#“And she could worry about the implications of the sensations she feels when fighting against that particular somebody afterwards.”

[azoosepted]

i must draw bl don x kurokumo ishmael yuri i must draw bl don x kurokumo ishmael yuri i must draw bl don x kurokumo ishmael yuri i must [dies]

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Truce

Requested by @minaslittleone : Wilhemina + “I know you've got a little life in you left, I know you've got a lot of strength left” from This Woman’s Work.

E., I love this exchange of dark headcanons we don’t want to write 😆😭 I decided to write this one from reader’s pov for protection xx

Word count: 4 000

In retrospect, surely you should have realized right from the start that something was very wrong. But that’s not how you processed bad things. You denied them, refused to acknowledge their existence, until they had no other choice but to slap you right across your face. Sometimes it would take days. Sometimes it was much quicker.

But deep down, you had known something was off the moment you had closed the front door behind you. It was a Friday, 6pm or so, and you had just come back from a week-long work trip across the country. You were exhausted, mentally and physically, and yet the sweet prospect of seeing Wilhemina again made your heart sing and feel like you could very well hike a mountain. But there had been no Wilhemina coming to meet you as she always, always would, fighting a smile, trying to look indifferent but melting into your arms and peppering your face with kisses. No Wilhemina to take off your coat and ask you how your trip had been and to slip a mug of your favorite tea in your hands.

Instead, the house had been awfully quiet. Wilhemina’s shoes lay on the floor in their usual place. You called out her name, trying not to sound too worried. You crossed the living room in a hurry, so you didn’t notice the unwashed dishes in the sink, or the disarranged pillows on the couch. Or maybe you did, but refused to acknowledge them. It was only later, when the sun was setting and you scrubbed the dishes yourself, and fluffed the pillows before rearranging them the way Wilhemina liked them to be, that the implication of them, the reality they told of, hit you in the face. You shoved it where it couldn’t speak.

Wilhemina was lying in bed with her eyes closed, and when you asked her if she was feeling alright, she only answered with a curt “I’m tired.” You sat worriedly by her side, gently stroking her arm. You couldn’t remember the last time she had said those words. You couldn’t remember the last time she had looked so defeated. Dread had tightened your chest. But you had denied it all, as you always did, and let it pass. You had pressed a gentle kiss on Wilhemina’s temple, and asked her if she wanted to eat something – a shake of her head -, then told her you would make something for yourself and take a shower very quickly before you joined her in bed.

And you had been so very tired yourself that it hadn’t taken long at all to fall asleep. You had put your arms around Wilhemina and held her close and decided that in the morning everything would be alright.

Except now, here you were, sitting on your own at the kitchen table, unable to swallow your breakfast as you kept worriedly glancing at the clock whose hands neared 10am. And still Wilhemina wasn’t up.

Even on the weekends, she would rarely linger in bed past 9am, as she hated feeling like she was wasting a day. It would take much coaxing to have her back in your arms when you felt like being lazy on a Sunday morning.  

You sat still, staring at your toasts that were cold now. You didn’t feel like eating. Worry was lodged deep in your stomach and made you feel nauseous. But still you told yourself, that maybe Wilhemina hadn’t slept much during the past week, had stayed up late to work with no one to call her to bed, and was in great need of rest. Surely she would join you soon, grumpy because you had let her sleep in, and you would smile at her and kiss her lips and she would hold you as you told her all about your trip.

The clock ticked so loud in the silence, mocking you. It sounded like it was laughing.

At 10:30am the worry got the best of you. You stood up and hurried to the bedroom. You knocked on the door and waited for two seconds before you opened it.

The room was still dark, shutters still closed against the light. You kept the door open to let some light from the corridor in. It showed Wilhemina’s shape, still in bed, her back to you, the comforter pulled up to her waist.

For a second you considered calling her name to determine whether she was still asleep. But the dread in your stomach tugged you onward before you had time to take a decision.

Carefully you settled on the narrow space between the edge of the bed and Wilhemina’s body. You brushed her hair back from her cheek so you could take a look at her face.

“Hey baby,” you whispered. You forced yourself to smile, knowing she would hear it in your voice.

Wilhemina’s eyes had been half-opened, staring vacantly at the darkness. Upon hearing your voice, they briefly moved in your direction, as if to acknowledge your presence.

You rested your hand on her shoulder, thumb gently stroking her skin.

“Are you feeling sick?” you tried.

Wilhemina remained silent.

“Do you want me to bring you something?” you tried again. “A cup of tea? Are you hungry?”

More silence. Worriedly you bent over her, hand now stroking her hair. It was uncharacteristically greasy, you noticed, and your fingers when you slipped them through it caught in several tight knots.

You swallowed, hoping it would somehow prevent the dread from spreading through you. Part of you was still cowardly trying to turn a blind eye on the situation, trying to pretend you had not already connected all the dots.

You pressed another kiss on Wilhemina’s temple. “I’m bringing you tea,” you announced.

You pretended not to hurry out of the room. You needed out for a moment, away from the darkness that seemed to be clinging to your skin, from the stale air of the bedroom, from Wilhemina’s vacant eyes and hunched frame. Your brain went numb. It was either that, or yielding to panic.

On auto-pilot you made the tea, Wilhemina’s favorite, a whole kettle of it. You put the kettle down on a tray with a cup and some biscuits, knowing perfectly well she wouldn’t touch them. Just to pretend.

When you came back to yourself, you found you were staring down at the kettle, hands on either side of the tray. You closed your eyes for a second and forced yourself to take a few deep breaths.

But Wilhemina was always so strong, you thought. Always pushing on, always fighting her on-going battle against her body and the norms and never showing even the tiniest sign of defeat to the outside world. In all the months of dating her, you had gained the sense that somehow she was holding the world together as a commander holds an army together. If she failed, if she as much as slackened her grip, the whole world would collapse, and you with it. You couldn’t imagine living in a world where Wilhemina wasn’t this strong, indestructible force protecting you and strengthening you.

And yet, you thought, as you made your way back to the bedroom, carefully holding the tray, she was bound to fail one day or the other. She was bound to grow weary. And it would be your job to help her back up onto her feet.

You weren’t sure you knew how. And yet you must, you scolded yourself, as you entered the bedroom. You couldn’t run away when Wilhemina needed you.

You set the tray on the bedside table and sat down on the bed again. “Sweetheart,” you tried, “will you sit up for me?”

Wilhemina had closed her eyes upon hearing the new determination in your voice, to try and block you. She didn’t acknowledge your presence, didn’t answer you.

You stared down at her shadowed frame, mind racing as you tried to think of what to do. Tears pooled in your eyes at the sight of her like this, looking so weak and defeated, looking so wrong – you shook your head to chase the thought.

You thought of what would usually help her when she wasn’t feeling good. Remembered all the hesitant touches, all the scooting closer, fingertips brushing your arm, eyes silently pleading to be held.

You stood up and stripped to your underwear so Wilhemina would feel your skin, then nestled in the narrow space available between her body and the edge of the bed.

You didn’t speak. Merely wrapped your arms around her waist and pressed yourself against her, dropping a kiss on the nape of her neck. She didn’t stiffen, or push you away – in fact, she didn’t react in the slightest, and you wondered if she was aware of your presence at all.

The familiarity of her quieted some of the racing thoughts in your mind. Heat quickly built up between your bodies, wrapping you up in a cocoon, and you found yourself wishing that you could build your own world in it, only exist in it, with Wilhemina pressed against you and you pressed against her and nothing else allowed in. To be the architect of your own world and have a say on even the tiniest speck of dust that wafted through it. You wished it could be that easy.

Gently you planted kisses on Wilhemina’s shoulder and neck, your thumb stroking her wrist to ground her in case she needed it. You closed your eyes and focused on her breathing, slow and deep. One breath in, one breath out.

In, out.

You must have dozed off, for when you opened your eyes again, the light filtering through the gaps in the shutters had the brightness of noon. You were still in the exact same position, spooning Wilhemina, but your arm that was trapped between her waist and the mattress had gone completely numb.

With a groan at the unpleasant sensation you pulled away and withdrew your arm. Wilhemina immediately stiffened. You pressed a kiss on her temple to let her know you weren’t going anywhere, and sat up, rolling your shoulder and arm to improve your blood circulation. Your other hand gently stroked Wilhemina’s hair as a reminder that you were still here, still with her. Not running away.

Slowly you slid your fingers through her hair, working through the knots and grazing your nails over her scalp. You had done this before, hundreds of time, had whispered into her ear how beautiful her hair was and how you would never get enough of stroking it and brushing it and twirling strands of it around your fingers. Wilhemina had rolled her eyes, but a chuckle had escaped her, warm and affectionate. She had buried her face in your neck, as she did every time you were cuddling and she didn’t quite know how to handle your compliments. And certainly you had hummed and smiled knowingly, holding her head to you, fingers still threading through the red.

You looked down at her and gently scratched above her ear.

“Will you drink some tea for me?” you whispered. “It’s probably cold now, but you like it cold too.”

Silence. Your chest tightening.

“When was the last time you had water?” you heard yourself say. “Did you drink yesterday before you went to bed?”

Silence. More silence.

Fear rose in you again, hot and wrapping around your heart to squeeze, making your ears buzz, your vision swim. You shifted on the bed just so you could do something, skimmed your palm down Wilhemina’s cheek.

“Sweetheart please – please say something. Wilhemina you’re scaring me. Please, just –”

You didn’t finish, because your voice was quivering and tears were threatening to spill, and you had promised yourself you would be strong for her. Not this pathetic, helpless little girl. So you closed your eyes, pushed your palm against your forehead as you tried to regain control over the fear that threatened to overthrow you. You didn’t know what to do anymore. Call for help? Pace the room like a madwoman? Shake Wilhemina until she finally came back and snapped at you?

You didn’t know. Panicking seemed like the best option right now.

Instead, you ran your fingers through Wilhemina’s hair and forced your voice back under control. “What’s wrong?” you whispered, as tenderly as you could. “Please talk to me. I love you.”

For a while she kept on being silent, and your heart broke and sunk, and panic roared and jumped, but then - blessedly, blissfully - her voice rose, raspy and shaky from disuse.

“I’m so tired,” was what she said.

You bent over her, sweet relief rushing over you now that she was finally willing to communicate. Your hand moved to her forehead. “Are you feeling sick?”

She shook her head. She opened her eyes and again stared at the darkness in front of her.

“Sweetheart,” you pushed on, “maybe if you tried to eat or drink something –”

“What’s the point?” Wilhemina cut you off – her voice wasn’t angry, but instead completely devoid of emotion, as if she were too exhausted to feel. “If I drink your tea now and go to sleep tonight and get up tomorrow morning there’ll only be more pain. And pain again the day after. I’m so tired.”

You allowed yourself a minute to process her words. To embrace their full implication. It felt like a kick in your stomach, and yet it also made you feel calmer. For now that you had received confirmation of what was wrong, now that you knew the face of the enemy you had to defeat, you could think of an efficient plan and pick the appropriate weapons.

You pressed a tender kiss on Wilhemina’s cheek, but it only seemed to revive her anger.

“People like you have it so easy,” she said, her voice bitter now, and quivering. “All you do is wake up and begin your day and cry over your stupid little problems while being too dumb to realize how insignificant they really are. If you had to face a challenge more arduous than a lunch break that’s too short your whole fucking world would collapse.”

She paused to take a shaky breath. You waited for her to go on, blinking back tears but knowing you had to let her speak, to let her let it out no matter if it hurt.

But Wilhemina didn’t go on. The fight flowed out of her as quickly as it had flowed in. Her body sank back into the mattress, limp and drained, eyes closing as if keeping them open was too much of an effort.

And again, your heart sank. Automatically you wrapped one arm around her shoulders to press her close against you, as if somehow that would rescue her, as if she was drowning and all you had to do to save her was pull her back to the surface.

Images flashed in your mind. Wilhemina, carefully sitting up in bed every morning, ritually assessing the day’s degree of pain. You, trying not to make it too obvious that you would shorten your walks every time you noticed a change in Wilhemina’s gait. Strangers and friends, their eyes falling on her cane, then quickly shifting to the floor.

There were days you weren’t very successful in hiding the worry and sadness in your eyes or voice when Wilhemina’s breathing became labored. There were days she wasn’t very successful in hiding the fact that the most common of things – a stranger’s dress, a stranger swiftly standing up from their chair, sometimes nothing at all – would turn her attention back to the curve of her spine. And how she would hate herself.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine how draining her constant fighting must be, how lonely she must feel, carrying a burden most people never even had to think about. There had been times before when the fight had gone out of her, when her eyes had veiled over and her body had slumped and she had refused to speak or move, but those times had always been short. In the morning she had gotten up as usual and made ready to face a new day. And you had found that the best way you could help her in those moments was simply to accept them, to quietly support her and hold her as you waited for her to find her strength again.

But today – today was different. Today you feared she didn’t think it was worth finding it at all.

“Sweetheart,” you whispered, “there are so many things worth you keep fighting for.”

Wilhemina let out a low growl of annoyance. “If you say the sunset I’ll hit you.”

You shook your head, gently rubbing your thumb around a freckle on her arm. “I won’t. But it’s true. My darling, it’s true.”

“I don’t care,” Wilhemina said.

You kept on stroking her arm, encouraged and enlivened when she leaned into your touch rather than pulled away.

“And besides”, you went on, “I want to love you. And I need you,” you added, with a sad laugh. “Is that very selfish of me?”

“I don’t know,” Wilhemina sobbed.

You cooed and pressed another kiss on her temple. Wilhemina curled in on herself, hiding her face in her hands as she cried. You closed your eyes, pushing your forehead against hers, heart breaking for her but also so very relieved that she was finally showing emotion instead of her earlier numbness.

“I don’t want to keep fighting,” Wilhemina choked. “I don’t see the point anymore.”

“Ok,” you breathed, voice a little strangled by fear. You lay down so you could hold her closer, pretending not to notice how your hands were shaking and your heart beating so fast now.

And as you slowly rocked her and shushed her, you stopped trying to find the right words that would lift her up, for you were no longer convinced those existed. Instead, you let her sink.  

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” you whispered. “You can take a break. I won’t leave you.”

When Wilhemina had calmed down, you got up and opened the shutters and the window to let the sunlight, fresh air and birdsongs in. Then you hurried back to bed and held Wilhemina in your arms.

She slept through most of the day. In the evening you managed to convince her to take a shower with you. You washed her hair, lathered her skin.

The next day was spent in bed, too. Wilhemina slept. You read a book and read to her when she woke up. You highlighted the passages you found beautiful and asked Wilhemina which were her favorites. You highlighted those, too. She agreed to eat something, for you, and you held her to you when she suddenly broke down halfway through finishing her plate.

On Monday you called your respective bosses to let them know Wilhemina and you were taking the whole week off. Wilhemina still wouldn’t get out of bed, so you read some more to her, one hand holding the book and the other holding her. When you were both bored of reading, you played some of Wilhemina’s favorite records. She lay listening to the music with her eyes closed and her arm draped over your waist. In the evening you ordered food and Wilhemina and you ate it in bed while watching a movie.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, she barely spoke. She lay with a vacant look in her eyes that would only fracture when she sobbed and wailed in your arms. She refused to take her painkillers. At one point you hid in the bathroom and bit your fist to hold back your screams.

On Thursday, Wilhemina got out of bed and together you walked to the nearest park to sit on a bench in the sun and people-watch. On Friday night you woke up panting and with your mind haunted by images of Wilhemina lying lifeless on a tile floor. She gathered you in her arms and rocked you as you clang to her and sobbed and begged her never to leave you.

The week after that was spent mostly in bed, too, but on Wednesday Wilhemina changed and washed the sheets. You hung them outside to dry in the sun.

Your bosses complained. You decided you didn’t care and hung up on them.

One afternoon, for no reasons it seemed, Wilhemina suddenly turned cold and mean to you, and it took you a few hours to realize she was terrified and angry that she had let you see her in such a vulnerable state. You said it was okay. She said she wasn’t sure you were worth it. Her words hurt you more than you would have liked to admit.

You grew silent after that. You did the laundry and vacuumed the house to keep yourself busy and drown out your thoughts. Part of you wanted to turn on your heel and slam the door behind you. To leave, to run away if Wilhemina thought so little of you. Just as you were thinking that surely it was the right thing to do, Wilhemina called your name. She made you sit down on the bed next to her, held your hand, and apologized. She explained she was terrified. You nodded, blinking back tears, and gave her hand a squeeze.

The day after that was spent in bed, too, but a new, timid feeling of happiness settled on the sheet. You planted kisses on each other’s skin, exchanged renewed confessions of love and devotion and made love for the first time since you had come back from your trip. You held her tight as she shook against you, and she cooed as you choked on her tongue, clenching around her fingers and forgetting for a moment everything that wasn’t sweet and warm and love. You dozed off, and when you opened your eyes again, Wilhemina’s were smiling.

On Thursday she announced she was going back to work. You grinned at her, kissed her senseless, and managed to convince her to take it slow and wait till the next Monday. She protested at first, said she couldn’t even imagine how Kineros hadn’t yet collapsed without her, but you raised a cheeky eyebrow and said you rather loved having her all to yourself. She rolled her eyes at that, but was betrayed by the faint blush that dusted her cheeks.

That night you found her sitting in the garden gazing at the stars with a sad, overwhelmed look in her eyes. You draped a blanket over her shoulders, snuggled up to her and nudged her shoulder with your nose.

“Are you okay?” you breathed, looking up at her profile.

Still, she gazed at the stars. “I don’t know,” she breathed back.

You hummed and nestled your head in the crook of her neck.

“I never said thank you,” Wilhemina whispered after a few moments.

You hummed again.

“So, thank you,” she said.

“Anytime,” you whispered, reaching for her hand.

“Take it slow on Monday, okay?” you said after a moment.

Wilhemina made a disapproving noise, but nodded.

“And call me,” you went on. “If you feel overwhelmed.”

Another nod. She laced her fingers with yours and lifted your hand to press lingering kisses on your knuckles in an attempt to distract you, as well as herself, from the tears pooling in her eyes.

“One day at a time,” you breathed. “It’s really all we can do.” 

Tag list: @mssallymckenna @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate @angelxsarahp @paulawand @asktammyr @peggycarter-steverogers   @coconutlipss  @saucy-sapphic @thesupremewife @paulsonpills @billiedeansbottom @lilypadscoven @winslctrg @simpforpaulson @venablesgirl @mckennamayfairgoode  @ka-s @lntlmate @talulahmae @mrsdeanhoward

[spockandawe]

I doubt this is something I’ll ever even try to write, because I rarely have the energy these days to devote my energy to a ‘lol but what if’ ship. But never say never, and I legit wrote the emilonni and tlj/sqq fics, after all, so I’m going to write this down and maybe, possibly, someday come back to it.

Now, hear me out

Wei Wuxian/Jin Zixun

Yes, yes, I know, but give me a second. It’s the sort of ship where I kind of want to do it just to see if it can be done, and where the idea of ‘textual support’ is kind of laughable, and it’s not like I’m smashing together two super-popular characters who just never happened to speak, and it’s the kind of ship where I think I could only shake one fic out of it before I was repeating myself, BUT.

First, a quote:

The person at the head of the group was Jin Zixun. He said, “Zixuan, is that Wei making trouble for you again?!”

Jin Zixuan said, “None of your business, don’t worry about it for now!” Seeing that Wei Wuxian grabbed Jiang Yanli and was about to take her away, he added, “Stop!”

Wei Wuxian said, “Oh, you want to fight? That’s fine with me!”

Jin Zixun said, “You Wei, just what do you mean by going against Zixuan so many times?”

Wei Wuxian looked at him. “Who are you?”

Jin Zixun paused in shock, and fumed, “You don’t know who I am?!”

“Why should I know who you are?”

When the Sunshot Campaign had first broken out, Jin Zixun had insisted on defending the back lines, due to an injury. He hadn’t had the chance to see what Wei Wuxian was like on the front lines, and most of his knowledge had come from rumors. He hadn’t care much for him, thinking that the rumors were simply exaggerations. However, a while ago, Wei Wuxian had summoned all of the dark creatures in the forest with a whistle, calling away the fierce corpses Jin Zixun’s group had been about to capture, causing their efforts to be wasted. He was already displeased.

Now, in front of his face, Wei Wuxian was asking who he was, stirring up a strange sense of indignation within him— He knew Wei Wuxian, yet Wei Wuxian didn’t know him, and even dared ask who he was in front of everyone. It was as if this had caused him to lose too much face. The more he thought about it, the more irritated he became.

Now, there’s a thoughtful meta I hopefully reblogged to my sideblog, which I would have to dig up or recreate on my own, about the most sympathetic possible reading of Jin Zixun. If memory serves, it has a lot to do about the precarious nature of his social position, where he’s part of the Jin clan, and kind of the closest thing Jin Zixuan has to a brother, but also, everyone knows that Jin Zixuan has half-siblings coming out of the woodwork, and many of them would be stoked to get Jin Guangshan to accept them into the family. At this stage in the story, Jin Guangyao is already a major player and a hero of the war and part of the venerated triad, where Jin Zixun spent a lot of time... not in the thick of things, like most other peers of his generation.

Is he an asshole? Yes! Is... Wei Wuxian an asshole? Also yes! One of them may be a more likeable asshole than the other, but that’s part of the excitement of a story like this, trying to coax people into holding a fannish position that they’d never considered before, and aren’t particularly eager to be convinced of. I don’t think I’m bad at that uphill climb, it just takes a lot of energy that I don’t often have to begin that journey in the first place. Also, one of these assholes is a certified grade-A torturer, and it’s probably not the one you dislike. Jin Zixun isn’t starting from an insurmountable disadvantage here. 

And see, the thing that got my attention is this: Earlier in this chapter, Wei Wuxian is a little melancholy, thinking about how since the Sunshot Campaign, lots of people are scared of him, hardly anyone is willing to be alone with him, and almost nobody would ever be willing to approach him alone. And here, we get the information that because Jin Zixun was injured early and wasn’t on the front lines of the Sunshot Campaign, he doesn’t know to be afraid. He tried to provoke Wei Wuxian before the hunt, he’s about to keep provoking Wei Wuxian, he’s Jin Zixun and he doesn’t afraid of anything. Yes, he’s about to say some very hurtful things, but I look at that, and I think ‘okay, now how do we recover from this?’ Giving Wei Wuxian someone who just... plain isn’t afraid of him (but is also derailed by me, your author, from taking that to unrecoverable places) would be good for him. Jiang Cheng will antagonize him and isn’t afraid of him, but they also share years of history and are dealing with a lot of other stresses in this situation, and Jiang Cheng is asking things from Wei Wuxian that Wei Wuxian is struggling to provide, and the golden core thing is still hanging between them. Lan Wangji isn’t afraid of Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian parses his concern and worries as antagonism and criticism, and those stress him out in a whole different way. This dynamic, as much as I would have to work to make it happen, would bring something new to the table.

One of my favorite activities is crackshipping with sincerity, and when I poke at this, it genuinely feels like richer territory than it looks at first glance. A lot of the antagonists share some fascinating character notes with our lead, and what’s most interesting to me here is an elevated-but-precarious social position and the various stresses that puts upon our characters. Jin Guangyao is the most obvious example, and Su She echoes it more quietly, with how he struggled within the Lan Sect and eventually left (honestly, kudos to him for him and mianmian to be two of the only characters to realize that their home was hurting them and to leave). Jin Zixun is in a family position that’s close to being brothers with his sect’s heir, but isn’t quite brothers, and is close to the seat of power, but also in a precarious social position if someone acts against him. Jin Guangshan and Madam Jin create a dysfunctional family dynamic to grow up in, where Jin Guangshan’s heart attention strays from his wife, and his wife has beat at least one kid who wasn’t biologically hers in the household.

There’s some common ground, is all I’m saying

I don’t even know what would happen, necessarily, I’m talking this all out here right now, and the interesting part of ships like this is digging in extra deep, and seeing what unexpected thing shakes out. It isn’t quite in the style of the other notable rarepair fics I have managed to write, which tend to follow a paradigm of ‘[person] is floating unmoored from the world, and [love interest] gets them engaged with life again’, but it’s not totally out of line with my interests. Svsss won’t give us more detail about Tianlang-jun? Okay, what happens if I make him hopelessly fond, what happens then? What happens if I properly re-engage his sense of humor? I hardly had anything of substance to go on with Horuss, and that fic is old, but I managed to pull interesting things out of him with Roxy. And I mean... what does happen when Jin Zixun stops self-destructively antagonizing the people around him and starts acting in more neutral ways? Not even positive, I think this relationship is going to have a strong antagonistic component, but what happens if he stops basing his interactions purely on who gets the higher rung on the social ladder?

Now, I do have a problem, which is that plot is something that happens to other people. See also: the reason there has not been a tianlang-jun sequel. I think that it would almost definitely have to do with repairing the situation between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli and both of them managing to dial it back a LITTLE so as not to completely sabotage their family member’s happiness, and that leading things forward. And in a ridiculous pipe dream that will never be realized, because either possible pov will be completely oblivious, I would also want to include Jin Zixuan’s confused bisexual awakening and his resentful (also confused) attraction towards Wei Wuxian, even if he still ends up with Jiang Yanli, but... wei wuxian isn’t going to notice, and neither is jin zixun, SO. That’s probably right out. And the plot implications would have to be... significant. Setting it post-Sunshot campaign means that the Wen situation is simmering, and any plot that involves me untangling that mess... terrifying! I wouldn’t know where to begin! But like, also. What if I could write this ship in a compelling way. I bet I could do it. Nothing feels as good as the sensation of ‘I have scored points on my own darling readers by convincing them to like something they didn’t want to like’, and usually, I only get that from the second person pov. It would be so hard to write this ship. But also, what if I did it.

[ajaviary]

Coup De Grace Ch 5 (Pt1)

Coup De Grâce

Assassination Classroom

~Warning: This Chapter has some mentions of sexual assault,  Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 5

Rating: M (18+)

Word Count: 13463 (split into two parts)

Irina dug her nails into the tender flesh of her palm that was hidden from view. She wasn’t sure why his question caused her heart to race. As she was flooded with a need to run, to escape. Her nails bit down harder drawing blood along her palm and she took a breath and held it aware of the fact that both of Koro-Sensei and Karasuma were watching her too closely, even as the latter continued to carefully detangle her hair. 

“Just the family,” she muttered, but the curling sensation of dread that stole her breath told her something else. Her mind flashed back to the little boy she’d seen in the upstairs bathroom and she squeezed her eyes shut and something fluttered along her mind, a memory...but not. More as a sensation of words along her ear, a whisper of sound where she couldn't recall the words. The tone of the words was not Dimitiri, it hadn’t sounded like him. Why she had blocked out the actual words spoken she wasn't sure. It could be a memory lapse from the concussion. 

She had her doubts that it was related to that. It reached far deeper than that. It was why her memory was fragmented, missing pieces, her mind reacting to protect her from what she couldn't handle. If she tried to force open the memories, she couldn't; she was almost positive she could...but did she want to risk it? 

Yes. As she tried to mentally go back to the lapses of memories, a sequence that seemed out of place filtered into the darkness. 

“As lovely as I remember,” A male voice filtered in her memory.

“I want you awake…”

The voice trailed off as a hand slapped across her face, jerking her to the side, she could taste copper in her mouth as she rocked by the chains around her wrists, suspended above the floor. She remembered swinging from the chain, both feet struggling to touch the ground. There was no pain, just the flare of heat across her cheek.

She was groggy, her body felt heavy from the drug still running through her veins.  Her blue eyes opened slowly, struggling to stay remain. To see who was talking with her. Her head lulled against her arm. Her eyes started to close again and rough fingers grabbed her chin and squeezed along her jaw in a bruising grip.

“That stupid boy gave you too much.” He murmured in a low tone, his voice rich, a cascading accent hinted at his words. He was Italian. Even her hazy mind could catch that.

“Dimitri  tells me you have a history. That you used to be lovers...now you give yourself to men before you kill them. How well did Olga train you?” He wondered, his fingers wrenching at her bound blonde hair forcing her gaze to clash with predatory gold eyes. She noticed a burn along his neck that stretched along part of his right cheek. He was handsome for an older man, his blonde hair streaked with silver.

“We don’t have much time, that boy will be back soon. I'll make this quick. You’ll enjoy it trust me…”

 ‘What?’ 

“Daddy issues hmm? Lovro’s always had a thing for strays. I told him you were too much trouble to keep, but look at you now, all grown up. I remember when you were little… too bad he interrupted us before. That won't happen now. I've waited a long time for this.”

Rough, calloused hands roamed over her bare skin, going lower as she heard the click of a belt and swish of the heavy material hit the floor as it pulled down at his ankles. Her heart pounded inside her chest, her body wouldn't move no matter how hard she tried. The feeling of being powerless, unable to get her body to respond was unlike anything she’d felt before, the fear was nearly overwhelming. This wasn’t her choice...she hadn’t decided. 

She was always in control. She always had a plan.

She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut, as she tried to think about anything else. She shivered in disgust as those rough fingers worked their way under the hem of her jogging pants as the soft material was pulled down her legs. Her heart pounded behind her ribcage. Slowly her fingers curled in her chains. The heat of his fingers burned her cold skin as he ran his fingers up the back of her legs as she could hear him shifting closer to her...she could feel his legs brush her own as he lifted her legs higher on his thighs and traveled higher still. 

“Scream for me Princess.” He whispered into her ear as he pulled down her hips over his own.

Her eyes snapped open and she reached out, shoving at Karasuma’s arms, smearing blood along his bare flesh and forcing him to let go of her, to get a little space. She took another breath, it was too fast, her lungs couldn’t seem to get enough air, her breathing was too fast, too rapid. She felt like she was going to pass out. It was by will alone that she avoided being sick in front of them. To vomit up whatever was in her stomach over the last few hours, which was nothing, but it didn't stop her from the dry heaves as she buried her face in her hands for a moment as she struggled to get back her control. 

To save any dignity she might have left.

“Irina…” Karasuma murmured softly, his eyes wide for a moment he wasn’t sure what to do. He knew whose fault this was as his dark eyes narrowed at the yellow octopus as he watched her curl in on herself, the way her whole body trembled. 

Irina curled her shaking fingers around her shoulders and clenched her teeth as she rode out the panic attack. She closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to see them or whatever look was on their faces. The concern or worse the pity in their eyes. 

Lock it down! Don't let it take you under. No one has to know...

“No, ” she lied, forcing the word past her lips. 

The lie was unfortunately obvious to everyone in the room.

Karasuma had stood beside her bed; his hands clenched at his side. He wanted to trade places with her, wanted to take the pain away, wanted to rewind the clock of time and ensure this never happened to her.  He couldn't do any of those things. He knew that and he wasn't sure what she was comfortable with, what she could handle. He knew she had remembered something; those reactions of violence as she came out of her silences were too much to be anything else. He was worried about what she had remembered...that reaction, her evasion had him worried that it had to do with what Koro Sensei was asking. He knew it had to relate. It was too obvious.

