#*waves shakily to new fandom*

[deadlynavigation]

Saw you need requests. Reader just loving jotun loki. Can be smut or not. Idk your rules.

Heat Wave

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Implication of smut

Author's Note: I AM STILL LOOKING FOR REQUESTS OF ANY KIND. Please. I'm begging. Send anything in, look for rules under navigation (at the bottom of this fic).

I don't own Marvel. Pls don't come after me.

Do not plagiarize or translate any of my work or its included assets.

“I’m sweltering,” Your head plops down onto Loki’s lap.

Your words practically embody what the last few days have been like- the heat wave in New York has not been letting up. For almost a week it’s been nothing but 38℃ weather, the sun unrelenting in its mission to melt every single person in the state. Even in the Avengers tower it’s hot as blazes. All the air conditioners are on, much to Tony’s chagrin. He’s set on complaining about the electricity bill, even though he’s a fucking billionare.

There’s a reason he’s known as Drama Queen around the tower. Loki is the biggest supporter of this nickname, but right now, he’s supporting you.

“I apologize, my love. If I could, I’d cool you down in an instant,” Loki responds, leaning down to your ear. “But I only know how to heat you.”

You tap his chest, too weary of the heat to move any more. “Loki.”

“I know, I know. I am truly sorry. I do not know what it is you are suffering through right now.” The god sighs in pity.

Something in his tone gives you pause. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re right here, in New York- middle of a heat wave? No?”

Your partner chuckles softly. “No. I am a god, you forget. You are merely mortals, incapable of regulating your own temperature.”

That excuse isn’t gonna fly. You sit up, removing your head from his lap. Your back straightens, eyes peering out towards the deck. There sits Thor, accompanied by Tony and Nat. He’s on a lawn chair, spread out for the sun. The god is decked out in the tiniest floral shorts you’ve ever seen, allowing a great view of his chest- which is drenched in sweat. His hair, even, is dampened, giving the illusion of wetness. There is no way in hell that Thor is regulating his body temperature.

Loki sees where your eyeline leads and gulps. He’s screwed now.

“Liar,” you accuse, turning towards Loki with narrowed eyes. “It’s not just that you’re a god, is it?”

You position yourself on his lap again, this time straddling him. “If it were, Thor would be living it up in winter coats. So you wanna tell me what it actually is?” You kiss his neck slowly, trying to get as much information as you can with any method.

Loki squirms. “My love-”

“Don’t. Are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask Thor?” You sigh, too hot to deal with this properly.

“Thor won’t tell you.” Loki answers with uncertainty.

“Sure he won’t. Loki, you’re making this more difficult than it has to be. Just tell me, hun.”

And with that final nickname, Loki lets go. His guard is already somewhat down with the heat and Tony’s endless complaints.

He closes his eyes as he hears your gasp. Squeezes them shut, trying to block himself from the looks he’ll undoubtedly be met with from you.

“Loki-”

“Don’t,” He whispers.

“I won’t,” You whisper back. Shakily, you bring your hands up to his chest, tracing each individual line softly. The marks look perfect on his blue-tinted skin, forming intricate designs and patterns that not even the most skilled artist would be able to recreate. It’s beautiful- he’s beautiful.

Loki opens his eyes when he feels your fingers on him. Ready to snatch them away, remove himself from the room if need be, leave you to your shock and disgust.

Instead, he’s greeted with your awe-struck gaze. Confusion fills his mind, not used to being appreciated in this form.

“Y/n, what-”

“Hush,” You whisper, even softer than a couple seconds ago. “Loki, what is this?”

It’s not asked in a brutal manner. It’s soft, curious. Welcoming.

“My Jötunn form,” he graces you with an answer. Your heart breaks with his response. It sounded so disgusted, so broken. This poor man. Scorned for this his entire life, and he’s even started to believe it.

From then on, your mission is to help him accept this part.

“You are stunning, love. This is beauty personified.”

A hint of a blush shows itself on Loki’s cheeks. He’s not used to anything except hate regarding this form, especially not love or compliments. It sounds almost foreign, repeating back what you said to himself.

Not on your tongue, though. When you compliment him, it feels as though honey is dripping onto him, warming him with sun rays and flowery scents.

“These marks- are they purposeful? Made without thought? Are you born with them?” Your questions bubble out of your mouth, still soft in speech but inquisitive all the same.

Loki laughs, still in shock from your reaction. Of course you’d be curious. To think he’d expect blind acceptance- there’s a reason he chose this mortal, and he’s only reminded of it now.

“My love, slow down. They are not purposeful, no. It's just like hair color, but not able to be altered in any way. And I am born with them, but they develop over time. It’s our puberty, in a way.” He says, hands moving from his sides to your hips.

You settle further into his lap. You’e brimming with questions, but you refuse to overwhelm your lover. It’s clear he’s in quite a vulnerable state.

So you start slow.

“Are you able to… participate in intercourse… in this form?”

The blush that Loki hoped to quell is now raging as though it’s a fire. He’s resorted back to his shock, almost speechless.

“My love, you have found yourself in a relationship with a monster and that is the question you ask?”

“You are by no means a monster to me. You are still Loki, no?”

The god looks down in mild embarrassment. “Yes, dear.”

“So you aren’t a monster. Your character and development is not erased in the form, merely painted in a new light. Or rather hue,” You chuckle under your breath. Your hands trace his marks again, following a new pattern every time. It’s mesmerizing.

“On another note, I am still waiting for the answer to my question,” You reiterate. Loki’s blush might be a cause for concern at this point.

“I am able, my love. Why anyone would want to is beyond me.” He sighs, looking up into your eyes. Of which, he notices, are burning with rage and desire.

Loki is no stranger to that mix.

“We’ll work on the self-esteem. For now, I have a date with a Jötunn, who I will make sure is made well aware of his worth.”

“Your wish is my command, dear.” He laughs, snorting at your hitched breath when he lifts you into his arms.

Yeah, you’d enjoy this new discovery.

(Navigation)

[umbry-fic]

[Additional] Memory

Summary: [Another] story, of a time that came after the end.

After giving up her heart and her memories to become a true angel, Colette wakes up in a strange world she doesn't recognise.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia, Arcaea Characters: Colette Brunel, Hikari Rating: T Word Count: 4783 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 29/09/2023

Notes+Warnings: This was a fun little idea I've had for a long time. Spoilers for the entirety of Arcaea's main story, and for the Sylvarant arc of Tales of Symphonia. This fic takes place in a mash-up of Silent Answer Ending A and Silent Answer Ending B, long after the events of new Paradise(memory=null). But I think enough context is given here that you don't need to know Arcaea or read the previous fic to understand this one. Though this fic does spoil the previous one! In general, Colette is the main focus here.

Title from Additional Memory by Jin, which heavily inspired this story. (TW for suicide. Once again, I'm reminded how much Ayano is like Colette.)

~~~

Heavy eyelids opened to a blindingly white world.

She gazed at the sky that stretched out endlessly above her - a sky that was searingly bright and utterly empty, unlike anything she’d ever known. Not a cloud in sight, and there was no hint of a sun to be found. Yet there was light, so much that it almost burned, coming from some unseen source.

It took a while of staring blankly, her arms folded neatly upon her chest, hair trapped beneath her back, for a few questions to sluggishly fight their way to the surface of her mind. Questions she pondered, turning over and over in her head as she periodically tried to blink the brightness away. It reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite recall what.

Where was she? What was she doing here? Who was she to begin with?

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, it could have been days, that she spent lying there doing nothing but thinking before the memories returned. But return they did, rushing back in a torrential wave that trapped her in its relentless pull, submerging her beneath its wrathful force.

A dying world, fuelled by the pitiful remnants of mana that had crackled and drained with each second that passed. A sacred duty handed down by Heaven, branding her as the saviour of that rapidly deteriorating world, gifting her wings that shimmered in the starlight and stole all of her dreams from her. All those she had met on her journey, the offered hands she had clasped, smiling and praying that they would meet with fortune as she walked steadily towards her own demise.

The people she'd left behind, the shape of them held dear in her heart. The boy with an exuberant grin that had turned into desperate pleas at the end, begging her not to leave as she’d torn herself away.

Colette Brunel choked on nothing as she realised that she was arranged like the dozens of failed Chosens she had seen in the tower, floating and circling the stairs that had led up into the heavens. Silent and serene in death, unable to utter another word ever again. All that was missing was the coffin to complete the scene.

Scrambling to her knees, the illusion of idle silence utterly shattered, she scratched at her neck, at the gold that wrapped around her throat and the red, red, red -

Her nails met soft skin, nearly piercing through in her frenzy. There was nothing there. The smooth surface of the Cruxis Crystal, which she'd gotten used to running her fingers over to pass the long, quiet nights, was gone.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved as she shakily rose to her feet, her tongue tasting like ash, the mana that usually pooled in her back gone, leaving nothing but a void behind. She’d had her wings for less than a year, yet she felt naked without them. Weak and vulnerable in this strange place.

She'd known she would be leaving everything and everyone behind once she released the final seal, but this...

This wasn't Heaven. At least, not the one written about in the scriptures that the priests had always preached about - a paradise born from the kindness of the Goddess, where no suffering could be found and no judgement would ever be meted.

But didn't that mean...

Vehemently shoving that thought away, she set out with hesitant steps.

It would do no good to stay in this one spot forever.

~~~

In her past hours of walking, she had concluded that she was no longer in Sylvarant. Nor was she in Tethe’alla, the place she had once thought of as the moon but had learned was another world lying parallel to her home.

It was a strange world she travelled, what seemed like dust crunching beneath her heels with every step. Devoid of the sun and the moon, the sky itself alive, a writhing mass of what she thought were shards of glass - a roiling sea that refused to be tamed. Everything lacked colour, as if it had been purposely drained, shades of grey smothering every surface.

It was always quiet. Far too quiet. She couldn't be certain whether she'd retained her angel senses, but there wasn't a sound to be heard but her footsteps, the only noise in her head that of her growing panic, doing its very best to claw its way out. There were no signs of life, and she passed nothing but the occasional ruins - buildings that had once been grand but had crumbled to their very foundations.

Professor Raine would have loved it here.

The sudden thought made her come to an abrupt stop, her heart clenching and tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

She was pulled out of her head when a section of the sky fell, pieces of glass breaking away from the flock to approach her, prompting a small gasp to escape her lips. Reaching out with a cautious hand, she flinched when they skirted out of reach, before slowly, slowly floating closer again.

They reminded her, inexplicably, of skittish birds. Like the pair of nestlings Lloyd had rescued from high up in a tree, on a winter morning when she had still been the same height as him, back when their shoulders always brushed whenever they walked side-by-side. The two of them had taken care of the nestlings until the warm winds of spring arrived, heralding the melting of the icicles that clung to her windowsill. At the very beginning, before they’d warmed up to the two of them, Lloyd had constantly gotten his fingers nipped by their beaks. He’d scowled, and she’d giggled and soothed his stinging skin, and -

This time, when she opened her eyes, it was to tears trailing down her cheeks, gasping sobs filling her chest and leaving no space for breaths. Blankly, she registered that the glass had surrounded her, images flickering on their shimmering surfaces, like the strange magi-technology in the human ranches that had reflected impossible scenes on their bright screens.

With how much they swirled around her, it was hard to make out anything from the discordant images. Nothing much - except for a flash of a red sleeve, and the echo of a familiar laugh that wound a string tight around her heart.

She couldn’t help but reach out once more, her hand shaking, even knowing that the cracks in her heart would only spread with each memory she revisited. But then, perhaps it was better this way, that she would be the only one to remember those happy times, now forever shadowed.

Her life had come to an end, bringing the tale of the Chosen to a close. Not the tale of Colette Brunel, for it had never existed in the first place. Her story was one wherein her own existence was forbidden.

Sylvarant would never remember that a girl named Colette Brunel had existed. All that would remain in their memory was the saviour, an angel that would be revered in their history as a blessing delivered unto them from the Heavens. And no matter how much it hurt, she prayed that those closest to her would do the same. That their memories would fade into a dull gray, until it became second nature to brush it aside.

Still, she reached out, straining to reach with her fingertips, desperation flooding her heart.

The shard shot out of reach, and like the fool she was, she stumbled after it. It kept a tantalisingly perfect distance from her - close enough for her to think she could grab ahold of it if she was just a little faster, and far enough that she was forced to follow its strange, winding path, heading for destinations unknown. Even knowing she had sacrificed all of herself to give the ones she loved a chance to create new memories, she still could not bear to let go.

