was just another blow to an old wound. Adaar weathered it. She knew Josephine didn't mean it like that, would never be that cruel, but Adaar knew the truth about herself, too. Knew, and accepted it.

Cassandra kept saying that she was the person they'd needed, exactly when they'd needed it. Stood to reason that sometimes the world needed a common thug.

"I will always wonder who he would have turned out to be," Josephine said. "That is why."

Adaar returned to the problem at hand. "These aren't boys on their first run, Josephine. They're part of a guild of assassins—"

"I know that. I know." She shook her head, impatient. "It is not their lives that most concern me, though I do think their deaths would be pointless. For what? For an old grudge so easily forgotten that the surviving descendents would sweep it away for a favor of status?" She scoffed. "They're bound by that old agreement, but no one else feels the same."

There was truth enough in that. Adaar had seen some of Josephine's exchanges with the Du Paraquettes. Hard to imagine that a hundred years ago, these families had been at each others' throats. They were just strangers now. 

"What most concerns you, then?" she said.

Josephine looked up at her. Her fingers had pulled one of the cookies apart in her lap; it was a pile of crumbs now. "The lives of our people. Any of them could get hurt, could die, trying to destroy this contract. You could die."

Adaar considered her for a long moment. "You see our impasse, then," she said at last. "You are not willing to send me into mortal danger, and I am not willing to let you stay in the same."

"Yes." There was disappointment, but understanding, in Josephine's eyes. "I do see. And you have honored my request, above and beyond our agreement, so you can do what you see fit with a clear conscience. I won't protest."

Damn her. Even as she released Adaar, she bound her. Adaar wondered if she'd just played the Game for so long that she couldn't stop playing it, that she did it even subconsciously. That she knew, instinctively, that where pleading or begging wouldn't change Adaar's mind, this would.

And Adaar admired Josephine's idealism. Always had. Maybe she was cutthroat when it came to maneuvering alliances, but it was in metaphor only; she did her best to mitigate harm. She advocated for opportunity, for a future, not an ending.

Adaar wanted the world to work that way.

"This is exactly why I haven't talked to you in four days," Adaar muttered. "I knew you would talk me out of it." She took another cookie to console herself and stuffed it whole in her mouth. Maybe the crumbs would choke her, put her out of her misery.

"I mean it," Josephine pressed. "Do what you think—"

"—is best," Adaar finished. "Yeah. Wish I knew for sure what that was." She dusted her hands free of crumbs. "If this minister so much as looks at me funny—which is very likely, given the manners these kinds of people usually have—I'm storming the House of Repose that very hour."

Josephine reached across the space between them to touch her hand. "Thank you."

Adaar only nodded. Hard to do anything else as she looked at those soft fingertips grazing the backs of her knuckles, thinking inevitably of the last time they'd touched.

Josephine withdrew, and Adaar hoped that she would get up and leave; that she had gotten what she wanted, and there would be no need to discuss anything else.

"There is one other matter," Josephine said, her words more hesitant by far now.

Adaar didn't dare look at her face. She listened, waited, for the guillotine to drop.

"You kissed me," Josephine said, and Adaar closed her eyes against it. "After…"

Adaar would never forget it. Never. The relief she'd felt all the way down to her weary bones when she arrived outside Josephine's door to hear voices, to hear her voice, to realize that she was safe, alive—only for that relief to twist, become a terror so stark she'd never felt its like—

"I only…please understand, I don't want to assume that you harbor any tender feelings for me, I just…" Josephine let out a frustrated breath. "Listen to me stutter. I only want to understand what you meant by it."

Adaar opened her mouth before she even knew what she planned to say; she shut it again. Josephine waited, patient, not pushing.

Adaar could lie. Wave it off. Make the same excuses she'd imagined Josephine would make. Things would be awkward, probably. After all this, it was hard to imagine that they'd ever be as close as they had once been.

But Josephine deserved better than that. She'd gone out of her way to apologize, to explain. Now she asked to understand, to be given the same courtesy in return. 

It would still be awkward, but maybe they'd get past it, someday. She could hope. It had carried her this far.