“I’m -” The yellow creature started.

“It’s fine... I'm fine. Moving on--” she cut in her hands being raised to her face to inspect the damage. As a towel was pressed to the wound and the flash of tan skin and masculine hands told her who it was. She swallowed softly but didn't pull away.

“Finish your report Koro-sensei. You believe another person was there, why?” Irina wondered, her tone devoid of any emotion, her level of detachment a defense mechanism.

Straightening Koro-Sensei regarded her closely before he pressed forward, struggling to keep his voice calm. “There was evidence of a struggle. The blood type found didn't match anyone at the home and when run with the DNA found on various parts of your body it's a match to not just Dimitri but a secondary assailant.”

She didn't say anything for a moment as she carefully pulled her hands away from his own, pressing the towel between her palms. It wasn't hard to read between the lines she had already suspected at least one of them knew. This was humiliating, the disgust, she felt so dirty...so raw and so horribly exposed. She knew deep down, she’d known. The memory spoke for itself, she swallowed testing to see if she was going to be sick or not. Not yet.

“It’s all a blur I can’t... remember, ” her soft words caused the men to exchange a look but neither wanted to broach the subject. To press for more answers, to ask if that was true. At least not yet.

“Is there anything else?” Her hushed question was met with silence and tension in the room was heavy and she caught the flare of anger across Karasuma’s features.

Koro-sensei muttered something about the time and fled the room. Leaving them alone. He didn't want to be involved in this conversation.

Karasuma looked at the young woman in the hospital bed, the bruises decorating her cheek and the swelling and dark color along her jaw. The stitches along her hairline that we're carefully covered with a bandage. He saw how fragile she looked, how tired and yet how strong. How despite everything she was still fighting. 

“They want to do a pregnancy test at a later date, too see…” he trailed off the obvious implications as ran his hand through his hair and tugged at the ends for a moment.

“That isn’t necessary,” she said softly her gaze on her curled hands that were in her lap, she sank her teeth into her lower lip and tried to remember one of the detachment methods that Olga had taught her, what had happened to her wasn’t an uncommon occurrence when dealing with someone of her profession. She had slept with men nearly her whole life, those were her choice, it wasn’t the act that bothered her, but the fact the decision hadn’t been hers to make. 

For some reason she remembered the incident with the reaper and the rose Karasuma had given her after the fight, it wasn’t something that should have made such a profound impact on her and yet it allowed her to drag her gaze from her own inner turmoil to look at him. The guilt settled heavily over her. What does he think of me now?

“I’m sorry, ” her soft, hollow words reached his ears and his whole body jerked toward her. Taking a step toward the bed before he could stop himself. “This isn’t what you signed up for.”

His fingers brushed over her uninjured cheek, gently his fingers warmed part of her neck. “Hey now,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead to her own. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this together.” The fingers of his free hand rested atop her clenched hands. 

Carefully she scooted over in the bed and after a moment he sat carefully next to her, one leg hanging off the bed to touch the floor. As her cheek rested against his shoulder and her eyes fluttered closed. Her fingers wound through his own as her breathing evened out and sleep dragged her under once more. The exhaustion taking its toll.

Karasuma glanced toward the door as he ran his thumb gently over her knuckles as she slept. He didn't let go of her hand even as his own grew numb. He closed his eyes for a moment, his own exhaustion catching up with him as well. He’d never intended to fall asleep. 

The silent click of the camera from the doorway and a wide smile along a large yellow head, the only give away to who was there. As Koro-Sensei sent the picture to the students of Class E along with a short summary that said Irina seemed to be out of the woods, but had a long recovery left.

----------

It was Monday morning by the time Irina was conscious enough to speak with her doctor and was given the news that he would like to keep her until Thursday, possibly Friday before she could be given his permission to go home. He did say that she could check herself out against medical advice, but he didn't recommend it with the chest tube as the possibility for an infection was still something to consider. Karasuma had taken the beginning of the week off staying at the hospital with her, bringing her books, her laptop, whatever she might need to keep herself preoccupied. Her time was spent scouring the deep web for any information she could get on the man she remembered. This was a very delicate matter, one that required her searches to be short and in some cases inconsistent, considering she still had not mentioned anything to Karasuma. One of the many secrets she was keeping from him. 

She could have asked Lovro...but she wasn't ready to face that yet. She wanted to see what she could find on her own first. She blamed him for what happened to Dimitri -- no, she blamed herself too. It wasn't something she was ready to let go of just yet. She made her choice years ago and now it haunted her.

It was Wednesday afternoon before she was able to have her chest tube removed.

She hadn't been sleeping very well, she’d dream of her captivity, she’d wake in a cold sweat and sometimes she’d be screaming when she woke, sometimes there were tears, other times it was to wake up with the inability to breathe. Her instances during the day that triggered her memories, or new ones she’d tried to ignore. There was little for her to do but to think and go over what happened, wondering if she should have done something differently. If she’d made the right choice at all.

She wasn't hungry and no one pushed the issue, not when there were other iv nutrients that could be given. It wasn’t so bad really, she just wasn’t hungry, she couldn’t stomach the thought of food. 

Irina had gone six days without a shower; sponge baths only went so far, she’d gotten help to wash her hair, but it wasn’t the same. The constant hovering was beginning to become too much. She wanted to wash her hair, she wanted to go home. She wanted to be alone to not be bothered by a single soul for a few hours. She wanted to throw up without an audience, she wanted to cry without witnesses, she didn’t want all the wires, the needles, the meds...all the questions. She wanted everything to stop. It had been six days and it was still too much.

Karasuma was leaving for work this morning and she was stuck here as alone as one could get inside a hospital in the critical care unit with a constant array of hospital staff checking up on you at various hours of the days, as long as her stats stayed in a normal range and her panic attacks or instances of disassociation were limited to certain windows she was left alone. Karasuma had been staying here with her as long as he could, but he’d felt out of place eating in front of her, so there were instances where he wasn’t with her. Those moments of alone time, were a blessing and a curse as she was sure that she was hearing someone talk to her. She was pretty sure it was just her own sort of mental breakdown thanks to the stress of the last few days, and the dark thoughts settling over her. 

Her thoughts were in a spiral of dark and depressing, but she’d been careful to hide it. She didn’t want him to worry more than he already was. Maybe once she got out of this room and was able to do more than be confined as she was, maybe she’d feel better...feel like being alive was worth it.

Her gaze watched as Karasuma lingered in the doorway of her hospital room, his arms crossed over his chest and dressed in his normal dress slacks and white dress shirt and his black jacket hanging over his shoulder. “I can stay a little longer,” he offered his gaze assessing everything about her. “I’ll be fine, it’s only for a few hours. If anything happens I’m sure you’ll be notified, besides I doubt we’ll have any more incidents...like the other day. Don’t worry, besides Ritsu is babysitting,” she managed a smile, but she could tell from the tension in his shoulders he could see that it was forced. 

If she was honest with herself the fact he was leaving left her with a heavy sense of unease and yet she wanted the space at the same time. The hand she had hidden under the blanket curled tightly around the small switchblade Karasuma had left her only five days ago. She took comfort in the pain across her palm. 

Karasuma was just as exhausted as she was, she could tell it in the way his shoulders drooped and the dark circles under his eyes. He was also being careful around her, his movements were slow, his hands almost always visible, but there was the anger that lurked in his eyes the more he saw her struggle and the more she hid from him. 

How was one supposed to talk about what happened, talk about the fear she felt when she heard someone yelling in the hallway or another patient's family wailing in their grief? How was she supposed to explain where she was taken back when one of the nurses accidentally knocked over a glass vase with flowers from another family? How was she supposed to explain the confinement of her room at night, being unable to move because of the wires and her leg made her remember when her leg had been broken? Sometimes she’d be taken back to the rape, but she always came back to herself before the act as though she was blocking it out. 

It left her wondering if she was missing something important, a crucial detail. She needed to remember.

How did she tell him, sometimes she saw Dimitri when she caught him at an angle where she couldn't see his face? How did she tell him that the man with the burn scar on his neck haunted her dreams at night, how did she admit to him that she had lied once again...it seemed to be all she could do lately was lie. All because she was too afraid, too proud, too weak...too embarrassed to admit what happened, too willing to act like it hadn’t happened at all. 

Hiding the letters, leaving a trail of clues was why she was in this mess in the first place...it was the only reason she was alive. He had cared enough to look for her. She shouldn’t have made it out of there alive, she shouldn’t have dragged them all into her mess to clean up...they were still cleaning up because she’d left so many problems still at their feet. She had to clean this up, she had to settle her debits. 

He may be angry but that was nothing compared to the self-loathing that she felt. She was angry with her circumstances, the level of dependence she was forced to undergo. Angry at herself for the constant lies, everytime she was close to talking about something, something small in her capture...something to let him in, no words would come out and instead she would change the subject. 

Her fingers curled tighter around the blade and the sharper the pain, the easier it was to breathe for the moment. The tension building let up just a little bit.  

“One of the kids will be by after PE today.”

“No.”

He stilled in the doorway. “Irina…” Her name falling from his lips was filled with a level of agitation. He caught himself and sighed loudly releasing the anger in that moment, it wasn’t her fault...he truly couldn’t blame her and yet in some ways he was. “They want to see you, ” he said softly, trying a different tactic, trying to place himself in her position and yet he didn’t want her to be alone. The kids still had a deadline to keep, the clock was still ticking, still getting shorter. 

Karasuma saw the way her eyes filled with tears and she looked away from him. “Another time Karasuma, not right now. Please.” She pulled her knee to her chest and curled arms around it. Why would she want anyone to see her like this? Weren't two adults enough? The knife lay hidden under the covers. If only he knew what she planned to use it for, he probably would have taken it a long time ago. She could hear his footfalls as he came closer.

She stiffened on reflex, but he didn’t strike her, he would never do that. A wave of guilt filled her, she knew he wouldn’t do that. No his fingers threaded gently through her hair. It had to feel disgusting. She didn’t feel worthy of everything he was doing, of his support...of his affection.

Was that love? Is that what love was supposed to be feeling protected and wanted...sheltered from the harsh realities of life?

Who's going to love you now? 

Dimitri’s parting words during their fight were not lost to her. 

The warmth along her hand brought her back to reality, back to the man in front of her. She would never admit that she was waiting for his return when he left, but also for him to never return. A rather vicious cycle as she was filled with awe and unadulterated rage depending on her mood at the time. 

It was just one more thing to hate about herself. 

So many pieces of normal were missing, she would never fully function like everyone else. She’d never been normal after the first time she’d taken someone's life...it changed something in you. Something was missing that others had. Now wasn’t any different; it was just more pronounced that she didn't feel ok. 

“We’ll do another day. It’s ok.” He said softly his large hand covered her own for a moment. His thumbs gently wiped at her tears. His lips pressed to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes closed.

Her chest tightened and she absently rubbed at it. As her blue eyes spotted the clock, she knew he’d be late. Her fingers pressed at his chin and along his cheek, she could feel the faint stubble indicating he'd been rushing this morning. “You’re going to be late.” His light chuckle caused her to smile a little. A flare of light in the darkness that had become her world in the last few days.  

His fingers curled gently along her hand as he brushed a kiss along her fingers. Next his thumb brushed gently over the bruising along her cheek, as though he had all the time in the world. “They’ll understand.” 

Somehow he made her feel like the most important person in the world. It only made the guilt heavier, and her hate uglier. Knowing that she was shutting him out, he wanted to know what happened to her. He  wanted to be able to help her and she wouldn’t talk about it. She wasn’t even sure where to begin, how to explain. Why would she ever wish to share out loud what she’d been through, how would she go about admitting to the second person admitting she remembered.

“Go on,” she insisted, her fingers briefly brushed through his hair, finally giving into her own impulse just this once. Her cheeks heated with color and she looked toward the door at the knock. Her fingers curled to her chest. 

He approached the door and opened it, seeing one of the six nurses who worked in this unit. “Mr. Karasuma, ” the young woman bowed to him and let her attention drift to Irina. “Would you like to try some crutches today? A small walk could be good for you. Once we remove your catheter” she suggested.

“I’ll see you in a few hours.” Irina said quickly, her cheeks darkening further as that information was shared so publicly. The small smile that he flashed to her was only for her as he disappeared down the hallway, he had the grace not to laugh or show that he was phased by this information at all. 

Will he still love you when this is all over? 

What happens when he finds out the truth...finds out all the lies…

The deceptions?

The half truths? 

Is going alone the right move? 

Didn’t this last tragedy teach you anything...you're vulnerable.

What happened with Dimitri and ‘him’...still affects you. 

How can you possibly function at the standard necessary to make it out alive? 

He’d help you if you would let him…

Please...I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Don’t hate me when this is all over...

She gave the nurse a bright smile as she came closer, none the wiser to her inner turmoil. “Maybe getting outside would be a good idea and I think I can give it a try, how hard can it be?” she joked with a light laugh. No one ever saw through her façade, everyone fell for her charms...it was too easy. She needed easy, she needed to hide the darkness just a little longer.

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

Tadaomi Karasuma paused as he hit the elevator button for it to go down. He didn’t glance in the direction of the young man lingering in the shadows. “Shouldn’t you be at school?” he asked but it was clear he already knew the answer and really this turn of events didn’t have surprised him, in fact he’d been banking on him. 

“Nah, I’m not feeling well.” Karma countered his hands stuffed in the pockets of his school uniform pants. “Besides, if anything interesting happens I can borrow Nagisa’s notes or get the details from one of the others.” This was said with a shrug of his shoulders as his golden eyes regarded Karasuma’s haggard appearance, despite his best attempts to be in top form, it was no secret the man was exhausted and those signs of weariness gave way to the fact that there was a lot more going on with Professor B than anyone was willing to actually tell them. 

Sure they knew a bit from what they had overheard, but they didn’t know everything and if one were to read between the lines it was clear things were in motion on a ride no one could fully comprehend. “Do you want to leave her alone here?” He wondered his voice edged with judgement based on his answer. Karma was purposely pressing his buttons, his weaknesses being more apparent the longer she was here. The red head saw the way the older man’s shoulders tensed, telling him something happened, something no one was talking about. “How safe do you believe this place is? A couple of kids got on this floor the day she was placed here.” he continued. 

“It’s not.” 

The short, honest answer had Karma jerking his gaze upward to meet the older man’s angry dark eyes, surprised to see that he was facing him fully no longer intending to ignore him as though he wasn’t really there. 

Karma clenched his teeth together and felt his nails bit along his palms. “Why are you leaving, if it’s not safe?”

Karasuma gave him a heavy look and said nothing for a moment. “You don’t follow the rules Mr. Akabane and you certainly won’t honor the request of your teachers and you certainly won’t listen to Irina when she attempts to kick you out.”

The red head chuckled to himself and pulled his hands from his pocket and ran his fingers back through his hair. “That’s a mighty expectation of me Mr. Karasuma, are you sure you don’t have them too high?” he questioned, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon. 

“Listen,” Karasuma’s serious tone caused Karma to still and it was clear in the eerie way he’d stilled that he was giving his PE teacher his full attention. “If anything feels off about anyone here you make sure to drop this word in conversation. We will be listening.” Karasuma had gotten in his personal space, and his tone had dropped to a low whisper along his ear as he showed him what was written on the inside of his palm, the angle not able to be seen by the cameras in the hallway. Any listening devices wouldn’t be able to pick up what was said either.

The code word was Poseidon.

Karma glanced down at the word and grinned recognizing the connection pretty quickly. He gave an incline of his head and the two parted to give a better distance, watching as Karasuma pressed the elevator button again. “So what happened these last few days?” he questioned as Karasuma stepped onto the elevator. 

“She handled it.” Was the only response he got as the door closed separating them. For a moment Karma scratched at the back of his neck wondering about the details, but after a moment he shrugged to himself and headed down the hallway toward Professor Jelavic’s hospital room, it was an unspoken rule to many of them that calling her Professor Bitch was no longer allowed, for those that really needed the reminder it was spelled out and if they screwed up it wouldn’t be pretty for them. 

He couldn’t say for sure how well Karasuma would take it, he looked about one second away from losing his cool if pressed in the wrong direction. He’d never say it to the guys face, but this was taking its toll. Frowning to himself he placed his ear pod in his ear and used Ritsu to place a call. 

“He’s on his way. Yeah, he’s definitely gonna be late. Get ready.” He considered for a moment and decided to pass along what he knew. “Something happened but no one's talking, why don’t you see what you can find out?” he suggested as he ended the call and pressed open the door of her room. 

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

Irina jerked her blue eyes to the door as the click signified someone was coming in. The nurses always knocked, everyone always knocked. Her heart pounded inside her chest, the rate increasing as her flight or fight response kicked in. Her fingers clutched around the knife she wanted to use, but she didn’t, she wouldn’t until she was sure it was safe to do so. Her breathing was too fast and she was struggling to fight the panic and keep the look off her face and gain some semi balance of control. 

The flare of golden eyes from the doorway, had her popping the switch blade of the knife and the blade cut along her other hand as they shook so violently she almost dropped it in her lap. Karma was quick and batted the blade away with the note book in his hand sending it harmlessly to the floor where it hit with a clatter and skidded away. “Geez Professor I know you're happy to see me but c’mon now,” he joked easily, but his gaze was assessing her with a critical eye. 

He watched the fear slip from her face, her bright blue eyes cleared as she clutched her other hand over the wound as the blood began to seep through her fingers, leaving him wondering how bad she’d cut herself. He watched the fear slip from her face, her features hardened as she gathered herself under control, her emotions locked tight behind her bright blue eyes. 

 “I thought my babysitter was only Ritsu today,” she muttered, her irritation clear in her tone, but she seemed more like herself, not as jittery as she’d been a moment ago, the flare of pain having brought her out of the panic attack and dissociation. 

 Karma moved toward the knife and picked it up. He inspected it for a moment before he retracted the blade and pocketed it. He wasn’t sure she needed it right now. “I wasn't feeling well so I figured I’d take the day off,” he explained casually as he moved toward the bed with a spare white towel he’d found on his pass through of the room. Holding it out, he watched as she pressed the towl to the cut. He didn't hover or offer to help as he sank into the chair beside the bed.

“I’m not here on any official business if that’s what you're worried about. You know how Karasuma is, he never lets anything slip, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to see how you were Professor. You fought well the other night and--” he paused letting the silence settle over them for a moment. “Thanks for looking out for a bunch of brats,” he told her as he folded his hands behind his head and leaned further back in his chair. His gaze skirting the room looking for anything that might be out of place. 

Irina pressed the towel to the slice along the palm of her hand as she listened to arguably one of her best students in terms of intelligence, but he was the biggest rule breaker. Her gaze was thoughtful as she considered what he’d said. “Don’t get the wrong idea, I didn’t do it for you all, but It seems things worked in that direction either way. So don’t go around throwing grace where it isn’t warranted.” 

As the silence stretched between them, she spent a few moments regarding the cut along her palm. She wanted to be angry with the red-head, but he offered her some valuable insight, a way to cut into the panic attacks to wipe them out in a literal manner. A little primitive, but she couldn’t deny the effectiveness. There was no way to know for sure if this would work on the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but she was hoping to for any current quick fix that would allow her to better function. She needed to be on her feet as quickly as possibly and these episodes weren’t helping. 

Her time of playing house with these kids wasn’t something that she could continue to do. She still had a target on her back. The longer she stayed here, stayed in one place for long, even if it was to just heal, it was too dangerous. She’d been there only a few hours and someone had come to take her out. She wasn’t naive enough to deny her saving grace had been Koro-Sensei and Ritsu yesterday. None of that made this any better, she was a sitting duck here and far too vulnerable for her liking. 

She needed a little more time to make her next move. A little more time for her body to heal.

 Karma laughed, the sound gradually building as he regarded the young woman in front of him. “Tell me Professor, how long do you plan to keep everyone in the dark? Killing your childhood friend tends to take its toll. Especially considering all that he did to you. You’re far from ok, yet you want to do this all alone...isn't that the same mentality that got you in this position in the first place?” His sharp eyes were cold, and calculating as their gazes clashed.

Irina removed the towel from her hand and regarded the wound, purposely ignoring him even as he waited for an answer. She flexed her fingers carefully, watching to see if the wound was going to bleed anymore. She didn't have the luxury of band-aides and it wasn't like she could explain this to the nurse. 

There was no lie, no excuse to explain this away, ever her skills of persuasion had their limits.

“If you're just going to berate me for my choices, I don’t believe I need an extra party for such an activity. If you’ve said all that you had to say, you can leave.”

“I’m good thanks, I think I’ll stay a while.”

She resisted the urge to fist her hands. Instead she tossed back her blanket and scooted to the edge of the bed and began to slide from the bed.

“What are you doing?!” The redhead demanded swiftly rising to his feet, worry in his golden eyes. If anything happened to her, he knew exactly who would take the blame in Karasuma’s eyes.

“Leaving obviously.”

Her fingers curled around the first crutch, as her good leg began to buckle under her weight. Irina over-corrected and hadn't had the other crutch ready to catch herself. She felt herself falling as she hadn't been prepared for the weakening of her muscles. It wasn't a surprising phenomenon had she been less hasty, less angry she might have considered that option.

Hands pressed against her shoulders aware of the wound that stretched down the center of her chest. He carefully helped her sit back on the bed. Watched as she coughed into her hands her head tilted away from him. He shifted away from her and retrieved the fallen crutches from the floor. 

“If you're that determined, catch your breath and then we'll see about the courtyard. They have wheelchairs, you know, ” he pointed out with a heavy sigh.

The frosty glare she sent him was telling. He watched the way her hand wiped at the sheet under the blanket once her coughing fit was under control. She hadn’t said anything and he could hear the wheeze of air with every intake of breath. 

He held up his hands. “Alright, alright.” he joked easily, but he was watching the way she rubbed at her chest as though it hurt. “I can’t say I’d want the wheelchair either,” he continued to talk to fill the silence. 

Karma watched as she ran her fingers through her hair and made a face. “I can’t wait to get out of here,” she muttered to herself, her blue eyes went to her leg and it was clear she was considering some options about how long it would take to heal, the leg was covered by a bandage that went half way down her leg and above the knee cap, the metal rods attached to the bone to keep it centered, straight and attached and allow it to heal. In reality she shouldn’t  be walking on her leg for a few more days, the brace her leg was in prevented her from moving. The risk of reopening the wound was too great, but she needed to get out even if it was for just five minutes. 

“Then let’s go.”

Her gaze darted to the crutches he held out toward her. After a moment of deliberation, she rose once more to her feet, her fingers curling along the crutches as she settled them under her arms and she kept her injured leg off the ground. 

Karma tapped the back of her hand injured palm twice and as she carefully lifted it from the crutch he placed the towel there to avoid the rubbing of her skin on the rubber to cause the cut to bleed. He was already going over some other avenues of getting some bandages and one thought made him shudder as the last thing he wanted to be on lately was Karasuma’s bad side, but if she intended to hide it from the nurses well it seemed the only feasible option. 

 “Ready?” he questioned as he stepped back and to the side, giving her enough room to maneuver as she needed too. He watched her move forward toward the door watched as with every step she got a little more sure of herself and her own strength, but one thing he did notice was how tired she was even just going this bit of distance. 

She pressed forward and he didn’t get in her way even as they slipped out the door and headed down the hallway toward the elevator. As they were tucked away from prying eyes he asked the question that had been bothering him. 

“How did you get them to limit their checks?”

She merely smirked and didn't answer him. Instead she caught her breath, her anger flaring as her body failed to complete a simple walk down the hallway. This couldn't continue. She needed to be healing faster.

Irina watched the elevator as it opened and together they rode up instead of down. As Karma caught her look, he linked his hands behind his head. “They built a small courtyard on the building adjacent to this one a few years ago. It has its own walkway on the seventh floor.”

Her ribs ached from the pressure of her arms being raised. Still she pushed through it and they eventually made it to the courtyard. 

She sat on the wooden bench under one of the small trees and for a moment just took it all in. Her fingers trailed over the wood absently as though she were familiarizing herself with the outside world with the freedom she hadn't been sure she would see again.

It sounded ludicrous but it had felt as though she’d traded one prison for another. She knew it wasn't, she knew and yet she still felt that way. Trapped, and unable to escape with her ever present list of enemies bearing down on her.

Karma lingered against the tree out of sight but it still allowed him to watch her and give her the privacy she was so desperate for. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to the rest of those in his class to see how things were going.

Tagging: @oldloveforever​

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shadows and Pills - 3 (end)

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it. Thank you to all my friends, especially @thoughtslikeaminefield and @glassjacket .

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: Shadows and Pills: Part 1 | Part 2 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills -

3 (end)

Morning routine: Can’t wake up if you never went to sleep.

Alarm clock’s broken, anyway. Can’t…

Shower is too far. Not sure she can stand.

Meds…

Dry swallowing sucks. Maybe...give the doc a call. She could try the emergency number.

Getting locked up has to be better, has to-

She can’t find her phone at first. It takes a while to make it out of her bedroom. Her legs don’t seem to want to support her, and it’s oddly painful on her wrists to pull herself up. Maybe she hurt them when she fell out of bed.

Her vision is wavering, and she has to take frequent breaks on the short trek to the kitchen. She considers trying to eat something. It’s been so long, she can’t remember the last time she-

Oh. No food in the apartment. Yeah, so. No, then. No.

What was…

Phone. Doctor. Emergency number.

She grips the back of a chair, forcing numb feet to shuffle on.

Phone. Doctor. Emergency number.

Another step. One more. But why? She doesn’t even know where the damned phone is, anyway.

Phone. Doctor. Emergency number.

Her new mantra carries her across the small apartment, reminding her sieve of a brain of her purpose, no matter how many times she loses track. When she spots her cell phone no more than ten feet away, she almost weeps with relief, but she can’t spare the energy. She allows a single strangled whimper to escape her cracked lips as she fixates on the black rectangle as the lifeline it is.

One more step. And another. And another.

But the phone remains just beyond her fingertips, just beyond her reach, no matter how close she gets. It takes nearly ten minutes of concentrated effort to realize that she’s no closer to the phone than when she started, that she will never reach it.

He won’t let her.

She drops. There’s...why bother...she’s just so tired. And empty. She can’t remember the last time...the last...she can’t-

She can’t remember.

…

Afternoon routine: She. She is.

She was.

She knows she was, once. She had. And she did. But now she doesn’t, she isn’t, she.

Can’t.

She can’t remember.

She wants to stand, to move, to sleep, to eat, to call...someone, she knows she was going to call someone, but-

She wants anything, anything beyond this slump on the cold, hard floor. But she doesn't have a damned thing left. Her eyes track the shadows as they slowly parade across the room, chasing the setting sun.

A final tear rolls down her cheek when she realizes she can’t remember her name.

And then her tears are gone, too.

You are ready for Me now.

“Who-“

Gentle, infinitely powerful arms lift her from the floor, and she feels the sensation of moving without effort. It’s so nice, peaceful even, not having to make an effort. It’s been a long time since anything was so easy. She wonders for a moment why the fingers pressing against her skin feel so right.

Shouldn’t they be cold? It seems like she’s always been cold, but now, the hands, the arms, her breathing, everything just feels easier.

Better.

Rest now, child. Find your peace. Everything will be easier now.

Then the arms are lowering her, and she knows a moment of panic where she is falling, falling for so long, drowning in the oily, choking cesspool-

Hush now. You will know bliss and joy once more. Accept Me, take Me in, and you need never suffer again. I am your salvation.

She takes in a shuddering breath, and the effort alone nearly steals her consciousness. The pain is creeping back in; she has meds for that, there are pills that could-

I am your opium. Breathe Me in, and I shall flow through you, sing elation in your very blood. No more struggle, no more nightmares, only solace and sanctuary.

So tired. She could do it, she really could, though.

Rest, love. Let me comfort you, take your burdens.

Fingers, perfectly warm and gentle, smooth the furrowed lines on her brow, pressing comfort into the creases, tracing soothing patterns on her delicate, papery skin. For the first time in as long as she can remember, she feels cared for, cherished and comforted.

She’s forgotten everything. And now she’s beginning to forget even that. Why was she fighting? Who was she fighting?

There is no one but Us, My pet. Rest now, I will carry your burdens. Will you let Me heal you now?

The question hangs in the air, heavy and much more than it seems, but Alexa is too tired to battle through the implications anymore. She’s done.

“Yes.”

…

“Glad to see you’ve taken advantage of my vacation to make some progress. How are your sleep patterns the last week or so?”

Alexa surveys the doctor quietly for a moment, considering.

“Definitely longer stretches at a time. There are still nightmares, but I don’t remember most of them.”

The doctor’s pen scratches for a moment, then, “Any flashbacks?”

“Fewer. I’ve been trying some of your other suggestions. The meditation seems to help, especially before bed. It’s easier to fall asleep.”

“Good, good. I’m glad you’re seeing some progress at last. Now, who are we up to this week?”

“Actually, Doctor,” Alexa says, standing and gathering her coat and purse, “I have some work I need to get done and sent in to the office before they close for the day. I apologize for cutting short, but I promise I’ll have more progress to report at our next session.”

She turns away from the doctor, opening his office door and departing before he has time to recover from his shock. There will probably be a worried or stern voicemail on her phone later, but, then again, maybe he’ll be impressed enough by her...progress...to leave well enough alone.

Small blessings.

She presses the button for the elevator, then pauses a moment as she waits. A mirror hangs on the wall next to the elevators, and she studies her reflection carefully. A slow, careful smile spreads over her face, and blue eyes sparkle back at her from the angles and curves of her pleased expression.

“Excellent progress,” she murmurs. The elevator announces its arrival with a diminutive ding, and the doors slide open. Alexa steps inside, still smiling as the doors close.

[wavesmp3]

eurydice

minghao x reader - retelling of orpheus and eurydice, steampunk au  - warnings: death - wc: 3.8k - for cwc fall fic fest !

---

minghao hadn’t expected the underworld to be this quiet. although, when he thinks about it, he isn’t sure what he did expect. there’s an eerie stillness in the silent air that drips down his torso and dangles by his feet begging him to stay. be weary of the underworld the guide had warned him it lives to tempt fools like you. 

‘fool’ was the word the guide had used. minghao had denied it in the moment. “love,” he said to the guide, with a determined set to his jaw, “i’m doing this for love.” but now as he wanders the silent darkness and unnatural heat of the underworld with only a lantern to light his passage, he thinks that perhaps the guide wasn’t too far off. for his love made him foolish enough to make a deal with a demon and travel the underworld all in search of you. 

“you came.” you say to him once he finds you with a voice so quiet it almost gets lost before it reaches his ears. you don’t look shocked to see him. you don’t even look happy. in fact, you barely look like you. minghao doesn’t recognize the hollowed shape of your face and the dull line your lips make. he found your body in the darkness, but for a moment, minghao can’t be positive he found you with it. 