Was this her punishment? Surely she must have failed, must have overlooked some small detail that had caused the ritual of regeneration to come crashing down at her feet, displacing her from Sylvarant and throwing her into this desolate world that found itself with not a single seed of life. She must not have toiled hard enough, must not have carried the weight of the hopes and dreams of the land well enough, must not have…

She must have made a mistake along the way, the fault of which lay entirely with her.

“I can die without any regrets…”

A whisper, mocking her.

What a masterful liar she’d been, able to fool even herself.

~~~

A lone girl clothed entirely in white stood in the silent halls of a grand church, a shard of scarlet red hovering over her open palm. More shards swirled around her, whispering in her ears as they flowed at the edges of her dress, almost as if to lengthen it, to make it trail against the cold stone.

"So she'll arrive soon," Hikari mumbled, paying no heed to the shards and their behaviour. She stared intently into the shimmering surface of the shard of red, almost a twin to the one that had freed her soul from the shackles of lethargic apathy, that she had pressed close to her chest with shaking hands as she’d shut her eyes against the blinding white. Contained within was the memory of the girl whose soul this world of Arcaea had just ensnared. The memory of Colette Brunel - every decision she’d made, every secret she’d kept, everything that defined her and formed the core of her identity.

Normally, she wouldn’t have paid any attention when another lost soul found its way here to live out a second chance. There had been so many, falling through the cracks in the boundaries of this world she had created from a lonely wish. It was not much of a second chance they would encounter, robbed of their memories and unlikely to run into another soul, unable to escape this place that existed outside of time. There was nothing much Arcaea could offer but hollow glimpses of other worlds, other times, other memories where one could only play the role of the outsider, never able to breach the gap. Left to stew in solitude that dug claws into their skin and dragged them downwards, most fell into the abyss of madness, and she cared not to witness their descent. So she turned a blind eye and kept to herself, caring only for her own machinations.

But this girl… She had not truly died, and yet an echo of her had appeared regardless, her memories intact and locked tight in her heart.

Something compelled her to meet with this strange aberration. For she could understand the terrible weight of memories, countless regrets pressing down on one’s shoulders until it buried them.

Whenever she closed her eyes, she could still see Tairitsu’s wide eyes, their light fading as the sword gripped tightly in Hikari’s hand pierced through her stomach. She could still see Tairitsu’s smile, sad and knowing, on every copy’s face as it cracked and shattered on that very same blade, driven into a body painstakingly crafted from glass.

The same events had repeated tens, hundreds, thousands of times. She had long since lost count of how many times she had reconstructed the girl with the curious eyes and a kind smile, how many times she had ended her short life, for Tairitsu never, ever wanted to stay, hand always outstretched towards the truth hiding beyond the horizon. She could not bear to listen to the hatred that would surely twist that sweet voice if the truth came to light, but neither could she bear to never gaze upon that lovely smile again.

It had become routine long ago.

Even then, something in her heart twisted every time her sword found its target.

~~~

An awed gasp left Colette as she craned her head up to drink in the sight of the church before her, the matter of the shard she’d been chasing forgotten for the time being.

It was a massive building topped with an elegant spire that reached tall and proud towards the sky, a far grander structure than the Martel Temple she’d known all her life. It was gorgeous, yet even here, there seemed to be no life to its stone, its entrance dark and cold. Her gaze wandered to the stained glass windows that decorated the top, disappearing around a curve, depicting angels. Perfect angels standing with rigid backs, neatly folded wings and impassive faces, as if they had been sculpted from stone.

Tearing her gaze away from a reminder of all that she was not, she began to cautiously make her way into the church, inching between the piers and melting into long shadows. Approaching the girl that waited at its end, still as a statue.

With each step she took, her heart thundered louder in her ears, sweat forming on her palms, knowing that pale pink eyes were trained on her and had not left her once.

She recognized the madness that swam within them, enough to make her want to turn tail and run. It was not the cruel inferno that had resided within the Grand Cardinals, fuelled by the suffering of others, its tongues licking away at hope until it burned to ash. It was the empty gaze of those that had buckled beneath the crushing weight of despair, a bone-chilling brokenness lurking behind it. Not an inferno, no, but a simmering flame that could easily consume all if allowed to grow.

Not to mention the glass spinning around the girl, an unquenchable hurricane following an unknown rhythm. The shard that had led Colette here had long since disappeared among its fellows, and she had no hope of picking it out from among them. The horde followed the other girl’s every movement, crowning her in glory, as she finally moved. Her white dress swirled around her legs, the strange, sharp contraptions floating by her side snapping into place by her shoulders - mechanical wings that flared behind her.

Here too, in the flesh, were graceful angels, carrying themselves with hardened steel in their spines.

"You've arrived," she whispered, raising her head, a strand of pale hair slipping to rest on the pink rose on her shoulder. "Welcome."

Taking a deep breath, Colette pulled herself upright, certain that every action she took now might determine her fate. This could be an opportunity to learn the truth, to find out how she’d ended up here. Or it could spell her doom once more, the raw power hiding beneath the surface of the other girl poised to explode at any moment.

"Who are you? And… where am I?" she asked, taking care to ensure her voice didn’t shake, the expression on her face smoothing into blankness from years of practice.

“My name is Hikari.” The answer was given to her easily, lips curving into a smile. “And this is a world of memories.”

Memories? Genis would have scoffed and exclaimed the impossibility of everything, yet she was inclined to believe the words fed to her, continuing to search for a single shard among dozens.

“Let me show you.”

That was all the warning she got before an iron grip wrenched her wrist up, those pink eyes now inches from her face. Hissing in pain, she tried to pull away, but was unable to do anything as a single shard shoved itself against her fingertips, a shock of cold slamming into her body.

The world around her warped, greys turning into vibrant green as the heady scent of soil flooded her senses -

The cicadas chirped lazily in the hazy darkness that clung to the space between trees, streaking over sturdy bark and painting them almost black.

Lloyd made a soft sound in his throat when her hand found his, their fingers slotting together as perfectly as they had when he'd first grabbed her hand outside the schoolhouse, grinning as bright as the sun, on the day they’d met.

If she closed her eyes, she could still see the light of the oracle superimposed against her eyelids. Blinding white light that signalled the end of life as she knew it, curtains falling on the daydream she'd lived all this time.

When tomorrow arrives...

"Just so we don't get lost," she whispered, not wanting to disrupt the sanctity of the soon-coming night, the sky still painted with messy strokes of pink and orange.

It was a ridiculous thing to say, a feeble excuse that didn't hold a candle to the lies upon lies she'd already told in the short life she’d lived. She'd walked this path between Lloyd's home and Iselia hundreds, perhaps thousands of times. She could count the exact number of steps needed, knew where to jump over roots that had burrowed through the ground, and knew where to duck to avoid low-hanging branches.

She just didn't want to let go.

Those russet eyes she so loved held a question in them, but he didn't voice it. He only squeezed her hand, his laughter filling the silence, a sound she soaked in, desperate to memorise.

"I won't let you get lost, silly."

She pressed closer to him, savouring the warmth that radiated from his side as they walked ever closer to an ending that couldn't be avoided. Trying to commit to memory the shape of him, unable to bring herself to curse the weakness that had led her to get this close in the first place.

At the end of the path, she told him she would see him again tomorrow, the lie burning her tongue. The words she truly wanted to say stayed locked in her heart, a truth she couldn't divulge for fear of breaking his.

Another promise she would have to shatter.

A goodbye, even if he didn't know it.

The sensations faded as she crashed to her knees, shivering uncontrollably, staring unseeing at what once was a forest and now was the drab floor of a church she’d been standing in minutes ago. Or… What felt like minutes ago. In truth, barely any time had passed at all, Hikari still standing a hair’s breadth away, having let go of her wrist.

It had been so vivid, nothing like her own recollections of precious moments, which seemed so pitiful now. It was like she'd just turned sixteen again, making preparations to leave everything she’d known behind to set out on a journey that she wasn’t certain she would survive. Not yet possessing the knowledge that Lloyd would chase after her, again and again, all the way to the end of her preordained fate.

The words she’d wished so much to say that day were still on the tip of her tongue, and she swallowed them down with the bitter taste of reality, salt stark against her lips.

"This is a world of memories," Hikari repeated as she lowered herself to Colette’s level, the gentleness of her voice sending a shudder down her spine. The shards had come to a complete stop, floating at irregular intervals around the two of them - the calm before the storm. “And I have the power to gift you paradise.”

“Paradise…?”

Naked yearning dripped from her voice, unable to be held back, as her fingers absentmindedly rubbed against the red marks left on her wrist, the physical sensation clashing with the ghostly echo of warmth lingering on her palm. It felt as if her chest had been split open, leaving her heart to bleed all over the floor from its jagged, open wound.

She had once thought that to give up one’s heart until no tears could fall and nothing could bring a smile to one’s face was the worst fate that could befall a person. Yet perhaps it had been a blessing all along, one that had slipped through her fingers. It would mean never having to experience this torment, enough to sunder her heart in two as she witnessed all that she had left behind. From the very beginning, she’d been nothing more than a coward, secretly glad that she would die at the end - for death should have spared her from this.

"It hurts, does it not?" The whispers seemed to come from all around her, despite the fact that Hikari hadn't shifted, her hand raising to cup Colette’s cheek, soaked in tears. The surface of each shard rippled in time with her words, thorns of fear pricking at Colette’s skin at the veneer of kindness presented to her, her breath catching in her throat. "To remember. Those who come here never do. It must hurt, to know that you can never return."

"You can live again," she offered. "I can make a world for you, one where you can be happy, where you will never need to remember all that burdened you in your past life. You have already given up so much. Do you not at least deserve to let go of all that pains you?"

Sitting at a table with a pencil in hand, pondering her math homework as Lloyd snoozed beside her, sunlight filtering through the window and illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. She nudged him with a shoulder, giggles bubbling from her throat as his only response was to mumble something under his breath. Reaching for her phone, still blowing up with messages wishing her a happy sixteenth birthday, she wondered what tomorrow would bring…

The scene faded slowly this time, bit by bit. The wood of the table, covered in pencil scratches caused by clumsy hands. The sky outside the window, a lovely blue that signified a perfect day. The cosy room, filled with the dreams of a child, whose only consideration for the future was a mild curiosity over what it would bring.

It was perfect - a lovely dream that stabbed yet another dagger into her heart.

“Living a normal life… Isn't that what you've always wished for?"

There it was, the wish she had locked away long ago, the key rusty and lost. A wish she had attempted to forget by surrounding herself with the warmth of her friends. It was tempting, to accept the offer given to her for no price at all, to finally be given a reprieve from the ache deep in her soul. And yet…

She remembered a teacher who had known of her fate, and had done her best to give her a fulfilling life. A young elf who had been unfairly chased from his home, and had displayed such bravery over the course of their journey. A mercenary who never spoke much, but had given her advice on how to weather the angelic transformation. An assassin, who had cared so much for a world that wasn’t even her own.

Most of all, she remembered a boy who had never cared about her role, who had torn through the facades she put up and reached the scared girl hidden beneath.

"I can't." The words slipped out, Hikari’s stare turning frigid as she dropped her hand, shifting away. Perhaps she was sealing her fate, but she couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of her, tripping inelegantly over each other. "I can’t forget what I’ve been through, nor the choices I’ve made. These memories, no matter how painful, are still precious to me.” She shook her head, fingers tightening on the fabric of her clothes. “I don’t want to forsake the truth for an illusion. That would mean dishonouring all the sacrifices that came before me.”

"If this is to be my punishment for not being a good enough Chosen," she whispered, smiling sadly, "then I accept it. I will bear this burden. And I will sin no further by seeking reprieve."

The air itself seemed to turn solid all of a sudden, forcing her prone to the ground with heaving gasps. Above her, shards sliced through the air, faster and faster, until it drowned out all other sounds. She could only watch, words escaping her, as the walls and the ceiling itself unfurled into ribbons of glass, spiralling away to reveal the sky and all that remained of the grand church that had once stood in this very location - broken pillars and scattered rubble.

"You have your wish, then," Hikari hissed, a burning rage erupting from within her that matched the turbulent motion of the shards. "You will not be remembered, and you will never be able to leave. Those precious memories of yours will haunt you for the rest of time. If you so desire to gaze upon the truth, then you may have it."