"I care about you," she said. She sounded steady enough. "Very much." She paused, cleared her throat. "Thought it was sort of obvious."

Josephine didn't reply. The silence—a few seconds that felt like years—pressed down on Adaar, threatening to crush her. She had to look, had to see…

Josephine stared at her, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. She looked an awful lot like she had after Adaar had kissed her.

Breathlessly, she said, "I thought...I thought it was possible, but…"

"I know. I didn't send an eyebrow poem." She fell back on bad humor like it was some kind of defense, like it wouldn't just make things worse. "Just a bunch of stupid trinkets. Awfully unclear of me. Look, I'm sorry if I made you uncomf—"

She had not known that Josephine could move so quickly; she'd pushed the box of cookies out of the way, thrown herself against Adaar's side, and pulled Adaar's head down to kiss her before Adaar knew what was happening.

She'd tried not to remember. In those moments before the few hours of sleep she'd scraped for herself, she'd tried not to think about how it had felt. Josephine clinging to her, safe and warm and alive; Josephine pressing close to her, matching Adaar's desperation with her own fervor; Josephine's soft, sweet lips yielding beneath hers.

She was just as demanding as she'd been that night. Adaar had never expected, never imagined that—when she'd dared to imagine, anyway. That Josephine had a fire burning inside her to match Adaar's torch, and when their lips met, they knew one another's heat.

Josephine's hands framed Adaar's face, held her in place. Without Adaar's explicit say-so, her arms had wrapped around Josephine. She drank in the blissful noise of delight that came from Josephine's lips, didn't bother to catch the shawl as it fell and fluttered to the cart. Josephine touched her like she was something beloved, and she melted beneath the worship of those fingers, fell to pieces beneath the care of this deepening kiss, sweet with that lingering taste of the polvorones. Another few seconds of those soft lips moving with hers and she'd be tumbling Josephine down into the bed of the cart, and she doubted very much that Josephine would protest—

One of the guards called to another. Despite the heat, despite Josephine's body against hers, she heard it. It was a proprietary remark; there was no danger. But it felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over Adaar's head.

She tugged away, just enough to break the kiss, letting the cold night air come between them. "Wait."

Josephine made an impatient noise, following. "There are no assassins out—"

"It's not that."

Josephine's eyes searched her face. They looked a little glassy with want, with lust, with starlight.

It was a very good look on her, but it wasn't helping Adaar keep her head straight.

"Then what?" she asked. Her thumb ran over Adaar's cheek, once, twice.

She would not get through this if Josephine kept touching her, but she had to tell herself to let go three times before she actually took her arms from around Josephine. Josephine settled back to the cart, waiting, brow knit with confusion.

"This isn't a good idea," Adaar said.

Josephine leaned a little away, clearly stung. "Why not?"

Adaar glanced down the road, toward the nearest guard. Danaya's back was to them, but she wasn't far enough away, not nearly.

"People talk," she said. "As you've told me yourself. Even a short entanglement—"

"Short entanglement?" Josephine repeated, a thread of anger weaving through the hurt. "I am not interested in a fling, as you well—"

"Let me finish. Please."

Maybe something on Adaar's face convinced her; she took a breath and gestured, as if to say go ahead.

"This whole deal is going to restore your family's status," Adaar said. "Right?"

If Josephine found the change in subject strange, she didn't comment on it. "It will take more work than that, but—yes, this is the necessary beginning."

"How do you think that status would dip if everyone knew you were involved with me? What trade opportunities would you lose? Who would exclude your siblings from parties, your parents from plans?"

Josephine didn't answer right away. She thought about it, giving it a moment, turning it over, before she answered. "No one who has not already excluded us," she said. "No opportunities I have not already lost."

"Are you sure of that?"

"No one can ever be absolutely certain of anything," Josephine said evenly. "But I do not care."

"I know that isn't true. You've worked so hard to make this happen. Not just these last few months—years and years of work. What if just…being with me…would reverse all of that?"

Josephine slid off the cart and turned to face Adaar. Silently, Adaar offered out her shawl, and she took it, but let it hang loose from her hand.