“of course,” he gulps, and you don’t make any indication that you’ve even heard him speak. he swallows again and shifts the lantern to his other hand, bouncing slightly on his heels. he fights the urge to shove his fists into pockets, and another, more prominent urge to turn around and run straight for the sun. “you waited.”

“well, yeah,” you shrug, “what else is a dead person supposed to do?”

--

minghao remembers the day you died. remembers it too well, almost. he remembers the ringing in his ears and a hollowness inside his chest. he remembers the way he couldn’t cry. the way he couldn’t feel sad. he remembers hearing that you had died and thinking there was no way in hell he’d let it stay like that. minghao knew, from the moment he heard, that he’d come and find you.

minghao hasn’t cried. but right now, staring at the face of someone who’s been dead for too long, he feels like he just might.

--

“you made a deal with a demon.” you repeat, voice still void of anything sounding remotely like you.

“yeah.” he says, picking at a spot below his chin, faking nonchalance in the same way he would’ve when he first met you. the same nonchalance that you used to poke his side and tease him for. but when he does it right now, you barely seem to register the words let alone the tone of them. “for you. i made a deal for you.”

you nod. “what is it?”

“you get to come with me back to the real world...”

“...but?”

“but you have to walk behind me the entire time. and I can’t look back. not once, not until we’re back up above.”

“and what happens if you do?”

“you die.” he waits a beat. “again.” 

you utter something incomprehensible, a small croak that sounds faintly like a scoff. “kind of like eurydice.”

minghao leans forward. “what?”

you meet his eyes suddenly, as if only now realizing he’s been next to you this entire time. you blink. “nevermind.”

you don’t make a sound after that, don’t even move a muscle. minghao didn’t expect you to be elated, but he did expect you to at least be surprised. and your lack of shock, your lack of… you, creates a knee-deep river of doubt in his mind. “you don’t have to come with me.” he says with what he hopes is reassurance. “i didn’t come here to force you back. i came here to ask.” 

and the silence that comes after he says it stretches into eternity. an infinite eternity that ends the second your mouth twitches, just barely, into what minghao swears is a smile. “you came.” 

he inhales, and the air tastes faintly like hope. “i couldn’t let you go.”

“okay.” you accept, fiddling with something minghao can’t make out in your hand. and the admission, makes him release a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. minghao knew coming down here was a shot in the dark. literally. his friends had made sure he knew. even the guide had made it clear: sometimes the dead don’t want to return. so, yeah, minghao knew there was no guarantee you’d want to follow him back to the real world and no guarantee you’d agree to the demon’s terms. but all that doubt, all those voices telling him no seem so insignificant when he hears you say: “i’ll come with you.” 

you meet his eyes again, and this time they look a little more like yours.

--

throughout his relationship with you, minghao grew fond of the way you cracked your knuckles and joints. it’s stress relief you’d tell him popping your neck for the fifth time that morning. he’d found it odd at first, concerning even. but now days, minghao can’t seem to find the way you crack your back every time you get up as anything but endearing. 

even now, as you pace around the small, tattered couch that you had bought off of the old apothecary owner, cracking your knuckles anxiously, minghao feels nothing more than a small, comforting pang of affection for the way you worry about tomorrow’s work at the plant. 

“it’s a really big shipment,” you tell him, coming around the couch for what he counts as the sixteenth time, “and i’m gonna be running it alone.” 

“you’ve done solo shipments before.”

“not one like this.”

“i think,” minghao says, patting the spot next to him on the couch, “you’ll be fine.” you slump into the couch, the green cloth almost swallowing you whole. 

“yeah,” you nod, leaning into his side, “you’re probably right.” 

“and also,” minghao begins, reaching over to retrieve a piece of folded paper from his coat pocket, “soonyoung gave this to me today.” 

he hands you the ad for a ticket to center circle. tickets to center circle are hard to come by and expensive to buy. but minghao figures if he pitches some money in, you’ll have just enough for a one-way ticket there.

you study the ad for a while, running your finger against the crease in the paper. minghao shifts uncomfortably in his seat while you do. 

wordlessly, you fold the paper back up and toss it on the coffee table. 

minghao gulps. “you don’t want it?”

“i don’t need it anymore.” you shrug. 

“but it’s your dream.” he insists, hoping his face doesn’t give away how happy he is that you want to stay in ironport. 

burying your face against his body, you murmur, “dreams change.” 

this time, minghao doesn’t hide his elation at the news.

--

the walk to the real world begins quietly. 

“do you remember the myth of orpheus and eurydice?” you say from somewhere behind minghao, voice quiet and yet far. and yes, it must be far because the words sound like they’ve been echoing off the rocks and stones for years. 

“remind me.” 

“from what i can remember, they were in love.” you wait a moment, and minghao could bet that if he turned around right now, he’d find you somewhere far behind him, cracking your knuckles. “and when eurydice died, orpheus convinced hades to let her go on the same terms as your deal with the demon. or something like that.” 

“i see,” minghao whispers. “so what happened when they made it back to earth?” 

“that’s the thing,” you say, this time nearly yelling the words, “they didn’t. orpheus looked back at the last second.” 

minghao stops walking. “well, that’s not going to be us.” 

he hears you sigh. “i know.” 

minghao starts walking again, holding up the lantern that emits just enough light to see his feet and nothing else. “so why’d he look back?” 

“i don’t think the myth really says. some say he got impatient. others say orpheus began to doubt that eurydice was actually behind him and then also doubt that hades would ever let her go. but I think they’re all wrong. maybe he looked back because eurydice asked him to.” 

the implication makes minghao gulp. “why would she do that?” 

you don’t answer the question. “why do you think orpheus turned?”

“i don’t know.” 

“turn around and you will.”

“that’s not funny.”

quietly, you say: “it wasn’t a joke.” 

minghao pretends to not hear. 

--

when minghao realized he loved you, it wasn’t something big or spectacular. it wasn’t a tidal wave of emotion that crashed and dragged him below the tide. rather, it was a small wave of adoration that lapped by his feet, a cool and calm sensation that made him want to dig his heels in the sand and wade further into the water. 

when minghao realizes he loves you, you’re sitting on his kitchen counter, complaining about work. 

“i love you.” he admits, walking towards where you sit. he doesn’t miss the way you still and the way you refuse to look anywhere but at your own hands. and minghao knows it’s too soon, too fast. it’s only been two months since he’s known you. one month since you started dating. he knows it’s too soon to have fallen in love. but that doesn’t really change the fact that he has. he repeats it, feeling a deep need to cement this moment further into his memory and another to memorize the image of you sitting on his kitchen counter smiling at your hands. 

“for real?” you mutter, biting back either a smile or a laugh, minghao can’t be sure which one. he nods, wrapping his arms around your waist. you crack a lone knuckle. “well that makes this awkward, and i really hadn’t planned on telling you liked this but,” you hold up your left hand, the ring that’s usually on your middle finger now fitted around your ring finger, “i’m actually married.” 

“really?” he leans back. you give him a sympathetic nod. “to who?” 

you switch the ring back. “oh well to the music of course.” 

“yeah,” minghao laughs, leaning forward until his forehead is pressed against yours, “i’m definitely in love with you.” 

you don’t hide the smile this time. instead you take his face between his palms and press your lips to his. 

it’s three weeks after that moment in his kitchen, that you return the statement, although you don’t return it with the words themself. 

he meets you on one of the benches outside the warehouse after work. when you see him approaching, something seems to visibly soften throughout your entire body. you pull him down to sit next to you on the bench, wrap your arms around his torso under his heavy coat, and bury your face into the space between his shoulder and his chest. 

minghao’s surprised by the gesture. you were never one to initiate affectionate and even less likely in public. he places a kiss on your temple. “you okay?” 

“i had the worst day at the plant.” you mumble into his coat. 

“do you wanna talk about it?” 

“no,” you hesitate as if deciding what it is that you do want. after a moment you answer: “i just want you near.”

--

“do you feel that?” minghao hears you ask. 

“feel what?” 

“the rain?” 

he holds out his palm and stares at the darkness above. how could it possibly rain in a place like this, minghao wonders to himself. 

“no.” he finally answers. “i don’t feel anything.” 

“it’s pouring!” he can’t tell. he doesn’t hear the rain, doesn’t hear the thunder you claim to have heard. but he hears your voice, and it sounds warbled as if coming from behind curtains and curtains of pounding rain. he can tell you’re yelling to be heard over it. “you still don’t feel it?”

“no!” he yells back.

“i’m tired.” 

“we’re almost there.” he says to the darkness that stretches before him, praying that it bounces off the emptiness of this world and finds you. “we just have to make it through the night.”

“no, minghao, i’m tired.” you repeat frustrated. and with the way you say it, minghao isn’t sure what exactly you’re tired of.

“do you remember your first storm in ironport?” he asks, a desperate attempt to take your mind off the current storm, and another, more hopeless try to make you miss home. 

“yeah,” you murmur, voice no longer a desperate yell. and yet somehow, minghao hears you better now than he did before. “how could i forget?”

--

the day of your first ironport strom is also the day of you and minghao’s first kiss.

in all transparency, minghao hadn’t noticed the dark clouds gathering above and the distant rumbling coming from the farmlands in the west. he’d been too distracted with watching you nod off during the trolley ride back from the warehouse, too distracted trying to make sure your head stayed perfectly balanced on his shoulder. 

but by the time the trolley does squeak and stutter to your stop, it’s pouring. you slowly get up and hover by the exit, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “i bet you hadn’t insisted on taking me home now.” you say between a yawn.

minghao shakes his head and joins you by the exit, wearing a smile that feels too bright against the weather outside. “make a run for it?” he suggests. 

you scrunch your nose and crack your knuckles. “yeah, okay.” you find his hand, and fit it against your own. “ready?” 

minghao swallows the fluttering in his stomach. “ready.” 

despite the running and shocked yelps, you’re drenched before you even make it to the end of the street. and it’s sometime after the second turn that you both give up entirely, jumping into puddles at the corner of rosebud and kicking water at each other. 

“look,” you exclaim, pointing at the sky, “there’s a break in the clouds.” minghao looks up at where you point. ironport is known for its ferocious storms with dark grey and angry clouds that tumble across the sky and linger there for days on end. minghao, living in ironport his whole life, has seen his fair share of the town’s storms, but this, minghao has never seen. over the farmlands, the clouds part across the sky and a golden light comes pouring over the grassy hills. and for a small moment, gazing upon the sky’s golden spotlight, minghao lets himself believe that the heavens are real. your voice comes out low. “it’s beautiful isn’t it?”

his eyes land on you. “yeah, it is.”

and minghao’s so lost, mindlessly staring at you that he almost doesn’t register the way you stare back at him with a lopsided smile, grab his color, and pull him towards you until his lips meet yours. 

almost.

--

“still raining?” minghao asks, just to check if you’re still behind.

“yeah.” 

“you must be drenched.” 

“i am.” you pause. “and cold.” it must be a test, minghao thinks. or a trial of some sort, because how is he supposed to not turn around right at this moment and give you something to make you warm. with a sinking feeling that never seems to diminish in the underworld, minghao trudges on through the dark. he’s pulled out of his thoughts when you ask: “how do you know you’ve made a mistake?” 

he tilts his head at the question. it’s an odd question, yes. but something to pass the time he assumes. “you know the sensation you get on the air lift right before the drop by the watchtower.” he waits for some affirmation that you’ve heard. it never comes. “it feels like that for me. like a rock in my gut. i know i’ve made a mistake because i feel the wrongness of it.” 

you let out a small cough. “do you feel that right now?”

“no.” something akin to fear settles underneath his tongue. “do you?”

--

it’s after you’ve been in town for a month that soonyoung asks if you and minghao are friends. minghao doesn’t think to mention the way you two have been hanging out at the warehouse every day after work or how much he enjoys talking with you. it doesn’t phase minghao to describe the lack of air in his lungs each time you’re so much as mentioned or the smile that appears whenever you’re near. instead, he shrugs, and says, “yeah, i guess we’ve gotten close.”

--

“it stopped raining,” you murmur softly, sounding close. so close minghao thinks he can smell the rainwater dripping from your clothes and hear your arms flailing in the darkness. it takes a moment for him to realize, you actually are. 

“when did you get so close?” 

“oh, minghao,” you smile, or at least he imagines you do, “i’ve never been far.” 

--

the second time minghao sees you is not a coincidence. he’s been spending every evening at the warehouse since your first conversation together, hoping at some point in the night you’ll walk in with the other plant workers. until finally one night you do. 

“small world.” he begins, meeting you at the bar. 

“yeah,” you reply, and a sudden warmth fills minghao when you purse your lips, as if there’s a private joke hiding behind your teeth. “we’re all closer than we think.”

--

the first thing minghao thinks when a sort of warmth fills his body, is that there’s a fire growing in the dark abyss that is the road between the underworld and the real one. 

it’s only when he hears you say, “minghao is that the…?” does he realize that the warmth lingering in his fingertips is from the sun. the world around him is still entirely dark, the only light being from the lantern still. but before minghao sees the light of the sun, he can feel the sunlight and taste it on his tongue. 

“it’s almost over,” he says to the new warmth in his knees and to you who’s now so close behind him.

you don’t respond. and some small part of minghao that’s buried under oceans of grief and love, knows what the silence means. a miniscule, almost negligible, part of minghao knows how to interpret your lack of response. 

but the larger, more intruding part of minghao that can’t bear the idea of letting you go, selfishly asks, “what about your dream? what about center circle?”

you sigh, and it’s the first sound you’ve made since noticing the sun. “oh minghao, i stopped caring about center circle the day i met you.”

--

the first time minghao sees you is at the warehouse. and as soon as you enter with the other plant workers, minghao knows you’re new. he can tell by the way you talk, with an accent that sounds too western to be from around here, and from the way your face is the only one he doesn’t know. curiosity is what he tells himself and soonyoung when asked later that week. minghao approaches you at the warehouse bar because he’s curious. although, curiosity doesn’t begin to explain the churning in his gut and the chill running down his spine as he does. 

“hey,” he greets, resting his elbows against the bar. “i’m minghao.” 

you study him before answering, as if determining whether you should even bother with giving him your name. lucky for him, you do. 

“you new around here?” he asks, despite knowing you are. the polite thing to do, he figures. 

“what gave me away?” you snort.

“ironport’s a small town.” he shrugs, with a degree of nonchalance that doesn’t at all match the current pace of his heart. “the people that are born here tend to die here as well.” 

“not me.” you mutter, shaking your head. “i’m certainly not dying in ironport.” 

minghao seats himself on the barstool next to you. “is there a preferred place of death then?”

“center circle.” you tell him, as the barkeep slides you your drink. “it’s been my dream since forever. i’ve worked my way up from the wallows to the plains and now finally to ironport. if i die before getting to the center circle, i’ll walk there from hell myself.”

“that’s a bold dream.” he responds half-teasing, half-not.

you take a long sip from your drink. “i know.” 

“and yet?”

you meet his eyes steadily. “and yet i can’t let it go.” 

at the bottom of his gut minghao again feels curiosity tug.

--

“minghao,” you breathe, so close he can feel it on his shoulder. “come back to me.” he doesn’t respond, acts like he doesn’t even hear the words. instead, he steps forward, feels the warmth of the sun on his cheek, and then sinks back into the cool sensation of your forehead knocking against his neck. 

“come back to me, okay?” you repeat into his back. “but don’t come back too soon.” 

“and you’ll wait for me?” he asks, yearning for nothing more than to turn around and kiss your eyelids and nose and cheeks and lips. wanting nothing more than to turn around and memorize your face in all the ways he forgot to do while you were alive and on earth. 

“well yeah,” you smile against his shirt, “what else is a dead person supposed to do?”

and for a small second, relishing in the sensation of your chest shaking with laughter against his back, minghao feels at peace.

“so have you figured it out yet?” you start, lifting your chin from his shoulder, and interlocking your fingers with his. “have you figured out why orpheus turned?” 

“no.” he returns, with a squeeze. 

“but i’m about to find out.” 

--

a/n: kind of a mess of a fic at this point, but idk also i may or may not have edited this one bit ... 

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 27

Prompt: “I can’t lose you too” (alternate prompt)

Read Part 1: Read My Mind (Day 5: “take me instead”) here! 

Read on AO3

All These Things That I Have Done

When Qui-Gon sees the young Duchess running across the field alone, his worst suspicions are confirmed.

They were gone for too long. Obi-Wan wasn't answering his commlink, which was his first clue. Then, he reached out through their training bond, he was shocked to find his padawan felt faraway. Too far away for him to reach.

His padawan has been distant lately. His shields have been locked tight. Qui-Gon assumed being away from the Temple for so long was getting to him. Long missions can take a toll on young Jedi, and this one has been exceptionally lengthy and unpredictable. Even so, teenage angst is very different than the horrible feeling that fills the Force now.

He runs to meet her. Satine Kryze's eyes are brimmed with red and face flushed with exhaustion when they met one another.

"It's... Obi. Bounty hun...ters," she gasps between heavy breaths.

"Breathe child, breathe and tell me what has happened," he says as calmly as he can manage. Internally, his heart is racing with anticipation.

"Bounty hunters found us. Obi-Wan tried to fight them off, but one took him."

"How many, Satine?"

"Four," she looks past him. "Two are dead. One was near dead when I left him."

Oh, padawan. He should have gone with them. Should have been there to help his padawan and none of this would have happened. Still, something nags him. "Why did they take Obi-Wan?"

The girl's lip quivers.

"He... was very convincing."

The Jedi Master nods. He knows how Obi-Wan can get, and it doesn't surprise him at all that he would sacrifice himself.

"Alright... alright, we must move swiftly." He turns and walks with long strides back toward their ship. The young duchess trails close behind him. He can feel the anxiety radiating off her. But as they run up the ramp of the ship he also feels her draw in her worry, hiding it behind feigned confidence. Satine Kryze is young, but he cannot deny she has the spirit of a leader.

Qui-Gon immediately starts firing up the engines, only noticing that Satine has taken station at the navicomputer.

"Are you entering coordinates?" he asks.

"I'm tracking his location." He looks at her, raising an eyebrow. The young duchess shrugs. "I had a feeling, so I slipped my beacon into his pocket."

Clever one, he thinks, a small smile appearing on his lips. We are coming for you, Obi-Wan.

_________

They're in hyperspace as soon as they clear the atmosphere. The Kiffar bounty hunter has him strapped to the co-pilot chair, his hands now bound behind his back and uncomfortably pressed into the unpadded back of the chair.

While usually, Obi-Wan finds the buzz of hyperspace to be soothing, right now all he can think about is how with every passing second he grows further from Satine and his master. He can feel it in the tug of his training bond growing thinner and thinner, and Obi-Wan squeezes his eyes shut as any feeling of proximity vanishes from his mind.

"You're young," the bounty hunter says, his demeanor much less imposing and even a little awkward now that they aren't in the midst of a stand-off. "But you dealt with my team quite efficiently."

"I have my duty as you have yours," he says, having to choke out the implication that hunting bounties are any type of dutiful career.

"Oh, that's what they're calling it these days?" Obi-Wan opens one eye to see the bounty hunter leaning on the side of his chair, a smug look on his face. "Back in my day, we called it going steady."

Suddenly Obi-Wan wishes he'd been thrown in the brig. "We're not--"

"No need to explain yourself. I knew the Jedi couldn't be complete squares."

Well, this certainly wasn't the post-capture conversation Obi-Wan expected to have. He didn't expect any post-capture conversation, actually. He shifts in the seat, trying to relieve the numbness that's slowly traveling up his wrists.

"Are you hungry?" the bounty hunter asks, pulling out a ration bar from his pocket. Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "It's not poisoned or anything, I packed this for myself, kid."

"I wasn't worried about it being poisoned until you brought it up. I was more wondering what your motive here is."

He chuckles. "My motive seems to be pretty clear to me."

"I don't know much about being a bounty hunter, but ensuring their marks are comfortable doesn't seem to be part of the job description."

"So you reject a snack 'cause you don't think I should be a hospitable host?" He shakes his head, opening the packet of the protein bar and taking a big bite out of it. "Whatever flies your ship, kid."

But it's not that, and Obi-Wan knows it. He just has this sinking feeling... like something isn't adding up here. It's not the being captured part, or the ration bar... Obi-Wan looks at the bounty hunter and his gaze flickering back and forth between the controls and him.

The feeling of guilt is what is making him feel so uneasy. The emotion is filling this ship, and it's originating from the Kiffar. Obi-Wan looks at the navicomputer, and realizes though the name of their projected location isn't displayed, the coordinates are, and they are not the coordinates of Mandalore... or anything even near that system.

"Where... are you taking me? Who ordered the bounty?"

The hunter goes still, not looking back at Obi-Wan this time. He feels the fields of his restraints increase in energy, digging into his wrists even more.

"I can't give you that--"

"This was never about Mandalore, was it?" he says, his throat tightening when he feels the nervousness radiating off the hunter. "This wasn't about Satine at all."

The Kiffar finally turns around. "A Jedi-- a student Jedi-- is worth the big bucks. Money that I need."

Obi-Wan stares back at him with alarm. "But... who?"

In that moment the ship pulls out of hyperspace. A planet Obi-Wan has never seen before looms before them. He gasps silently. The Force here is greatly unbalanced, making his entire body go cold. Darkness seems to be trying to grab him, pulling him into its icy grasp. He looks at the Kiffar, who seems as unsettled as he is. He puts the ship in orbit, and stands from the pilot chair to work on a panel near the door.

"I'm sendin' you down in a pod."

"You know you don't have to do this. I have other bounties on my head you could take me to. Mandalore--Mandalore would take me."

"The Mandalore bounty is only valid with the girl. Or to bring you in dead..." he glances over Obi-Wan. "I don't kill kids."

"To send me down there would be as good as killing me!"

Truth be told, he hasn't a clue what even is down there, but never in his life has ever felt darkness of this kind. Though the Sith are thought to all be dead, he can't shake the feeling that maybe the Jedi are wrong about something.

The bounty hunter pauses. Just a moment and in that moment Obi-Wan hopes... but his hope is in vain as a moment later he resumes the takeoff codes and turns back to the padawan. Obi-Wan's stomach drops as he grabs him by the arm, pulling him to his feet and basically dragging him toward the back of the ship. He reaches through his bond one more time, but there seems to only be static surrounding him.

Though he promised not to fight back, the situation has changed.

Obi-Wan summons the Force, sending various loose articles lying around the cockpit flying at the bounty hunter. The Kiffar releases him out of reflex to protect himself from a projectile extinguisher, and Obi-Wan jumps out of his grasp and runs out of the cockpit. Heavy footsteps follow close behind as he jumps down into the cargo bay, searching for some sort of weapon.

There's a locked cabinet on the far end. He runs to it as the bounty hunter makes it down the ladder. In his mind's eye he gets the flicker of warning through the Force, and he ducks as a few blaster shots scourch the wall beside him. He reaches out through the Force, and the door of the cabnet crunches, revealing a few blasters and a vibroblade inside. With his hands still tied behind his back he backs into the cabinet and grabs the vibroblade, presses it against his restraints and grits his teeth as he turns it on. The jolt of electricity makes the shackles heat up and burn his wrists, but it also is enough to short circuit the electrical locks. The electrocuffs drop, and Obi-Wan has to dive out of the way to avoid another assault of blasters.

"Nice try, kid," the Kiffar says, as he stands over Obi-Wan. He is about to jump up and continue the fight, but the bounty hunter holds up a remove, and the padawan realizes too late  that though his hands are free, the electrocuffs attached to a waist-lock that he hadn't yet gotten to remove. The button is pressed, and a sudden jolt of electricity courses through his body, making him shake and his muscles sieze. Dark dots dance before his vision, and even when the shock ceases he can still feel his nerves sending prickling sensations up his arms and legs. His eyelids are heavy, wanting so desperately to close, but he knows he mustn't. The bounty hunger scoops him up like a youngling, swatting away Obi-Wan's pitiful attempt to continue fighting back. "You're tough, I'll give you that. Maybe it won't be so bad."

His body is thrown roughly into a smaller compartment, the door closing immediately behind him. Obi-Wan tries to push himself up, but he's still groggy from the electrocution.

The escape pod shutters, and then separates from the ship. His eyes finally close for good as the thrusters kick in, and he begins his descent into the dark planet.

__________

The ship jerks as it suddenly pops out of hyperspace, no usual regard for courtesy braking coming from the distraught Jedi Master. She stares with wide eyes at the planet that did not show up on Master Jinn's star charts when they tried to track the course of the bounty hunter. They theorized that perhaps there was to be handoff.

But no. There is a planet here, and the sight of it makes Satine's skin crawl.

She tries not to think about the fact that had she not slipped the beacon into Obi-Wan's pocket, they wouldn't have been able to find him so far out in the Outer Rim.

"What is this place?" she asks. Master Jinn looks pale, his eyes scanning frantically. Even though he has the face of serenity and calmness, she can see the evidence of his desperation.

"It's..." he trails off, breathing deeply. "It's somewhere we do not want to be, young one."

The beacon is blinking rapidly now-- they're close. Satine presses her face against the front shield, looking for some evidence of the bounty hunter's ship.

"There," she hears the Jedi say softly, and she turns to see he has already begun steering toward a loitering ship orbiting nearby. As though the ship sees it has been spotted, its engines immediately fire up, and it turns in the opposite direction.

"No!" she bellows, pressing her hand against the window. "Obi-Wan!"

"Calm, Satine," Master Jinn says with surprising lack of urgency.

"But he--"

"He is still here." The ship dips, and Satine sees that plummeting toward the surface of the planet is a small escape pod. Master Jinn powers up the canons, carefully targeting, and firing at the pod. She holds her breath as the canon shot masterfully hits the escape pod, making the thrusters flicker out. It is knocked off course, now just floating through the anti-gravity of space. Relief washes through her.

They fly down to the escape pod, picking it up in their tractor beams. Satine jumps up as soon as they receive the confirmation the hatch has secured, running out of the cockpit before the Jedi Master even has a chance to stand. She doesn't care what he may think of her behavior-- she just needs to know he is okay.

Her valiant Jedi-- an absolute imbecile sometimes, but truly the best thing she could have in a time that she has lost so much. Her home is being torn apart and through it all Obi-Wan has been there not just to protect her from the bounty hunters that have tried many times to kill her. He has also just simply been there for her. As a friend. As of recently, more than that.

Maybe that's why her heart is pounding as she presses the button to open the escape pod hatch over and over again, until finally a blast of steam hits her in the face and she has to turn away as the pod depressurizes and allows the door to open. As Satine squints through the thinning smoke, her heart drops to her feet.

Obi-Wan lays crumbled in the corner of the small pod, his eyes closed.

"Obi!" she jumps into the pod and kneels at his side, taking in the burned and bloodied marks on his wrists, the trickle of blood from his hairline that has dripped down his temple traced the contour of his cheekbones. "Obi please," she whispers, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I can't lose you, too."

She can feel eyes on her. And then a hand on her shoulder. She isn't sure how much Master Jinn has heard, but she doesn't care. A large hand reaches over her shoulder, pressing two fingers to Obi-Wan's neck just below his ear, and then stretching his hand over his eyes so his thumb and pinkie finger press against Obi-Wan's temples.

"He's alright," the Jedi Master says softly. "Let me take him into the cabin."

Satine moves, watches as the older Jedi picks up her Obi-Wan in his arms and carry him out of the escape pod. She stays in the escape pod a moment longer, drawing in a deep breath and then letting it out. He's alright... he's okay.

She sits as his bedside as Master Jinn gets the ship back into hyperspace. Gets them out of whatever place this is. He is pale, looks tired and quite young as he sleeps. She brushes his hair from his eyes-- it's grown quite long since this mission began, forming a slight wave at the ends that she likes to curl around her fingers.

"You stubborn, insipid man," she says softly to his sleeping form. "How dare you give yourself up for me? You should have seen the face of your master, he was quite worried," she swallows hard, remembering the look of complete resignation on his face when he offered himself in her place. He did it like it was the most logical choice in the world. She lays her head down on his chest, comforted in the feeling of his chest rising and falling. "I was quite worried... But I will not be going back on my promise to strangle you for your insolence now that I have you back."

"So I should have taken my chances on that planet, then?" a raspy voice rings out, and Satine's head snaps up. Obi-Wan's lovely blue eyes stare back at her, tired but twinkling with his own relief.

"Obi," she breathes, and throws her arms around his neck as he rises to meet her. His lips brush against her neck, his nose nestling in her hair. "You're awake."

"You'll have to try much harder than that to get rid of me, my dear."

She pulls back, unable to help the grin that has broken out across her face. "I'll keep that in mind next time you pull such a stunt."

"Stunts? Oh please, I am only doing my job and you find it incredibly enticing."

"You are gravely mistaken about that."

"Oh, I have seen the way you watch me practice with the lightsaber, you aren't quite as incognito as you believe."

She blushes, shaking her head. Only Obi-Wan would be toying with her as soon as he came out of being unconscious. He smiles back at her, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it softly. "I'd do it again."

Satine nods, reaching into his pocket and pulling out her tracking beacon that he apparently did not find. "I know."

[writinginthedarkwood]

Alien! Kirishima x Reader: Better With You

Warning: NSFW, ovipositor kink, implications of past abuse (not done by our shark toothed boy)

I recommend checking out some of the other parts to this AU! MY MASTERLIST 

You can enjoy this without it, but reading the other parts might answer some questions you have. :) 

The tornado siren wailed. It’s a sound I’ve heard my entire life, but it’s taken on a completely new meaning. 

Before, we’d run to the middle of the park and take shelter with our neighbors. I remember being little, and hiding under the ground from the violent winds that would tear through our community. 

The piercing sound stirred all the sleeping bodies around, the light flicked on in my neighbors trailer. I watched her shadow hurry and throw things into a bag through her window. She pushed her small son out of the door as they ran to take shelter. 

Everyone in the park jolted awake, panicking and running in fear.

Everyone but me, and my father. 

My father whistled through his nose as he slept. He turned only slightly in that worn down chair, his foot kicking the pile of aluminum cans over, but otherwise completely unconscious. The T.V. was a loud rerun of a crime show, but it suddenly switched over to the emergency broadcast. 

The male anchor spoke with a shaking voice. “Paris is falling.” He swallowed hard. “Please take shelter immediately....” He held the paper holding his cues and set it down before reading the next line. “A craft was spotted over Lexington... may God have mercy on us.” The camera cut to the sound of the emergency alarm. I rushed and shut the T.V. off, my heart pounding. My father didn’t stir, still sleeping like the dead.

This was it, it was finally my turn.

I ran to the front door and opened it slowly, closing it behind me as quietly as possible. I climbed onto our garbage can, using the gutter to stable myself before jumping onto the roof.

I used to sit out here when I was little, breathing air that wasn't heavy with cigarette smoke.

The sky looks different to me now, like the stars were actually thousands of eyes looking down at me. Or that it might actually crack open, spilling thousands of bug like aliens down to the ground like in the movies. Even though people are terrified, cities are going up in flames and families are being separated. The footage they catch of girls being taken, they always go with a smile on their face.