With a dismissive flick, a single red shard materialised in the air, hovering just within Colette’s reach. She stared at it with wide eyes, watching her own image reflected on its surface.

“May it bring you fortune, Chosen One.”

In the distance, footsteps echoed.

And then there was nothing but blissful silence.

~~~

The truth. What was so appealing about it that people simply could not avert their eyes? It had brought her nothing but pain. To cling to it seemed absurd.

Was happiness not a good enough reason to forsake the truth? Those had been the very words she’d told Tai, over and over again, yet Tai would always find her way to the church, and she would always remember. And she would always die by Hikari’s hands - an inviolable rule of this world, one that she couldn’t bend despite the power she yielded.

The girl she’d left in the ruins of that very same church was similar to Tai, in a way. They had suffered all their life, yet still, they pushed on with a smile, refusing to yield, strength hidden behind soft words and a demure face.

Hikari came to a stop, knowing not where her feet had carried her. It mattered not.

How many days, months, years had it been since she'd first awoken here, surrounded by shards of Arcaea depicting nothing but joy? So much of it that she’d gotten drunk on it, only for it to drive her to the brink of losing herself in its overwhelming brightness.

The girl would shatter, the instant she realised that wonderful "truth". All she had done was for a lie, and in another time, another world, Colette Brunel had already awoken from her curse, clutching a precious birthday present close.

This one was nothing but a copy. Even then, the pain she felt was real. But it was too late to save her. There was nothing to be done but to wait to pick up the pieces.

For now... for now, she would simply make preparations. Her heart sang a single wish, a wish to see that gentle smile framed by black locks once more. She yearned to feel the warmth of Tai’s palm pressed against her own.

She had missed Tai’s embrace so very, very much.

~~~

A few shards of glass remained in the ruins of a church, unheard whispers spreading amongst themselves as they watched the newest arrival - another girl, drowning in grief she couldn’t control. Just as they had watched every other girl, so too would they watch this one, observing the tragedy of her story as it unfolded.

They watched as she reached out with trembling fingers for a singular scarlet shard, hugging it close to her chest. Her grip was so tight that the shard cut into her fingers, causing more red to trail down her arms in a trickling river.

They watched as she raised her gaze towards the sky, perhaps to catch sight of the twinkling stars that had been her companion for many a sleepless night. But there were no stars to be found here, in this strange, alien world. There would be no opportunity to count them, as a gruff voice disguising kindness had told her to do. There would be nothing to refer to as she recounted the stories that had been whispered to her on rooftops, by a gentle boy whose cheeks had been kissed by the cold. There would be no crackling of the fire, no soft breaths coming from Genis as he slumbered next to his sister. There would be no scent of miso soup, still wafting from the thoroughly emptied pot that Sheena had laboured over.

They listened in silence as she began to softly sing, her voice carrying through the air. A hymn, praying for salvation from an ever-benevolent Goddess.

They did not respond, continuing to churn in eternal silence. A song heard by no one, swallowed up by this endless world.

There would be no salvation, now and forevermore.

[eddieheart]

THE PIER

Fandom: 911

Pairings: NONE

Words: 579

Description: someone else saved Christopher at the pier that day.

Water was rushing around her, how had it come to this? It was invading her lungs, swallowing her whole. All she wanted was to go for a walk.

Andy had been swept up by the strong current and wisked away by the waves. Flipped around and tossed like a dog with a play toy. She’d been thrown onto a garbage heap, the waves trying to pull her off.

But she fought, grabbing wildly at the stray objects in front of her. She felt the harsh sun beaming down on her. Something sliced into her hand but she payed it no mind, gripping tightly onto what she assumed was an oar.

Blood dripping down her arm as she finally pulled herself up. She took a deep breath, sighing in relief. Andy didn’t recognize any of the scenery, she was only new here.

Something caught her eye, a flash of yellow, a voice screamed out coming from the direction of the blob.

“Buck! Help!”

Andy gripped onto the blood slick oar and pushed it to the side freeing the top section of her raft. She paddled with all her might, getting closer and closer to the yellow clad boy.

“Hey! Just hold on! I’m coming for you!” The small boy was holding tightly onto a lamppost.

Andy stuck out her hand, the little boy shakily reached out his in return. She pulled on the boy hoisting him up and out of the water, pulling him to her chest.

Pulling back just enough to see his face she checked the small boy over for any injuries, he whimpered as he was pulled away from the embrace.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay buddy. Are you hurt anywhere? Can you tell me if you’re hurt?” She asked sincerely, peering down at the boy.

“I lost my glasses when I lost my Buck.” Her eyebrows drew together in confusion as the lutte boy began to sob into her chest.

“Hey baby, it’s okay. Can you tell me you’re name? I’m Andy.” The little boy mumbled into her chest.

“Hmm?” She let out a sound, telling the boy she couldn’t understand.

“Christopher.” Smiling down at the boy she responded.

“That’s a nice name, Christopher.” Andy firmly held the small boy as she sniffled into her shirt.

“Hey Chris, can I call you Chris, it looks like we’re gonna be a while, why don’t we play a game huh?” Softly, she brush a hand through his hair as she spoke.

“I like Chris. What kinda game?” He finally removed himself from the front of her shirt.

“How about I spy?”

“That’s what I was playing with Buck when I got lost.”

“Okay then, how about twenty questions?”

It went on like that for a while, Christopher asking her some questions, her asking some in return. Though it soon strayed from identifying objects to personal questions.

Andy learned that Buck was a friend from his dads work, his dad was named Eddie and he was a firefighter. She also learned that Chris had CP, cerebral palsy.

By the time they stopped the sky was a frothy grey, how long had they been drifting around? Damp hair stuck to her face, the water had gone down a few feet by now and she was able to get off her make shift raft and begin walking.

She could see crowds of people in the distance. Grabbing onto Christopher she hoisted him up and into her arms. She walked towards the group.

@buggylad

[eyes-of-mischief]

weekly fic recs | 40

fandoms: bnha, mdzs, svsss, tgcf

bnha

Everything Will Be Okay by iizukuus

“Stop. Fucking stop that. Tell me what the fuck that was in the damn video, Deku.” Deku. The Deku in the video. That Deku… That Deku does not exist. It could not have happened to him. He did not get held up after school that day. He does not remember. He was not touched. Not him. Not strong, UA Deku. Any other Deku before UA does not exist. It did not happen. So, Izuku looks at Kacchan, and he asks again, flatly. “What are you talking about.”

Class 1A gets sent an old video of Izuku from a time he thought he buried and everything for him falls apart from there. (His family is there to pick up the pieces.)

dc

always sunny (in the rich man's world) by aloneintherain

Jon can barely see the delivery man behind the massive bouquet spilling out of his arms. He doesn’t know much about flowers, but he can tell this arrangement is beautiful. And expensive. Red and black wild flowers sprout up between thorny roses, held together by a dark ribbon.

“I think you have the wrong house,” Jon says.

The delivery man turns and checks the number on their mailbox. “Nope. This is it.”

Jon is just wondering whether he has to contact the Justice League about this would-be stalker when Kon thunders down the stairs. “They’re for me!”

(Or: The Kents and Waynes find out that Tim’s love language is gift giving.

Kon isn’t a sugar baby. Really, he isn’t. He isn’t.)

I'm a Good Pretender by shipNslash

“You’re doing it again,” Bruce says, tone accusatory. “You’re faking.”

“It’s not faking,” Dick snaps, a little more aggressive than he means to be. But he doesn’t like that word, doesn’t like the connotations.

(Especially when he knows Bruce is lying about something, too.)

“Then what is it?”

“It’s called being charming and it’s nice.”

-_-

Dick’s mother raised her son to be a star. Dick’s father raised his son to be an athlete.

Bruce's new ward is charming (manipulative), dedicated (obsessive), and way, way too smart for either of their own good.

mdzs

never beat, never break by words-writ-in-starlight (WordsWritInStarlight)

(major character death)

A-Yuan cries. It is the only sound with meaning. He cries in the restless choked waves of a child beyond hope of relief, who believes that crying is all that is left to him.

Lan Wangji lies still and listens and is grateful for the sound, insofar as he is anything.

Lan Wangji doesn't die under the discipline whip. It takes time to come to terms with this.

maybe together we can get somewhere (any place is better) by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool

Lan Zhan is six years old.

He lost a baby tooth three weeks ago, his favorite toy is a plush rabbit named Didi, and he makes his bed every morning when he wakes up. Mother used to tuck him in at night after putting Lan Huan to bed. She’d come into his room with a storybook in hand and read to him until his eyes drooped, her warm voice and gentle smile lulling him to sleep. He misses her comforting smell, like cookies.

He doesn’t know why she went away, and when Lan Huan explains it doesn’t make sense. He says Mother is gone and she still loves them very much, but they can’t see her again. Lan Zhan tries to understand, he waits outside her bedroom door in the east wing of their home, but she never opens the door. He tries to enter the attic where Father sent her, but he can’t reach the top rung of the pull down ladder, and Lan Huan shakes his head when he asks for his brother’s help.

She can’t come down, A-Zhan, Father said we’re not allowed.

.

A modern au where Qingheng-jun raises his children. He is not the father they need.

tie a knife with a ribbon by iliacquer

(explicit)

The Yiling Patriarch makes a bargain with the cultivation world. He'll give them the power to defeat Wen Ruohan. No more death. No more war.

All he wants in return is Lan Wangji.

svsss

Abandoned by HeyOkayMeow

(explicit) (graphic depictions of violence)

“What did you do?” Mobei Jun whispers shakily, stepping backwards again. His boots squelch in something that he can’t and doesn’t want to identify. “Survive,” Shang Qinghua chokes out. “That’s all I ever do.” He swallows roughly and looks into Mobei Jun’s eyes, his own still blown wide. “Why didn’t you come?”

Mobei Jun doesn’t answer Shang Qinghua’s calls. Shang Qinghua does what he has to. They both face the consequences.

white light in your arms tonight by tardigradeschool

(major character death)

Luo Binghe peeks up at him, eyes rimmed nearly as red as his demon mark. “Shizun won’t send me away from him?”

Slowly, almost involuntarily, Shen Qingqiu's arms come up to embrace Luo Binghe in return. He’s already gone totally off-script here, what’s a little more adlibbing? He has fifteen seconds left before Luo Binghe must enter the Abyss. “I won’t,” he says quietly. “But you must be brave, Binghe. This will not be easy, but there is only one place for us to go. Shizun is sorry.”

The two of them are only a few paces away from the cliff. Even without access to his cultivation, Shen Qingqiu has a height advantage, and more importantly, he has surprise on his side. It is almost too easy to clutch Luo Binghe tighter in his arms, step forward, and --

Shen Qingqiu really hopes he doesn’t die when he hits the bottom. That would be so embarrassing.

tgcf

Imaginary Calamity Xie Lian by hoarder_of_stories

(explicit) (graphic depictions of violence)

During the 800 years, Hua Cheng fantasizes about some ways Xie Lian might treat him when they meet up again. He most recently interacted with book 4!Xie Lian, so he and his degradation kink are a bit off. It’s okay, though, Xie Lian will eventually show him he deserves good things.

-

Hua Cheng knows of Xie Lian’s cultivation method, but perhaps he’s found another. Maybe, and Hua Cheng hopes against hope, he would allow Hua Cheng to serve him in that as well. In moments of weakness, Hua Cheng has imagined that he might, learned all that he could of the art of pleasure so that he would be ready if Dianxia - he laughs at himself - ever wanted that from him.

Hua Cheng shoves reality away and imagines Xie Lian commanding him to kneel. “You’ll do,” Xie Lian might say coldly, and allow Hua Cheng to pleasure him with his mouth.

svsss x mdzs

Plot Deviations Are Blessings by Library_of_Gage

“San Lang! You’re just in ti— Who’s this?”

Luo Binghe blinks and looks over his shoulder, surprised to see a young man he didn’t sense. With the warm smile, gentle demeanor, and simple white robes, he comes off as mostly harmless. Behind him is another table with two chairs side-by-side. Parchment, various types of brushes, and several ink pots are neatly placed on the table as though he was about to start practicing calligraphy. 

“Gege,” the demon says, his voice significantly deeper and happier than before, “I’ve done something good.”