"For my family, yes, I have worked," Josephine said. "So that they might get along without me, one day, if the worst were to happen. But I set all my trappings aside to join the Inquisition, knowing that I might well be cast as a heretic with the rest of you." She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, as if this didn't trouble her at all. "It does not appear that this is our trajectory any longer. I've turned a deaf ear to many slights, but there are fewer of them every week."

"You'll have to turn a deaf ear to many more," Adaar said. She had to make Josephine understand. "Supporting me politically is very different from declaring a romantic relationship with a common thug."

Josephine looked at her, silent, inscrutable, and Adaar almost squirmed under the weight of that gaze. It felt like Josephine saw a great deal. Things Adaar didn't want her to see, things she didn't intend to show her.

"You know that I don't see you that way," Josephine said.

"But other people do," Adaar argued. "Other people will—"

"Other people think many silly things," Josephine cut across her.

"Tell me if this is silly, then. When this is all over, if I'm still standing when the dust clears, I will have a very simple life left to me. A little land, a little house. You have connections, responsibilities, that won't fit in the space I have to offer. Would you give all that up to sink to my level?"

Josephine let out a low breath. "I see."

The way she was looking at Adaar, Adaar very much doubted it. "See what?"

"You are afraid that I am going to hurt you."

Adaar spluttered. "That's not what I—"

"You think that when this is over, you will not be special anymore, and I will not want you anymore." Josephine stepped forward, just enough to wrap the shawl around Adaar's shoulders. "You're wrong."

She patted the fabric into place, as if to protect Adaar from the chill. Every touch of her hand weakened a little more of Adaar's resolve.

"I am not going to change my mind," Josephine said. "When you have gotten over your reservations—"

"My reservations? You're the one who should have—"

"I will be here, Herah," Josephine said, relentless. "And I will still want the same thing. Lest you accuse me of manipulating you with my silver tongue, I will leave you to think."

Adaar had lost all language, all ability to protest. Josephine took one more polvorone from the box, but left the rest with a last pointed look at Adaar.

She was not afraid.

...Was she?

Go to Chapter 6 -->

[offrankies]

New Beginnings || Graham & Frankie

TIMING: A few days ago PARTIES: @grahamstoker & @offrankies SUMMARY: An anxious, homeless lesbian with lots of questions convinces a hematophobic vampire to let her be his roommate, and gets some answers in the process.

Rushing in to a new town with nothing but a backpack filled with things hadn’t been one of her brightest choices. Frankie knew her grandma had to butter up to her parents into accepting her decision and that would mean eventually getting most of her stuff from her house, but until then, she couldn’t afford a place to live on her own as she only had enough money for a month’s worth of rent and food. Her first day in town had been spent driving around, in hopes of finding Layla walking around, but also to start learning her way around. She’d eventually found a grocery store, a board on the entrance with different kinds of ads. One in particular had stood out, a simple “room for rent” with a scribbled address. Her grandma would’ve argued it was sketchy, but at this point she was desperate for a roof to sleep under. A knot had formed on her throat as she stood outside of the apartment, her hands clenched in fists against her chest. She had no job, no education other than school; just hopes and dreams that she knew White Crest would fulfill. With a deep breath, heart pounding on her chest, Frankie placed two knocks on the door.

The city of Rome wasn’t built in a day, they said, but Graham found himself absently wondering if it was built by vampires as he sat splayed on his couch, one leg over the arm as he lazily flipped through the channels on his TV. It probably wasn’t; thank god he wasted thought on that. He finally had a day off both his jobs, which he seemed to have worked every day since he arrived in this weird-ass town and dammit, he was going to enjoy his nothing-to-do. So it was odd that that would be the one day he received a couple knocks on the door and he frowned to himself, wondering who it could’ve been. He stretched and got to his feet slowly, trudging over to the door and not bothering to look through the peephole before opening it to regard a… girl. Teenager. It took him just one short moment to mask his confusion and his expression softened. “Hey there,” He said lightly. “What can I do for you?” He never was one to shy away from temporarily entertaining (and maybe even trolling) passing salespeople; she was no different. 