Whatever was coming for me, had to be better than here.

"Wow the sky looks really cool from down here." A male voice startled me, I gasped and stared at an interesting looking soldier stood behind me. He had no shirt on, but a sash going over his chest was decorated with patches and medals. His black pants almost seemed a bit big on him, and one pant leg was tucked into his boots. He had brilliant and striking red hair, sticking out of his head like a spikey rock formation with just as incredible red eyes to match.

His teeth were sharp, but his face was gentle and kind.

He smiled at me and sat down beside me. "I wish I had more time to look around..." My breath was stuck in my chest, my hands were shaking.

Is this... man the alien? He dug in a pouch on his hip and pulled out a clay figurine. "I found this. I just think it looks awesome, it's for you." I didn't reach out to take it, my body feeling frozen with shock. He gently grabbed my wrist and flipped my palm over, placing a little frog statue in my hand. It was warm from him holding it. It must have came from someone's garden in the park. "I-..." The little frogs paint was chipped, but it was cute. "Thank you. I like it." I kind of smiled at him, not entirely sure how I'm supposed to feel. "I was hoping you would! You've probably guessed who I am." He said with a hint of blush on his cheeks like he was shy. "I was surprised to find you out here in the open." He thought for a moment. "Are you alright?"

I looked at him, his face was sweet and filled with concern.

Hot tears stung my eyes and I buried my head between my knees and tried to hold back a sob.

"Hey, hey don't be upset... I promise I'm not here to hurt you." His touch surprised me. His hand pulled my head out of my hands and turned my face to look at him better.

"Your cheek is swollen. Are you injured?"

I said nothing and his eyes narrowed. "Come here, come here everything is okay now..." He stood and helped me stand to my feet. He placed his lips on my cheek and parted his mouth, his spit making a small space sticky and wet.

A pleasant sensation came over my tired body. He pulled me into his arms, lifting my feet off of the ground and holding me bridal style. I laid my head on his chest, feeling warm and comfortable. I closed my eyes and rested on him.

Is this why all that footage from fallen cities had girls with smiling faces? They suspected brain washing. I don't feel brainwashed.

I feel good.

I opened my eyes to look at him and saw that we were somewhere completely different.

We were in some type of hallway. There were a lot of people here, couples walking together. Some girls looked a bit like me, wearing normal clothes. They looked a bit shaken up, and clung onto their accompanying alien tightly. Other girls were human, but something was different. They were smiling brightly, wearing all the same dress but in different colors and patterns.

A lot of them had small pregnant bellies.

He set me down on my feet and took my arm to keep me steady. "Welcome home! The ship is designed to look like a neutral place our humans would enjoy vacationing too."

It did sort of look like a hotel.

He opened a sliding door by placing his palm on the wall and we stepped inside. "You know you're a little quiet, which surprises me. But I'm hoping you'll warm up... you still have what I gave you?"

I held out the little frog and he took it, setting it on a plain white table. "Our first decoration!" He leaned against the table and crossing his arms, making the medals on his sash jingle. "You probably have a lot of questions. I am Captain Kirishima Eijiro. You can just call me Eijiro, but if you don't like that name you can call me something else!" He nervously laughed. "Wait that's weird. Am I blowing this? I feel like I'm messing up."

"I'm Y/N... it's nice to meet you." I stood there awkwardly and looked around the room. It was pretty plain, a small bed in the corner. A kitchen without any utensils. "So you're not going to... kill me?" I asked feeling like my tears might come back.

He looked at me funny. "No not at all. Did you think that and you didn't fight me?" Eijiro's face was very concerned. "How about you take a hot shower and afterwards we get you something to eat."

The bathroom was small, and the shower wasn't too difficult to figure out how to turn on, but I couldn't get the steamy water to shut off. I wrapped myself in a soft towel and just about opened the door when I heard his voice.

"Yes I'm worried about the wellbeing of my mate. Her wellness scan says her brain is imbalanced. I think she's been emotionally injured." He was speaking to someone, I didn't hear another voice. "Yes sir. Thank you your Highness. I'll give her nutrition and treat her with the medical aide you're sending by. I'll give you a report after a few days to see if her conditions improved."

I opened the door and he smiled at me, looking up from a watch on his wrist. "I can't get the shower to turn off." I said quietly. He happily walked into the bathroom and showed me how to work everything. He turned the water off, and showed me how to open the cabinet and get toiletries. "And if you ever just want to relax you can change what oils go into the water. They're good for stress, sleep, and even waking you up in the morning."

I stood there, feeling a bit exposed in my towel. Eijiro tried to discretely look at my body. His eyes darted over me quickly, but he managed to mostly hold eye contact. "I should probably let you get dressed. I have some clothes for you."

Eijiro gave me a red dress to put on. It had pretty flower patterns sewn into it, giving the fabric just a bit of texture. It was lightweight and comfortable like a night gown. "Before we get some food in you, I'm going to offer some first aid okay?" He opened the front door and grabbed a package that was sitting outside. He unwrapped a vial and prepped a syringe.

He sat down beside me. "Things are going to better for you now. I'm going to keep you safe." He kissed my exposed arm, dragging his tongue across my skin and leaving a sticky trail. The saliva sizzled and absorbed into my skin.

My whole body felt warm. My skin erupted in tingles and chills. The needle entering my arm didn't hurt. "That didn't hurt did it?" He rubbed the injection spot tenderly. "No, what was that?"

"Your wellness scan came back showing some light damage to your lungs, as well as some sort of chemical imbalance in your brain. A few injections should clear up any damaged cells and get the hormones flowing correctly."

Could he really be curing my asthma? I've had issues my whole life with breathing. Nobody seemed to care enough to stop smoking in the house, or even roll the windows down in the car while I'm in there.

"You can make my depression go away?" I looked down at my hands. My finger nails are always picked down to the nub.

"If that's what your imbalance is called, yes."

Eijiro made a meal for me out of a tan powder and some type of hot green liquid. It reminded me of oats, but was very sweet. After eating together in the relative quiet, a sudden drowsiness came over me. He pulled the blanket over my shoulders and tucked me. I was asleep before I could even count to ten.

I rolled over, groggy and still feeling a bit tired. My arms hit something hard, and my eyes shot open. I gasped and almost fell out of the bed at the sight of sleeping Eijiro. He was breathing out of his mouth softly, a bit of drool falling onto his pillow.

I sat up on my elbow and his left arm flopped over me, pulling me back down on the bed with a loud exhale of air leaving my chest. "Hey!"

Kirishima lazily opened one eye before snuggling into my neck. "Good morning Y/N... ready to start the day?"

For some reason I feel a bit more comfortable today. After getting dressed, I had a lot of questions. He explained why I'm here, how the two of us will be living together from now on. "See I don't know how ready I am to start a family." He smiled and put a hand over mine. "I figured we could spend our time on the ship getting to know each other. Our culture is a little different than yours, we usually start a family right away once we find a mate."

I felt a bit of panic rise in my chest. A family? Is that what the rumors meant about the aliens needing DNA? "But I think you could use some time to heal and adjust. What do ya think?"

"I... I don't even know what to say. I feel like I walked into a dream world." It felt too good to be true. There must be more to this I'm not seeing, people aren't whisked away from our troubles to paradise. Maybe I died, and he's really my guardian angel?

"Does that make me your dream guy?" He gave me a wink and I smiled at him.

"So down this way we have all these resteraunts that we can stop by for lunch." Outside of the hotel like halls were more sterile looking, white halls that lead to different sections of the ship. "Before that I thought maybe we could take a look at the gardens." I held his hand while we walked through rows and rows of gorgeous, vibrant flowers. Tree's grew tall and made beautiful shade for us to sit under. We leaned against the cool bark, I rested my head on his shoulder. Kirishima told me stories about Home World and what our lives will look like when we get there.

"I feel like I'm talking a lot. Why don't you tell me about your life on Earth?"

My smile fell and I tried to think of something, anything positive about my child hood. "Well Earth wasn't that interesting. Home World sounds so beautiful and incredible. I mean, no human has any type of power like you do." He held up his hand and flexed, his skin hardening like rock. I giggled and he kissed my cheek.

We spent time like this together, building some type of routine. Wake up together, and then spend the day having fun and eating.

Every night he would give me an injection, and we'd fall asleep holding each other closely.

On my seventh night, I sat up in the dark gasping for air. My heart was pounding against my chest and I let out a terrible choking sob. Kirishima woke up immediately, hopping out of bed and searching the room for some type of threat. The light flicked on and after a few seconds of looking for an attacker he turned back to me and pulled me into his lap. "Y/N what's happening?" His voice was panicked and I tried gulping down air. "I had a nightmare." I pushed my words out with a shaking voice. He grabbed his watch he always wears off of the night stand and put it on. Holding my hand, a holographic screen appeared from the watch. "Your heart rate is rapid, and your endocrine system is pumping a lot of adrenaline." He moved me off of his lap and started digging in the kitchen. He pulled a medical kit out and starting prepping a syringe. "No! No I don't need any medicine." Tears stung my eyes and I took a deep breath. "It's just a panic attack."

He set the med kit down and looked at me strange. "A what?"

"A panic attack. Sometimes I have bad dreams, and they make me freak out." I pushed some of my hair behind my ears and started to settle myself. Usually they last a lot longer than this, but I feel like I have slightly more control than usual.

"What kind of horrible thing in your dreams made you wake up like that?" He sat down beside me and took my hands in his. His hands are callused and warm. I wanted to tell him, tell him anything and everything.

The years and years of living in hell, always being told that I'm nothing and deserve nothing.

"Your injections you've been giving me... they help a lot with-" I took another deep breath. "They help me to not feel like I'm always drowning." He started rubbing my back, just letting me talk. "Does your species have medicine that can make me forget Earth?" My voice cracked and he pulled my head to rest on his shoulder. "I just want to forget everything." I let my walls fall just a bit and cried into his shoulder. "Hey I've got an idea. How about we go for a walk?"

It was dark in the gardens. The artificial sky was lit up with a beautiful display of soft twinkling starry lights. Nobody is around but the two of us.

We laid down in a clearing and just looked up, staring at the beautiful lights like we're stargazing. He let me just enjoy the quiet, holding my hand beside me.

After a little bit he broke the silence.

"You know, I'm a pretty positive guy." He chuckled a bit. "But I'm also a soldier, I've seen a lot of messy and terrible things. Lost organisms that I was supposed to save. Kill organisms because I was ordered too." He spoke seriously, but still managed to have an air of kindness behind his tone. "I think I understand what's going on with you. You've been through war. I can't make the things you've seen and been through go away..." he rolled to his side and touched my face gently. "But I can fill the rest of your life with new memories..." I looked at his face and couldn't help but smile. "And be here for you when the old ones creep back up. You'll never have to go through anything alone again."

I grabbed both sides of his face and kissed him. His eyes were huge with shock, but he leaned into my kiss. He hovered over me, trying to keep his muscular body from pressing down on me too hard. He swirled his tongue past my lips and I shuddered, waves of heat washing over me and pulsing in my core. I gasped and pulled him down on top of me harder, a slight moan leaving the corners of my mouth. He pulled away from me slightly with a nervous laugh. "A-are you alright?"

I kissed his nose. "Your kiss made me lose my breath."

"Well that's because of my spit. It makes you... comfortable." He looked down at me with a smile. "Ready to go back home?"

The next morning I woke up and stared dreamily at Eijiro's face. He looked so much different to me today. His gorgeous face, his toned body. I ran my finger down his chest and my touch caused him to flutter his eyes open. "Good morning baby girl..." He yawned and stretched out his arm. His stretch had him flex all of his muscles and I pushed myself a little closer to him. "Good morning, I was going to hop in the shower..." I tried to lace my voice with lust so he would take the hint that I wanted him to join me. "Okay! While you're showering I'll cook us up some breakfast."

Lightly disappointed I stepped into the bathroom and undressed. I turned the water on and let it run for a moment before wrapping a towel around me. "Eijiro?" I called out and he quickly opened the door and stepped in the steamy shower. "You alright Y/N?" I dropped my towel and stepped in the water. "Oh I'm fine. Could you hand me more body wash?" Eijiro stood stunned for a moment. "Of course I can." He cleared his throat and got into the cabinet. I took the bottle from him and rubbed the soap on myself. "Would you mind washing my back?" I bat my eyelashes at him and he quickly stripped his shorts off and joined me in the water. He slammed his lips against mine and I wrapped my arms around his neck. He pressed my back against the cool tile and his hips pressed against mine. His fingers combed down my back, his nails dragging against my skin and scratching me. I moaned into his mouth. "Please Eijiro... I want you." I whined. He pressed two fingers against my folds and swirled around, feeling my wetness stretch around him. "Are you sure about this Y/N?" I looked down and noticed his member was strange. His member was large, and the tip was rounded and closed off. The veins stood out against his pale skin, because they were maroon instead of a light purple or blue. "Yes please..."

He turned me around and bent me against the wall. I pressed my hands against the glass to steady myself and he backed my hips up to meet him. His tip pushed into my walls, my body eager to meet him. I gasped as he started to move, letting my body adjust slowly at first before gaining speed. His fingers dug into my hips as he groaned while thrusting into me. The bathroom echoing the sound of his body hitting mine. He bounced me off of his pelvis over and over again, I just moaned and cried out his name over and over again. "Eijiro please I'm going to cum-"

"I wanna make you feel so good baby- hold on-" His member shifted in my body, I felt him pulse as something moved through him. He pushed himself against the very tip of my cervix. Something moved up into my body, it felt like a jelly substance for just a moment before dissolving.

I felt fire run down my spine and erupt. I cried out, my orgasm rocking my body. He wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me steady as his cock shifted again. Another dissolving sensation, and then another. I cried out, shaking. My hands fell off of the wall and Ejiro held me close to him, keeping me from slipping in the water. "You alright baby?" I nodded yes, my chest heaving.

We laid snuggled together on the bed for most of the afternoon. He traced shapes on my back, giving me kisses on my head while we talked between naps.

I could get used to this, being touched with such gentleness. "I love you Eijiro." I whispered to him. I snuggled into his chest further. "I love you too Y/N. I always will."

[tsvestidiabolus]

It’s that time again, fellas.  A new chapter of memento vitae, my Yamato/Robin multichap fic is out!

summary: Robin joins the Beast Pirates. This wasn't by choice.  AU, Yamato/Robin endgame.

if you would like to read it on tumblr, the whole chapter is under the cut!  Please considering reblogging and supporting my Romato agenda.

At one point Robin would have given up everything to be out in the ocean, and now all she wanted to do was to return home.  Of course, this was no longer an option, so the only alternative she could consider was to drown herself, and that didn’t sound pleasant either.  In the end she was forced to live, and that was the greatest punishment the world could give her.

Having travelled almost four weeks with King - a name she couldn’t tell if he deserved or not - Robin was beginning to grow bored with each passing day.  Not that she particularly minded that, for it was a far better alternative to whatever King had in store for her.  But still, the anticipation was almost killing her, and the jeers and sneers from his crew didn’t help.  It was like they knew that something was to happen to her, and the fact that she didn’t know frustrated her to no end. 

Sometimes, on rare occasions, King would visit her.  He would never speak a word, merely stare, and she would never speak a word, looking straight back at him.  She didn’t know what he was thinking or doing in those little stare-contests of theirs.  She wondered if he thought of a hundred ways to kill her, as she did him.  Whatever the case may be, she was winning.  Two wins to her, one win to King.  Spending hours and sometimes days awake did wonders to help for her to stop blinking.

Most humiliating was when, during the times where she was allowed to eat, the pirates would taunt her.  It always came down to them either placing the plate of food just out of reach, or not bothering to unlock her arms from her cuffs.  They could easily have done so; the cuffs were clamped tightly around her ankles too, but apparently it was more enjoyable for them to watch her struggle to eat with just her mouth, like a dog.  The pirates had laughed and mocked her, throwing as many obscene words her way as possible.  Robin ignored them, for the most part.  She’d rather live in humiliation than die for their satisfaction.  

Still, that didn’t mean she could forget any of their faces.

Robin spent her time counting her teeth, when she wasn’t trying to catch a glimpse of outside her cell.  Not that the view really told her much about where she was, but the smell of sea salt and fresh air was certainly more favourable than the stench of burning leather that lingered in her cell after King’s visits.  If she were adept at navigation, she could probably tell where she was from smell alone.  She wasn’t, though, and being able to tell where you were from scent alone seemed like a pretty useless ability outside of mere curiosity.

On what could have been the eve of the fourth week, Robin was greeted by King once more.  Though, this time he seemed impatient.  Irritated.  The flame on the back of his neck was crackling violently, to the point where Robin was afraid it might set the room on fire.  It didn’t, though.  Unfortunately.

“Change of plans,” he said. “We’re taking a detour.”

Robin looked up to him, knitting her brows together. “A detour from where?” she asked.  Just as a casual reminder that he still hadn’t told her where they were going.

King ignored the question, of course. “You will be removed from this confinement shortly.  I thought you’d be happy about that.”

“Ecstatic.” 

“Don’t talk back to me,” King snapped.

The inferno flared up for a moment before dying down to a gentle blaze.  She found her eyes drawn to it once more, taking in the wintry wrath of a man who lived by fire.  This was not someone to trifle with - she couldn’t take the same chances with him as she could with the other, hot-headed pirates.  He would not kill her, but a sense of dread followed him, like the calm before a disaster.  Robin told herself she wasn’t scared of pain anymore.  Robin was a very good liar.

She swallowed.  Perhaps it was best to do as he said for now.

“I trust you know what will happen if you try to escape,” King continued. “We may need you alive, but that doesn’t mean we need all of you.”  

His gaze travelled over to her wrists hanging loosely above her head with an almost ravenous stare.  Suddenly Robin felt the need to hide her arms from him.  The implication didn’t sit very well with her, and her arms were her most useful asset besides her mind.  To take them away would be to take away her very will to fight.  But she couldn’t hide them, as they lay bare for King to see, and she had the chilling sensation that he was slicing them up in his mind.

Although much of his face was hidden behind that abhorrent leather mask, Robin had the feeling he was smiling at that moment with what could only be called sadism. 

“I trust I have your full cooperation?” King asked - the first question he had ever uttered in the four weeks.  

What choice did she even have?

“Yes,” she answered, head hung low.  

“Good.” King left the prison, letting her linger in the stench of ash and burnt leather.  

It took less than a day for Robin to find out what exactly King meant by a ‘detour’.  Detours, as it turned out, meant battle.  She was taken, still cuffed in seastone, to a room far below the deck, only able to catch a glimpse of the sun and a faint outline of an island they were approaching.  The pirate escorting her said something about how she should be grateful they were offering her so much protection.  Robin imagined shoving her fist down his throat.

The pirate shoved her roughly into the new prison - not so much a cell as before, but actual sleeping quarters now.  A single king bed laid in the corner of the room, the walls covered in ornaments and spoils of war.  The walls were painted black half-hazardly - but on closer inspection, they were not painted, they were burned.   She was in the berth of the ship, and whoever this room belonged to - she had a pretty good idea - was someone of importance here.

Just as the pirate began to say, “Now listen here,” the whole room - no, the ship itself - rocked, and the two were thrown against a wall violently.  

Cursing profanities, the pirate was the first to recover, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s started already?”

“What’s started?” Robin asked from the floor, unable to stand up. “What’s going on?”

“Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.” The pirate stomped his foot with every word.  His skin was pale, and his eyes were wide, and sweat dripped down the back of his neck.  For someone who was reacting like a petulant child, he was keeping his balance quiet well despite the tremors and shaking the ship was experiencing.  Unlike Robin, who was already weakened by the seastone cuffs. 

The pirate locked the door, her only exit out of the room, and shoved the keys in his pocket.  Robin briefly wondered if the keys to her cuffs were in the ring - a thought that was swiftly replaced by a blinding white pain.  Her head was turned to the side, and she tasted iron in her mouth.

“Don’t you even think about it,” the pirate snarled from above her.  He patted his pocket.  If he didn’t look so frightened by whatever was outside, Robin would be intimidated. “We’re just making sure you’re not seen by anyone.”

Robin struggled to sit up, leaning against the wall.  The pirate seemed to enjoy watching her suffer and humiliated, the one thing giving him satisfaction during this clearly troubling time.  Finally, she could sit up somewhat properly, her hands tied behind her back and blood dripping from her nose - broken. 

She glared up at him.

“Whatever’s outside is enough to warrant King moving me from my prison,” she said. “If it’s a Marine or Government ship - which I doubt, as King knew beforehand that I would have to be moved, and the only way I can see them being an issue is if they caught you by surprise - then I wouldn’t have to be worried, and you wouldn’t have to be worried.  If it were an enemy pirate ship, the only reason you would be scared this much is if they were considerably more dangerous than you are -”

“SHUT UP!”

“- so I can only assume it’s a pirate ship out there, and, if they know who I am, then they must know of my abilities,” she continued. “The reason I’m here is because you can’t risk losing me.”

From the moment the pirate’s hand twitched and she felt the impact against her temple, she knew she was right.  Such a visceral reaction wouldn’t have happened otherwise.  

Feeling a sort of satisfaction along with the throbbing pain in her head, Robin’s eyes travelled from the pirate to the door.  The trembling and rumbling continued, along with screams, yells, gunshots and cannonfire.  It was pure and utter chaos outside, that much she could tell.  But still, if there was the slightest chance she could be removed from King’s prison, and run away freely…

“HELP!” Robin howled. “PLEASE, ANYONE!”

Her voice hurt from not being used, but that didn’t stop her from screaming her lungs out.  A little humiliating, true, but anything, anything was better than staying with these pirates for any longer.  

The pirate swore and lunged forward - Robin ducked underneath his reach.  He banged his head against the wall, groaning in pain while Robin lifted herself, struggling heavily, to her feet.  Without another word, she ran for the door and slammed against it with her shoulder.

“I’M IN HERE!” 

The door didn’t budge. In fact, she barely made a dent on it.  What was worse, the pirate was now recovered and glowering at her.  With a raging cry, he ran forward again like a bull, and tackled her to the ground. 

Snap.

Robin did not make a sound, but the Beast did.  A small gasp escaped his lips and he jumped back off her, the weight gone from her arm.  That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.  Internally she screamed, oh how she screamed, but externally she merely tried to get up onto her feet once more, determined to throw her body against the door again.  

The pirate snatched her arm before she could begin running again.  She winced at the sudden pain jolting up her body, grinding her teeth to stop herself from screaming.  

“King’s gonna fucking kill me,” the pirate groaned as he pulled her back from the door. “We’re not supposed to hurt you -”

Robin bit him.

He kicked her shins.

It was a mutual relationship they had.

She didn’t know how long they scuffled for, her only weapon being her teeth while he retaliated and made her bruise in return.  All the while the ship trembled and rocked dangerously, causing the pair of them to stumble and fall every-so-often.  Their fight was only halted when the door suddenly slammed open - not opened by unlocking it, but by sheer force.

The relief on Robin’s face was bright, and her smile lit up for the first time in months.  This was it, her saviour had come.  She could finally rest easy and escape this place.

“ZEHAHAHA!”

For some reason, the laugh sent chills down her spine, and she didn’t know why.  In her vision stood a hulking mass of a man, the stench of alcohol and smoke and blood wafting from his direction.  She would have gagged, had she not been so desperate to leave at that moment.  The new pirate grinned down at her with hunger, half of his teeth missing.  Robin looked up to him with pleading eyes.

“Didn’t know King was into that!” the stranger said, amusement clear in his voice.  Whipping out a pistol in his hand, he shot the Beast dead and leaned towards her, leering. “Little girls ain’t my thing, but who am I to judge him?”

His grubby hands grasped her throat, lifting her up off the ground.  She choked and struggled against his hold to no avail - he was simply too strong for her, especially in her weakened state.  

“Now, now, why do ya look so familiar?” He tilted his head, bringing Robin closer to him.  The pong of his breath was overwhelming now.  It took all of her energy not to throw up. “Ah!  I know!”  

He leered at her, and Robin felt her heart sink.

“Nice ta finally meetcha, Devil’s Child!  ZEHAHAHA!”

---

Marco prided himself on being one of Pop’s commanders.  It was the greatest honour one could have onboard the Moby Dick - no, in the seas.  Not only was he trusted enough to be a commander in one of the Emperor’s ships, but he was deemed important enough by the Government to have almost a billion berries on his head.  He was flattered, honestly.  But in his mind, he - and everyone else onboard the Moby Dick - were priceless.

Unfortunately, it was not the Government who were so desperately fighting for their lives against him in that moment, nor were it the Marines.  No, it was a rival pirate crew.  How incredibly dull.  At least, that was Marco’s first reaction.

Then he spied the flag that the enemy ship sailed, and heard Whitebeard’s distinct “GURARARA!” from behind him, and excitement ran up his blood like a shot of electricity.  

Kaido’s crew.

Marco grinned from ear to ear, his brows narrowed down to a look of pure hunger for battle.  He squatted on the railing of the Moby Dick, blue flaming wings flickering behind him.  The rest of the crew readied themselves, armed with whatever weapons or powers they could use.  And Whitebeard sat proudly behind them all, grasping Murakumogiri in his hand.  They were all ready for a challenge.

More importantly, they were ready for revenge.  They’d heard what happened to Oden, and while they weren’t willing to attack Wano in the case that one of their own would be hurt or worse, Kaido was not enough of a fool to declare war on Whitebeard for attacking one of his ships in neutral territory.

“You’d better have some grog on you, brats!” Pops declared. “My kids are hungry!”

The Whitebeard Pirates cheered and cried out a war cry.  

On the other ship, there was silence.  Not a single word uttered, despite them seeing a crowd of Beast Pirates on the deck.  Then, Marco felt a thumping in his chest, a vibration in his very bones.  A distant BOOM, BOOM, BOOM  that reverberated throughout the ocean, but not a sound that was cannonfire - no, this was… bizarre.  This was something that he couldn’t explain.  This was…

Funk.

The rhythm pounded against their skin, making even the ocean ripple and waves crash against both their ships.  An island nearby was hearing the full burst of funk, seagulls soaring from the tops of trees with a unified screech - a sound that could not be heard over the blaring music.  Marco did not feel scared, certainly, but there was an air of confusion around the Whitebeard Pirates.  He glanced back to look at Pops.  Whitebeard looked unimpressed.

Shrugging, Marco turned his attention back to the Beasts’ ship.  This certainly wasn’t Kaido onboard, by any means - he wouldn’t be so theatrical.  So vain.  Whoever was onboard the ship, whichever poor soul had encountered an Emperor, was relishing in this moment.

The enemy ship rocked from side to side, not enough to tip the whole thing over, but enough to cause the pirates to almost lose their balance.  Marco stood up from his perch.  He was curious about what sort of pirate was making such a noise.

“I’ve got a plague, and that plague is funkin’!”

Some of the Beasts dispersed, creating a path along the deck.

“It excites me to my core, I’mma chunking!”

Finally, the pirate came into view - a man Marco had never seen before.  He was a massive, round-figured man, one that danced to the beat of the music.  His body jiggled with every move he made in an almost hypnotizing fashion, the blond braid at the back of his head bouncing up and down.  He entered the scene with flair, with vanity, and with so much theatricality that Marco thought he was overcompensating for something.

“LET ME HEAR YOU SAY IT! ONE, TWO…!”

Not a word was spoken amongst the Beasts, nor the Whitebeard Pirates.  Marco could practically sense Pops growing impatient with every second that passed.  It seemed he wasn’t the only impatient one.

The round man whipped his whole body around to face his crew and roared, “YOU USELESS MAGGOTS!  CAN’T YOU GET THIS SIMPLE SHIT RIGHT?”, before throwing a nearby barrel at them.  Most of the crew ran away before it could hit them, save for a large boy with pigtails, who felt the full force of the impact.  The poor boy was holding a transponder snail in his hand, and didn’t see it coming.

Marco just decided that he didn’t like this man very much.

Evidently, Whitebeard didn’t either.  The old man slammed his naginata down, shockwaves reverberating around them as he unleashed his haki. “Who the hell are you, brat?” He didn’t have to raise his voice to a shout to be heard over the thumping music.

The said music stopped, and the round man turned to stare at Whitebeard.  A moment of silence passed between the two ships.

“HOLY SHIT?  WHITEBEARD?” the man screeched, his jaw dropping.  He began to sweat bullets. “YOU DIDN’T SAY HE WAS HERE!”

One of the Beasts said something incoherent in the man’s ear.  That seemed to calm him down somewhat, as he turned back to the Whitebeard Pirates.

“UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU, I DON’T HAVE ANY GROG ON ME!” he declared. “BUT I GOT SOMETHING THAT’LL SEND CHILLS UP YOUR SPINE!  LISTEN UP, I’M QUEEN!  AND I GOT SOMETHING THAT’LL BLOW YOUR MIND!”

He raised his arm and lowered it quickly.  Then, everything happened at once.  All the cannons on their ship exploded with a BOOM, the cannonfire approaching their ship at a rapid pace.  Marco and the others were able to knock most of the balls into the ocean, but some hit the Moby Dick - barely scratching it, of course.  But it seemed that didn’t help the Whitebeard Pirates at all.

After a moment passed, smoke began erupting from the balls.  Purple smoke.

Marco swore.  Poison gas.

He screamed at as many as he could to cover their mouths and to get inside - he would be alright, with his powers, but what about the rest of them?  Jumping up from the railing, he covered the old man and his brothers in his flames in an effort to protect them from the gas.  

In a manner of moments, the worst of the fog lifted, but by then it was too late.  Half the crew was choking and writhing around the floor.  But that wasn’t the worst of it.  The Beasts had, in that time, sailed to them, and grappled at the Moby Dick with their own galleon.  Pirates were climbing up ropes, weapons in hands, and prepared to battle.

The fight had begun.

[awhitehead17]

Universal Signs

Chapter 15 / Previous Chapter 

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

There's an overwhelming sensation of agonising pain and cold numbness throughout his body. It’s so strange that he wouldn’t be able to describe the feeling even if he tried. One thing he can determine however, is how his mind seems to be in some sort of haze, making everything seem unclear as he comes back to consciousness.

He’s aware of when he wakes up, he feels his breathing deepen and his body twitch when he tries to move. He barely gets his hand off the bed before pain is traveling up his arm and through his side. He groans and drops the limb back down where eventually the pain tampers off leaving his limb almost numb like. He soon finds out that his other body parts are all in similar states.

The process of waking up is strange. It’s not something that Kon does very often and when he does its usually because of dire situations. For him to be feeling this weak, something serious had to have happened.

In that moment he couldn’t recall what happened, his mind is in a haze which is making it difficult to think about anything in particular. Perhaps he should find out where he is first and then work out what happened? Right, that seems logical enough.