Something about the words and the way they’re said feels achingly familiar; he’s searching for praise and doesn’t seem to care how obvious he is about it.

[neonreflections23]

~Blissful Death~

Chapter 2

Fandom- Identity V

Paring- Naib Surbedar (Mercenary) x Oc

Au- Man in Red Essence, loosely following the essence trailer and skin descriptions.

Major Content Warnings- Prominent Themes of Death

Word Count- 3425

Chapter Summary- The unicorn found himself within the Man in Red’a castle walls where he has met the elusive man of legend. Things are confusing and hard to comprehend in this strange new world.

Notes/Comments- I had a lot of fun introducing Naib and Violetta in this one. I am not good with story flow, but I slowly get better at it. This is the second chapter after all. Chapter Three will be posted shortly.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

The smell of rosewater stirred him awake from his death-like slumber. He tried to stretch, but the space was confining and padded with soft cushioning. Ulysses sat up to see that he was sleeping in an open casket in the middle of a dark room. The forest was nowhere in sight and his sopping wet clothes were changed into a beautiful silk robe, the scrapes and bruises were healed. He instinctively checked if his eyepatch was still in place, though thankfully it was. There was a sigh of relief seeing it wasn’t taken considering it was a close treasure, though it was a little concerning why he is worried so much about his eye.

Where was he even? Last he remembered he passed out in the white clearing and heard someone humming to him in his dreams.

He finally got up trying to navigate the inky darkness, his bare steps against the cold stone floors echoing through the expanse. It felt like he was walking for ages until voices were whispering ahead.

“When will he wake up?”

“Give them time, he just arrived by the grace of our Lord.”

“We haven’t had a newcomer for an age. Truly this one is special if they made their way to us!”

“Hush! I think I hear footsteps!”

A set of iron doors towered over the unicorn, it was adorned with people bowing and worshiping a lone butterfly in the center as it showers everyone with its rays of holy light in the form of red gemstones adoring the iron.

He stood at the double door. The whispering grew louder and so did his anxiety. The people on the other side of that door seemed excited to see him, yet it felt like he was crossing into purgatory.

After hesitating for a while, he shook off the sinking fear and pushed it, they were beyond heavy to open so he put all his body weight against one forcing it until he fell forward. The crowd that was whispering turned quickly to see the fallen newcomer scrambling to get up witnessing the sudden attention on him.

“Um. Hello..? I just woke up in a coffin and-” Before Ulysses can explain further, he was quickly ushered forth through the mass with loud cheering and applause guiding him to the stage. There he awkwardly stood as they now fell silent with bated breath. What is he supposed to do? What does he say?! They are putting him on the spot! He tried to look around for a sign to no avail, this entire room is decorated with white vines and opulent deco on the walls and ceilings. It was like a concert hall. Maybe that’s what they want. A concert. Ulysses shakily inhaled-

“It’s the Lord!”

The crowd exploded into applause once again as a new face strolled onto the stage, waving and smiling at all the subjects before him. A man in all red with silver hair, both his right eye and chest were covered in the same white butterflies as the clearing where Ulysses slept.

It hit him.

The Man in Red. The man of legend.

The unicorn couldn't help but stare in awe at this revelation. Not only was he seeing a living fairy tale, but he was more enamored with his striking appearance. It seemed the man took notice and held his chin up with a flirtatious glint in his gaze. Ulysses was quick to look away in embarrassment, but the other was insistent on making him look him in the eye by grabbing his face.

“My dear coven, I have chosen our newest member while strolling through the mortal plane yesterday night. This charming stranger followed my light and was guided to the Holy Garden where I was tending to the flowers and collapsed before me. I was there to aid him and have brought him to our world as I have done so for all of you.

Rejoice! Rejoice for this new beginning and for his soul being reborn! Violetta! The rose!” From his peripheral vision, Ulysses could spot a beautiful bound woman on a spit inching toward the duo with roses aflame on her dress. She wasn’t walking, the wood attached to her was her substitute limbs! Violetta handed The Man in Red a burning rose as he let go of the confused new member. “With this rose, it is customary for every new member to accept the Kiss of Death with their own lips. Although it is not needed for they have already died.” A wave of gasps and muttering washed over the crowd. Ulysses was even tempted to join in the confusion as he had no knowledge this happened when he was asleep! “To metaphorically die with an audience is the gateway to joining, so accept this burning rose as a symbol of triumph, stranger. You are one of the few who have truly been reborn by my hands.” Concluding the commanding announcement, The Man in Red placed a kiss upon the magic rose and set it on Ulysses's hair with the audience roaring in celebration at the news. He sat on his throne soaking in the praise with Violetta nearby as a guard, but Ulysses stood there with more questions than answers.

After some closing remarks from the lord, The crowd dispersed shortly with the three remaining on the stage. Finally, it was Ulysses’s turn to speak.

“What was that..? How did I die?!” The unicorn cut through the silence.

“Died of hypothermia. I assume you crossed the river to get to the Other Side for whatever reason-”

“I was being hunted by the townspeople! I had to cross the river to escape and seek refuge! I only fell asleep when I got to that garden of yours! There is no way! I was fine while I was sleeping!”

“Your terror and disbelief are only proving my point. You died and I have granted your wish out of the kindness of my heart.” The word kindness was clearly strained. “You wished for a home and peace. I have blessed you with such.”

“I don’t-”

“Violetta. Take our friend to his room. Make sure everything is to his liking.

I wish I could explain it all to you, but I can’t stay long as I have to investigate within the Safe Side of the Overworld to see the truth. I spent much time organizing your arrival and to keep your soul intact. I will meet you in my room tonight, we shall continue this discussion there.” Without another word, the spider woman took Ulysses by the hand and guided him through a corridor at the right-hand side of the stage, but when he looked back the Man in Red was still staring at him.

———————————

The halls of the castle were maze-like with winding pathways and hallways to many sects until they reached the residential sect. The entire hall had doors with nameplates, all except the seventh door at the end of the hallway which was boarded up. Ulysses wanted to stop and question it, but Violetta gave a reminding tug at his arm, a sign to keep going and save it for later. The adjoining hall was where two more doors faced parallel to each other, one was completely normal without a nameplate whereas the other was stained with black and had white vines seeping out, the nameplate titled: Naib Subedar. The Man in Red’s room is what he can surmise.

Violetta let Ulysses inside the normal door to reveal an opulent chamber complete with a walk-in closet, a vanity, a large dressing mirror, and a canopy bed all for him. It was eating him inside to prevent entertaining the idea of jumping on such a luxurious bed! Is this really what “reborn” members get, or was this special treatment?

“Is everything to your liking?” Ulysses jumped at the spider suddenly talking. She was silent the entire way to the room!

“Oh, everything is perfect! I just wasn't expecting such a gorgeous room to stay in!”

“We provide the utmost care to our most important members within this castle, however, I do need your name for your nameplate and to tell our Lord once he comes back. He takes priority in memorizing his followers’ names.”

“...Ulysess Christos. Why didn’t he ask before when we were talking?”

“He was simply busy, but tonight, as he said, he will answer your questions. I am in no authority to question his motives as I am a faithful servant.”

“I hope it doesn’t sound rude, but did he bind you to that spit? How are you able to help me like this?”

“It is not rude as I get asked that often. I was born with limbs that couldn’t move, so I had to be carried almost all my life if I wanted to go someplace. I didn’t mind it all that much as long as I kept my pursuit of beauty, which indeed has led me down a dark road until the Lord has saved me.” She looked down at her “hands” in glee. “He gave me a new way to move as I control this shell and became a vessel to bring these flowers to willing new members. I am one of his most trusted servants!”

“That. Sounds amazing that he did that all for you.”

“I’m sure he will do the same for you if it means he saved you too. He has already granted your wish, so maybe there is more he plans to use you for his work.”

“I suppose, though I don’t plan on staying long. I may have wished for these things, but I don’t know if I want to join such a community you all have. I am still trying to get over the rigor mortis in my bones.”

This turned Violetta’s smile into a thin frown.

“So you do not accept our Lord’s gift?”

“No, no! I just don’t know if this place is truly for me is all! I just got here without my knowledge. You understand, right? I mean, I escaped my old home thanks to the daily danger I faced there due to my outsideness.” Ulysses gestured to his horn and tail. “How should I know people would accept me being here?”

“If they can accept a woman who became a hearth of flowers to help her move on her own, they can accept a unicorn human. We have had stranger join our ranks and give their lives to our Lord.”

“I see…”

“Enough of that now! You have to get ready for your meeting with him! It is already close to nightfall and we spent all this time talking! Come on, go find an outfit you’ll like! I’ll still be here to dispose of any you don’t like or don’t fit you.” The spider woman nudged the other in front of the closet and mirror, urging him to go find something.

“Hey! What about dinner?! Can’t we eat before doing this?!” Ulysses was shoved in to search for that perfect outfit, but the clothes within it are either too gaudy or too plain! None truly fit who he was. He did what she said and gave her most of the undesirable ones to her to “dispose of”, though when he looked back she was just burning them on herself.

“Course not! You have to save your appetite for tomorrow. It’s tradition for a big feast to happen for each newcomer. We haven’t had cause for celebration since our last Blood Flower Ball, which was five years ago. We are lucky to have you here because the ball is all the way in winter of this year!!”

“WHAT?! No wonder you all are excited! Must be boring without some type of event here!” He needed to settle on something, but what do you wear to someone who is a leader of an organization anyway? Ulysess would feel underdressed compared to a castle owner, but he settled on wearing a nice frilled dress shirt and some tights, though he had some difficulty trying to compromise with his large tail, in the end, he and Violetta made a hole in them to let it slip through comfortably. He didn’t want to wear anything too fancy as this man did treat him informally, as he can put it.

Once night fell, the lady bid her goodbyes for now and left to take care of other matters, not before pointing him in the direction of the door across from his own giving him his final instructions: “Go inside and wait for him. He should be there shortly as his errands won’t take him much longer. Keep the rose on you as well.” She moved the burning rose on his hair onto the dress shirt where it seemingly bloomed. “Although it is merely a symbol, I want you to wear it often as a reminder of the fun we had here. Do be sure to put in a good word for me, please.”

Ulysses entered the mysterious chamber, it was a dark room with a variety of reds and blacks with thorny vines lining the walls. The canopy bed was covered in white flowers and butterflies gliding with silky sheets neatly organized and with floral embroidery. It seemed that wherever he tends to frequent the most the vines and butterflies follow. Were they his creations or did they just like being around him? He sat on the bed nervously combing his hands through the pink hair of his tail. If he didn’t know better, he could downright assume their night of talking was something else entirely.

How long am I supposed to wait? Why send me to his room anyway? Are people known to eavesdrop here? It feels like I’ve been here forever.

Just then one of the glowing butterflies gilded onto his nose, flapping kisses with its wings, he couldn’t help but laugh sweetly at the display of affection and attempt to join by fluttering his eyelashes at it.

“I’ll take that as an indirect kiss.” Ulysess looked up to see The Man In Red before him, he was going to get up to greet him, but he was quick to gesture for him to stay where he was. The butterfly hesitated before joining its friends flying around to leave the two to their conversation.

“I don’t think it counts as one.” Ulysses flusteredly retorted.

“It does as I am the one who controls all the butterflies. Though, maybe someday we shall share a real one if it weren’t for the fear it could truly kill you.”

“But I am dead. Am I not..?”

“That was what I was going to talk to you about, Ulysses.” He sat beside him now casually running his hands through the soft pink tail. Ulysses jumped a little at the friendly gesture and the sudden use of his name, Violetta must have told him once he came back. The Man in Red keeps acting so informal with him as if they were friends for ages. Even if they were, it would be strange to not remember such an eccentric person! “You have died, but you were reborn as I have brought you back from the dead. You see, you are among those who have died metaphorically in this plane as they voluntarily did so to join me and my cause, you, however, are still alive thanks to me. My physical touches can kill you, unlike my subjects who were born and raised in this world. You are lucky I am wearing gloves right now or else you would have died during the greeting ceremony.” The unicorn took another look at the hand on his tail. He was right, he was wearing red gloves. It was pretty terrifying to think of a single touch that could truly kill. Was the Man in Red plagued with a curse? Was it why he had to do that weird ritual in the first place?

“My Lord-“

“Don’t call me Lord. Use my birth name.”