Frankie’s hands started fidgeting, mindlessly pulling the broken skin on her nails as she waited for the door to open. It hadn’t been even a minute, but the seconds stretched like years in front of her, and the moment the door opened, she braced herself to the shiny colors that would greet her… except nothing came, just the voice of an older man. Her mouth opened and then closed again, in shock. There was absolutely nothing surrounding the other, at least nothing other than air, and she had to fight the urge to raise her hand and touch him to know that he was real. It wasn’t possible, never in her life she’d seen a person without an aura - at least, not one that was breathing and staring at her with bright eyes. There were times where she’d met people with small, almost concealed auras, but there was always a hint, a glimpse of colorful shadows around them. His voice made her blink a few times rapidly, snapping out of her thoughts, and she quickly straightened her back, clearing her throat, ignoring her heartbeat on her ears. If she had been nervous before, it had turned into excitement. Who- no, What was he? “Hi, I’m-- I’m Frankie, I just moved here. Uh---” Her shaking hands reached into her backpack, pulling a creased piece of paper and extending it to him. “ I was wondering if you-- if the room offer is still there?” Out of all the things Graham was expecting the girl named Frankie to try to sell him on, asking for his spare room wasn’t on that list. Part of him forgot that he had even offered the room out. Only part, mind, but it was still enough for him to stand there for a second or two to process what exactly he wrote. He remembered soon enough, though, and he gave her a small nod, taking the paper from her gently and noting her… presumed nervousness. “Yeah! Yeah, c’mon in, Frankie.” He offered, standing aside to allow the girl passage. He was thinking of someone a little older, perhaps, but he had moved out of his house by the time he was 18 so he knew it was possible. “Don’t be scared,” He added, his tone casual and approachable. “I promise I’m not one of those weirdos that post stuff to lure girls in. Not my style.” Hopefully she would believe him on that.

In all honesty, the possibility of him being a predator hadn’t crossed Frankie’s mind until he mentioned it, and she couldn’t help but laugh at that. Normally she’d know if he had such intentions, but for the first time in her life she was completely clueless with what and who she was dealing with. Still, she was way too interested to let the opportunity pass. She made her way inside, looking around the room. “I’m not scared.” She reassured him, turning around to give him another look, the lack of aura once again making her breath catch in her throat. Maybe she needed glasses? Maybe the place was somehow locking the auras from showing?  “This is… all new for me, so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.” She didn’t know if she was referring to finding a place to live or the lack of flowing colors everywhere, but she guessed it was true for both. “It’s a lovely place though, … uhm.” Her lips pressed together, waiting for a name. “Well… start by taking a seat anywhere you think’s comfortable,” Graham replied, closing the door behind her and going over to the bar that separated his kitchen from the living room, keeping his eyes on her not warily but just to show that he was giving her his attention. “Oh, it’s Graham,” He gave her the name as he got out a glass and filled it with ice and water. “Tell me about you, Frankie; how old are you, what do you like to do, things like that.” He suggested, going back over to her and offering the glass to her. At least she wasn’t afraid; good. He tried to avoid giving that impression when he could avoid it. 

Her eyes moved around the room, and Frankie wasn’t completely sure if she should sit down on the couch or not. “Nice to meet you Graham.” Oh, fuck it, if she was going to live here she needed to see if the couch was comfortable or not. Taking her backpack off her back, she sat down, now focused on the man. “Well, I’m nineteen, soon to be twenty. Or not so soon, really. My birthday’s in November. I want to get a bachelor’s in childhood education so I really need to look into colleges around here. Uhm, I also kinda need a job but I have enough money for rent until I get one.” Was she rambling? Oh god she started rambling. She wiped the sweat of her hands on her black jeans, a nervous laugh escaping her. What are you supposed to say in these things? “I like animals and I have my own motorcycle...?” As the girl situated herself, Graham studied her movements, her speech patterns and, of course, the information she gave him about herself and he couldn’t help but scoff when she told him that she didn’t have a job but did have a motorcycle. “So you’re from out of town,” He assumed. “Your only education is high school and you need a job,” He basically repeated her though he noted that she had money. Part of him wondered for a moment if it was because her parents were rich, that she was a thief or she had a job before but that was then and this was now so it didn’t matter too much to him. “And you like animals. That’s good, at least.” He chuckled, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “So I gotta ask; what made you come to White Crest?” Relatively speaking, White Crest DID have the weird ability to draw people to it for some reason or another. He had gotten a suggestion but he was learning that a lot of people just… showed up. He felt like that might’ve been the case with this girl.