He’s not sure how much time passes by but eventually he’s able to crack his eyes open and blink away the blurriness that clouded his vision. When it finally clears he finds himself looking up at a plain ceiling which tells him nothing about his location. In slow and controlled movements, just so he doesn’t strain his body too much, he lifts his head up and cranes his neck around so he could observe his surroundings. As soon as he turns his head he knows where he is.

He’s in the infirmary of the training operations centre on Krypton.

Kon lets out a groan, his mind thinking about what the implications of what that could mean. From his glance around the room, he finds he's the only current occupant there and how no other workers were nearby. Directly to his left were various machines which all had a wide variety of data blinking on them, they were all attached to the medical cot he’s currently lying on.

That leads his gaze to look down his body. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees the stark white bandages stretched across his torso, heavily padded on his side in particular. At least that explains the sharp pull he felt earlier.

It’s the physical pain that triggers off his memories to what had happened for him to land badly wounded in the infirmary on Krypton. The League of Assassins. Tim. The fight. Bart. Getting stabbed. Kryptonite. Hitting the emergency beacon.

It also explains why he feels awful, getting struck by kryptonite is never pleasant. It’s practically poisonous to his kind and could kill them if it enters their systems and isn’t immediately treated. Kon wonders how he’s alive.

Gritting his teeth, Kon braces himself and sits up on the bed, it takes humongous effort just to get sat up right and even more to get himself into a position where he’s leaning back against the headboard. By the time he’s settled he’s breathing heavily and feels like he’s about to pass out. The sudden nausea doesn’t help either.

“Kon-el!”

Kon opens his eyes up, unsure of when he closed them, at the loud exclamation of his name and watches as a figure rushes towards him from the infirmary’s entrance. Before he could recognise who it is, slender arms were encasing his shoulders and pulling him for an embrace, Kon’s just about able to lift one arm to wrap it around the figure.

They pull away and he finally sees who it is. Despite the circumstances, a small grin stretches across his lips at the sight of her. “Hey Kara, long time no see.”

She smiles in returns before she’s scowling and punching his shoulder in retaliation. “You idiot! You almost died! What were you thinking about going up against the League of Assassins? Getting stabbed by kryptonite? Rao Kon, you have no idea how frustrated I am with you!”

Kon pouts and rubs his shoulder but doesn’t stop her from ranting. He watches as she starts pacing the length of the bed, waving her arms around in dramatic gestures and as her long blonde hair flicks from side to side with the movements. They were family, cousins, this was her way of fretting over him.

After a moment he looks at her apologetically. “I apologise for worrying you Kara, you know that was never my intention, especially getting stabbed by kryptonite.”

“I know Kon,” she sighs defeatedly. She stops her pacing and slumps down on the bed next to his hip facing him. “It seemed like you weren’t going to make it. I was worried. Even Kal was concerned.”

Kon raises his eyebrows at hearing that, surprised at the news. Kal was one of the top leaders of Krypton, not the top but certainly the most respected, and often gave Kon the cold shoulder when they crossed paths. The only time they really communicate is through work when Kon does a check-in report.

He’s supposed to be Kon’s father too.

“Where is he now?” Kon questions his cousin.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Off doing his duties, you know what he’s like. He’ll be happy to hear you’re awake though.”

Kon nods before stopping himself, catching onto an earlier part of their conversation. “How did you know it was the League who stabbed me? Speaking of which, where’s my team? Are they okay? What happened, I remember collapsing after calling the beacon but that’s it.”

Kara hesitates before answering him. Kon could visibly see the internal debate she was having with herself on whether she should share the information or not. Her hesitation only aggravates him, obviously something bad has happened or else she wouldn’t be reluctant to tell him.

“Kara.”

His cousin sighs and looks at him guiltily before the expression changes into something more sombre. “Your crew are alive Kon. Cassandra was the first to wake and is making a full recovery, our staff were able to flush the poison out of her system and heal the wound. It’ll take a few days before she’s back to normal.”

Kon nods listening intently. He’s glad Cassie is recovering, it seems like she was the most fortunate out of the three of them, getting away from the League the least scathed. He looks expectantly at Kara for her to continue with news on Bart’s wellbeing.

“Bartholomew, isn’t as fortunate I’m afraid.” She tells him carefully, almost calculatingly, being weary of how Kon will react to the news. “He has yet to wake up. They’re having trouble analysing what’s in his system so they can work on an antidote and treat it. For now he’s alive but his metabolism has rapidly decreased and his accelerated healing factor seems to be almost non-existent. As far as I am aware they have contacted those on Keystone and have promised to keep them informed. If Bartholomew’s condition doesn’t improve they’re talking about transporting him back to Keystone.”

Kon merely nods after hearing that. He moves his gaze away from his cousin and stares at the blank wall in front of his bed. Guilt, fear, anger and sadness stir inside of him at the thought of Bart not waking up.

Normally he’s good at detaching from his emotions but when it’s those who are affected that he’s closet too, Kon struggles to do so. Poor energetic Bart, lying somewhere cold and now unmoving.

Kara reaches out and gently places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze as she does so. “Members from Keystone are on their way here to see if they can help first, of course they have more insight of a Speedster’s body than us Kryptonian’s do. At the moment our teams doing everything they can to keep him breathing.”

Kon doesn’t think much more of it, he gently pushes her hand off of him and makes a move to get off the bed he’s on. “Where is he? I need to see him.”

Hands are instantly pushing back down against the bed. Kon submits under the pressure, finding himself too weak to fight back and the dizziness from earlier returning at full force. It takes a moment before it passes and he squints at Kara, silently demanding for an explanation.

The blonde Kryptonian glares back, crossing her arms over her chest in a show of annoyance. “You’re not going anywhere yet Kon-el. You are not nearly recovered enough to do so. You had severe Kryptonite poisoning, you’re lucky it didn’t kill you. It’s going to be several days before you’re back to normal then even longer before you have all your abilities back.”

Kon huffs and thumps his head against the cushion underneath his head. He doesn’t want to admit it but he knows she’s right.

Kara settles back down at his hip. “To answer your other question, once Cassandra woke up, I spoke to her and kept her company. She explained everything that happened and what’s been going on with your team recently. Of all the beings in the universe Kon, it happens to be you who stumbles across a human being from Earth! Mind explaining that one?”

Kon shakes his head in disbelief, a ghost of a smirk crossing his lips at the coincidence of it all. “I don’t know. We were doing our job and there was this human who was lost, confused, scared and I knew I had to help him. In my defence I didn’t know he was human to begin with.”

Kara raises an eyebrow and smiles. “That so? And as if helping the human wasn’t enough, you manage to get yourself mixed up with the League of Assassins at the same time! What were you thinking Kon!”

“It wasn’t intentional!” Kon exclaims, he waves his hands about uselessly. “We were going to finish our task, return the items and then go and take Tim home. The League just is an unfortunate factor, one of which has nearly killed my friend and is probably torturing Tim as we speak!”

His cousin doesn’t say anything for a long time, she simply sits there on the edge of the bed observing him. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking, not sure if he actually wants to know. In the end, whatever it is, she keeps it to herself and stands up from the bed. “I’ll let them know you’re awake, they’ll want to check you over and once you’re cleared you’ll need to go speak to Kal. He has questions.”

Kon closes his eyes and sighs. That’s a conversation he really would rather not have.

Kara pats his shoulder once before turning around and leaving. Then just like before she came, he was alone in the infirmary once again. It doesn’t stay that way for long because Cassie is soon bursting into the room. Kon perks up and barely slides off the bed by the time she reaches his side.

She bends down and pulls him up for a hug. “Thank Hera, you’re alive Kon. I was so worried, when Kara told me I was the first one awake and now that Bart may not wake up, I had no idea on what to think.”

Kon embraces her as tightly as he could before having to let go and slumps back down on the bed, his body still too weak to be upright. “I’m so sorry Cassie, none of this was ever supposed to happen. I never intended for things to escalate like this. And now Bart is hurt, you’re wounded, Tim is back in their hands and we’ll probably lose our jobs and positions because of my decisions.”

A sharp smack to the side of his head makes him jerk and look at her in surprise. Before he could voice his protest she’s pointing at him and glaring. “No. Absolutely not Kon. You’re not taking the blame for this, none of this was your fault. We all knew the risks of bringing that human on board, furthermore we knew what we were risking after we found out who was after Tim.”

“It wasn’t supposed to escalate so much,” Kon comments weakly, knowing she was in fact right with her words. They did know what they were getting into, Kon said it himself that they’ll deal with the League when they come across them but now that they have? Kon knows he was way out of his depth. The League are a force he, and his team, weren’t prepared to face against at all.

“It never does,” Cassie says lightly, “What’s happened is awful but Bart is a fighter, something we both know and we know he’ll fight until he can’t. He’ll be fine. He’ll be back chattering our ears off before we know it.”

Kon opens his mouth to agree with her, that their friend is a fighter who won’t let something like this stop him, when a low, deep voice speaks up from the door of the infirmary. Cassie and Kon both look over to find a Kryptonian worker standing there in an upright position with his hands behind his back.

“The commander wishes to speak with the two of you. Immediately.”

His tone and words leave them no choice in the matter. Kon shares a grave look with Cassie before nodding at the worker.

“We’re on our way up.” Cassie tells him. She turns back to Kon, looking over him with concern. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

Kon grits his teeth and slides off the bed, having to grab hold of the edge for balance when he stumbles slightly. He could feel his body trembling with exertion, his body still weak from the kryptonite poisoning he suffered. He sends his team mate a look. “Help may be needed, please.”

Cassie says nothing as she takes one of his arms and throws it over her shoulders and as she positions her arm around his back.

After grabbing him some clothing, they wordlessly make their way up to the head office of the training operations centre where Kal is waiting for them. As they travel Kon marvels at everything around him, all sorts of memories and feelings coming back to him as they pass through the corridors of the centre.

The TOC is a central base for youthful Kryptonian’s who are choosing their career paths. It helps them learn the basic and fundamental skills, how to fight, survival on different planets, how to control their abilities and much more.

It’s practically where Kon grew up and where he met Cassie and Bart for the first time.

Krypton has a strong alliance with other planets throughout the universe, it’s one of the strongest to currently exist. With that alliance it allows opportunities to happen such as exchange programmes; this means beings from certain planets can come to Krypton to learn the culture and their ways while in return Kryptonian’s can visit their planet and learn their culture and ways.

It’s an opportunity to meet other species and see how they live, it also provides the chance to help strengthen bonds between the planets for any future business that may take place.

Kon met Bart and Cassie because of this exchange programme, the two of them were visiting Krypton and were staying at the training centre where Kon had been at the time learning battle strategies.

The three of them surprisingly hit it off and by the end of the programme they had decided to form a team between them. They chose to go down the collector’s career path, this was so they could stay together, get their own space ship, explore the universe and genuinely have fun while doing it.

And now here they are in the future, still at it and getting into all kinds of trouble. Getting into messes that was way out of their contracts.

“Enter.”

Kon blinks at hearing the voice. It’s only then that he realises he and Cassie have made it to the head office and were waiting outside of the room to be called in. Once the voice could be heard, Cassie leads them into the room, only stopping their movements when they’re standing in front of the desk.

It’s a simple room. One desk by a wall with a couple of chairs in front of it. Adjacent to it was a large book and storage self, on the opposite side was a small table surrounded by a couple more chairs. Behind the desk there was a large open pane window that allows spectacular views of the city below to be seen.

By the window is a tall, broad shouldered being. He’s currently staring out of the glass, not paying them any attention. Kon subtly pushes against Cassie’s hold, attempting to hold his own weight. He still felt weak and shaky but he needs to appear strong in front of this Kryptonian, looking weak won’t get him anywhere. She lets him go but keeps a hand resting on his lower back in light support just in case.

Kon takes a breath and draws to attention. “Sir. You wanted to see us.”

The Kryptonian turns and Kon’s met with an identical reflection of himself. It’s still unsettling about how much they look alike, father and son. Same black hair, same facial structure, identical blue eyes. Thankfully appearances is as far as it goes, they weren’t anything alike personality wise.

“Yes I did. Thank you for coming. Take a seat, I know how taxing the last few days have been for the both of you.”

While Kon would rather stay standing, to be on equal ground for the conversation they’re about to have, he knows he won’t be able to stand up right for much longer and silently takes one of the chairs in front of the desk. Taking the seat now by his own choosing looks better than collapsing into one later on. Besides him Cassie follows suit.

“Kon-el, it’s good to see you awake and moving about. How do you feel?” Kal asks.

Any other time, Kon would be grateful for the attention but he knows his wellbeing isn’t a priority of Kal’s.

“I’m well.” Kon tells him curtly. “But we all know that isn’t why you wanted to talk to us.”

Kal narrows his eyes at Kon. “Very well.” The older Kryptonian moves to the desk and sits down in the chair facing them. He sits up straight and stares at them, almost daring them to disobey him. “You lied to us Kon-el. You and your team are in serious trouble for your actions and the consequences they have resulted in.”

Kon opens his mouth to comment but a sharp look being sent his way keeps him quiet.

“We told you to be alert because of the rumours going around about there being a human from planet Earth in this part of the universe. We had warned you, only to find out you were hosting the human being the entire time! Do you have any idea what kind of implications this has caused, what this could mean not only for human beings, or even Kryptonian’s, but for every other species as well?”

“He was lost and scared!” Kon exclaims, unable to keep himself quiet any longer. “All we wanted to do was help him and get him back home. How were we supposed to know that Tim was involved with the League of Assassins?”

“Exactly. The very idea that a human had reached this part of the galaxy was a concern itself. They are by no means developed enough to have discovered space travel or advanced enough to have developed the technologies to assist with it. A human in this part of the universe is by no means an accident. Finding out that there is one around means something major is happening.

Furthermore we’re finding out that the League of Assassins is behind this, it means they are scheming and planning something to which we have no ideas on what it could be. That leaves us, and all of our allies, in a vulnerable position.”

Kal is staring at them with fire in his eyes, his lips are firmly set in a line and Kon couldn’t help the anger that boils inside of him. He isn’t one to lose his temper quickly, but Kal alone is enough to set him off.

“This isn’t Tim’s fault sir.” Cassie says evenly. “He had no idea who he had been kidnapped by, he couldn’t understand anyone until we were able to get him a universal translator fitted. It wasn’t until we discovered that Tim had somehow managed escaped the clutches of the Demon’s Head that he was even involved with the League to begin with.”

Kon appreciates Cassie backing him up, even after all of her spitfire towards the human, she does care about him and doesn’t wish him any harm.

“We’re not saying this is his fault. We’re saying you should have reported to us immediately as soon as you found him.” Kal snaps back. “The League of Assassins and the Demon’s Head are forces we do not want to cross paths with under any circumstances.”

“It’s not like it was intentional. We didn’t tell the leaders because we didn’t know what you would do to Tim. For all we know, you would have simply negotiated with the League and handed Tim back to them to stop whatever war is headed our way. Your priority wouldn’t have been Tim’s safety.”

“You’re right it wouldn’t have been, the priority is, and will always be, Kryptonian’s first. But now because of your team every species is at risk of whatever the Demon’s Head is planning. Just because he now has the human once again doesn’t mean he’s going to let it go. A Kryptonian, an Amazon and a Speedster all ‘took’ something that ‘belonged’ to him, he’s going to take that as a personal offense and use it as a declaration of war against us.”

Kon grits his teeth to stop himself from lashing out once again. It’s frustrating because he can see what Kal is saying but underneath it all he’s talking about simply handing Tim over and being done with it. Kon wouldn’t, couldn’t, accept that.

He squares his shoulders and levels Kal a firm look, not backing down as the older Kryptonian’s fiery gaze meets his own. “I don’t regret my actions, I would happily hide Tim’s presence from you and the leaders again in heartbeat, especially after finding out you’d happily chuck him back to the League with no remorse.

Punish us all how you please, the League has already had a stab at all of us, one of which is still unconscious who may not wake up, so it can’t be any worse than that. For now, my team and I are going to find a way to rescue Tim from the clutches of the Demon’s Head because no one, no matter what species they are, deserves to be in the hands of that monster. Then we can deal with the repercussions and whatever war is impending throughout our galaxy.”

There's a moment of silence as Kon’s words hang in the air between them all. Kal’s sat there looking at him shocked while next to him Cassie’s playing the blank emotion card. Kon knows he's going to have to have a serious conversation with her about everything soon.

Kal, predictably, is livid. “You will absolutely not get any more involved than what you are already. From now on, until this is situation is solved, Young Justice are to stay on Krypton and not leave the planet under no circumstances. That is an order.”

Kon raises an unimpressed eyebrow, he’s long gotten used the authoritative voice Kal has and they both know how good Kon is at following orders.

Instead of arguing and protesting at the unfairness of it all he sends Kal a fake smile and carefully climbs up to his feet. “Very well father. This has been a lovely talk but I’m feeling rather drained. If you would excuse me, I’m going to go rest up. After all I am still recovering from Kryptonite poisoning.”

Without waiting for any more words Kon turns and begins to make his way out of the office. Cassie is quickly there by his side, wrapping an arm around him like they had been earlier and helps him walk out of the room.

To his surprise Kal doesn’t call or shout at them from behind, he silently lets them leave on their own accords.

“You are so explaining to me what that was about Kon!” Cassie hisses into his ear as they walk through the corridors of the centre.

“Head to our old rooms.” Kon mutters to her as they turn a corner. “I know and I will. I mean it Cassie. We need to go back and rescue Tim, we can’t leave him there.”

Cassie is silent for a moment before she’s speaking up. “It won’t be easy.”

He doesn’t know if she’s indulging him or if she’s actually on board with the idea. “I know.”

“Everyone will be against us. We’ll have to sneak off, steal a ship, then get out of the planet followed by working out a plan on how we even get close to the League of Assassins base, not alone mention where would we find Tim and then the escape afterwards.”

“When have we ever done something that's easy?” Kon grins at her. “We have to Cass. You can either join me or I’ll go by myself anyway.”

“Well for starters, we need to rest and recover. Then we’ll talk about it.”

Kon continues grinning. Even though she hasn’t verbally confirmed it, he knows she’ll help him rescue Tim. It sucks they won’t be here for Bart but maybe the Speedster will wake up before they go. Either way Kon knows his next mission and he’s going to make sure he sees it through.

[startreckobsessed]

You want request? How about Bones, or his girlfriend, or maybe both of them, being suspicious about the fidelity of the other. Like really suspicious, make em look like they are really cheating (but they are not). Then they fight, like really fight, borderline breakup. But at the end, they make up. You can make it smut at the end, where partner A (the one who we thought was cheating) says to partner B that everything he/she has is hers/his. EVERYTHING. 😉😉😉😉 I’ll be waiting, love.

The road to the relationship had been rocky from the beginning, you both bickered constantly, but he had this deep seated fear down to his bones that he wouldn't be good enough for you. It was bad enough that there was a good chunk of an age gap, but you had to be witty, charming and you held a kind of beauty that attracted every kind of attention.

Now, Jocelyn never exactly cheated on him, but she did little things that would chip away at his self image; the way her eyes would linger on other men and act dissatisfied with him when they went home at the end of the night, not to mention how her lawyers raked him through the coals claiming he was an absent partner when in reality he had made long drives and days at a time without sleep to spend time with her during medical school and his residency.

Sometimes his past experiences colored the way he saw your actions, his imagination going crazy with how bad the situation looked, even of you acting suspicious didn't help any.

You had grown... Distant, lately. You would get up earlier and return extremely late. You were also careful with your words, thinking more before you spoke. Your mind was always elsewhere when you were together.

The implications he came to made his stomach turn. You were more than just his girlfriend, you were his best friend, his confidant. He would feel so lost without your support.

A little like he was feeling right now.

It wasn't until his weekly drink with Jim that his fears were confirmed.

Jim had been late, which wasn't abnormal but he was really late. Leonard was tired, eyelids heavy and his body ached, he decided to go back to your shared quarters to get some shut eye.

As he was making his way down the long winding hall he heard a bump coming from one of the many medical supply closets. He rolled his eyes, pausing for a second debating if he even wanted to go bust a couple of ensigns about to get it on. With a huff he turned, twisting open the knob and-

His breath caught, heart stuttering painfully.

It was you. Sitting up on the counter, ensign Hennricks standing between your legs. One of his hands was resting on your knee, the other was pushing the hair away from your face.

A strangled noise escaped his lips, he turned on his heel and sped down the hall. "Len!" You call, hopping off the table and chased after him, just catching a glimpse of him disappearing around the corner.

You shot forward, skidding around and finally catching up, grasping his bicep and spinning him around, but he wouldn't look at you. His eyes looked toward the ground, nostrils flared and mouth turned in a deep frown. He ripped his arm away from your hold. "Leonard,-that wasnt-" "don't." He growled. "Don't try to lie to me." His accent thickened with emotion. "How could you?" You shook your head "I'm not lying Len. If you would just-" "no." He hisses "I'm done with you. You knew how hard it was for me to- to trust again. You knew it and you still-" he pinched his eyes closed, a tear dripping down his cheek. You felt a pang of guilt go through you. And you felt like you couldn't breath. He turned away from you, and in a moment of clarity you reached for his head and turned it toward you.

"Leonard! Look at me!" You demand. His red eyes met yours for a brief second but it was enough for him to finally see the gash that traveled over your eyebrow and just shy of your eye. "What happened?" He asked in a gravely tone before he could think better to. Your other hand came up to cradle his face as his teary blood shot eyes roamed your face, now seeing a fresh bruise on your jaw. "Hennricks was patching me up, using a tissue regenerator so you wouldn't worry. I-ive been in training to become SSO." His eyebrows shot up incrediously "Why didn't you just tell me?"

You bit your lip. "I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. And.." "and what?" "I uh, I didn't want you to be disappointed if I couldn't do it. I know it bothers you that were not exactly on equal ground, that if our stations were level mabey you would feel more secure and.. people would stop assuming I'm sleeping my way to the top." He huffed slightly, one brow arching "who's been assuming?" You shake your head at his protectiveness, swallowing thickly. "It doesn't matter." You say.

He sighed " did you get the promotion?" You shrug "won't know till tommorow." He nods, avoiding your eyes again. "I'm sorry." You say. "For... Making you think I would ever want

Anyone but you Len. Your it for me, your everything for me." He blinked away a new onslaught of tears. You smile sadly, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips.

He sighs into the kiss, the stress melting from his body as he winds his arms around you, pressing lips more firmly to yours as your hands ball up in his uniform shirt, pulling his body closer to yours.

When you both stumble into your room, the lights are out, only the faint blue glow of the rooms control panel allowing you to see the faint outline of the bed.

The matress dipped as you fell back onto it, Leonard's hands roamed under your skirt, the other cradled your jaw as your lips collided over and over.

Your hands slipped under his shirt, fingers trailing over his heated skin. He shivers, hands leaving you to rip his shirt up over his head. You bite your lip, your neck getting hot as he does the same with yours. Slower, gentler and almost reverently as he underssed you until you were both bare.

Your hand traveled down his abdomen, brushing against the tip of his erect cock. His nostrals flared as your hand drifted further, wrapping around his shaft. Your thumb swiped over his tip, spreading his pearly white precum. You pumped him gently, your right hand focused on the tip as you massaged him. He was somewhat hunched over you, arms caging you in on both sides of the bed. You let go of him for a moment to steer him onto his back on the bed with you on your stomach between his legs. You wrapped your hand around his shaft.

You looked straight into his glazed hazel eyes as you took the base of his shaft into your mouth. Your tounge swirling as you sucked. A gutteral sound escaped his throat and his hands gripped the sheets,heels digging into the mattress. You smirked slightly, you always loved pulling sounds like that out of him.

Your mouth traveled up and down until his cock was slick and shining from your spit, his body growing tenser and tenser as his orgasm built. Suddenly he pulled you off of his cock, pulling your lips to his again with a growl, manuvering you to roll under him as he hovers above you. He gripped his wet cock, rubbing it over your clit and entrance teasingly. You moan and buck your hips as he rubs the tip up and down between your folds. Half of you wanted him to never stop doing what he was doing, the feeling of his cock dragging over your clit felt amazing, the other half wanted him to plow into you. You whined at the intensity of the sensations. "You like that?" He murmured. You nodd franticlly. "Have to remember that." He murmurs before slowly sinking into you. Your breath caught, savoring the feeling of being filled so deliciously. Your eyes squeesed shut. His fingers caught your chin. "Feel good darlin'?"

You nodded, brain too hazy to form coherent words. You opened your eyes and shuttered as he shifted inside you. You gripped his shoulders and pushed him to sit back against the wall as you sat on top of his lap, cock still buried deep inside of you. Your hands rest on his shoulders, one of your hands coming to rest against his cheek as you slowly started to move your hips, milking his cock.

His mouth drops open slightly, hands landing to rest on your hips and all he can do is watch your breasts move along with your labored breathing. After a few minutes his head bangs back against the wall, hands gripping your hips tighter as his eyes clench shut, and hot streams of cum exploding inside of you. You gasp, the twitching and warmth of his cock paired with your thrusts causing your orgasm to rip through you, almost violently.

As you both come down from. The high, You both still, your breathing stilling as he softens inside you, and you climb off. He lays down beside you, arm wrapping around your waist as he presses a kiss to your brow.

"Im sorry." He says into the darkness. You shake your head "your everything to me, Len. Everything." You say before you both settle in, falling asleep.

Fin.

[hypnoshatesme]

Wrong and Right, and Perfect

Gerry hadn't known Michael Shelley, at least not well. They had talked when Gerry had gotten stuck waiting for Gertrude in the Institute, which happened a lot, or when he himself ended up needing some sort of information from the Archive. Michael had always been eager to help. Maybe Gerry had flirted with him on those occasions. Initially it was more teasing, boredom and curiosity getting the better of Gerry. Michael was timid and fussy, and nobody seemed to ever talk to him unless to request his help. Gerry had wondered how he’d react if somebody did. And so, after waiting for more than five minutes and with no sign of the waiting being over anytime soon, he did just that.

Michael did not disappoint. Gerry couldn’t even remember what exactly he had said, but the other man had frozen, face flushing brightly as he tried to stammer an answer, getting more embarrassed by his own flusteredness. It was cute. So Gerry made it a habit. With time, Michael started being more comfortable, so they could actually hold a conversation without him dissolving into a blushing, stuttering mess. But his eyes were still bright, his cheeks still blushing, hands fidgeting nervously. He was cute. Gerry liked talking to him, liked the soft, clear voice that could get all high and excited, and low and grave within only a couple minutes. It was fun.

Gerry hadn’t known Michael Shelley well, but he hadn’t been oblivious to him, either. So when he glanced at the tall, lanky figure that came to stand next to him in the alley he had ducked into to smoke in peace, the first thing that came to his mind was Michael Shelley. Which was ridiculous. The figure was even taller than Michael had been, limbs longer. The hair looked too long, too, though it was hard to tell since Gerry had never seen it outside of the messy bun Michael had worn it in every day in the institute.

Most importantly, looking at Michael had never given Gerry a headache, had never made his skin tingle as it was with him eyeing the figure beside him now. It wasn’t human. Gerry scoffed internally at his own certainty about that. Of course he could tell that in a dimly lit alley without even looking properly at the figure. That’s just how his life was.

Still, in the back of his mind, the picture of Michael Shelley kept creeping up. Gerry had assumed him dead when Gertrude returned without him. She had said he wouldn’t be coming back, though. Nothing about him dying. Gerry turned around to get a better look at the figure in the dim street light. It was dizzying. There was movement. Its hair was curling itself into spiral patterns, defying gravity and all logic; its body vaguely human, but not quite, too many sharp edges, skin looking like it’d cut. It probably would. Its fingers too long with too many joints, twitching, much like Michael’s hands had, but less nervous, more wrong.

When Gerry finally managed to control his eyes enough to look at what should presumably be the face, despite his head throbbing the harder he tried, he froze. It was Michael Shelley. Same round, unthreatening face. Except full of sharp edges, split by a unnaturally wide grin revealing a row of pointy teeth. Except with eyes that looked like a nightmare, all colours and shapes, all moving together, independently and all at once, instead of the warm, grey eyes that Gerry had gotten used to making sparkle with the right words.

Gerry had to avert his eyes to collect his thoughts, to remember how to build sentences.

“Michael?”, he decided to ask, mind still racing with colours and shapes and the implications of the being standing beside him and the fact that he wasn’t sure if he could fight it now that he had looked at it for so long his head felt like it was exploding.

It laughed and Gerry held his head, the noise like shattered glass, engulfing him, reverberating inside his brain. Somewhere mixed in there, though, it sounded like Michael’s laughter, sweet and shy. It was both and neither at the same time and Gerry thought that he might be losing his mind.

He had been disappointed when Michael didn’t return. He hadn’t allowed anything beyond that sharp pang in his gut. There was work to do. Gerry was feeling tears when he looked up again after the laughter stopped. Were they his? Of course they were. How did that question even occur to him.

“In a sense. It is a name.”, it said after a moment of consideration, and the voice was Michael’s, too, but it clearly was nothing like it.

The pain Gerry felt at the sound had nothing to do with how wrong it sounded. Or maybe it had. He wasn’t sure. He was obviously dealing with the Distortion, there was no trusting his senses. Gerry took a long drag of his nearly burned down cigarette, exhaling slowly, trying to calm down.

“You...ate him?”, he asked.

His voice didn’t sound like his own. Was he shaking? He stared at his fingers, but his view was still cloudy from tears. He cleaned them away with the back of his hand.

It cocked its head to the side. Too far. A human neck would’ve broken at that angle.

“As much as he ate me.”, there was a permanent sliver of amusement in that voice, an inaudible chuckle, a cackle.

Somehow, that was more disconcerting than everything else to Gerry. It was grating at him, bringing out something raw and angry Gerry had been ignoring, burying deep within.

“Spit him out.”, Gerry hissed, and the anger was clear in his voice now.

Suddenly, he wanted to punch it. He didn’t. It looked sharp. It would be foolish to attack it with his bare hands. Gerry felt triumphant for having a thought so reasonable in that moment.

It moved its head further to the side and Gerry couldn't tell if he imagined the crack that motion made. It didn't seem bothered by it. It chuckled, again, this time softer and it didn't make Gerry want to double over in pain.

"If I told you to spit out your heart, would you?"

It probably could make him, Gerry thought first, mind still processing the meaning of those words. It was the Distortion. It was also Michael Shelley, though Gerry couldn't tell how much of him was left beyond the suggestion of his form.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, "What do you want?", and in the back of his mind he got ready to fight, because what else could it want but to drive him insane. It was its nature.

It laughed again and Gerry braced himself, but it didn't hurt as it had. It tingled, that distinct feeling of wrongness when fazed by anything relating to the Spiral; a discomfort, the earlier pain dulled. Gerry wondered if that was done on purpose.

"You shouldn't trust her.", it said and pulled a face, voice shattering into something akin to a gasp and utterly unlike it.

Gerry’s ears were ringing, "Her?"

It took some time to spit out the next words, face further contorting. Distantly, Gerry thought it looked like pain.

"The archivist."