“Um. Naib, I don’t truly understand it all. This is all too confusing for me. I am trying to digest all this information, yet it feels like the more I try to understand, the more my mind is scrambled. I don't think I can ever really understand the situation I am in.”

“Then don't.” He held Ulysses’s chin to look him in the eye. “You can ask as many questions as you like about this place and its people, but understanding it all would be too much for you as this is your first night here. I just want you to settle in and relax.”

“I can’t really relax without truly knowing what is this cause you speak of or why I was brought here.”

“My cause is cleansing the souls of fear. Fear is what limits and divides, so I wanted to make a sanctuary for those wanting to escape it and have their hearts freed. That is also why I brought you here. I want your heart to be freed too.”

“Then can I ask one more question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why me? You could have left me to die, but you chose to save me. I never met you, yet you are showing me so much affection I never experienced before. Why me instead of any other person?”

“You wouldn't understand even if I tried to explain in detail. I guess you could say that my heart has longed for you forever. Soulmates for life.” Naib took the burning rose off of the other’s dress shirt and placed a sweet peck onto its petals, handing it back to Ulysses. His face reddened at the adorable display and copied it, accepting the fake kiss. This brought a smile to Naib’s face as they shared this tender moment. “Are there any other questions you may have for me?”

The unicorn didn't know what to ask. It did feel like he answered all of them honestly, but it felt like he was forgetting something. It was on the tip of his tongue, yet it continues to escape him.

“I guess I don't.

Violetta did mention that tomorrow there is a feast and that I have to save my appetite. I suppose I will be seeing you there if you aren’t busy.”

“I will be there of course. I wouldn’t miss it for anything else.”

Ulysses gave a big yawn. There was no clock to tell the time, but judging from the sky being pitch black from the nearby window, it seems that it is getting late.

“I think I should go. I am getting pretty tired and I don’t want to keep taking your time like this-”

“Stay! You can rest here tonight. You can sleep on one side of the bed while I sleep on the other.”

“But what if we touch?! What even brought this on anyway?”

“Even in nightwear, my skin would still be covered. I just want you to rest for your big day tomorrow. I also need to keep a close eye as your soul is still weak from being reborn. We don’t want you dying twice in a row, now do you?”

Ulysses didn’t want to say no to his gentle insistence, and he didn’t truly feel like walking back to his room anyway, so he found a comfortable spot to watch the butterflies flying above. It was like counting sheep.

One butterfly.

Two butterflies.

Three butterflies.

Four flies.

Five.

Six..

Seven…

He drifted asleep faintly hearing the similar humming as he fell deeper and deeper into the warmth of the bed and the glow above.

—————————————

Naib lay a considerable distance away, wearing his night clothing as he covered any patch of skin he could, admiring the lovely unicornkin before him. His ungloved hand reached out but stopped short of the other’s rosy cheek. He wanted to hold him tightly and adore him, but all he could do was bring his hand back and continue humming, a way of getting through to him without touch. He, himself, was cold to the touch and wanted desperately to feel the warmth of the sleeping figure. No type of heat in this plane could dare give Naib the warmth he so longs for.

“Now that you returned to me, I have much work to do. Enjoy this respite, my charming stranger. I will prepare everything to celebrate your return here to the Other Side.

I just wish I could see if that eye of yours had healed after so long.”

[minachan95-written-works-on-ao3]

Title : About That Kind of Desire… (Chapter 3)

Fandom: King of Fighters

Characters : Kyo Kusanagi, Kyo-1, Kyo-2, Kusanagi, Iori Yagami (Hinted Kyo x Iori)

Summary:

[Sequel to Perishing Little Flame on Winding Road]. Kyo seem to be concerned about the unexpected presence of one pesky redhead, who seemed to be in some deep trouble. So, this brunette simply follows him just to find out what it was all about… [Ch 5: hinted Kyo x Iori]

AO3 Link

After ‘Nagi straighten up his knees and stands up, he spreads his arms wide open and warmly greets one certain redhead with a sensible hint of malice in his voice ‘‘I’ve been waiting for you.’’. However, it seems that despite having a serious look on his face, Yagami’s hands were itching to shred this darker brunette into pieces. More important, once he spotted the injured and hardly breathing Kyo, this redhead ignores the presence of Kusanagi and now rushes his step forwards. Surely, this kind of behavior amused ‘Nagi, who just blocks the new center of this Yagami’s attention in nearly yowling tone ‘‘I didn’t know that you’re so eager to see me, but-’’. Unfortunately, this darker brunette was interrupted by Iori harshly pushing Kusanagi away with his one arm.

Even tho, this darker brunette was about to hit the ground, but managed to keep his balance. Now Kusanagi only furrows his eye-brows and hisses as he watches how Iori was getting close to Kyo and now bends in front of him. Surely, ‘Nagi grids his teeth and clenches his hands into the fists as he feels being ignored, even his crimson eyes glows brighter.

Meanwhile, this Kusanagi just silently stares at this redhead until they eyes have met. It was followed by this brunette turning his head away and lowering his gaze. At this moment it was hard to face Yagami thanks to a rising sense of guiltiness. After all, it would be natural if this redhead would only blame him by being tricked by someone and then having his ass kicked so easily, ‘cos he was too lazy to do anything, right? Or so, thought Kyo until his further thoughts were interrupted by Kusanagi’s irritated voice behind Iori ‘‘Stop ignoring me! And leave that weakling alone!’’ and a small wave of orange flame was sent towards this redhead.

However, Yagami’s reaction was slower, and now he briefly groans as the fire hits his back. All Kyo could do just widen his eyes in shock as Iori collapsed on top of him like shielding him with his body. As the dark smoke submerges into the air from this redhead’s back, ‘Nagi impatiently waits for any response while keeping his hands in his pants’ pockets. After grinding his teeth, this darker brunette bends down, and he was about to touch Yagami’s nape. However, all of a sudden this redhead turns his head to see his opponent. These blazing red eyes, filled pure fury, alone warned that this darker brunette won’t get away so easily, even if he manages to crawl away alive.

Despite that Kusanagi just chuckles ‘‘Hey, get up-’’ and now he felt a slashing strike across from his torso up to chest. Apparently, this redhead was also igniting his fingertips with purple flame, making already sharp and piercing pain even more unbearable. As the blood splashes and the purple flame disappears, ‘Nagi loses his balance and fells. It seems that even an attack like this did nothing to this darker brunette, who shakily push himself by the elbows and now was half sitting. After he places his hand on his chest, Kusanagi roughly breathes while giving a satisfied look for this redhead ‘‘As I expected from you. Such a raw and primal passion. I like it~… You and I are not that different, after all.’’.

As the murderous aura surrounds Iori, he stands up and approaches the darker brunette, who was shakily standing. Now this fearsome man stretches his hand and the purple flame was ferociously dancing on his palm. Kusanagi's eyes were sparkling with pure excitement and as he was blissfully smiling, he told in purring tone "This basement might be to small for us. So, how about we settle this outside? Besides, this building may not hold up, and you'll be buried alive along that stinking rat~".

As 'Nagi was getting step by step closer to this redhead, he ignites his palm and thrusts his chest forward. Now when both sides were facing each other, Kusanagi gave a challenging look and adds in delightful tone ‘‘You are smarter than that dumbass over there. Don’t worry, I promise that we gonna have a really good time~’’. However, Kyo knew that this match won’t end well, and he needs to stop this. So, now this brunette shouts from the top of his lungs ‘‘DON’T DO THIS, YAGAMI! Please, I know you’re not that dumb. So, please, don’t fall for his traps!’’. Nevertheless, this Kusanagi struggles to move a bit yet no reaction from this redhead, who just lowers his ignited palm and follows the darker brunette.

It seems that his voice didn’t reach out Iori and soon enough he was left alone in this cold room until one of them returns alive. All this brunette could do is to spit out the silent curses and as he hung his head down, he blames himself for being that foolish enough for involving anyone else to this mess. Hell, he never felt so pathetic and weak, however, the knife piercing his left thigh reminded his sense of pain as he accidentally moved his leg a bit. As he rests his head against the wall, he turns it to the small caged window and silently observes it. Perhaps, only if he listens carefully, he may imagine what is happening outside. He tried to have a faith that Yagami returns to him safely and, in the end, just scolds him for being reckless. At least, this is what this brunette believed so.

Meanwhile, in one familiar storage~ A clone wearing a blue high-school uniform was so comfortably sitting in their Big Bro’s ‘throne’ that while he observes peacefully sleeping his brothers, his eye-lids becomes heavier and heavier with each second. However, no matter what, this replica refuses to rest and watches over the younger siblings. So, after he lazily gets up and stretches his body, Mero decides to look inside the boxes near the 'throne'. At least it would be killing some time.

When this brunette carefully gets closer to the box, which was on the right side, he opens it as quiet as he could. Aside the bunch of bottles of whiskey packed neatly, this replica could swear that he noticed something big and square through this dark amber color liquid filled bottles. So, whenever, his mind was playing tricks on him or not, but all Mero’s sleepiness instantly disappears, and he knew that he can’t rest until his curiosity is satisfied. That’s why without further ado, this clone starts to take out bottle after a bottle. However, no matter how this replica in blue was cautious, or at least he thought so, but the clacking sound of the full bottles of fine liquid awakens one of the clones.

Surely, Mero freezes in the same spot while holding two bottles when he hears the sleepy yet annoyed voice of one clone ‘‘Oi, what do you think you’re doing? You wanna drink Big Bro’s supply? Put it down, before I tell that you’re the one who empties Big Bro’s whiskey.’’. Apparently, this voice belonged to none other than a familiar replica in brown uniform, who now was resting next to the clone in purple uniform. The replica in blue only indignantly whispers ‘‘Keep your voice down, okay? There is something hidden under these bottles. So, help me to get them out of the box, you fool.’’.

Of course, Hoki only rolls his eyes while he lies on his stomach and now tries to get up. However, as he pushes himself up, he hears a sudden groan and muttering. Surely, it got this clone alerted, and he suddenly checks the source of this noise. Apparently, Hoki accidentally pushed his hand against the back of one clone, who was sleeping next to him. As the replica in brown uniform widens his eyes and with-draws his hand, he can hear the fellow clone complaining and giving an annoyed look to his brother ‘‘Watch where you move, idiot. It hurts.’’.

Meanwhile, the clone in purple uniform half lies on tatami, he hears how Hoki addresses him ‘‘Fii~ine, sorry. Just go back to sleep, Sakura.’’. This fellow replica in purple watches over how the replica in brown uniform carefully was trying to get close to Mero’s side and in nearly scolding voice asks the twins ‘‘What are you two up to this time? It’s the middle of the night, unlike you, we're trying to sleep here.’’. However, it seems that these two completely ignored Sakura’s words and just takes out the rest of the bottles. Of course, it maddens this clone, who’s all sleepiness was completely gone by now. It can’t be helped then, he had to do something about it.

So, when these two were done with removing all the bottles, Mero bends down to reach a mysterious suitcase from the box and takes it out. Certainly, it was followed by an honest and impatient Hoki’s question as the clone in blue places the suitcase on the ground ‘‘What’s this? I wonder what is inside.’’. Just when the replica in blue uniform kneels down and about to remove the locks on the side, he was interrupted by a strict demand of a clone in purple ‘‘Oh no, you don’t… Whatever you do, put it back and leave it alone.’’. Definitely, it got the attention of this couple, who fixated their gaze at Sakura who was standing behind them ‘‘Neither I, you two, nor anyone else should know what is inside. Only Big Bro ‘Nagi have the right to look into it and use whatever is inside this suitcase.’’.

However, without trying to hide his dissatisfaction, Hoki complains ‘‘Stop acting like you’re the mom. We just gonna take a quick peek, that’s it. Big Bro won’t even notice. So, if you don’t wanna know, then it doesn’t mean that we don’t wanna too. That’s why do us a favor - turn around, close your eyes and cover your ears.’’. It seems that the clone in purple just holds his arms crossed and averts his gaze from his brothers for a couple of seconds. After returning his gaze, Sakura sighs and replies in low-key tone ‘‘But Shiro knows, that’s for sure, and after seeing the way how reacted… I don’t think that it is worth.’’.