“I know it doesn’t look good, but I can’t get a job or enroll in college unless I find a place to live first.” Frankie’s hands were once again fidgeting on her lap, the realization that she was blowing the interview. However, his question made her freeze on her seat. The image of Layla crying and telling her all the secrets she had kept from her filled her mind, and she had to bite down her lower lip to keep herself from tearing up. “I’m … I’m looking for my girlfriend.” Her voice was awfully quiet in comparison with her previous outburst, and once more she found herself fishing inside her backpack, grabbing the tape to show it to him, her lips tightly pressed together. For a minute, she didn’t say anything, pondering. She could lie, come up with a pitiful excuse and use emotional leverage to convince him to let her stay; or she could be honest, and risk sleeping on the streets yet another night. “Her parents told me she was dead, but she sent me this two days ago so I’m- I’m trying to find her.” He was thrown for another loop and Graham’s expression got more gentle almost immediately when Frankie came clean about why she was there. His thoughts nowadays seemed to occur in short bursts of memory and the briefest of contemplations and for that moment, he recalled the face of a woman, with a warm smile and an infectious laugh. Her hand on his shoulder, her lips against his, the smell of expensive wine tingeing her breath as-- He blinked and he gave a small sigh as he took the tape from her shaking hands. He would’ve been lying if he thought to deny her request, to tell her she’d have more luck somewhere else and to not get involved but he couldn’t bring himself to and he turned the tape in his hands carefully before handing it back. “Okay,” He relinquished. “Okay, just… calm down, it’s okay.” He assured, putting his hands on his hips. He exhaled through his nose. This changed a couple things up. “So… since we’re being honest, what’s going on with your girlfriend? Why did her parents sign her off as dead?”

Frankie's lips were once more tightly pressed, a knot on her throat forming as the other stood quietly. She had flunked it, and she quietly closed her backpack and grabbed it as she stood up, ready to be kicked out. However, his answer and question made her open her eyes wide, carefully taking the tape. Once again, she was at a crossroad, needing to decide whether to lie or not. A nervous laugh escaped her, and she shoved the tape back with her belongings, not daring to meet his eye, the lack of aura still making her nervous, but what she was about to admit made her even more anxious. "You won't believe me if I tell you." Her eyes filled with tears as she looked up to him, an apologetic smile painting her lips. "She's- she's a werewolf-- and her family wanted her dead because they're hunters and hunters kill werewolves, and she was supposed to be one of them but then she wasn't---" Taking a deep breath to slow down her babbling, she hadn't realized the tears were willing down her face. "I- I know this sounds taken straight out of a lame 90's movie like Teen Wolf but I swear I'm being honest." Though he could feel Frankie’s anxiety radiating off of her, Graham was determined to keep his eyes on her with no impression that he was about to toss her out. However, from the moment she said ‘werewolf’, he smothered the immediate scoff that wanted so badly to escape his body and he inhaled sharply through his nose as a compromise. He remained steadfast in his gaze as she continued to be upfront with him, or at least upfront enough that he didn’t think she was actually lying - rather, he found Frankie’s very evident attachment to this girl to be endearing. He was realising as she talked that he probably wasn’t the best person to deal with teenage drama. He got another short memory of the woman from before, thinking she would’ve been much better at this. “Oh, sweetie,” He did scoff this time as he gently reached forward and wiped a tear from her face with a thumb, giving her a smile. “I believe you.” He said, stroking the side of her face briefly in what he hoped was a warm gesture (her skin certainly was) before pulling away and reaching over to retrieve the decorative box of tissues from the side table in the corner and offering it out to her. “That’s awful, though. I can’t imagine being killed or hunted by your own family. And so young to be given such a curse.” He lied this time, easily but he still meant what he said. “No more crying on the couch. Just take a deeeep breath.” He had to lighten the mood if only for his own sake.