There was venom in those words and Gerry nearly took a step back, feeling the impact of the word like a blow. Trusting Gertrude Robinson beyond their wary collaboration currently in place had never occurred to him. She did not seem like the trustworthy type. He didn’t trust easily.

It took Gerry a moment to find his voice again, "I don't. Why are you telling me this?"

"I wanted to.", it said with a pained expression that made that hard to believe.

"Michael Shelley wanted to?", Gerry asked because that sounded more likely.

It nodded its head mechanically, only half a nod before it’s face contorted in agony and it stumbled back.

It was holding its head and Gerry could see the pointy fingers burying into its scalp as it gasped, "He worried, in...the end. About you."

That sounded awfully like Michael Shelley. Gerry’s stomach twisted into a tight knot; maybe literally, considering the being in front of him. The being heaving and swaying, reaching out to steady itself against the wall. A door opened, creaking, and then the entity was going through it, dragging itself in stiff motions and Gerry thought there was something wrong with its face. More wrong. There was blood trickling down its mouth and nose, its eyes. Gerry watched as the creature closed the door behind it.

When Gerry blinked again the door was gone and he felt a distant burn on his fingers. He looked and his cigarette had burned down completely. Gerry watched the small spot of irritated skin for a moment longer before cleaning the ashes from his fingers and stepping back unto the street, head still spinning. He felt numb at the same time and instead of making his way back to the club he walked home, letting the cool night sooth the remnants of his headache. He tried very hard to not think about what he had seen.

It turned out that wasn’t easy, as the being appeared again. And again. It became a somewhat regular occurrence in Gerry’s life. Michael, Gerry decided to call it for a lack of a better word. Because it was Michael, it just wasn't Michael Shelley. Not anymore. In the Institute, in the bars and cafés he frequented, when he was out for one of his jobs, in his apartment. The door would appear. Michael would step out. Sometimes it would even help Gerry if he had found himself in a sticky situation. Usually it would just be there.

They'd talk, but keeping up a coherent conversation with the Distortion was nigh impossible. Gerry got used to it. It kept things interesting to try and make sense of the vague, scattered sentences Michael would give him as answers to questions, or sometimes unasked. There was only one thing it was always clear about, despite it paining it to say it. Don't trust the archivist. It didn't matter how many times Gerry assured it that he didn't, it kept saying it. Gerry got used to that, too.

It was worrying how quickly Gerry became comfortable with it around. He never let his guard down completely, he wasn't that stupid, but he got used to the slight headache, the buzzing sensation warning him that something was wrong. It became a way to tell Michael was there. Days, weeks and sometimes more would pass between Michael's visits, and Gerry noticed that, eventually, he started missing it, looking forward to whenever it appeared again. It was a somewhat disturbing realisation to have.

It was the familiarity of it all that had Gerry not even look up from his notebook when he started feeling the dull headache on one of his few lazy afternoons spent on the couch. It had been nearly two weeks since it had last appeared. Gerry tried to ignore his skipping heartbeat that had started to accompany the headaches by now. Just another warning sign, he told himself.

"Michael.", he said when he heard the steps approach.

"Gerry.", it answered, as always.

The fact that they had something of a routine made Gerry feel warm inside despite himself.

He didn't hear it come closer, but suddenly it was bending over him from behind the couch, stray strands of blond hair falling into Gerry’s vision. One touched his nose, making a shallow cut in the process. Gerry wrinkled his nose.

"Ouch.", he said, despite him barely feeling it, more teasing than anything.

Quickly, sharp edges were turned soft, an apology mumbled as a finger, pointy but no longer sharp, came to clean off the small trickle of blood. The barest touch from Michael always felt like electricity. When the finger retreated, Gerry bit his lip to keep himself from asking it to stop. Gerry quite liked the sensation.

"What are you doing?", Michael’s voice came right above him, curious and, as usual, amused.

"Drawing.", Gerry answered, nodding at the notebook in his hands.

Michael sounded surprised, "I didn't know you draw."

"I rarely get to do it.", Gerry sighed, looking up.

Michael's face was closer than he had thought and he fought the blush creeping into his face, "What do..uh...what do you want?", he asked, desperately trying to say something, unsure if it his mind was struggling because he was looking at Michael or because Michael’s face was so very close to his own.

As usual, Michael shrugged. He only ever had a proper answer when he came to help Gerry on the job, and even then he managed to say anything but.

"Do you want to sit?", Gerry asked, looking at the grinning face right in front of his own, his headache starting to worsen with the effort. He was losing the fight with the heat rising in his cheeks, too.

Michael seemed to think for a moment before nodding and, instead of coming around to the couch, he simply stepped over it and sat down next to Gerry.

"What are you drawing?", it asked, head coming to rest on Gerry’s shoulder so it could look at the drawing. It didn't seem like the most comfortable position to Gerry, their height difference making it bend its neck at an odd angle, but he guessed that was the advantage of not being human. Its hair tickled Gerry’s neck, little sparks against his skin that had been difficult to ignore in the beginning. He managed, now.

Gerry turned the notebook for better view, readjusting his position so he could continue comfortably with Michael’s head on his shoulder. By now he was used to how off it felt, Michael seemingly having taken a liking to resting it there or on Gerry’s own head when it managed to catch Gerry relaxing. Or just not running. Gerry barely glanced at it by now, his mind knowing what exactly it will find and so stopping his eyes from giving into the urge to check what the source of the weird feeling, not quite a human head but not not a head, was.

Michael could see now, that Gerry was drawing an eye. It was an intricate design, the longer he looked the more details he saw, smaller shapes and fine lines all coming together for the overall picture. It was somewhat hypnotic to look at and Michael had to admit, somewhat begrudgingly, that it liked it.

“Another tribute to your patron.”, it wasn’t a question, the eyes on Gerry’s knuckles in clear view from where Michael was sitting.

If Michael cared to, he could shift his head to look at the eye on Gerry’s throat, too, or the twin one at the back of his head. He had always wondered if there were more. And where those might be.

Gerry thought about that. He hadn’t intended it to be a tribute, wasn’t even sure he’d set out to draw an eye. He had always liked drawing eyes, and it was his go-to motive when he didn’t really have a plan.

He shrugged, “Did save my ass more than once. I do still think it’s better than most oth-”, he stopped, looking at Michael with a crooked, half-apologetic grin, that threw Michael off-balance for a moment, but in a very different way from what it was used to, “No offense.”

“Mhm, none taken.”, Michael chuckled his shattered glass laughter, trying to shake off the weird feeling, and Gerry closed his eyes for a moment because that was a lot to take when Michael was so close to his ear.

When the wave of dizziness passed, he opened his eyes again, looking at his half finished drawing.

“Do you have any suggestions what else to draw?”, he asked, shifting to look at Michael again.

Michael made a thoughtful expression - at least that was the closest Gerry could describe it as - and Gerry forced himself to look, because it was fascinating to watch, no matter if looking made his headache worse. The facial features looked human enough with his usual, wide grin, but when they shifted into any other expression it was in a distinctly unhuman way, too obvious, janky. It made it easier to read the face and harder to do so at the same time and it was simply interesting to watch.

“How about...a spiral?”, it ended up saying.

Gerry burst out laughing, “I thought you’d say that.”

Michael blinked at him, as if confused, before laughing, too. It was a rare occasion, to hear Gerry laugh, and Michael quite enjoyed the sound. It was infectious.

Gerry continued with his current piece after his laughter faded, and Michael watched from his shoulder. It had become accustomed to seeing Gerry’s fingers wrapped around books and files, lighters, the occasional weapon. It had even seen him hold a pen to jot down notes, once, but this was different. They looked more relaxed. Long fingers - for human standards - wrapped around the pen losely, rather than the vice grip Michael remembered seeing as he frantically took notes in a hurry about two weeks ago. Michael watched, enraptured by the subtle shift of muscle, more noticable thanks to the eyes on each knuckle shifting with them.

They were nice, his fingers, and Michael thought it had always liked to watch them move, to look at them. It was a memory, not its own, but undoubtedly belonging to it. It hurt when it remembered, and so it just tried to focus on those fingers as they continued moving smoothly, beautifully. Michael would have liked to hold them, but that would mean he couldn’t watch them anymore, so he didn’t. It stayed where it was and watched on in comfortable silence.

Gerry did draw it its spiral, because why not, and considering who, or rather what, it was for he went all out with labyrinthine details, spirals made out of elaborate smaller patterns that twisted and turned, none quite like the other, all of them making one big spiral. When Gerry looked at the finished piece, it gave him a headache, and he was sure Michael would be satisfied. Michael had had left a while ago, by then, but Gerry knew it would be back eventually.

It appeared again two days later, as Gerry was about to get to dedicate the rest of the night to going through the files he’d gotten from Gertrude to track down another Leitner. He had had a run-in with the Hunt on his way home and ended up arriving much later than intended. Still, he wanted to finally find some more specific leads, so he sighed and sat down at the table on which had thrown the copies when he had come home before heading straight into the shower. It would be a long night, but Gerry wasn’t the biggest fan of sleep, anyways.

Gerry didn’t hear any doors open, but he felt the slight buzzing light-headedness that always accompanied Michael’s proximity before he was through with the first file. He raised his head and saw a mug being set down in front of him by a hand with too many bones.

"You forgot your coffee in the kitchen.", Michael said and Gerry couldn't remember making coffee - he did remember wanting to, at least - but he gratefully accepted the mug with a mumbled 'thanks' and took a sip.

Michael looked over the covered table, "I thought you spent your long research nights right in the Institute.", his voice dropped a little, something close to venom added to the usual amusement at the word 'institute', as always.

Gerry couldn't blame it, really. He didn’t know details, Michael clearly not wanting to talk about what happened. But he knew enough. Gerry tried not to think about it too much. The idea of soft-spoken, sweet Michael slowly losing himself in the hallway, shattering, un-becoming and being forced back into a shape that wasn’t his, was wrong for everyone- and thing involved. He didn’t want to imagine it. So, obviously, his brain sometimes made it topic of his dreams, when it got bored of his own horrors to torture him with. Gerry never asked for more details because he was doing fine adding them himself.

"There's some renovations going on and it’s noisy, so I just copied what i thought I might need."

He also had gotten into yet another disagreement with Gertrude and had desperately craved putting some distance between them. But the archivist was not somebody Gerry mentioned to Michael if he could help it. He knew it upset the other, too many emotions, none of them positive. He wondered sometimes, what Michael Shelley felt. Would have been feeling had he still been there. Betrayal, probably. But would he get angry, the way Michael did? Vindictive fury was such a difficult thing to imagine on that face. Then again, it was the same face that expressed it so very clearly to Gerry every time he mentioned Gertrude. It looked wrong, and Gerry could never tell if that was due to Michael’s nature or because Michael Shelley's face had not being cut out for such expressions. Gerry would never know.

Gerry looked at Michael as he drank his too-hot coffee and tried to calculate how likely it was for him to actually get any work done with it here. It's not that Gerry wanted to send it away, but it was a fact that it was harder to form clear thoughts with Michael around. He didn't mind, not really. Most of the time, talking to it was much more enjoyable than work. As Gerry watched Michael watching him, he felt his will and motivation to work dwindle.

He sighed, getting up, "Did you come to get your spiral picture?"

"Oh? Is it done?", came the answer and Michael was quite literally radiating waves of excitement.

Gerry thought that if he'd try hard enough he'd be able to physically see them. He turned around to get his notebook, an amused grin on his lips. There was something endearing about the instances when Michael got so caught up in its emotions they started to ooze it with every fibre of its being. Well, it was endearing as long as it wasn't his anger directed at Gertrude, at least.

Gerry finally managed to find his notebook and the correct page. He ripped it out carefully and held it out towards Michael.

"Careful or you'll cut it.", he decided to add because, as far as his eyes could tell, Michael's features and limbs and everything was still sharp; the hand being raised to reach for the paper still had knife points for fingers.

They were dulled as the hand reached the piece of paper. Michael brought it up to his face to look at it - he held it so close that Gerry wasn't sure he could even see much - and Gerry reached for his coffee to finish it as he watched Michael as intently as he dared to without making his headache overbearing.

His head had trouble comprehending what was happening to Michael's face. The usual wide grin grew wider, literally splitting the face in two, thankfully without detaching the halves. Its eyes didn't just widen in the metaphorical sense, but they expanded, the shapes and colours even more frantic than usual and Gerry wasn't sure if the appropriate reaction to this was to scream or to laugh because it looked both utterly horrifying and completely ridiculous. So he just stared, mesmerised by the head shifting from side to side on a neck that seemed like rubber to look at the piece of paper from different angles.

Gerry considered pointing out that it could just turn the paper around in its hands, but he didn't. He didn't want to interrupt as Michael thoroughly examined it with an expression somewhere between awe, glee and a headache. Gerry wasn't sure if it was headache-inducing or if it looked like Michael was having a headache. Maybe it was both. Gerry brought his hand down flat on the table, starting to feel a little woozy from staring at Michael for so long.

He averted his eyes, and when he tried to speak his chuckle came out a little broken as his mind was still processing what his eyes had just experienced, "I take that means you like it?", he said, and his tongue tasted like static. A stray thought found itself at the forefront of Gerry’s conscience then, wondering if that would be what Michael tasted like. Gerry shook his head, dismissing the thought.

Michael was nodding his head furiously as Gerry glimpsed up again, making his face look even more horrific. Gerry looked down again, head spinning.

"I love it! Thank you!", its voice was about four pitches too high to be anything but grating and Gerry cringed as his ears protested.

The next moment he felt himself being squeezed against what he assumed was Michael's torso. His body was singing, the tingling sensation amplified tenfold where their bodies met and then Michael let go and stepped away, and Gerry's spinning mind ground to a halt painfully. Gerry blinked away the remnants of confusion before looking up again and being met with what probably counted as a sheepish smile for Michael.

"I'm sorry, that was...a bit much. But I finally understand why humans love presents so much. They're delightful.", he marveled and clapped his hands.

Gerry shook his head, grinning, "Its fine", and it was fine. In fact,Gerry was tempted to ask it to do that again, "I think I'm not going to get much work done anymore, though.", he added glancing at the table again.

"Ah...you should take a break anyways, Gerry. Humans break without breaks.", the laughter that followed after Michael realised what it'd just said was hysterical and Gerry worried the neighbours might complain. Death metal at 3am was one thing, maniacal, ear-piercing laughter another.

"Michael?", Gerry tried, unsure if it would hear him over its own laughter.

Michael did stop, looking at Gerry attentively.

"Not so loud, please.", he said rubbing at his temple.

Michael nodded, its expression still so bright it hurt to look at it. At least the facial proportions were back to usual by now. It looked cute, that way, so much like Michael Shelley any yet different. But still cute. Gerry sighed, glancing at the files on the table one last time. He really wasn’t feeling it now.

"Want to join me for some Netflix?", Gerry asked when he looked back up.

Gerry knew that Michael had enjoyed the last time Gerry had let it watch series with him, so he wasn’t surprised when Michael’s answer came with more nodding. He was fairly sure that a normal neck would have broken from all that excessive nodding already.

Minutes later they were sitting on the couch, some random series playing - it didn't matter because when Michael was there, every series ended up just wrong, which was fine with Gerry, since they usually bored him - both of them clutching a steaming mug of tea in their hands. Michael always held his mugs with both hands, an impressive task considering it could wrap one hand around the mug at least thrice. It would bring it up to its face just to sniff it and enjoy the sensation of the heat rising up to meet it. Gerry found himself watching it more than the laptop screen. It was adorable.

Gerry was still careful when he leaned closer, resting his head against Michael's arm. Usually Michael kept his edges soft now, around Gerry, since it found out that that made Gerry come closer. It liked when Gerry did. Tentatively, it put one arm around Gerry, waiting for him to tense and relax again. It had taken some time, to get to the relaxing part. Gerry had always been on edge, expecting Michael to attack, to use the opportunity of a lowered guard against him. Michael never did and, by now, Gerry could relax again, tension bleeding out of his shoulders right underneath Michaels hand. He was still alert, of course, but at least they could sit like this now without him nearly jumping up at every shifting motion from Michael. It was nice. Michael wished it could pull him even closer. Instead, he drew patterns on Gerry’s arm, and Gerry hummed appreciatively.

Michael left when Gerry went to bed, as usual. As usual Gerry found himself wishing it hadn't. It was harder to ignore at night, the pounding of his heart when he thought of the way Michael's fingers had felt against his arm, how he could still feel a slight buzzing from where they had touched his bare skin. It made Gerry feel unfamiliarly warm and fuzzy and wish it were still there. He groaned, throwing one arm over his eyes. It was getting harder and harder to ignore and he should really tell it to get lost.

Gerry didn’t tell Michael to get lost, of course. He was already in too deep. And fairly sure that wouldn’t make much of a difference. Not like he had ever invited the being over. It just showed up, a yellow door appearing wherever Gerry was at random times.

Despite Michael showing up on a somewhat regular basis, Gerry never opened the door himself when it appeared. He let it be, knowing that, sooner or later, many-knuckled hands would start turning the doorknob. He never gave into the curiosity of opening it, which he was proud of. He had always been too curious for his own good.

So when Gerry did open the door for the first time it was because he didn't realise what door it was. He was bloody - most of it not his own, as far as he could tell - and the blow to his head when he had fallen earlier left him somewhat disoriented. The only thought left clearly in his mind was the urge to run, to escape. So when he saw the yellow door it didn't even occur to him that it looked completely out of place. It was an escape and so he didnt think twice about opening it and slipping inside, closing it behind him as he carried on running, aching muscles telling him that he'd need to find a place to catch his breath, if only for a moment.

He stumbled as he thought that, and then he was falling but instead of the concrete floor from the warehouse complex he had been in a moment ago it was ugly, green carpet coming closer. And then it wasn't as he stopped falling, leaning against something that felt like a wall, but with imbs to wrap around Gerry. He froze, and glimpsed a row or mirrors to his side, hung on the yellow walls of a hallway. The hallway. Gerry had read enough statements to know. He was inside the Spiral. Which meant that the wall he was leaning against was probably Michael. He looked up, craning his neck nearly painfully to try and see the face attached to the chest Gerry was resting against. It didn't feel like a wall at all, now that he thought about it.

He didn't manage to really see the face, vision swimming with a headache he hadn't felt in a while. The face came to meet him, though, and suddenly Michael was right there, so close Gerry was surprised he didn’t feel its breath, before he remembered it didn’t breathe.

“Gerry? Are you...alright?”, it was saying, voice frantic, worried.

It sounded wrong, and Gerry was having trouble focussing on the words as he could only watch those lips move, lips he’d been wanting to kiss and now they were right there and his head was throbbing.

“Can I kiss you?”, he heard himself say, the desire to close the gap between them the only clear thought in Gerry’s head as his blood rushed in his ears, mostly srill from being hunted, but not exclusively.

The words registered slowly and Gerry felt the colour rise to his face when Michael pressed its lips to his. Something clicked into place inside Gerry at that, something hollow Gerry had been deliberately ignoring filling to the brim with the electrifying sensation of those lips on his; those lips that didn't quite have the right shape, were both hard and soft at the same time and utterly intoxicating.

His right arm was going numb, and Gerry kept it pressed to his side, using his uninjured arm to wrap around a too-long neck, pulling Michael closer. Gerry realised that it had been a close call, that he had come closer to the end than he would have liked to, that he had nearly been gone without experiencing this kiss that felt so very perfect and right and yet wrong. The small hairs at the back of his neck were standing up as something slid into his mouth, not quite a tongue but also not not a tongue. Gerry pressed closer, in spite of his body's revulsion at the sensation. It did taste like static, Gerry thought distantly, as his hand buried in hair that really wasn't hair at all, steadying himself as he felt thin fingers rubbing his back, holding him like he might disappear any moment, desperatley pulling him closer.

Gerry was lying on his back, back against something soft as he was kissed breathless, pointy fingertips following the line of his throat, a dull scraping sensation that was driving Gerry mad in the best way, making him gasp and clutch at Michael's back, first a shirt, fabric like static against Gerry’s fingers, before it dissolved and his fingernails were burying into not-quite-skin and Michael made a noise that sent Gerry's mind spiralling, so very unlike anything human and so very much Michael.

"Michael.", Gerry managed to breathe out in between kisses and his voice sounded foreign in his ears, heated and desperate and wanting.

It understood, as the next moment Gerry's clothes were gone, long, long fingers meeting sensitive skin, fingers like knivepoints, dulled to not break skin as they traced his chest, his naval. They were everywhere and Gerry’s head was whirring, his skin hot, and he noticed his arm wasn't stiff and hurting anymore so he brought it up to bury in ever moving fractal hair, glass shards made soft, to pull Michael even closer. It was never close enough.

Gerry was still dizzy by morning, the unmoving body next to him, which never truly ceased to move, making it impossible to fully clear his head. Gerry didn't mind. He turned to look at it and it was staring at him. It didn't sleep. It smiled at him, the usual grin made softer at the edges. It looked fond, and Gerry smiled back, leaning his forehead against Michael's.

It only occured to Gerry after Michael had left later that morning that he had actually gotten a fairly good night’s rest, despite having the Distortion pressed against him all night. He froze at the realisation, halfway between his bathroom and the kitchen. Gerry didn’t sleep well in company, never had. Well, he didn’t sleep well in general. But usually the prospect of there being somebody to witness his violent tossing, or being there when he awoke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and ready to fight whichever horror was attacking him, because there was always, always something out to get him, made sleeping impossible.

But he had slept. With Michael. Gerry blushed a little at that. With Michael in his bed, he should rather say. The former was frankly less surprising to Gerry. Which was a realisation that only made him blush more. He shook his head. That was besides the point right now.

What Gerry truly was wondering about was how he had managed to sleep through the night with somebody - or something - next to him. Especially considering that something gave him headaches when awake already. Especially considering Gerry did not remember those fading, or even the static seemingly coming off Michael, making Gerry’s skin tingle where they touched. It had certainly been there when he was falling asleep, he remembered it clearly, his whole back tingling as Michael’s chest lay against it. How had he even fallen asleep? Did he misremember? Gerry sighed, finally taking the last steps into his kitchen. He needed something to eat. Maybe his head was still a bit foggy and he was misremembering. Or maybe it had been exhaustion. He had been exhausted. Gerry decided to think about that later as he started cooking, a soft grin playing on his lips.

Gerry got to try out his theory soon enough, as Michael appeared again a couple days later, when Gerry wasn't running for his life. Instead, Gerry was in the Institute when it showed up and there was a moment of hesitant awkwardness as both stood across each other, unsure about how to proceed. It was Gerry who closed in, unable to take it anymore, and pressed a quick kiss to Michaels jaw, since that was as far as he could get on tiptoes when Michael was standing at its full height.

The effect was immediate, Michael's arms wrapping around him and pulling him close as it bent down to kiss Gerry. Gerry felt his body hum under the touch, the buzzing sensation making him feel aware, alive. His arms wrapped around Michael's neck, holding it in place as he kissed back with equal fervour. Neither of them even thought of pulling apart, Gerry aware, somewhere in his whirring mind, that they weren't alone in the Institute, but he found it difficult to care when long fingers were tracing the line of his spine, making his breath hitch.

Gerry was breathless when they pulled apart and forgot to breathe completely when he looked into Michael's eyes, intense and focused, only for a moment, only on him. Gerry’s head was spinning with how close they were, and Michael was grinning widely, as always, except it wasn't quite as always. It looked like it was a grin specifically for Gerry. Gerry grinned back, feeling somewhat drunk.

Michael watched him work for a while, never straying too far, hand coming to twist Gerry’s hair around long fingers whenever Gerry dared to stay in the same position for longer than a couple minutes. He had a vague memory of the same sensation lulling him to sleep a couple nights ago. And then he was back to wondering.

Eventually, he looked up, nearly bumping his nose into Michael's head, which was much closer than he had expected. It was difficult to tell, sometimes. Michael looked down to meet his gaze, curious. He had always been very interested in whatever Gerry might do next.

"Do you...uh...want to stay? The night?", he ended up mumbling, barely intelligible as his face grew hot.

Michael looked somewhat surprised, a rarity Gerry always enjoyed seeing on those features, before grinning, running fingers down the side of Gerry's face, "Depends. Are you planning to spend it in the dusty archive or in your dusty apartment?"

Gerry drew his eyebrows together, "My apartment isn't dusty.", he said, taking some insult.

He wasn't the most meticulous in keeping his living space clean, and he spend a lot of time outside of it, but it really wasn't that bad.

Michael laughed wholeheartedly and Gerry's cheeks turned even darker at the memory of a similar laughter, lower, right next to his ear as he was coming undone under fingers too long and too thin and just perfect.

There was a glint in Michael's eyes, like it knew exactly what Gerry was thinking about, when it spoke again, "Yes.", it said, simply, fingers trailing down Gerry’s neck.

It took Gerry a moment to understand what it meant, his thoughts already hard to pin down when Michael was just close, much worse when it was touching him. Even when Gerry managed to discern that it had answered his question, he wasn't entirely sure what exactly it had answered. Maybe he should specify that what he’d meant to do was seeing if he could sleep again. The feeling of Michael's fingers tracing the eye on his throat sent a shiver down his spine again, and Gerry decided that that wasn't necessary.

He did sleep. And he did so again and again whenever Michael would extend his random visits until morning, which it generally started doing most of the time. It took convincing, sometimes, because in the morning Gerry was dizzy from staying so close for so long, and Michael disliked being responsible for him struggling to get up without falling. But Gerry didn't care much for mornings when he actually got some proper sleep. Nightmares didn't come for him when Michael was there, his sleep usually dreamless, then, or full of colours and shapes and static.

When Michael wasn't there, all was back to normal, so Gerry couldn't say that it just had stopped. Michael seemed to make it stop. He didn't know why, but it wasn't like much of Gerry’s life made sense in the first place, so he stopped mulling over it and simply enjoyed the nights he didn't wake up close to panicking. When Gerry told Michael about his strange discovery, the other had somehow managed to look pleased and displeased at the same time. It was in his nature to bring fitful nights, so Gerry was describing a failure. At the same time, it didn't want to make Gerry suffer, so it was glad to hear that, despite the groggy mornings, the nights were apparently restful. It was a whole new experience for Michael and it was thrilled.

As Gerry became more busy helping Gertrude and spend even less time at home, Michaels visits became more rare. It didn't like being too close to the archivist and most of the time Gerry was too busy anyways. It was fine. Occasionally, Michael would join him in his hotel rooms, keeping him company as he worked, slipping into bed next to him when Gerry had finally reached the point of exhaustion where he couldn't stay up any longer. The lightheadedness in the morning was more of a problem on those trips, however, and Michael often left after what he assumed where a couple of hours of good sleep for Gerry. Gerry didn't complain about it, didn't say much of anything as he was usually too tired. Michael also didn't say much, only pressing out his first warning through gritted teeth, not wanting Gerry to forget, no matter how painful it was to say. He was spending more and more time with the archivist and, despite Gerry reassuring Michael that he really didn't trust her beyond what was necessary for work, Michael was afraid that was already too much.

Gerry was home for the first time in what felt like years. He wasn't even sure if it had been a month. Somehow coming home had felt nothing like it. His apartment felt strange to him and he had spent most of his time in the Institute, anyways. Nothing new, then.

Gerry had no idea what time it was when he carried himself into his kitchen to make the next cup of coffee. He had lost count of how many he’d drunk since coming home from the Institute with more files and more leads to follow up on.

He wasn't even sure how long he had been standing there, in his kitchen, staring down at the coffee, when he felt a familiar weight settle on his head, thin, too long arms wrapping around his middle. Gerry barely felt the slight ache of his head he knew must be there through the haze of exhaustion.

"Gerry.", Michael whispered, squeezing him softly.

"Michael.", Gerry returned, letting himself indulge a little, leaning into the hug.

He sighed. He missed having Michael around somewhat regularly, but he hadn't had much free time to even think about it. Michael didn't like coming for visits when he was travelling with Gertrude, which had been most of what Gerry had been doing lately. There just was no time. Quite literally, considering they always seemed to only locate rituals when they were about to be completed.

"You need to sleep.", Michael mumbled into his hair, voice a bit sterner than Gerry remembered. When had he last heard it talk?

Gerry sighed, "I'm not done yet."

"You'll never be done.", Michael said, voice going a little softer at the edges, one hand coming to Gerry’s hair, removing the hair tie.

Gerry hadn't even realised how tight the ponytail had been and sighed as the tension bled out of his scalp, hair falling loosely. He felt his shoulders relax, too and it took him all his self control to straighten up and trying to shake Michael off. He still had things to do. He couldn't give in like this.

Michael didn't let go, running his fingers through the black locks instead, seemingly undisturbed by Gerry's efforts to escape the hug. Not that Gerry was trying too hard. He was tired. He missed Michael. His laptop waiting with another 50 tabs to check was having a hard time sounding more appealing than the feeling of Michael's fingers in his hair.

"Please sleep.", Michael whispered.

Gerry sighed, resigned, leaning his head back a little, into the touch, and looking up at the face above him. Michael looked worried, in a way it only ever did when Gerry had had a particularly rough run in with an avatar or the sorts. Gerry must really look like shit if Michael was giving him that look.

"I give up. I'll take a nap, okay?", he mumbled, pressing his face into Michael's neck, inhaling that scent he could never quite remember because it was like so many things at the same time but also like nothing at all. It was Michael.

Michael made a sound that made it clear it wasn't completely satisfied with the prospect of Gerry taking a nap, but Gerry felt him nod anyways. He let Michael pull him to the bedroom, energy draining from him as he embraced the idea of taking a nap. When had he last sleep?

Gerry let Michael tuck him in, his eyelids already heavy the moment his back hit the mattress. Michael looked delighted by the fact that, for once, Gerry was letting him do that without complaining about it being unnecessary. Gerry liked that expression. Then again, he liked most expressions on that impossible face.

His hand reached out to catch Michaels wrist as it started pulling away. He sounded sluggish when he spoke, "Where're you going?"

"Letting you sleep."

"How will you know I did if you're going?", Gerry pulled on its wrist lightly, "Come in."

Michael hesitated, "You need rest. Proper rest...without...confusion."

This wasn't the first time they were having this conversation, but certainly the first time Gerry was struggling to keep awake enough to explain that he'd rather have Michael next to him and wake up somewhat groggy than not having Michael next to him when he awoke.

It took too many words to piece together such a sentence now, so Gerry pulled a little harder, looking up at Michael in exasperation- albeit a very tired version of it - and simply said, "Michael!", sounding like a whiny child insisting on its candy.

Michael couldn't keep itself from chuckling, though it tried to keep it down as to make it easier on Gerry’s ears. It definitely hadn't imagined ever seeing Gerry like this and, were it not for the circles under his eyes that looked worse every time Michael stopped by, it would have been thoroughly endeared by the view. It was it was still very cute, and warming Michael from the inside, in a way only Gerry ever did. Michael carefully pried Gerry’s fingers off its wrist, squeezing them for a moment because Michael missed touching his fingers, holding his hands in its own. They felt even better than it remembered.