Nevertheless, Mero carelessly objects ‘‘Well, he isn’t here. Besides, he is such a scaredy-cat and always over-reacts. Remember that one time when he was very fond of that injured rabbit and treated it until that rabbit recovered? That fool got too much attached to some animal and guess how it ended? One day we found that someone killed a rabbit, right? Sheesh, it was dead already, so, what’s the point of freaking out? Like grieving and tears could change anything or brought it back to life, but that idiot got too upset and, of course, you had to be on his side as usual and scold us for no good reason and even apologize while that stupid idiot clings into you. For the love of the-, he is the eldest of us, but acts as such a kid. So, what can be that bad inside this suitcase?’’.

It seems that Sakura only could face-palm and shake his head in disapproval after he listens to this clone, so, now he speaks up ‘‘You know, it’s not Shiro’s fault that he acts or thinks a bit more different from us or ‘Nagi. Nor that he was treated differently than any of us when we were at lab, like heck, we had a choice what to do either… Anyway, do you guys recall that one time when he was unable to speak for the entire month or even refused to sleep and lost appetite for a while? After he managed to calm down, he told me what it was all about-’’, but it seems that clone in brown uniform interrupts him ‘‘Correction - hugging you and acting like a small child. That crybaby just weeps even more as you were hugging him back and comforting.’’.

But the replica in purple only rolls his eyes and continues ‘‘He had his reason for that, and even I felt bad for him, you know. From what he told me that what he found inside the suitcase didn’t scare him, that only made him curious. However, Big Bro caught him in action and then promised Shiro that he would show in practice how he uses his ‘box of tools’, which were used to ‘fix naughty people’. Oi, you two, don’t stare at me like that, it is Shiro’s words, not mine. Anyway, another evening ‘Nagi took Shiro with him somewhere and asked him to carry that suitcase. So, from what Shiro told me, Big Bro has another place to hang out where he punishes ‘bad people’ or just chills out.’’.

Surely, it got Mero frown and without hiding his jealousy, he comments ‘‘What a lucky bastard… Big Bro even shown his special place to hang out, but that stupid Shiro still not convinced that Big Bro is a very kind person. He should feel grateful, but instead that, urgh…’’ and turns his head away from the fellow replica.

Even so, as Sakura continues telling his story, Mero returns his gaze and listens further ‘‘I don’t think that Shiro was happy when ‘Nagi ties him up with metal wire before bringing the half conscious person into that basement, or o he told that. However, it seems that Shiro only shakes his head and no matter what refused to tell me what happened next. According to him, ‘your big bro have a side, which none of you should know about it, if you really love him that much. Unless you feeling ready to learn the truth about him’. ’’ as the twins were giving a questioning and curious look at this clone, this replica adds ‘‘You think I have an idea what he meant by that too? But, ooh boy, I don’t know how about you two or the rest, but I felt very uncomfortable by seeing how these two have acted when they returned. It was somehow even unsettling.’’.

As the bad shivers runs down this clone’s back, he holds his arms and now rubs them to warm up, after he nervously swallows saliva and widens his eyes ‘‘Big Bro looked so smug and proud, and cheerful while he was carrying Shiro like a princess in his arms. Hell, I’ve never seen Shiro so terrified and shocked. He didn’t even react to us. Just what in the world he has he seen? He was so pale and speechless, heck, that distant stare tho… Even after Big Bro asking us to bring out the tatami for Shiro to rest, who could only blankly stare and trying to say something without making any sound with his trembling lips. But ‘Nagi simply told us that ‘Shiro only learned how the real world works, and he’ll get over it soon.’. You know, even if Shiro refused to say what happened in that basement, but he told that if ‘your big bro’ gone for a longer time being, you can find him in that place. Later on, he gave me the directions but warned me that we should avoid this place at any cost and simply walk away, because ‘no one deserved to see or experience such a terrible and cruel behavior’. ’’.

However, Hoki closes his eyes rubs his temples while replies in annoyed tone ‘‘I don’t get him at all… Why Shiro is so stubborn? If something that bad, as he says, happens, he can rely on us and tell what’s wrong. Even if he is a prototype and likes Original better than Big Bro or acts more different, but that still makes him being one of us, right? Hell, even that good-for-nothing Original can be counted as a part of our family, if you think of. So, you better tell us where that basement is, ‘cos what if that redhead killer found Shiro or Big Bro... Their last encounter proved that even Big Bro can be finished-off by this blood-thirsted demon, so, we need to stop that and help Big Bro defeat him once and for all. Maybe beating answers out of him when Big Bro is not around should help learn what that bastard did to Shiro after… that thing happened.’’, now he looks at the clone in blue and orders him ‘‘You’re going with me or what, you lazy-ass? ‘Cos whom else Big Bro entrust most difficult task than us?’’. "Don't tell me what to do, I have already gone with you even if you didn't want me to follow you.", or so objected the replica in blue.

Lastly, the replica in purple realized that it is useless to fight back this fellow clone once he feels so determined ‘‘ Not sure what you mean by that last part, but Shiro was perfectly fine when he visited us in the storage, right? Unless, you two know something that we don’t. Anyway, I’ll tell you where that place is, so, listen carefully and if you meet Big Bro ‘Nagi, don’t tell him, who told you this, got it?…’’ and Sakura explains without missing even the smallest detail, just the same way as Shiro has told him back in the day. It seems that this time the twins listened carefully without any interruption as well. In the end, the clone in purple added "...and don't worry, I'll tidy up there and look over the others while you're gone. So, take care of yourself and return safely, you dorks."

"Just make you that you won't doze out while you're on duty. Or else we gonna tell Big Bro that you were drinking whiskey~" Mero cheerfully bids a farewell while leaving with Hoki on their way to find their Big Bro and bring him home safely without having even the slightest idea about what kind of unfortunate fate this encounter will lead.

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Chapter 1 Link

Chapter 2 Link

Chapter 4 Link

[mnemememory]

blue-grey silhouettes 

Yasha comes back, and Beau can’t believe how sappy she is about it.

(a 2k monologue about nothing much, really). 

 “So,” Beau says, leaning back in her seat and taking a long gulp of ale. “Where were you this time?”

Yasha’s grin is small and unexpectedly shy, thick makeup smeared in a way that suggests long hours on the road a little chance of a touch-up. Beau can’t even remember the last time she bothered with anything much, though Jester seemed to enjoy the morning routine.

Of course, after almost three weeks on the road with little respite, they hadn’t exactly bothered with what Beau considered “useless gunk that gummed up an otherwise pleasant day” and other people considered “good manners” and “proper form” and whatever. Example a) makeup.

Beau has dust imbedded into the whorls of her fingertips. She’s never going to get it out of the creases in her boots, no matter the fervency with which she scrubs the leather, so she isn’t even going to try. Beau has scrubbed a lot of boots in her lifetime, and no longer has the appetite for it.

“Here and there,” Yasha says, ducking her head and taking a mouthful of her own drink. Beau still can’t figure out if Yasha is being deadly serious or teasing – there’s such a fine line, and Yasha has the kind of awkward poker face that feels easy to offend. I know I’m not great with people, she had stumbled out, once, and Beau can’t forget the way her shoulders had hunched over until she’d appeared almost as small as Nott. Beau wonders about that, sometimes; about the weight of Yasha’s shoulders, the sculpted lines of her cheeks. She wears so much makeup. That’s an awful thick mask you have there, she wants to say.

But Beau has never been a hypocrite (well, never intentionally, shut up Xanoth), and she can’t bare the thought of Yasha turning her piercing grey eyes onto Beau and saying, Not as thick as yours.

There’s a sex joke in there, but the thought process is far too convoluted to even bother trying to explain.

Beside her, Nott makes a sound of absolute fury and stands up on her chair, waving around her knife with the fractured madness of a crazy person. Caleb reaches up to grab her, but Nott is too fast. She jumps up onto the table and points the knife to Yasha’s throat. “You always do this!” she says. “No! No! You’re so mysterious! Tell us where you were!”

Yasha blinks up at Nott – well, no, that’s a lie. She blinks straight ahead at Nott, because even standing on a table, Nott is barely eye-level. “Oh,” she says, face blank. “Around.”

At this point, six months into their acquaintanceship (and maybe five and a half months into actual friendship, though Beau isn’t holding her breath for anyone other than Jester admitting to it), Beau is half convinced that Yasha is doing this whole “oblivious” routine just to fuck with Nott. Wouldn’t surprise her if that was the case, especially when Yasha sometimes disappears without even a storm to herald her absence. One day, they’re going to take another detour to a bathhouse and find Yasha relaxing there, soaking in their absence and laughing at Nott’s fury.

Nott snarls at her, and then pulls grumpily away. She flings herself violently back into her chair, tipping it backwards. Jester barely catches it in time to keep Nott from rolling neck-first onto the ground.

“It is good to see you again, Yasha,” Jester says, steadying Nott’s chair and then turning her guileless eyes onto Yasha. Beau grins into her flagon. Out of all of them, Yasha seems most off-guard with the blue Tiefling. “You have been gone for longer than usual.”

“Yes, we were starting to worry,” Molly says, tipping his chair back irritatingly against the wall. He has more makeup on than Yasha, shirt open and hair swept back in a way that he obviously thought made him look good. Beau kind of wants to kick the chair-leg and send him tumbling to the ground, but she curbs the impulse with another swallow. Manners, she thinks in Fjord’s voice, uncharitably. “You were gone for longer than usual.”

“Oh, you know,” Yasha says, shifting in her chair and crossing her arms underneath her chest. Beau sets her teeth and keeps her eyes dead centre of Yasha’s forehead. Don’t be so obvious about checking people out, Fjord had advised in the Weekly Tips section of their apprenticeship. Go slow, talk to them first, and then –

Beau is going so, so slow with Yasha, because Yasha is equal parts awkward and terrifying, and also because it would be so, so easy for Yasha to just disappear and never come back. Sometimes, Beau wonders if it’s just an inevitability, and they’ll be living with the ghost of Yasha’s presence for however long they stay together. One day, Beau is going to turn and say, Yasha, stay with us, we need you, and Yasha is going to leave anyway.

Yasha’s face brightens, a subtle change in expression that lights up her eyes. “But I’m here, now. For a while, I think. He shouldn’t need me again for a bit after this last part.”

“Tell – us – what – you – do,” Nott hisses, gauging the knife deep into the tabletop. Caleb looks up from his book, looks at the table, and then goes back to his book. Beau thinks he takes some kind of sick pleasure in watching Nott break things. Not that she’s anyone to judge in terms of bad coping habits and inappropriate catharsis.

“Now, now,” Fjord says, coming back from the bar with another around. Beau grabs a flagon and shoves her empty one back at him, grinning low and wide. “No need to resort to violence. And Nott, that kind gentlemen over behind the counter asks that you stop destroying his tables.”

Nott gives him a dark look from behind her porcelain mask, teeth sticking out oddly from where the edge meets the skin of her cheek. Then she lets go of the knife and leans sulkily back into her chair. “Whatever you say, Fjord.”

Fjord’s face twitches slightly, the way it does whenever anyone insists on pronouncing his name correctly, but he covers it up well enough. “For the guest of honour,” he says, putting down another flagon in front of Yasha. “It’s certainly been a while.”

“Yes,” Yasha says, draining it dry in almost a single drink. “It has been.”

Yasha sleeps in Beau and Jester’s room, as always.

She takes the floor. No amount of insisting on either of their parts can convince her to swap out for one of their mattresses. She won’t even acquiesce to a bed, which Beau is only a little bitter about – she would be totally fine with sharing a bed with Yasha, no, really, you’re not too big, look at the size of this thing –

But alas, Yasha takes the floor, and Beau is left to grumpily settle down under the covers.

The rooms of the inn aren’t the best in the world – Beau has certainly slept in better. She has also, however, slept in far worse, so she isn’t going to be complaining. Especially not after three weeks on the road, with dust down her throat and rocks in her boots. And her pockets. Somehow, every time she had reached into her pockets, she had found them filled to bursting with rough sandstone pebbles that were hell on the inner lining. From the way Jester kept on laughing at her, and Molly had looked insufferably smug, she’s guessing that those two had had something to do with it.

Jester stays up well past midnight, sketching out something in that weird little book of hers. Occasionally, she glances up to where Beau is lying on her stomach, or where Yasha is sitting by the window sharpening her sword, and giggle. Beau doesn’t especially like that particular giggle, though she generally enjoyed Jester’s sense of humour.

“Hey,” Beau says, after the fifth time it happened. “What’cha drawing?”

“Oh,” Jester says, snapping her book closed with a flurry. “Just some pictures for the Traveller. I’m sure he will really like them.”