The moment Graham's hand touched her, Frankie took a sharp intake and let out a sharp yet soft scream. He was colder than the ice cream she used to share with Layla, and the seconds his finger lingered on her face stretched dlike eternity, her heart sinking on her chest. "You're cold." She whispered, swallowing to get rid of the knot the crying had formed in her throat, and for a moment, Frankie felt small, and alone, realizing that she had left everything and everyone chasing something that sounded like a dream. Without a warning, she closed the distance between them and burrowed her face on his chest, her sobs filling the room. Nevermind that he was a complete stranger with no aura and honestly a potential murderer - he believed her, and for a second that's all she needed. "Please let me stay here." Her voice was muffled by the clothes and her sobs, and Frankie was too desperate and broken to realize that not only his hands were cold, but that his whole body felt like a big human shaped rock. One moment Graham was offering out tissues and the next he was standing there with a teenage girl burying her face in his shirt, feeling her fingers grasping at his clothes like she was drowning and scrabbling to grab onto anything to keep her from going under. He gulped and his eyes darted around the room under furrowed brows for a few moments, as if he were the butt of some hidden-camera show. Well… he knew, he knew that it didn’t matter if he was being secretly recorded or not; he used to be a surgeon. That part of his brain kickstarted for the situation and though he experienced hesitancy, his mind still seeming to want to determine whether or not he was actually sympathetic to her plight or just eager to get this over with, what empathy he had retained from his old life sparked back to life and he placed a strong hand on the top of her head. He started weighing the pros and cons….. and figuring out that there weren’t a whole lot of pros. Baby steps. He pet the top of her head gently. “Okay.” He said softly. He wanted to add some levity again but he left his response as it was and simply stood there, steadfast for her to cry herself out.

Frankie felt like her whole mind was spiraling without control, flashing images of Layla and her watching bad movies in her bed with their legs tangled together, her grandmother teaching her the importance of meaning behind the different colors surrounding a person, her mother softly caressing her hair when life became too hard one day to another. It felt like years had passed, her whole life changing in a matter of hours. She’d struggled, she was still struggling, and even though she took pride in being a smart, strong woman, it took times like this to remember she was still only a kid. The feeling of Graham’s hand trying to comfort her mixed with his soft answer took more muffled crying from her, and it took several minutes for her to calm down. Eventually, her shoulders were no longer shaking and her fists weren’t clenched on his shirt, but instead cradled against her own chest as she took a few steps back from him, puffy eyes and rosy cheeks from her sudden outburst. Her breathing was still irregular, but at least she felt a little better.  “I’m sorry-- I didn’t mean to do that.” And like that, she let herself drop back on the couch. “My- My grandma told me stories when I was a kid and I never thought they’d be real, about werewolves and fairies and vampires, and now Layla just throws this bomb at me and I left my home to find her and I don’t--” She stopped to take a deep breath, wiping her face with both her hands in frustration, but also to wipe the tears that were still there. “I don’t even care if it’s real or not, I just need to find her.” All things considered, Graham thought he was treating this situation like a boss. He waited patiently until she pulled away from him in which he removed his hand from her head. the sudden separation of her body heat from him almost prompting a sigh but he kept it under wraps. He examined the tears on his shirt briefly - bigger fish to fry, don’t worry about it - and he offered the box of tissues again. “Yeah, it can be a little… jarring,” He agreed, sitting on the arm of the couch lightly. “You said she sent you that message, what, two days ago? The likelihood of her still being here is pretty good,” He said before his expression shifted. “But I’ll be honest with you - werewolves aren’t nice creatures to fuck around with. Have you figured out what you’re gonna do after you find her?” 