It walked around to the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers next to Gerry, who instantly wrapped his arms around it, rolling up against Michael's side and sighing into its shoulder. Michael caressed his cheek for a moment, noting that it looked somewhat hollow and wondered if Gerry had forgotten to eat again. It would have asked, but Gerry’s eyes were already closed, his breath slowing down as he slipped into sleep. So instead, Michael brought his fingers up to tangle in his hair, watching as it wrapped strands around its fingers only to release them again.

Michael knew exactly what he could do playing with Gerry’s hair without disturbing his sleep by now, many a night spent exactly like this, or in similar positions. Michael always liked when whatever sleeping position Gerry went for allowed it to play with his hair. He didn't let it do that a lot when awake, usually too busy and finding it distracting. It used to be something Michael could do when he caught Gerry relaxing, drawing or just watching movies on the couch. It had been a very long time since Michael had managed to find him like that, so he was glad for the current opportunity. Gerry made a small, satisfied noise, probably already more asleep than awake. This was better than nothing, at least. And Michael would see to it being a very long nap.

Gerry knew he'd slept too long the moment he awoke, light making it through the cracks in the blind and unto his face. He sighed, shifting to hide his face in Michael’s arm. He could still feel the other’s hand in his hair, just as he had before falling asleep for good. Not for the first time he found himself wondering how Michael didn't get bored with it. Peeking up to look at its face, there was the same wonder in it he had gotten used to seeing there every time Michael would play with his hair.

Gerry reached up to take the hand in his hair and gently pull it down, pressing a kiss to its palm, "Morning…"

"I think it's midday or something. Good morning.", Michael answered with a grin, oozing with self satisfaction.

Gerry groaned, rolling unto his back and rubbing his eyes. So late and so much to do. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He did feel better, rested. His thoughts were clearer, despite Michael beside him. He also felt Michael more clearly now, head light and a dull ache at the back of it. It felt right. He had missed this feeling.

"You look like you should eat.", Michael mumbled.

Gerry turned his head to face it, take it in. He never quite remembered it right, its features a bit too off, body too sharp for Gerry's memory. He had long given up trying to remember Michael Shelley. Every time he tried the smile was too wide, the eyes never the right shade. But still not an accurate depiction of the Michael as it lay next to him.

"I think I'd rather kiss you."

Michael raised his eyebrows a little too high, "Not a good idea if you want to get work done."

"I don't care right now.", Gerry grinned, pulling Michael into a kiss.

Michael returned it, eager as ever, and Gerry smiled. He clearly wasn't the only one who missed this. Arms were wrapped around him and he was pulled close, his body humming in response to having Michael all around him. Yes, he had certainly missed it.

As expected, he had to close his eyes and wait for the worst of the dizziness to subside when they pulled apart, but he stayed close, one hand drawing small circles on the palm of Michael's hand. The touch still send small sparks through him, like electricity but not - he was fairly sure he would have electrocuted himself by now if that were the case - which wasn't helpful in shaking the lingering lightheadedness.

"I told you it was a bad idea."

"Shut up, this was the single good idea I had in months."

Michael sighed, and even in his sighing there was a chuckle. It wrapped his hand around Gerry's and squeezed.

"It's not going to go away while I'm here, you know."

"Don't go.", Gerry said it quickly and with such desperation he surprised himself.

Michael was also stunned into silence, which was certainly an achievement. But Gerry was too shocked himself to notice.

Michael turned its head to face him and Gerry opened his eyes again. By now his brain barely reacted to the obviously-should-be-broken neck. A short spike of discomfort, gone in a second.

"I thought you had work to do.", it said, sounding genuinely confused.

"I do."

"You also want me to stay."

"I do."

Now Michael laughed and Gerry thought his ears might bleed. Michael noticed him flinching and cut itself off, touching his cheek in what might have been a calming motion if it weren't for the electrifying nature of its touches.

"You're just...being very contradictory. You'd have made a great avatar of the spiral.", there was mirth in its voice but also something else underneath, something that had always sounded like jealousy to Gerry.

Sometimes, Michael was ridiculously human, in a way.

"Mhm…", Gerry mumbled, leaning over and pressing his lips to its jaw, "Maybe it's your influence.", he brought his free hand up to its face, brushing some hair out of its forehead before tracing its features tenderly, "Maybe I'm just getting demanding.", he chuckled against its neck, planting feather light kisses down to its collarbone.

Michael shivered, eyes fluttering close again with a sigh. It didn't want him to stop. It reached out to pull him closer, flush against it, and buried its face in Gerry's hair. Gerry chuckled against its chest, low and fond, and Michael wondered, not for the first time, if it would combust from the warmth spreading inside of it at the sound. It felt Gerry’s fingers on his back, tracing a too-long spine, slipping under the fabric of the shirt covering it when they arrived at Michael's lower back, drawing another shiver from it and a satisfied hum.

"Let's stay a little longer like this, hmm?", Gerry asked, a bit teasing, but loving.

Michael brought its hand to the nape of his neck, playing with his hair, occasionally brushing the sensitive skin between where his hair roots ended and his shirt began, making Gerry shiver, too.

"Alright.", it mumbled, voice muffled by Gerry’s hair but it didn't matter. Gerry knew it would never say no to such an offer.

Michael did leave a couple hours later, leaving Gerry to his work. Gerry's apartment felt empty and strange again, with it gone.

It didn't show up again before the morning of Gerry’s flight, when it sat on his bed and watched him pack.

“That’s a lot of things.”, it commented.

Gerry looked up at it, “It will probably be a long one.”

It looked disappointed. Gerry sighed, finishing packing and putting on his coat. He was tired and part of him couldn’t wait to get on the plane and hopefully get some sleep. The other part wanted to roll up next to Michael and just sleep here. He shook his head. It had taken so long to finally piece the leads together. Finally, the nights spend researching were going to pay off.

“I’ll be off, then.”, he mumbled, stepping up to where Michael was sitting.

It was an interesting perspective, to be able to see its face so clearly while standing up without craning his neck. He sighed. Gerry disliked goodbyes and wasn’t particularly good at them. Now he found himself wishing Michael hadn’t come, which made him feel guilty because it was looking at him with something akin to a pout, clearly disliking the idea of Gerry leaving again. Or maybe it wasn’t that clear, but Gerry had just become that good at reading its incomprehensible expressions. It had been quite some time since it started its visits.

He pressed his lips to Michael’s forehead, running his fingers through its hair. He lingered, longer than necessary, feeling Michael leaning into it. Gerry chuckled at that, looking at Michael after pulling away.

Michael met his eyes, “That felt..nice.”, it made a face when saying it, but Gerry was used to the contradictory expressions it made for comments like that.

“Mhm, I’ll keep that in mind, then.”, Gerry grinned, pressing his lips to Michael’s for a moment, “I’ll need to go now.”.

Michael looked sad again, and Gerry knew he had to really get out because he couldn’t bear that look. He could deal with the dizzying headache that came with looking into those eyes, but being looked at by them with that expression made his throat feel tight at the same time. He kissed Michael’s forehead again, this time just a peck, before turning around, picking up his luggage and leaving the apartment.

Michael simply watched as Gerry locked the door to the apartment behind him. It never liked the idea of Gerry spending time with the archivist. Even worse when he was travelling with her, making it difficult for Michael to stop while avoiding running into her. It didn’t want to see her. It wanted to see Gerry, to see that he was okay despite spending so much time with her. He had always been, until now. He didn’t really trust her, he said. Michael still couldn’t shake the creeping worry, something it was fairly sure had not belonged to him before. It didn’t like it.

Gerry was alone in the hospital room when he felt the end coming. There was no fight left in him. The doctors had been pretty clear about how this was the most likely outcome. So he wasn’t surprised. Or scared. But he was alone. Gertrude had left to meet up with their contact, though she had looked quite uncomfortable in the first place. Or maybe rather disapproving. Gerry guessed it was a good thing he wouldn’t die under that scrutinizing glare. He could still feel it, now, even with his eyes closed and her gone. He should be glad she was gone.

There were fingers brushing through his hair, gentle, despite feeling very unlike fingers. Gentle probably wasn't the right word, but there had never been right words for Michael. Gerry opened his eyes to see blond curls moving on their own, a pair of bright eyes looking down at him. It hurt to look as always, but Gerry was beyond caring.

"Michael.", he said and regretted it instantly, cringing at how weak his own voice sounded.

Michael continued petting his hair with his many jointed fingers, "Gerry."

Gerry waited for it to continue. It didn't, just kept running fingers through Gerry’s hair. It was hypnotic and Gerry was unsure how much of that was the motion and how much it was the nature of Michael being so. Or maybe it was because he himself was barely there anymore.

"Say something.", Gerry asked after the silence dragged on, this time keeping his voice low so he wouldn't have to hear it breaking so loudly.

It still took a lot of effort to form the words. But he wanted to hear more of Michael’s voice, wanted to be sure it was really there. The fingers felt real, but Gerry’s vision was swimming, Michael’s edges dissolving. He wanted to hear it.

Michael didn't know what to say. It had waited for the hospital staff and the archivist to leave, trying to understand what was happening. It hadn't expected to find Gerry in the hospital in the first place. He should have been in his hotel room, unpacking. Not lying in a white room full of beeping machines and needles in his hand.

"I warned you not to trust her.", Michael finally said because he remembered the archivist's look as she left, calculating, and it knew Gerry would suffer.

Its usual amused tone didn't sound right, like that wasn't the emotion it wanted to convey at all. Gerry was used to it by now, to the slight nuances in that voice hinting at what it truly was conveying. In that moment he wished he hadn't been. Michael sounded frustratingly sad. Gerry wanted to comfort it, but he could barely speak.

Gerry licked his dry lips, collecting his strength to answer, "She has...nothing to do with this."

There was something wrong with Michael's face, he noticed. Well, there was always something not right about it. That was the point. But the expression it was wearing was foreign to Gerry, something he couldn't read or place. There was something running down its cheeks. It looked like tears. It looked distinctly unlike tears.

Gerry felt the urge to reach out and touch but he could barely feel his arms anymore. The order from his brain did not reach them and so all he could do was squint up at Michael, trying to bring the slightly blurry image into focus. Gerry knew that Michael was never quite in focus. But he had the impression that it was worse now and Gerry was afraid that that might be more due to his body shutting down than due to the nature of not-being of Michael's. Gerry wanted to see it.

"There will be pain.", Michael whispered, and yet it pierced Gerry’s ears, making his head ache.

He mumbled, "I'm used to it.". Because he was. Michael knew.

Michael shook his head violently, hair bouncing wildly. Gerry was struck by the urge to touch it. He remembered its texture. Nothing like hair. Utterly wrong. So very right between Gerry’s fingers, smoothed edges wanting to go sharp again, to cut. But Michael had always liked Gerry’s hands in its hair. It had kept its edges smooth.

"It's nothing like you know. It's worse, it's…", Michael struggled, face contorting from the effort of speaking clearly, of finding the right words.

Right hurt him. Gerry didn’t want it to hurt. It was difficult to follow the words by now, anyways. He wanted it to stop.

“Kiss me?”, Gerry didn’t know if he ended up saying it, barely registering his mouth moving, not hearing his own voice.

He must have said it though because Michael’s blurry image came closer and then Gerry felt a slight tingle against his lips, a shadow of the intensity he remembered from those kisses. It was better than nothing, though, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation, trying to stay.

He wanted to hug Michael, keep him there, but all he managed was a weak twitching of his fingers. Michael must have noticed, covering the hand in question with its own and squeezing it lightly. Gerry felt it, but distantly. He struggled to open his eyes again, but gave up when it became obvious that it was too much.

Michael watched his eyelids flutter, his face contorting with the effort of opening his eyes before he stopped with a broken, frustrated sigh. Michael caressed his cheek. It felt off. Cold and dry and fragile. Michael knew how easily Gerry could break and rip and die. Michael seen him get hurt many times, had been the source of a bleeding cut more than once when it forgot how quickly Gerry’s skin was punctured.

Never had it felt it. Never had it actually feared Gerry might crumble under its fingers. Michael was hurting, but not from doing the right thing this time, but from how very wrong Gerry felt. Looked. Thin, skin sickly pale, black hair oily with sweat despite his skin feeling dry. His roots were showing and Michael knew Gerry would wrinkle his nose if he'd see that. He had always kept up with the dying, hating to see the natural colour coming through. Michael had helped, sometimes. It couldn’t help now.

Gerry couldn't see it now. Gerry looked exhausted. More than he ever had. Like all the exhaustion in his life had caught up with him now as he was bound to this hospital bed in a strange country, unable to move and slipping.

Michael traced gerrys eyebrow with one finger. It wished those eyes would open again and look at him, sharp and clear, a trace of amusement or mischief, or even annoyance or seriousness in them. Michael wondered if he was missing Gerry. He shouldn't. Gerry was here. A little bit of him.

Michael’s other hand started combing through his hair again and watched Gerry relax, a rare occasion in life. His face went slack and his breathing soft and shallow. Michael could see him slipping. He didn't let go, didn't stop caressing because he knew Gerry liked it, even if he couldn't feel it properly. Michael continued even after Gerry’s chest stopped rising, machines attached to him starting to beep differently. Michael didn't stop because he didn't want to, then, not because he knew Gerry liked it. There was nothing Gerry could feel anymore. Gerry was gone.

Michael bent down again, pressing his lips to Gerry’s forehead. Gerry, of course, didn’t react. And Michael was hurting. It was hearing steps approaching, so it forced itself to let go of Gerry’s hand and hair, to pull away from his face.

A yellow door appeared and it stepped through it. The yellow door was gone by the time the nurses opened the door to the hospital room.

[knightofthecourt]

Love Bites - Chapter 3

Belatrice Gray was a TA at Belgrave University, working hard to stay on top of her marking and trying not to flunk her own studies, when a night out with her bff Randall and his roommates, changed everything.  

Hamish Duke x OC fiction with fluff, romance and angst. OC description has been left out to allow for reader personalisation!

“I always knew Tanner was a Grade A, D-bag.” Lilith prowled the Den’s living room, weaving between the armchair Randall was sitting in and the doorway where Jack and Alyssa were hovering.

They’d filled in the rest of the group while Hamish had washed away the blood and changed out of Jack’s jacket. Now he was sitting watching them from his perch next to Bela on the sofa. She had yet to wake up but thanks to the Pulveris Memoria Alyssa had used on her, when she did, she wouldn’t have any recollection of the past few hours.

“No kidding,” Randall piped up. “Stupid too - as if he would have been a match for four werewolves, even with that spell. What was he thinking?”

“He’s not exactly The Order’s best or brightest.” Alyssa sighed. She leaned against Jack, slipping her arm around his waist.

Lilith snarled. “I just wish I’d been there. I could’ve punched the stupid idiot in his stupid face.”

“Don’t worry Lil,” Randall grimaced. “We’ll do more than that to him.”  

“No.” Hamish pulled his attention away from Bela. His voice was quiet but it echoed through the room. “I’m going to deal with him.”

When Lillith huffed in protest he glared at her. “Did I not make myself clear? Tanner is mine.”  

An awkward silence fell across the Den as Lillith, Randall, Jack and Alyssa looked at each other. Hamish ignored them, choosing instead to refocus his attention on Bela, watching her carefully for signs of consciousness.  

After a beat, Randall leaned forward in his chair. “Look Haim,” he said, “I know you’re upset but you don’t have to do this on your own.”

“Upset?” Hamish kept his voice low, conscious of the woman sleeping a few feet away from them. “He kidnapped Bela to get to me. He hurt her, because I left her alone. It was my fault. It’s my responsibility.” Though his voice was calm, he could feel Tundra’s presence under his skin, pressing him to hunt down Tanner, to destroy the person who’d threatened Bela. He took a steadying breath.  

“Ok.” Randall raised his palms in defeat. “You’re the boss.”

Hamish glanced up, towards the doorway. “Do we have enough supplies for another tracking spell?”

Alyssa nodded. “Just about. What are you going to do?”

Hamish’s eyes were cold as he looked around the group. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Finally,” Lilith smiled. “A plan I can get on board with.”

“Good, because-” Hamish broke off as a soft groan came from the other end of the sofa.

“Bels?” He scanned her face as she shifted slightly, starting to wake.

At the first sign of movement Randall went to get up from his chair, but he froze when a rumbling noise issued from Hamish’s chest. He sat back down, quickly, looking into the older man’s silver eyes with surprise. “Uh… Haim?”

Randall’s voice broke through Hamish’s stupor. He was a little shocked and embarrassed - had he really just growled at his friend? He mentally shook himself before shooting the dark haired man an apologetic look. “Sorry. It’s been a long night.”

“Uh,” Lillith glanced between Hamish and Randall and then to Bela. “I’m going to give you some space.” She said, heading upstairs.

Jack pulled Alyssa towards the basement door. “Yeah,” He mumbled as they disappeared from view. “We’ll go work on that thing for you Hamish.”

“Subtle, Haim.” Randall bit back a smirk.

Bela groaned under her breath, drawing their attention back to the sofa.

“Am I contagious or something?” Her voice cracked as she blinked, clearing her vision.

She looked around the room in surprise. The last thing she remembered was being outside the club - how did she get to the Den? As she took in Hamish and Randall’s concerned faces her confusion warped into worry.

“Uh… what’s going on guys?”

The two men exchanged a look.

“What do you remember?” Hamish asked, eyes trained on her face.

“We were going to get dinner. I was waiting for you outside and then this guy from my department came over.”

Hamish nodded.

“Uh, Tanner. He asked to borrow my phone and ….” Bela paused for a moment. Her thoughts were swimming around her head, impossible to pin down or make sense of. Her eyes widened as a memory slotted into place. “He put his hand over my mouth.” Bela felt panic fill her. As the fog cleared she was suddenly aware of her aching limbs and the pounding pressure behind her temples.

“What happened?”

Hamish's brow furrowed. “Tanner… We think he gave you a sedative. He knocked you out and tried to get you into his car.”

Randall glanced at the older man. “But Hamish came out and saw him. He stopped Tanner and brought you back here.”

“What?” Bela was confused. “I don’t even know him, why would he do that?”

The two men exchanged another glance. They’d already discussed what version of events might explain Bela’s injuries without inviting further questions.

“Maybe a frat prank?” Randall suggested “Or maybe he’s done this to other women before.” The implication of Tanner’s actions hung in the air.

Bela felt her stomach drop. Her head pounded as she struggled to wrap her mind around what had happened, what might have happened if Hamish hadn’t stepped in.

She scanned his face, finding his blue eyes with her own. “Thank you.”

Hamish’s cheeks darkened. He placed a hand on her arm, absently running his fingers across her skin. “Uh, Bels.” He hesitated. “There was a fight, when I came outside. Tanner wasn’t exactly careful - you got pretty banged up.”

“That explains my head.” Bela groaned. “And my arms…. And my legs. Just everything really.”

“Are you in pain?” Hamish frowned.

Bela nodded, and then regretted it immediately as a shooting sensation rocketed through her skull. She winced. “Everything hurts.”

“I’m going to get you some pain killers, don’t move.” He disappeared through the door to the kitchen, leaving Bela with Randall.  

“You’ll feel better soon,” her friend said, offering her a small smile. “You just need to rest. The drugs should wear off soon.”

“Yeah,” Bela rolled her eyes. “I know the drill, Dr Carpio.”  

She tried to sit up and then fell back quickly as pain radiated through her legs.

“Wha-?” She hissed in discomfort.

“Don’t get up.” Randall leapt up from the armchair as Hamish rushed back into the room.

He glared at Randall as if he was personally responsible for causing Bela pain.

“Your legs are bruised, second degree contusions. You need to rest.”

Bela stared at Randall. “You examined me?” Her eyebrows inched up. “While I was unconscious?”

Randall’s mouth dropped open. He crouched on the floor next to the sofa. “I’m sorry Bels, I had to check if we needed to take you to the hospital. We didn’t know what Tanner-” he looked at Hamish, “- how bad your injuries were.”  

Bela reached down to pat his hand. “If you were anyone else, I’d sock you in the jaw.” She smiled as relief flooded his face. “Thank you though, seriously.”

Randall grinned up at her, and gave her hand a small squeeze.  

Hamish handed her a couple of pills and a glass of water. “Take these, they’ll help with the pain.”  

Bela nodded and swallowed them quickly. When she’d finished he took the glass off her and set it down on the table in front of them.

“You need to rest.” He said gently. “You can’t be on your own until we’re sure the drug is out of your system. You can stay in my room.”

“I can’t,” Bela protested. “You need to sleep too, Hamish.”

“Believe me,” He insisted “I’m not going to get much rest tonight.”

He bent down and placed an arm around Bela’s shoulders, the other looped carefully under her knees. When he straightened up he brought Bela with him, tucking her into his chest.

Bela felt her face flush at the sudden sensation of being pressed against Hamish. Though she knew he was carrying her to avoid her walking on injured legs, she couldn’t help but take a little pleasure in his act of chivalry.

His room was set at the far end of the house, the very last door leading off the hallway. As he pushed the door open Bela noticed how closely it matched what she’d imagined Hamish’s bedroom would be like. Not that she’d thought of it, much. 

The furniture was dark, antique like the living room downstairs. Against one side sat a comfy looking double bed, sandwiched between two bedside tables which were decorated with reading lamps. Bookcases lined the rest of the dark blue walls, filled with everything from Psychology texts to books on German folklore. Overlooking the large, south-facing window sat a wooden desk, piled high with neat stacks of papers.

Hamish set her down on the edge of the bed and then walked over to an imposing wooden chest of draws.

“I thought you might like to borrow these.” He pulled out a t-shirt and pair of baggy cotton sweatpants. “We keep spare clothes here for emergencies.”  

Bela looked down at her ruined dress, noticing for the first time the dark splotches across the hem.

“Don’t worry,” Hamish said, his voice quiet. “It’s not your blood.” He avoided her eyes and turned to face the wall, giving her some privacy.  

As Bela changed she looked around the room again. “Randall mentioned you all have rooms here - kind of like a frat house - but you have an apartment too?”

Hamish nodded, though she couldn’t see his face. “My apartment’s off-campus.” He said, “I spend most of my time here, it’s easier for work and it’s nice to have the company, but I use my apartment if I need a break.”

“If Randall and Lillith annoy you?” Bela smiled.

Hamish laughed. “They can be a little much sometimes.”  

Bela hummed in agreement. She lay her dress down beside the bed and slipped under the duvet, enjoying the feeling of being enveloped by the cool sheets. Her whole body ached, and though she’d only been awake for a short time, she was completely exhausted.

The bed dipped as Hamish sat on the edge. He reached over to pull the covers snug around her shoulders, ignoring the way his stomach flipped seeing Bela lying in his bed, wearing his clothes.  

Bela covered her mouth as she yawned. “You don’t need to tuck me into bed Haim, I’m not sick.”

He smiled at her and brushed his fingertips softly across her forehead, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Rest.” He said, watching her eyes droop closed.

As he made his way to the door Bela called out to him, her voice thick with sleep. “Thanks, Haim. It’s nice to be around people - after tonight.”

As he hesitated by the door the light from the hallway cast his face in shadow. “You’re safe here Bels, we’re not going to let anything happen to you.” His eyes darkened as they scanned her face. “And you don’t need to worry about Tanner - he’s going to be dealt with.”

[overdramatic-queer-antagonist]

Stop The Apocalypse Out of Spite (Pt 5)

I Have Never In My Life Posted On A Schedule. 

Ao3  First  Last   Next

Martin had to lie to Sasha. He hated lying to people. Martin was scarily good at it, but he hated it. Peter used to worry he'd run off to the Web. But Martin couldn't tell her the truth. It would only serve to scare her. Make her paranoid. Martin would tell her the truth eventually. Just not yet.

Elias had called Martin up to his office. Never a good sign. He waved to Rosie as he made his way into Elias's asshole office with the self-absorbed dickhead painting of Jonah Magnus (Also technically Elias.)

"What do you want?" Martin asked, not bothering their usual passive-aggressive song and dance.

Elias grinned that wolfish grin at him, "Well, Son , I wish you'd be more respectful to your father, but I have some questions for you." Anyone who says you shouldn't hate your parents wasn't raised Elias fucking Bouchard. If Martin had to guess (Which he didn't much like to do. Better to not think about whatever the hell Elias was doing,) this was one of those times where Elias was about to hold something over his head.

Still, Martin sat down at the seat across from Elias's desk and looked at him questioningly. "Go on," He said, too tired to try to fight.

Elias frowned at him, "How much sleep have you gotten?"

Martin flipped him off.

"Listen- okay. Yes. Yes. That's fair, but- Mar-Martin, I am your father, and I would-"

"Fuck off, Elias!"

"I would like to confirm that your taking care of yourself."

"You know I'd probably get more sleep if you stopped torturing my friends!"

Elias sighed, "Martin. We've had this conversation before. In order to become the ruler of the new world-"

"I hate you so much."

"I needed to find a suitable sacrifice for the Ceaseless Watcher, and you and the Eye happen to have the same taste in men."

"I don't see why you Need to sacrifice anyone!"

"Martin. I don't want to fight-"

"Then just ask your god damn question!"

"Okay. Okay." There was a pause before Elias threw his head back against his chair, groaning. "I was going to be all menacing and vague about knowing about the NotThem, but now I just feel bad!"

Martin rolled his eyes, "Well, sorry to foil your plans. Is that all?"

Elias pouted. Grow the fuck up, dude. "Well, no. Peter wanted me to ask if you wanted to go on a Tundra round with him, but between you and me, I think he's just worried you'll finally notice that the Eye is much cooler than the Lonely."

"Bye, Elias!" Martin announced as he walked to the vainglorious doors.

"Oh! Martin! I almost forgot! I transferred you over to the Archives. You're an assistant now."

Martin stopped. He's given Elias plenty of looks in his time, all of which entirely deserved, but none quite as deadly as this. "There's nothing you could say that would make me do it," he whispered darkly.

Elias wasn't grinning. For the first time in his life, he seemed serious. "Would you rather I call Peter? He'll actually try to kill him. I was being merciful, Martin. If you do it, he'll be safer. Peter doesn't love him."

Martin's ears rang. There had always been the implication that Elias wanted him to mark Jon. Why else hire an avatar of the Lonely? But something about knowing it was true- Martin had always held firm that Elias and Peter would be great parents if they weren't so evil, but he could feel that conviction fading.

"Hey, Elias?" Martin said.

Maybe Elias looked guilty, or maybe he looked smug. Martin couldn't really focus on expressions at the moment. The room was probably freezing. "Yes, Martin?" Elias answered.

"I think I actually might hate you." And then Martin walked out the door and slammed it behind him.

***

The good news is that Martin was pretty sure he hadn't marked Jon already. The bad news is that everything Martin did made him feel like he was actively trying to. If Martin carried on like usual, he couldn't help but feel like he was tricking Jon into trusting him. If he avoided Jon- Well, that was isolation, wasn't it?

It also didn't help that Jon had tried to apologize for everything he's ever done approximately 500 fucktillion times. And- yes. Martin wasn't going to deny it. Jon was a major dick to him before Prentiss. He could admit that even if he was in love with him. Grade A asshole, skeptic Jon was. 

The problem was that Martin couldn't decide what the best response was. If he accepted the apology, Jon would most likely feel obliged to spend more time with him. Bad Idea. If he declined it, Jon would probably isolate himself out of guilt or something. 

It's not like he could tell Tim or Sasha, either. Tim hadn't spoken to him since he found out, which was probably for the best, and Sasha would assure him that she trusted that he would never hurt Jon. That was true. He liked Jon and Tim and Sasha. He was never very good with friends (Lonely), but he felt like he could trust them. The problem was that it wasn't his choice whether or not Jon got hurt.

Elias wasn't kidding. It could be either him or Peter who Would kill Jon. But Martin knew that Elias wouldn't call on Peter unless it was a dire situation. Even when they were married, Peter had no qualms vocalizing what a bad idea the Watcher's Crown was. So Martin would just have to wait it out until the last second. Maybe he could find some way to protect Jon from Peter, or Jon would be too strong at that point to just be pulled into the Lonely.

He still didn't know what he wanted to do until them. He didn't like avoiding Jon all together, but he had other friends to keep him from being isolated. Hence he had decided, for the time being, to stay as far away from Jon as he could. It was more difficult, now that he actually Worked in the Archives, but he was doing fine. Taking his lunch break at weird times, avoiding any conversation not pertaining to work, and so on and so forth. Basically, what Tim was employing to avoid Martin, Martin then used to stay far away from Jon. 

Martin had already played the avoiding game before. He had been taking any chance he could to stay out of the Archives. But that was mainly out of respect. He got that everything was a lot, and the others weren't raised on it. He didn't want them to feel like they had to talk to him. Now Martin wanted them to feel like they couldn't talk to him. 

This had worked for a couple weeks. Martin had almost dared to hope that even Sasha had given up on trying to get him to talk. Then something interesting happened.

Martin had gotten in early that day. He'd been testing that out for a couple days now. It meant he had to spend time when he and Jon were the only ones in the Archives, considering Jon gets to work at like 5:00 AM, but it lessened the likelihood of being invited to hang after work if he left a little early. Usually, the first few hours before the others got there, Jon would come out of his office every 10 minutes and give him puppy eyes. That was as much as he ever dared to do. Today was different.

Martin had gotten in at about 5:45 that day. He wasn't even all the way through the door before Jon grabbed him by the hand and dragged him into his office.

"Jon? What's wrong?" Martin asked, only slightly frantic. Had the NotThem gotten down here? Was he okay? Oh god, what if the NotThem already got him? How could he be sure that this was Jon?

Before Martin could spiral too far, Jon grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing Martin to look him in the eyes. "You've been avoiding me. Why?"

Martin had never been compelled. Jon had never wanted to know anything about him that badly and Elias drew very strange lines when it came to parenting. He had held firm that Martin should never feel forced to tell him anything, magic or otherwise. The fucking weirdo was willing to force Martin to kill his crush. But not to tell him what he wants for dinner. Martin decided he wasn't a giant fan of the sensation of words being forced out of him, but at the same time, Jon didn't know what he was doing. Nevertheless, compelling isn't something people can just resist, so Martin told him.

[retrocelly]

Crash (Brock Boeser)

Requested: yep!

Warning: a car crash, some minor injuries, and a severe lack of knowledge about medical stuff

It took 45 minutes for Brock to get home after you saw the photos. Well, after your friend texted you “look at Brock’s most recent tagged pic. I can cut his balls off if you want.” You tapped quickly over to his Instagram, swiping to his tagged and clicking on the newest one. It was a picture of him with a fan - which shouldn’t have raised any red flags. But then you noticed his hand latched around her waist, his fingers against her bare midriff and your cheeks grew hot. Calm down, you told yourself, it’s just a photo with a fan; Brock probably didn’t even realize. Then you swiped. You swiped and saw a much more candid picture: your boyfriend’s arm still around the girl’s waist, but he was leaned back a bit more and they were looking at each other - laughing. The photo closely resembled the one you had as your phone background and now your heart was beating out of your chest. The caption read “got to meet my favorite player today. thanks for being such a gentleman ;) good luck tonight” And that was all it took for your understanding to boil over.