“Uh…huh,” Beau says, torn between general apathy and a vague sense of worry. After a few minutes, she decides that she’s probably better off not knowing. Yasha doesn’t even look up from her blade – at least, not that Beau can see. Not that she’s looking.

Jester just smiles happily and goes to bed. Kid can go out like a light. Beau finds herself once again envying her outwardly uncomplicated outlook on going to sleep – Jester’s head hits the pillow, and she’s gone. It’s been a long time since Beau’s been able to sleep without a good forty-five minutes of tossing and turning.

To pass the time, she glances sideways to where Yasha is leaning against the wall, eyes half-closed in meditation. Her breathing is even, synchronised with the soft shing of the whetstone as it glides along the edge. Beau finds herself dozing, blanket warm around her shoulders, watching Yasha’s powerful form illumined by the steel-grey streetlamps that brighten the dreary outside streets. The town isn’t a large one, but Molly had looked kind of desperate for a proper bath, and Jester had been so excited about getting a proper night’s sleep, you guys, that no one had really had the heart to say no. It wasn’t like they couldn’t afford it, at the moment – though Fjord always seemed to end up paying.

A while ago, maybe that would have bothered Beau – that she was bending herself to fit in with these people, that she was letting herself be taken care of. For so long, she’d insisted it to be unnecessary. Xanoth had been insufferable in his smothering. Every step Beau took behind those walls had been like lead, every breath in a binder. She went to bed and thought, I can’t live like this, I can’t. the walls are closing in, and someday I’ll be crushed.

Maybe it should have been harder to leave. Beau sometimes thinks – when she’s really tired, when she’s been talking to Fjord too much about “feels” and “empathy” and “having concern for other people’s wellbeing” and all that rot – Beau sometimes thinks that there’s something wrong with her. Because she had just gotten up one day and walked out.

Of course, it hadn’t been nearly that easy on the practical side of things. Dodging the search parties had been a pain and a half (looking back, stealing all that gold probably hadn’t helped her case of leave me the fuck alone) and sleeping outside after a lifetime of temperate-controlled environments had been…challenging.

Beau squirms a bit under the covers. Funny, that. After so long adapting to sleeping without walls, the presence of them was a jarring discomfort.

The first night, Beau had walked as far as her legs would take her. She collapsed onto the grass as night shaded everything dark, and then watched as the stars burned bright holes into the roof of the world.

“Can’t you sleep?”

Beau’s eyes snap open to stare at Yasha, who has put her broadsword and sharpening tools away, and is not leaning loosely against the wall. Her eyes flash in the background light.

“Huh?” Beau says, the culmination of years of better-than-average intelligence and expensive education.

Yasha’s lips twitch, though it’s hard to see in the dim light. “I can hear you. Shifting around.”

“Oh,” Beau says, clearing her throat. She sits up, stretching out her arms and trying for a grin. “Too buzzed, I guess. Sorry if, uh, I’m keeping you awake.”

“No, no,” Yasha says. “It’s fine.”

They fall into a light silence, Beau hyper-aware of the way Yasha’s head leans back to expose the pale length of her throat. Jester rolls onto her side and lets out a long, happy sigh. “Oh, Oskar.”

After a few minutes, Beau clears her throat self-consciously.

“It’s just weird, is all,” she says, picking at her fingernails. For years, she’d constantly worn bandages wrapped around the tips – a consequence of hundreds of tiny papercuts. Her tutors had been in a constant state of despair; How, Beauregard? they would ask. You’re not even supposed to open the books! Just place them in the correct position…

“What’s weird?” Yasha asks.

Beau swipes an uncomfortable tongue along her lips. “I dunno. Everything. I’ll be glad to be out on the road again tomorrow, that’s all.”

“You don’t like it here?”

Beau gives an awkward jerk of her shoulders. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Too small. I prefer cities with real, uh, character to them. You know. Bigger.”

Yasha huffs out a quiet laugh. Beau hides her grin in her shoulder, leaning heavily on her knee to compensate. Please let me look natural, she thinks, internally cringing at her obviousness.

“I get it,” she says. “I think.”

Beau gives herself a small glance upwards. Yasha looks all kinds of unreal in the shadows, silhouette picked up by the window. Marble and untouchable. “I was in one place for so long,” she finally admits, letting out a long breath. “I don’t like stopping where I can’t see the stars.”

Yasha hmms. “Yeah,” she says, flexing her fingers like she’s trying to hold onto something that isn’t there. “I definitely get that.”

Jester’s voice floats across the room: “You know, you guys can just make out, if you want. No one if stopping you. I’ll even pretend to be more asleep than I am now, if that helps. Goodnight!”

Beau is half-convinced that she’s going to wake up with Yasha gone.

When she opens her eyes, they go directly underneath her window sill. At some point during the night, the large woman had foregone the inherent coolness associated with sleeping upright and instead curled up on her side, sword clutched in her arms like a very sharp teddy-bear. Beau should absolutely not find it as endearing as she does.

Sometimes, she thinks, hefting her pillow in one hand and eyeing Jester’s bed. Sometimes these kinds of things aren’t so bad.

(she totally wins the ensuing pillow fight).

[infernalrevenge]

All Dolled Up

Fandom: Resident Evil 8: Village

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G

Summary: Donna decides to practice talking to Reader, using a mini Reader!

Notes: Resident Evil 8 owns my ass and so do the lords. This is just some bashful Donna, inspired by headcanons by @wallflowerimagines! Check out their stuff, I love how they've characterized the lords and their reactions to crushes and relationships and the like. Here's the original post!

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And... done!

Donna closed the slot at the back of the doll's head and turned it to face her, noting all the details of her latest creation.

It had a simple uniform on: A white button down under a black vest with coattails, on its left breast was a patch of the Beneviento family crest. It was fitted with matching dark grey pants and even a pair of leather shoes for its porcelain feet.

It looked just like Y/N -- their face, their skin, their hair. It was perfect.

"Looks just like 'em, Donna!" Angie chirped, bounding up from her lap and hanging onto the side of the desk to get a better look.

Everything had to be perfect if she was going to get this plan to work, but this was just part one of... who knows how many steps. She wasn't sure exactly how long this would take, but this first step forward was better than nothing.

She set the doll gently on the desk slumped against a glass, letting out a breath as she willed the implanted Cadou to bring it to life. Angie peeked over and giggled to herself in excitement, hanging from the side to watch it all happen. Maybe when this was all done, she could have a new friend to play with too!

Soon enough, its head twitched up ever so slightly, its shining eyes trying to focus on the woman before them. They attempted to sit up straighter, their movements jerky yet slow as they tested the waters. They waved a hand in greeting, pink painted lips curling into a familiar smile.

"Good evening, Lady Beneviento!" they said, in that enthusiastic tone she knew so well. Y/N's voice wasn't quite as high pitched as the doll's, but the underlying warmth in their speech was still unmistakable.

Donna cleared her throat, giving a nod and a soft "Hello" in return.

Doll-Y/N shakily stood up on their feet, taking a few steps forward to greet the other doll. "Miss Angie, come join me up here!" They extended their hands to her, and she hoisted herself onto the wooden surface with their help. They were just about Angie's height standing up, but was now at eye level with Donna.

"Is there anything I can do for you, my lady?" they addressed the woman.

She knew it was just a title, something servants commonly called those of higher status, and she's heard Y/N say it many times, but she still couldn't help the heat rising to her cheeks at what she wished it implied.

To be someone's. To be Y/N's.

Angie was just about to respond but kept quiet with one turn of Donna's head. She made this doll to practice talking to Y/N -- the real, life-sized version of them. She wanted to spend more time with them and get used to their company. It had been so long since she tried speaking to another human being directly, almost always at a loss for words until Angie would swoop in and say what was on her mind. But she knew that with Y/N, she couldn't hide behind her forever. As much as she loved Angie and what she did for her, she also wanted to be with them as her, as Donna Beneviento. She already knew they cared for Angie like she did, and she wanted to let them know personally -- no barriers, no lies, no dolls -- how she felt.

One day, she would say everything to them. But for now, this doll should suffice.

She and Angie thought that she was used to the company of her Cadou dolls, and since she would like to get used to Y/N, then making a doll of them might help with that. Made sense, right? It wasn't ideal, but it made some sense.

She didn't quite count on how much it would be like them, though. As much as she had control over the doll, she can't control how they were when she wills it to act like them.

"If you... would like..." she started to say, almost uncertain as she glanced over at Angie. She only gave an encouraging nod in response, silently telling Donna to speak up. "You can tell me about how your day went." She did always love hearing them speak.

Doll-Y/N's face lit up, bouncing slightly on the balls of their feet and clasping their small hands behind their back. "Of course, my lady. Well, on my way to the market today, I passed a shop selling all sorts of flowers. I didn't know you could grow sunflowers around the village! Or perhaps the Duke brings them in from somewhere..."

----------

This routine went on for a few days: Donna would greet Doll-Y/N, ask about them, and they would go on about things she might already know -- hobbies they want to take up, their favorite foods and drinks, a show or movie they looked forward to watching (with her and Angie, of course), and so on. The lady would reply with some insight as well, though brief and only softly, so as to not interrupt. The doll's movements also grew smoother and more sure with every interaction, practically having Y/N's own habits and tics down pat whenever they spoke. It felt more and more like she was talking to them, the real Y/N. With every thumbs up Angie gave her after every session, it only emboldened her more. This might just work!

One day, she greeted the doll with a little more enthusiasm than usual. Y/N spent time with her and Angie at the study that evening, with her reading and them arranging some books while Angie talked to them a bit about anything they may have read recently, and new games they could play with the dolls ("And Donna", Angie threw out as a suggestion). If it weren't for her veil, Y/N would've seen how she spent most of the time watching the two people she loved converse so freely with one another, unable to help smiling at them.

Donna came back into her room practically bursting with happiness, a light "Good evening, Y/N!" escaping her as she sat down.

It seemed like Doll-Y/N noticed the positive change, so they brought up something they had in mind. "I'd like to switch things a little, if you don't mind, my lady. How was your day today?" they suggested, stepping closer to her. She suddenly grew a little shy again, hands folded neatly on Angie's lap as she kept her close.

"Oh, it was... wonderful," she replied, a smile curling on her lips.

Doll-Y/N nodded, an encouraging smile on their little face as if to tell her to continue. "I spent some of the day in the garden, watching you work for a while. Um, big you. Then I... spent the rest in the study. Also with... big you. You and Angie talked a lot about books and games." They both made such lovely company, after all. "How about you, Y/N?"

"It went by splendidly! Well, it started off just fine, with my usual chores, but after seeing you in the garden this morning I couldn't help but feel like the day's been brighter ever since," they said, taking another step forward and laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, their beaming smile ever-present.

Oh. Did they just...

She... brightened up their day? Did they really think that? Did the real Y/N think that?

"Really?" she whispered, practically sounding breathless.

"Yes. In fact, your presence alone brings more warmth and radiance than the sun ever could," they continued, their smile turning rather cheeky.

...did they just flirt with her?

Donna could feel herself sinking onto her chair, hands cupping her cheeks as if she needed to hide the raging blush underneath her cowl. Never mind that only Angie and the doll replica was here to witness it. But still! This doll looked so much like her Y/N, looking at her with those bright eyes and that charming smile and sweet look on their face and--

Did she just call them "her Y/N"?

Downstairs, Y/N heard a faint squeal and thud from the other side of the manor, setting down the dish they were washing and hurrying to the lady's room.

They knocked a little frantically, speaking through the door. "Lady Beneviento, is everything alright?"

It was Angie who answered, opening up just a crack so they wouldn't see the situation behind her.

"Hey Y/N! Everything's fine, Donna just, uh, she just dropped something and was caught off-guard is all." She seemed nervous, her eyes shifting a little and barely looking at them.

"Oh, but does Lady Beneviento need help? Did she get hurt or--"

"Nope, no! Don't worry about it, we've got it covered, I promise! Now shoo, off you go!" She waved an arm out to get them to turn around before shutting the door, leaving the somewhat concerned but even more confused servant in the hall.

Donna lifted her head up from her hands, Doll-Y/N now lying lifeless on the wooden floor. Luckily, nothing seemed to have cracked on them when she suddenly relinquished control in her embarrassment. She picked them up and gingerly leaned them against a glass on the working desk, just staring into their eyes as she tried to get her heart beat back to a normal level. Even calling them "hers" in the safety of her own thoughts was enough to fluster the poor woman. If she could see her face right now, it would undoubtedly be as red as a tomato.