“I hope you’re right.” She mumbled, sinking even more on the couch. His question made Frankie’s mouth hung open for a few seconds as she thought, before she clenched her teeth, a frustrated groan leaving her as she burrowed her face in her hands. There were just too many things going on through her head and  Graham, though blessed for not kicking her out the second she opened her mouth, wasn’t helping. Honestly, Frankie hadn’t thought that far ahead and had hoped that things would sort out on their own once they happened. She could worry about what she would tell Layla after and if she found her. But his previous statement floated around her head, and she turned her face towards him, one eye peeping from between her fingers. “How… How do you know so much about werewolves? And why aren’t you freaking out?” And she put her face in her hands again. Graham felt his eyebrows do a dance on his forehead as they went from raised in worry to half-quirked with some other emotion. He guessed he didn’t say the right thing but he felt it was important to at least think about future plans before jumping in even deeper. The look carried through into his mulling over her question when she asked between her fingers. She was being honest so far but would she believe him? He was far less concerned with her leaving if she didn’t like what or how he was but given that she dropped everything to come running to her werewolf girlfriend, he decided to go out on a limb and he started to rub his hands together absently, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve been told a lot of things and I’ve done a lot of reading,” He replied honestly. “As I’m sure you’ve been able to figure out, this town is hella weird. I dunno what all was in those stories your grandma told you but at least half of it is probably true.” He explained. “This is the part where I should probably tell you that I’m a vampire.” Well, there it was. He didn’t adjust his form at all as he spoke, wondering how the girl was going to react to that information.

Her mouth formed a perfect circle, her hands slowly sliding down her face to her lap. Her face felt weird because of the dried tears and her eyes still stinging with a burning sensation, but it didn’t quite matter when he had dropped yet another bomb. The Frankie from six months ago would’ve laughed in his face, grabbed her stuff and walked out of the apartment without a second doubt, but after everything that had happened in her life, and after Graham so easily believing what she was saying, it would be hypocritical of her. A small voice told her than, maybe, he was messing with her and joking after the werewolf bit, but the feeling of his cold hands and hard body was still lingering in her skin. A vampire. Unconsciously, her body shifted slightly away from him. Vampires were… bad, right? At least most movies portrayed them like that. Then again there was Twilight where vampires were good--- Oh, What if he was like Bella? And that was why she couldn’t see his aura? “Um. I’m- You won’t drink my blood if I live here, right? I mean I guess I could--- maybe-- if it doesn’t hurt too much but it would be just super weird and-- ” “Oh no no, that’s not my intention,” Graham replied quickly, keeping his blue eyes on her steadily and noticing her subtle body language, distancing herself from him as he expected; good, she had some form of self-preservation. “You’re a little young and…” He did actually consider withholding the following information but decided to go all the way since they were already there. “The sight and smell of blood makes me… nauseous. Freaks me out.” He DID decide not to add the part where he would’ve said ‘I might kill you’ - there was a line so he decided to hide it behind the good ol’ hematophobia. “I don’t feed in front of other, uh… people.” He wasn’t lying about this part; he already dropped the ball with the whole ‘vampire’ bit. “UNLESS-- unless… well, no. I still don’t plan on it.” He shrugged. “If your girlfriend is over and she wolfs out, then all bets are off.” He felt the need to specify. “I draw the line at being attacked in my own apartment.” He gave her a clever smile. “BUT that being said, you’re off my menu. Just… warn me if you’re planning on getting blood anywhere.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Any more questions so far?”

“How often do you feed?” The question was out of Frankie’s mouth before she even noticed what she was doing, her lips pressing together to keep her from spilling any more blabbering or stupid questions. Honestly, at this point she had no idea what she was anxious about, but she couldn’t seem to find the off button. “Sorry. Uhm. Don’t answer that. I’m sorry your only food source makes you sick.” She remained quiet for a moment, thinking. “What does wolfing out mean? Do werewolves turn into actual wolves? I thought they just… grew more hair and… I don’t know, got claws and stuff? And Is the alpha beta thing an actual thing? And-- do they have, like, insane senses? Can they turn them off?” She stopped to take a deep breath, suddenly standing up to face him better. “Sorry. We can, uhm, I guess you can fill me out on the wolf department later. I-- I kinda need to come clean about something too.” Her mouth was like a faucet the way she just spilled question after question but Graham kept in mind every one of them until she finished with a taper and she realised that she was unloading her curiosity onto him. He didn’t necessarily mind but that was what he HAD in mind when he asked about questions. He found it curious for a moment that she was inherently more interested in the ‘wolf’ part than the ‘vampire’ part but that was to be expected - she WAS the girlfriend of a werewolf, after all. “How ‘bout this, then - I’ll answer your veritable onslaught once you tell me what’s on your mind.” He compromised, looking at her patiently.