Taking a photo or two with a fan wasn’t what you cared about. In fact, you’d always encouraged Brock to pose for more pictures. You drew the line at him standing too closely, his arm too comfortable around another woman’s waist, her caption too reminiscent of an inside joke that you weren’t in on. It didn’t help that the girl was gorgeous; with perfectly done beachy-curls in her hair and a button-nose that looked like it was sculpted by Bella Hadid’s surgeon. You even found yourself feeling jealous of the ab definition that was noticeable when the girl laughed.

You stared at the photos for 45 minutes. Read all of the comments from the girl’s friends about how gorgeous she looked and even one about how she and Brock would make a cute couple. For 45 minutes, you felt sick to your stomach as you let your anger stew. For 45 minutes, you tried to justify each aspect of the photos only to grow more confused by them. For 45 minutes, you debated calling Brock and asking about them. But you didn’t. And after 45 minutes of sitting alone in your own frustration, you had lost all of your patience.

He’d walked into the condo in with a smile on his face, presumably from a good lunch out with Bo, but your jealousy was trying to convince you that it was because of his new friend. Brock’s face fell when he noticed your posture: arms crossed and lips pursed, glaring in his direction. He’d given you a nod, the kind that meant “tell me what I did wrong.” You didn’t need to speak - simply handing over your phone and allowing him to see the post. Brock let out a light scoff with a shake of his head as he slid your phone onto the coffee table.

“That’s what you’re upset about?” He asked, kneeling down so you were eye-level.

When you didn’t respond, Brock had his answer. He told you that the photos didn’t mean anything - that he couldn’t even remember the girl’s name. He assured you that he hadn’t intended for them to appear so intimate and that if he’d realized how couple-y they would turn out, he would’ve never even taken the pictures in the first place. But that made you even more mad, and so now you were in a screaming match with your boyfriend about why he decided to put his arm around her waist and whether or not he found her attractive.

The anger had brought out your insecurities and, although you were ashamed of it, you couldn’t help the nagging sensation that he did look good with the girl - that they did look like a couple.

It was 15 minutes later when Brock stormed out - muttering about how he needed to get to the rink for the game. You could tell that he was upset by your implication. Brock was, above anything else, a loyal friend and partner. He would never consider cheating on you - not even when he was piss-drunk. You knew that he was hurt by what you’d said, but it was the weaker part of yourself that fueled the argument in the first place. The insecure, paranoid part of yourself that knew Brock deserved better. The part of yourself that worried he would find better and that when he did, you’d be nothing but a memory to him.

Immediately after he’d left, your anger dissipated and regret set in. You had overreacted to say the least, fueled by your own mind and it’s tendency to speculate. Not even an hour later, your phone buzzed from the coffee table. You picked it up, tears immediately filling your eyes at the notification. Brock had texted you, in typical Brock fashion, “I hope you know I’d never do anything to hurt you. I’m sorry. I hope I’ll see you at the game tonight, love you.”

Your heart broke at the message, the feeling of regret multiplying ten times over and settling in the pit of your stomach. You knew that you had to apologize to your boyfriend, and you had to do it as soon as possible. You figured if you left now, you’d be able to make it to the arena in enough time to talk to Brock before the second period started. So, you quickly ran to your room, throwing on your lucky Boeser jersey (a green one - with his old team name and the number 16 on it) and headed out the door.

As you got into your car, you were buzzing. You could hear your heartbeat loudly in your ears and your hands were shaking slightly. Your driving had never been perfect, but it was even worse now. You consistently sped down the familiar route to the arena, even running a stop sign in your haste. You were nearing your destination, your foot easing off of the gas as your breathing settled slightly. But then, just as you were pulling through the final intersection, you heard the screeching of rubber against road, and then the scraping and crashing of metal. You could feel your car slam sideways, and then onto its side as the large truck collided with you.

•••

Brock came off the ice from his first shift of the second, getting ready to settle on the bench when his coach called him over. He knew that he’d been playing poorly, with his mind still on you and the fight you’d had, but he didn’t think that it was bad enough to warrant a mid-game lecture.

His coach leaned into him, a sorrowful look on his face, and he told Brock that that you’d been in a car crash; that your car had flipped and you were in the hospital. They’d called a car for Brock and it was waiting just outside.

Brock’s blood ran cold. He stood frozen for a moment, trying to decide if this was some cruel joke. But the looks on the faces of the men around him were enough to tell him otherwise. Without another thought, he ran down the tunnel, dropping his stick and gloves carelessly on the floor. He moved as quickly as his legs would take him to the car outside, his mind racing with worst-case possibilities.

As he sat in the back seat of the Uber, or Lyft, or whatever it was, Brock thought he might just pass out. He noticed the driver had to take a detour - he tried not to look down the road, but Brock could see the lights from the police cars and he almost had to tell the driver to pull over so he could throw up.

The only thing that was bringing Brock comfort was the fact that your were in the hospital. You were alive and being cared for by professionals. But just because you weren’t dead didn’t mean you were okay. Brock worried that you would be in a coma, that you may be alive but that he would never see you open your eyes or hear your voice again. That the last you had seen him was when he was leaving you in anger. He worried that maybe you’d be paralyzed or have a severe head injury. All he could do was pray that you’d be okay.

Brock couldn’t think straight on the ride to the hospital. All he could think about was how dearly he loved you and how much he needed you. Even when you were laying right next to him, he would feel physically ill with how much he missed you - with how much you meant to him. He didn’t know if he could live without you. Just as Brock felt himself start to hyperventilate, the driver pulled up to the hospital.

Brock jumped out of the car, running inside and asking the receptionist for your name. He ignored the odd look she gave him - remembering that he was in full game-day gear. Once he knew where you were, he didn’t hear anything else the woman had to say (although he thinks that part of it might have been a warning that only family is allowed to visit at these hours - but Brock didn’t care, he was your family).

When he walked into your room, Brock’s breath was knocked out of him. You were laying in the bed, curled onto your side, asleep. Brock could see the few cuts that littered your face and arms, and his heart clenched at the sight of a large bruise forming along your temple. He took note of the various needles in your arms and the sound of the monitors you were hooked up to. As he stood frozen in the doorway, he could feel someone walk up to him. Brock turned to see a short woman in a white coat.

“Are you family?” The woman asked, “these visiting hours are reserved for close family only.”

Brock nodded dumbly, speaking through a dry mouth and heavy tongue that he was your boyfriend.

The woman gave him a sympathetic smile as she introduced herself as the doctor that’d been tending to you. She then explained your condition to him. You had a mild concussion, which was a miracle, and a couple of bruised ribs. You had fallen asleep due to the morphine and anti-nausea medication that you’d been given. She advised that Brock let you sleep, but that he was allowed to sit with you while you slept. The doctor also told him that they would finalize your discharge paperwork once you were awake and another check-up could be completed.

Brock couldn’t believe how lucky you’d been and as he walked over to you, all of his emotions bubbled over and he started to cry. He sat in the chair next to your bed, running a hand gently over your hair as he fought off full sobs. He’d been so consumed with his own thoughts that Brock didn’t realize his presence had woken you up.

You looked up at him, his eyes clenched shut as he brought his free hand up to wipe his tears. Slowly, you moved a hand up to grab his wrist, ignoring the slight ache in your abdomen from the movement. Brock’s eyes shot open at the feeing, his gaze immediately meeting yours.

He moved quickly then, his hands moving to either side of your face, his thumbs swiping soothingly along your cheeks.

“Oh god, you’re okay. Thank god you’re okay.”

You wrapped your arms around him, and he easily lifted you so that he could reciprocate. Brock needed to have his arms around you in that moment - to really be sure that you were there with him.

“I’m so sorry-” you’d started, but Brock cut you off with a soft “shh” as he buried his head into your shoulder.

He held you for as long as you would let him, until your ribs started to hurt and he gently lowered you back against the pillows beneath you. Brock then laid a kiss to your forehead before leaning back into his chair.

“When they told me what happened I was so worried I’d lost you. I almost collapsed right then and there.”

Brock let out a slight chuckle as he spoke through his tears and you reached out to hold his hand.

“Well, I’m still here, B. It’s gonna take a lot more than a big truck to kill me.”

Brock got serious, then, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared down at you.

“I could kill him, y’know - that guy that hit you. I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone so much before.”

“It’s okay, Brock, accidents happen. Besides, I was trying to drive to the arena so fast that I almost caused a couple myself.”

Your boyfriend didn’t seem to appreciate your attempt at lightening the mood, and you could feel that same lump in your throat that you’d had before you got in your car in the first place.

“I was trying to get to you to apologize in person,” you muttered, looking down to where your hand was linked with his. “I never should’ve gone off on you about that stupid picture. It wasn’t a big deal, but I was just so jealous and I couldn’t help it.”

Brock squeezed your hand, causing you to look up at him.

“I already forgave you, y/n. I can see how those pictures looked and I understand why you were upset, but you have nothing to be jealous about. You’re the woman that I want to spend the rest of my life with - I could never even think of being with someone else. I’ll try to be more careful when I take pictures and stuff. I’m sorry, baby, I love you so much.”

Your heart swelled as you looked at the man above you. The sincerity in his blue eyes was enough to make you fall in love all over again.

“I love you so much, too, Brock.”

He leaned down, giving you a chaste kiss. As he pulled away, he planted another peck to your cheek, then to your other one, and then all over your face until you were a giggling mess. When he finally sat back up, his tears had all dried and a smile now crossed his features.

“Now we just need to get you back home so I can take care of you, and we’ll all be okay again.”

A/N: I’m not totally in love with this one, but you guys deserve some actual writing from me. hope you liked it!

[absolutelynochillonlydeath]

Garden Wraith

2. Hope is A Bird’s Wings

The next few days for Wirt were…difficult. After the first week of his nightmares where he continued to wake up repeatedly in terror, he finally calmed down enough to continue the dream. He found that he always woke up in the same area as the lantern and the consistency of snow around the terrain always changed. That probably should have been his first clue that something was wrong and that all of that wasn’t just a dream, but he dismissed it. Every time he entered, he felt compelled to hold the lantern, the warmth seeming to seep back into him as soon as he made contact with the metal and a sinking feeling of realization curled in the pit of his stomach. He thought he heard whispers from the Edelwood trees he came across and fled from their gnarled, wooden faces of agony. The more he dreamt, the longer he stayed in the dream, the more he found himself wandering the forests of the Unknown, his feet following nonexistent trails until he reached familiar terrain. Or, what looked like familiar terrain. His body was so sure that it was familiar even when his mind was definitely unsure. Night fell and he continued walking, the light of the lantern guiding his path, though when he looked out into the darkness he left behind him without the flame to light the way, he found that light still shone and he could see just fine. The thought frightened him and he continued on, the snow crunching under his feet. He traveled on through the morning, not feeling an inch of fatigue as he did so, another piece of the puzzle his brain wasn’t quite understanding due to the thick layer of denial blocking its completion.

He continued on like this for about a week, completely isolated from any form of civilization, though he could swear his could hear whispers coming from around him. It set him on edge, but every time he turned to look, there was nothing there. He had picked a direction at random, hoping to find somewhere familiar, though some corner that he assumed was the one that wouldn’t get him lost was assuring him that he was headed in the right direction. With no way to be sure at all and still half convinced that this was all just some terrible dream, he persisted on as the days and nights passed, the ever present woods of the Unknown passing by in a blur of the same. Things passed by unchanged as he picked his way through the mist and gnarls of tree roots when things finally changed. Just as he stumbled into a thinner area of trees which seemed to lead to a clearing and almost passed the treeline, his heart caught in his throat at the sight before him. It was the old mill that he and Greg had first come across. It looked better than when they left it, the giant holes and broken wood of the building having been mended. It was definitely a sign that time had passed and from the looks of the smoke billowing from the chimney, the Woodsman was still there. But as he took a step to enter the clearing, his vision blurred before rapidly going to black and he felt a persistent tugging at his chest, leading back into the mist. He blinked rapidly as the dark took over the last thing he saw was the flickering lantern tumbling from his hands.

When he opened his eyes again, he found that he was back in his bed, his body angled towards the window. Blinking away the morning sunlight streaming through, he felt confusion seep into his brain, the dregs of sleep and the sensation of the cold still clinging to his hay mind, but there was also relief as he finished waking up. He wasn’t in the Unknown. He was home, safely in his room. He had beaten he Beast and escaped the Unknown with Greg. They hadn’t even gone near the cemetery wall since Halloween, so there was no way he’d have gone back. It was all just a very long dream. It was just an extension of the nightmares he had been dealing with before, though a bit tamer than usual. He wasn’t very surprised he still thought of the Unknown, though a little bit disturbed. He had read about traumas sticking with a person for years afterwards and the teen supposed that it was just his mind’s way of dealing with it. And people had had long dreams before, right? So, there was probably nothing to worry about. With his reassurances, Wirt sighed and got up, already hearing the telltale signs of the household awakening and got ready to face the day. Putting on clothes and attempting his best to manage his hair, he looked deeply at himself in the mirror and tried to convince himself of his thoughts.

‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I can deal with this. It was just a dream after all. They’re just dreams.’ He thought to himself and left the bathroom, heading downstairs to his family and if he just so happened to hug his brother extra tightly and a little bit longer than usual, it was nobody’s business but his own. Not even his mother and stepfather’s surprised looks or Greg’s knowing one would make him say anything about it. It was only a dream after all. They would fade away soon enough.

But fate was rarely kind, and as night fell and he lay down to sleep after a long day of snowball fights with his friends and Greg, he fell into darkness and his eyes opened again to the snow-covered lands of the Unknown. He was back where he was before he had woken up, the mill before him, though now thoroughly buried in snow whereas before it had only been an inch or two. Winter’s chill bit through him and he shivered slightly. The cold seemed to not only tear through his clothes and into his skin but seemed to wrack tremors through his very being. Looking around, he found that the lantern was once again there, though its flame was now flickering wildly as if it were the rapid beating heart of a frightened bird. He wasn’t sure why he picked it up again, he really should have just left the dumb thing there to rust in the snow after all the trouble and terror it and its owner had caused him, but something in him told him that he should. Against his better judgement, he stepped forward and stretched his hand out.

Once again, as soon as the flesh of his palm made contact with the cold metal, a warmth spread through his chest, erasing whatever chill he felt from the wind entirely. Deep down, he knew t was odd that there was something wrong with that feeling but he didn’t want to think about the implications of what this could mean and tried to reason away his relief. He couldn’t go without light, now could he? Right? Right. He just needed it as a light source. The forest of the Unknown was very dark, so he needed that. Maybe it could also count as a spoil of war? This was the only remnant left of the Beast other than the possible Edelwood trees still around, but he wasn’t going out of his way to look for those, so the lantern would do. Not that he really thought of it as a trophy, defeated monster or not. But it still didn’t explain his hesitance of leaving the light behind, especially since he and Greg had made their way through the Unknown just fine without it. Pushing down the feelings and unsettling thoughts, he trudged forward through the snow with less effort than he thought it would take and knocked on the door rapidly. Walking through the snow, he saw the lights in the house flickering cheerily in contrast with the snow clouded sky and it brought hope to him that there were people inside. Maybe it was the Woodsman? And his daughter if she had gotten released by the Beast after his defeat. Hopefully the man would let him in to stay for a while. This was his dream, so he should let Wirt stay, but the teen hadn’t had such a vivid dream before. This was all new to him and he was half expecting Beatrice to fly to him out of nowhere and start nagging him.

After a few moments of not receiving an answer, he knocked again more tentatively this time, looking at the setting sun behind him warily. He may not have been as bothered by the cold as he thought he should have been, dream or no dream, but that didn’t mean he wanted to spend any more time there than necessary out in the snow with the amount of bad memories it caused. Winter at home was one thing, but winter in his dream of the Unknown brought up fear and anxiety. Finally, after another few moments of waiting, there was a sign of life from inside and Wirt heard voices coming from inside, though none of them he could identify. There was what sounded like a bit of a scuffle on the other side of the door along with the barking of a dog and before he knew it, the door swung open and three red haired boys of various ages peered up at him, eyes wide in curiosity.

“Who is it?”

“Who’re you?”

“You’re wearing weird clothes.”

“Where’d you come from?”

“Why’re you here?”

The flood of questions mixed with the barking of the very familiar looking dog set Wirt completely on edge and he was floundering for an answer when the boys and dog were moved aside, a plump woman taking their place and frowning at them.

“Joseph! Donald! Thomas! What did I tell you about harassing people at the door?! And what did I tell you about letting the dog loose inside the house?” she yelled at them in annoyance and moved the grinning boys out of the way. They let out a cacophony of answers before grinning and scampering off into the house again. Her frown melted into a smile as she turned back to look him over.

“And who might you be, dear? I can’t imagine you’ve come from far in this snow, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before?’ she asked and Wirt floundered again, mouth agape.

“Well?” she asked again and Wirt scrambled for words, his face flushed a little in embarrassment.

“Oh, um, sorry, I, uh, I was a-actually looking for the Woodsman? I-I thought he lived here, but I guess I made a mistake.” He stuttered shyly and the woman simply blinked in surprise and confusion.

“The Woodsman? He hasn’t been here in, well, almost three years. He moved away with his daughter some time ago.” He said and Wirt’s eyebrows shot up in shock. What? Three years? That long? Then again, he and Greg thought they spent quite a long time in the Unknown while in all actuality, it had only been a few minutes while they were drowning in the lake.

“Oh, come inside, won’t you, dear? It’s freezing out there and we can’t have you be lost in the dark!” she said and ushered him in. The teen nodded numbly before stepping in and closing the door behind him.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He said politely and she smiled, ushering him over to the fire and grabbing a blanket to throw over him.

“It’s no trouble. And just call me Peony. No need to be so formal.” She chided and he nodded, curling into the warm cloth.

“My name is Wirt.” He said softly and she nodded in acknowledgement.

“There we are. Warm up by the fire and I’ll get you something hot to drink as well.” She said cheerfully and bustled off into a different room. Wirt stood with the blanket around his shoulders and lantern still in hand, completely bewildered at what to do. Whatever plans he had for finding the Woodsman and now he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know these people and he didn’t quite know who else to go to. Maybe he would head to Pottsfield when it was daylight out? The giant maypole pumpkin may be able to help him… but then again, why was he worried? If this was really all just a dream, albeit a very realistic one, then there was nothing to look forward to. He was right now at home, in bed, sleeping, so he shouldn’t be worried as to what came next. Still, the thought couldn’t leave his brain and he continued to plan. After a few minutes, the woman came back out again holding a steaming cup.

“It’s just tea, but it definitely warms you.” She said gently, handing over the cup and he took it gratefully.

“Now, my family will be down in a minute for dinner and I won’t lie, there are quite a few of them. Please don’t be intimidated, though. They’re rambunctious, but harmless.” She said reassuringly at the panicked look on the teen’s face. Wirt may have gotten a bit better at socially interacting, but being in a stranger’s house, surrounded by a bunch of family made his heart jolt with anxiety. Trust him to still be socially anxious even in a dream, he thought to himself despairingly. Turning his attention back to the woman, again, he nodded and clutched at the blanket around his shoulders, managing to slide off his cape and take off his hat, though he kept the lantern in hand. The woman smiled in understanding and walked off into what he assumed was the dining room, leaving him to his own devices. Wirt shivered, though not from cold, and stared into the fire, taking the moment of silence to calm himself, his free hand over his chest. He felt the thundering of his heart under his fingertips and it oddly made him calm down. Sadly, just as his heart resumed a more normal rhythm, the thunderous sound of many feet coming down the stairs and loud children’s voices ringing down the halls.

“Joseph! Donald! Thomas! What have I told you about running?!” Wirt heard the woman yell from the kitchen, and was met with a chorus of “Sorry, mom!”, and the steps became quieter. Wirt could hear a few more voices drift in, the woman calling for Daisy and Emma to get their father from outside and then a few more minutes of commotion. The clink of plates and silverware and the voice of an older man was heard before the woman spoke again.

“Now, as some of you may know, we have a visitor, so don’t overwhelm him.” she said warningly, much to the protest of some of the kids, but fell to silence again. After a moment walked into the room again and smiled, gestured for him to follow her. Wirt nodded and placed the blanket on the couch before grabbing his hat and cloak and following the woman to the dining room. The cup was still in his hands. Upon entering, he saw an older looking man with dark brown hair sitting at the dining table with six red-haired children, with the eldest being a girl that looked a little older than him. After that were the three boys Wirt had seen answer the door and two younger girls he could only conclude were Daisy and Emma.

“Everyone, this is Wirt. He’ll be with us at least till the morning. Please behave around him. Wirt, this is my husband Matthew and my children.” she said and Wirt waved nervously at them, trying his best to prevent the blood rising to his face.

“Um, h-hi, everyone…” he said softly, not daring to meet anyone’s eye. There was a sudden loud clanging as a cup went crashing to the ground and all eyes went to the eldest child who was staring with wide eyes.

“Wirt?!” the girl shrieked and Wirt’s eyes finally looked up to meet hers. The voice and deep brown of her eyes seemed familiar, but Wirt couldn’t quite place it.

“Beatrice! Clean that up right now! What has gotten into you?” Peony scolded her daughter, but the girl wasn’t moving, her body frozen and eyes affixed to him. Wirt felt his breath catch in his throat as it finally clicked in his brain. That voice, those eyes, the big family. It was Beatrice. The last he had seen her, he and Greg were leaving and had only stopped to give her the scissors. He had thought about her later, wondering if she had managed to break her spell and save her family, but to see her now, alive and well, almost sent Wirt to the ground with relief.

“B-Beatrice… Beatrice!” he whispered before saying it louder, taking a half step towards her. Having the same idea, but more initiative, the girl bolted around the table and tackled him in a hug. The others in the room could only stare in silence, struck dumb.

“Wirt! I thought you left! Why are you here?! Where’s Greg?!” came the flood of questions from the girl as she held him tightly. Wirt held her back just as tightly, taking comfort at the feeling of her alive and breathing, her breath and heartbeat reminding him of the beat of her bluebird wings.

“I…I’m so glad you’re okay. You and your family. It’s so weird seeing you as a human instead of a bird…” he murmured softly, but Beatrice’s mother still heard and gasped. The entire family went quiet.

“How does he know about that?” she asked and the taller girl pulled away, looking at her mother.

“I know Wirt. He and his brother helped me three years ago when we were bluebirds. He gave me the scissors before he and his brother left.” Beatrice explained and the family burst out into a cacophony of noise.

“That was you?!”

“Wow!”

“That’s amazing!”

“Thank you so much!”

“Where have you been?”

“Can we have a party?”

The voices swelled and Wirt shrank from the noise, anxiety washing over him and threatening to sweep him under as he realized that he didn’t know how to answer any of that without being tongue-tied. The taller girl noticed immediately and signaled her parents who snapped out of their shock and began to quiet the rest of their children.

“Now, now. What did I say about behaving?!” Peony shouted at them and the children immediately quieted, though the enthusiasm still gleamed in their eyes. Beatrice nodded in understanding, placing a comforting hand on Wirt’s shoulder and he took a breath to steady himself.

“Alright, now please take a set. Dinner is all set and I think this is a story we all want to hear.” Peony said warmly and Wirt nodded, taking a seat while Beatrice sat next to him and he began his tale.

*

As night wore on and Wirt lay on the couch with the fire dwindling beside him, the teen felt more relieved than anything, but the fear still lingered in the back of his mind. The entire time that he was telling his story from beginning to end, it felt…therapeutic to tell someone and they had been a rather receptive audience. There had, of course, been a bit of confusion as to where he came from, though surprisingly not to what his suspicions of what the Unknown truly was. They knew that they had died. They remembered but decided to remain there in the Unknown to be together. But they were definitely surprised to learn that he was, to the best of his knowledge, still alive, but all stiffened at the mention of the Beast and the lantern Wirt now carried. Beatrice looked heartbroken at the mention of his possible fate as the new lanternbearer. At the end of his tale, ending with him winding up there, the adults announced that it was time for bed and the children were ushered up to their rooms, their minds filled with his story and promised to speak more about his situation in the morning. His mind buzzed, the denial banished from his heart and leaving him with the drained understanding that this was no dream. This was reality, or at least an approximated version of reality, and he was back in the Unknown. Groaning softly, he threw an arm over his eyes and took measured breaths to curb the growing ice in his stomach. There was a sudden creak from the house and Wirt looked up to see the familiar red hair and a flash of blue.

“Beatrice?” he whispered and the girl nodded, crossing the space between them and settling on the couch beside him. Wirt sat up and there was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them, the dying fire crackling as if to emphasize the mild discomfort between them. Finally, Beatrice broke the quiet.

“Are you…are you doing okay?” she asked quietly, concerned eyes turned his way. Wirt flinched at the question, his mind flashing through a symphony of worries and fears and doubts, all a swirling mass with the lantern and the Beast serving as the eye of the hurricane. Beatrice gasped a little as the normal grey irises of the boy’s eyes flickered to familiar iridescent shades as they narrowed and he curled in on himself.

“I… No. I don’t think I am…” he whispered softly, wrapping his arms around himself and staring resolutely into the fire. “I-I thought that when we left, we wouldn’t have to come back here. At least not till we were old. B-b-but now I am and I don’t know what’s happening to me. It isn’t happening to Greg, which is good, but why me? Was it because I blew out the lantern? Is that why its, just, kinda sticking with me? Is that why it’s there every time I wake up?” he whispered frantically, his words coming out faster, spilling from his lips even as he felt oxygen failing to return to his lungs. Beatrice would only watch in muted horror as the shadows cast by the fire grew, spreading into the silhouette of a being with glowing eyes and branching horns. His eyes settled from their flickering to the bright glow of red, yellow, and blue and he was trembling.

“I don’t know what to do.” He whispered quietly as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud and that’s what broke Beatrice from her fear. Behind his changes into what was inevitable, was the boy that she had watched grow and had helped guide through the Unknown. He hadn’t changed no matter what he was turning into now. Narrowing her eyes in determination, she gently placed her hands on either side of his face, turning him to face her and staring into his glowing eyes.

“Wirt, listen to me. Are you listening?” She asked sternly and her tone of voice seemed to pull him out of his spiral. Eyes focused solely on her and she resisted the chill down her spine.

“Good. Now, listen to me. Whatever is happening isn’t your fault. If you keep ending up here, that also means you’ll go back when you wake up so don’t worry about that. As for the lantern and why this is happening, I can’t explain that, but we have time to figure it out. You’ll have me and my family and whatever other dorks you guys met before to help too, so you’re not alone.” She said firmly, though a gentle fondness still in her voice as she worked to break through to him. To her relief, it seemed to be working. The boy was slowly becoming less rigid under her fingers, the shadows were returning to normal, and the glow of his eyes were dimming back to his original grey.

“But what if something else happens? I…I-I’m hearing voices… sometimes… i-in the woods, wh-when I, um, f-first came back, I heard a voice in my mind. It said that there must always be a Beast in the Unknown. What…what if it’s me? I-I-I don’t think I could handle that…” he whispered in a rush and Beatrice could hear his breaths get faster. A fierce determination took hold of her heart and she let go of his face to pull the younger teen into a quick hug, holding on tightly.

“Cheese and crackers, Wirt. You’re still as much of a worry wart as you were before you left.” She muttered, though not unkindly. She sighed and rubbed his back comfortingly.

“That won’t happen. I know it won’t because no matter what, you’ll still be the same clarinet playing, poetry loving, dorky, stubborn jerk of a pushover and wonderful mistake of nature you always have been. Nothing will change that. Not even if you have the Beast's powers. You’re still you and I’ll help you through that.” she whispered quietly into the air, glaring at the writhing shadow behind him as it looked at her with glowing eyes. In her arms, Wirt shuddered and held her back just as tightly, the bluebird beat of her heart calming him down and he felt himself relax, his eyes drooping with the exhaustion of letting out all his worry. Beatrice was right. He wouldn’t let the Beast win. Not then and not now, no matter what was happening to him. He would get through this and return home like last time. No matter how many times he woke up in the Unknown, he would always find his way back.

“I’m not a pushover.” Wirt spoke finally, aiming to break the tension. He heard Beatrice snort and he smiled a little to himself, glad that she understood.

“Yeah you are. I mean you’re still taking orders from me, aren’t you?” she joked, pulling away from their embrace and a smirk now on her face. Yes. That snark and sarcasm definitely suited her better than worry. Beatrice wasn’t one who would usually worry.

“That’s different.” Wirt pouted in response, trying not to smile. Beatrice laughed softly and smacked his arm.

“Brat.” She huffed. There was a moment of silence before they broke into quiet giggles, the tension in the room erased. Wirt smothered his giggles and wiped his eyes, the tears threatening to spill over earlier turning into tears of laughter. Looking at Beatrice, he smiled warmly. He was so glad to have a friend like her. He was ecstatic that the scissors had worked and that he had played a part in bringing her and her family together again. They seemed nice when they first met as bluebirds, though they seemed to not remember him now. But that was fine. He could build new bonds with them and hopefully they would help him as well.

“So you feeling better now?” Beatrice asked and Wirt nodded, shifting away from his inner thoughts.

“Yeah. Thanks, Beatrice. I really needed that.” he said quietly.

“Anytime.” She nodded, voice uncharacteristically soft. Wirt smiled and waved his hand imperiously, shooing her off the couch.

“Now off to bed with you, young lady! What would your parents think?” he said, voice still quiet so as not to rouse the house. Beatrice rolled her eyes, scoffing but complied and got up.

“Is that any way to talk to the person who just talk you out of your depressive spiral?” she snorted playfully and Wirt chuckled again. The girl turned to leave, whispering a good night as she did and disappeared back into the darkness of the house.

“Good night, Beatrice.” He murmured quietly before lying down again, staring up to the ceiling. His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed in relief, glad that the girl had come down to talk with him. Admittedly, this was something very legitimate to freak out about, but now he knew that he shouldn’t be as worried, because he had friends here. Friends who, for all their oddness, he knew would help him. Well, maybe not the archetype people at the tavern, but everyone else would. Beatrice and her family would. He wasn’t alone in this. Even as this bled into the land of the living, he knew that Greg would be there to support him. That brave, silly seven-year-old would suck up his own fear of the Beast and do his best to cheer on and comfort the brother he loved. And Wirt, for his part, would try and make this transition into a new normal as painless as possible. He wasn’t promising not to freak out, because that was who he was, but he would at least attempt to curb his panic before it became a burden on those who were just trying to help him. Taking a deep breath, he let his mind wander back to home and thought of nothing but the snow. From beside him, just out of arms reach, the lantern flickered serenely, taking in the dying light of the fireplace.

*

I will be posting the most on AO3