Frankie was silently thankful of how calm Graham was, taking each outburst better than the last. She licked her lips as she figured out the best way of telling him, as it was the first time she ever confessed her gift to someone outside her family. “Okay so---” Her left hand reached forward to him, not touching him but rather lingering a few inches away, tracing where his aura would be if he had one. “-- there’s absolutely nothing here. You have no aura. And I kinda think it’s because you’re, uhm, dead, but I can’t really tell because I’ve only dealt with people before?” Blabbering. She was blabbering again. Another deep breath, her hand dropping, fingers toying with each other. “What I mean is --- I can see auras. And they’re annoying for the most part because they’re super bright sometimes. So it’s nice that you don’t have one.” “Ah, you’re an aura reader,” Graham replied casually, lying through his teeth - he honestly didn’t know that aura readers were a thing but she didn’t need to know that. He didn’t find it surprising that she could read auras though he did find himself slightly surprised at his own lack of aura… he didn’t have one? He was undead but he was still a-- well, maybe he didn’t qualify as a person anymore. That thought made him… “Well! Happy to help; I can imagine how annoying that could be.” He painted over his brief expression with a smile. “Guess it works out in our favour.” He said, reaching forward with a finger and poking her palm gently, feeling her heat against his skin. “Okay, my turn.” He cleared his throat, going back to rubbing his hands together. “I try to only feed once or twice a week. I call when werewolves involuntarily transform ‘wolfing out’. Like someone ‘freaking out’ but with a wolf,” He looked up as he recalled the questions in order. “Only werewolves who have achieved some sort of equilibrium turn into actual wolves, to my knowledge. Most of the time, they take on quadrupedal beasts with wolf features. Alphas and such are mostly a myth but I THINK the wolves that were born with it prefer running in packs. The “alpha” thing isn’t much more of a thing to werewolves than humans who want leaders. Annnnnd… They have enhanced senses that get stronger nearer to the full moon.” He furrowed his brow. “I didn’t miss any questions, did I?”

His reaction made Frankie smile in relief. Oh, thank God he knew what she was on about, because she didn’t have the slightest idea on how to explain how, less alone why she could see auras, and in all honesty, even if she knew how, she didn’t want to do it either. Her eyes looked down to his finger poking her fidgeting hands, and because she was a curious teen, she reached forward to take his hands in hers, the cold touch completely foreign to her but, now that she knew what to expect, it didn’t bother her. For the first time since she had entered the room, she remained quiet, letting him speak, her fingers playing with his and letting her warmth conquer his tundra. It was amazing how Graham could recall every single question she had asked, even the ones she didn’t even remember saying. Even after he had stopped talking, she remained silent. It was way too much information, and by the way her brows were furrowed, she was clearly struggling to process everything. “I need to write this down somewhere before I forget.” And like that, she let go of his hands, a sigh escaping her. “Thank you. For, like, everything, not just the not having an aura and.. answering my shi--- stuff.” Was she allowed to swear? “Uhm, I promise I’m not always a mess ...? Maybe sometimes--- but you won’t regret taking me in.” The space between them was quiet for a moment following his string of answers as Graham felt her fingers touching his hand, almost childlike in their curiosity. He had to admit that the warmth was one of the things he missed the most and he got another brief memory before it faded back out and he saw the look on her face - maybe he answered too many of her questions at once. She was a teenage human and this was a lot to take in. He chuckled when she censored herself and shook his head. “I can write everything down for you and you can curse - you’re a grown-ass adult who can make her own decisions.” He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s why you’re here, after all.” He pulled to his feet from sitting on the arm of the couch. “Just take a few days to get settled in, just relax. One step at a time.” He pulled the front of his shirt away from his chest to keep it from sticking subconsciously. “C’mon, lemme show you around. You can have the guest bathroom - keep it clean,” He motioned for her to gather her things and follow her. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.