Was that something Y/N would even actually say? Was her mind playing tricks on her, her feelings betraying only what she wanted to hear from them? How was she supposed to handle it if they did say that?

"I think that's enough excitement for one day," Angie commented, looking between the mostly frozen Donna and Doll-Y/N. The lady could only nod in agreement.

The next day, Donna stayed in her room, not wishing to be disturbed.

It wasn't unusual for Y/N to not hear much from Lady Beneviento and instead have Angie deliver messages and orders on her behalf, but even her personal mouthpiece seemed to want to avoid them. She just kind of... watched them mindlessly on the couch while they swept the living room. What happened last night?

"Miss Angie, is everything--"

"Please just shut up and clean the carpet."

[cuddlepilefics]

Ginger Ale and Crackers

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Felix

Caregiver: Chan & Changbin

Prompt; @sicktember

No one's POV.:

About halfway through their afternoon dance practice, Felix' stomach had started to give him hard time. All the jumps they had been practicing had left his stomach unsettled. He had felt hesitant to drink anything during their breaks, afraid the next jump or turn would send it right back up his throat. That hadn't happened but Felix had admittedly barely had any water during the afternoon, so it wasn't much of a surprise that by the end of their practice, his head felt swimmy while also pounding painfully. With how much he had been sweating, he clearly had to be dehydrated, yet he was still unsure whether he should have a drink. They were done with practice, so there wouldn't be any more jumps but the thought of swallowing alone almost made him gag. Felix himself had no idea why he was suddenly feeling so bad. He had been fine this morning and hadn't eaten anything weird since then. Maybe he had just overdone it with his dancing, going all out, but that was what he usually did, yet he never felt like this after dancing. Looking at his water bottle with an almost disgusted expression, the Aussie shoved it into his bag and waited for his members to pack up, so that they could head home. He was exhausted, almost too exhausted to take a shower but he knew he'd be uncomfortable all night if he didn't.

Not daring to eat dinner for the fear of upsetting his stomach more, Felix crawled into bed right after taking a shower. He had been plagued with cramps the entire time he was in the shower and had barely managed to stand up straight, wanting to curl up into a tiny ball right there. When Chan came into their shared room to get the younger for dinner, he found the boy deeply asleep, hugging his pillow to his middle. Not having the heart to wake his dongsaeng, the leader left and quietly closed the door behind him. He made sure to save Felix some food in case he woke up hungry before telling the rest of the members to keep it down a bit. The next one to check on Felix was his other roommate Changbin. After dinner he went to their shared room to collect his headphones, finding the Aussie tangled in his sheets, groaning quietly. It worried him a bit, knowing how hard the younger had been working lately. Seeing him this exhausted was just heartbreaking for the rapper. He too decided not to disturb his dongsaeng, hoping he would get as much rest as somehow possible. It felt wrong to see their energetic sunshine like this.

Felix had stayed asleep the entire time, no matter how loud the rest of the members in the living room were. He didn't even hear his roommates come and get ready for bed. All he knew was that by the time he woke up again, both of them were sleeping peacefully in their beds. Unlike Felix, who had woken up in cold sweat. His breath got caught in his throat when he was hit with another cramp, the pain unexpectedly intense. Whimpering quietly, he felt his stomach turn, now more than certain that he was going to be sick. Felix heart sped up, knowing he had to get to the bathroom fast but afraid he'd be sick immediately if he as much as moved a single muscle. With adrenaline rushing through his veins, he rolled out of bed, hand clamped tightly over his mouth as he stumbled to the door. Throwing it open, he staggered down the hallway, dizzily crashing into the wall next to him. As he fought to get his footing, his stomach cramped, sending a gush of his lunch up. Feeling the warm mush spill through his fingers, the Aussie's eyes stung with tears. He tried to avoid the puddle as he dragged himself to the bathroom, collapsing to his knees in front of the toilet, instantly throwing up more.

Chan awoke with a start to their door slamming against the wall. Shooting up in his bed, he found Changbin awake as well, looking at the older with a horrified expression. Only a few seconds later, they heard a muffled cough followed by a splattering noise. Cursing, Chan got out of bed and hurried down the hallway, only barely avoiding the puddle of sick. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, light streaming through the crack. Hearing faint cries behind the door, the leader rushed to find Felix draped over the toilet, head buried in the toilet bowl. The dancer startled when he felt his hyung's hand on his back. "Ssh, you're okay", Chan promised, rubbing his back. Felix wanted to laugh at him, telling him that he was very much not okay, but before he was able to get a single word out, his stomach lurched again, a large wave of his lunch splashing into the bowl. Changbin had followed them not long after, frowning when he saw the position his friends were in. Felix' chest was hitching with quiet sobs, which certainly didn't help his stomach settle. Retching again, the dancer reached behind him and took a hold of Chan's had. He clutched onto it tightly as he kept throwing up. When he finally got a chance to breathe, he rasped: "Can you turn off the light? It's too bright." Changbin was quick to comply while Chan continued to rub his dongsaeng's back. "Do you have a migraine?", he asked carefully, afraid his voice would hurt the other more. Felix shook his head, gagging weakly before he was able to reply: "My stomach's been bothering me since dance practice."

Sighing, Chan brushed his hand against Felix' neck. "You're running a fever too. Is that new or did it start along with your stomach", he hummed worriedly. Giving a strained cough, the dancer groaned: "I don't know? I just knew that my stomach felt bad, so I wanted to sleep it off. Oh god, please make it stop." Before Chan could say anything, Felix had ducked his head into the bowl again, retching painfully. While the leader tried his best to comfort the younger, Changbin went over to the sink and ran a washcloth under cool water before draping it across the dancer's neck. They could barely see anything as the only light source was the hallway light streaming through the cracked door but they didn't have to see much, the short glance they had gotten earlier had been enough to see how ghostly pale their dongsaeng was. Felix seemed to be done for now and tiredly rested his head on his arms. He just wanted to go back to sleep. That was when he remembered the mess he had made on his way. "Ugh, I -I got sick in the hallway too", he whimpered, raising his head to look at his hand. Looking at the bits of his lunch still stuck to his hand only triggered another gag. When Felix was done, the tears wouldn't stop falling, his fever messing with his emotions. Handing him a wad of toilet paper to clean his hand with, Changbin whispered: "I'll clean that up... don't move."

While the rapper fetched the cleaning supplies and took care of the mess in the hallway, Chan stayed with Felix, helping him up from the floor, so he could wash his hands properly and handing him some mouthwash to get rid of the vile taste. As they made their way back to their room, Felix shakily clung to the leader's arm, his head spinning. "You're okay, almost there", the older promised, when Felix' legs suddenly gave out. Catching him around the waist, Chan picked him up bridal style and carried him the last few meters to his bed. The sheets were a mess and it took the oldest a while to detangle them, so he could tuck his dongsaeng in. Placing a bottle of water on the nightstand and pulling the trashcan out from under the desk, Changbin hummed: "Here's the trashcan if you need it. Try having some water when you feel ready, we don't want you to get dehydrated." – "Thanks", the younger rasped quietly, eyes already fluttering shut. Falling asleep however wasn't as easy. His stomach was still in knots, rumbling loudly. "Was your stomach making all that noise?", Changbin frowned, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, sliding his hand under Felix' shirt. The dancer hummed in confirmation, relaxing as the older stroked his stomach in soothing circles.

By the time Chan had to get up for a meeting with their managers, Felix had been up retching over the trashcan twice. Neither times was he able to bring anything up though, which wasn't surprising, considering he had skipped dinner and had barely had anything to drink. Although he hated to wake his members when they were sleeping, Chan carefully woke Changbin up by shaking his arm. "Hey, could you stay back from the studio today?", he asked quietly, afraid to leave Felix at the dorm by himself, "I'll tell the others to just go to their schedules as usual and come check on you two as soon as the meeting's over." – "No problem, I couldn't focus anyway, knowing he'd be sick and alone. I got him, hyung, don't stress too much", Changbin whispered, waving the older goodbye before going back to sleep.

The rapper woke up again hours later to a weight on his chest. Yawning, he tried to sit up, only to find himself pinned down. "Sorry, I was cold", Felix mumbled lowly. He had woken up not too long ago, his stomach still hurting but not as nauseous as he had been before. Instead, he was shaking with chills. Bringing his hand up to the Aussie's forehead, Changbin hummed: "Your fever's up. Did you try to drink anything yet?" The dancer shook his head not even opening his eyes. He really didn't want to be sick again, so he wasn't willing to risk it. "You're getting dehydrated, Lixxie. Isn't your head hurting?", he frowned, running his hand through his dongsaeng's hair. "It is", Felix admitted quietly, "But so are my stomach and throat. I'm fine as long as we just stay like this." Sighing, Changbin decided that they could stay like that for a little while longer before he'd try to get the younger to drink something again.

It was already close to lunchtime when Changbin decided he wouldn't let Felix go without having at least some water. Luckily, the Aussie was awake, merely resting with his eyes closed, because the rapper didn't think he could wake the boy. "Come on, Lix", he whispered, "At least have a few sips and if you let me get up, I can go and see if we have any medicine. Just not consuming anything isn't going to help. It'll only make you worse." – "Hyung", the dancer whined, holding onto Changbin's shirt, "Please, no." Though Felix had his hyung wrapped around his little finger, the older knew better than to give in. He wouldn't let his dongsaeng get worse. If Felix wasn't getting up, he would have to get the Aussie off of himself. Carefully shifting to the side, Changbin managed to slip out underneath the younger and gently removed his hands from his shirt. "Sorry", the older cooed, pulling the blanket up to Felix' shoulders and leaving the room.

Rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, Changbin found some anti-emetics and made his way to the kitchen. He knew Felix didn't want anything but after skipping dinner and throwing up, the dancer needed something in his system. Guessing that plain rice would be the safest option, Changbin grabbed a small bowl and took it back to their room. Felix' water bottle was still untouched on the nightstand. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he ran his hand up and down his dongsaeng's back. "Can you sit up for me, Lix?", he hummed, peeling the blanket back. The Aussie let out a discontent whine but propped himself up on one arm. "Can you try and have a few bites of rice and some water for me? I also found you medicine", the rapper tried. Shaking his head, Felix insisted: "No, medicine yes but the rest no." – "How are you going to get the medicine down without water?", Changbin quizzed, "Come on, sunshine, for me?" The dancer huffed but shuffled around till he sat up against the headboard. Accepting the bowl of rice from his hyung, Felix eyed the food with disgust before forcing himself to take a small bite into his mouth. Slowly chewing, he pulled a face and handed the bowl back. Changbin didn't take it back though, instead giving the younger a stern look. Pouting, Felix forced down two more bites before handing the bowl back to his hyung, who traded it for the water. He also handed the dancer a pill, which he swallowed dry before taking one tiny sip of water. "Lix, I'm pretty sure you're already dehydrated. You did so well, I'm sure you can take another sip", Changbin hummed, earning a glare from the younger. Though he didn't want to, Felix had some more water before handing the bottle back.

His food wasn't settling at all and mere minutes later, Felix sat hugging his churning tummy as his mouth watered. "H-Hyung?!", he choked out, hand clamped over his mouth as his stomach gurgled. Noticing the boy's slightly greenish complexion, Changbin rushed to place the trashcan into his lap. He knew he had been pushing it but he had hoped the medicine would keep him from throwing up again. Sitting down next to the dancer, Changbin gently massaged his shoulders as they waited. With his breathing coming in nauseous little huffs, Felix felt the room spin around him, desperately holding onto the trashcan to steady himself. He could feel his food right at the back of his throat but it wasn't coming. Hesitantly, he gave a little cough, which was all it took for his stomach to send everything up. Though he was pretty sure, everything he had just consumed had come up in one rush, Felix couldn't stop his throat from contracting with unproductive gags. Coughing, he choked out: "I hate you." – "I know you do", Changbin sighed, comfortingly rubbing the younger's back and brushing his sweaty bangs from his forehead. He felt sorry for making the Aussie sick again but if he kept going without keeping down any water, they'd have to take him to hospital.

When Felix finally deemed it safe to remove his head from the trashcan and lean back against the headboard, his forehead was glistening with sweat. His shirt clung to him making him feel even more disgusting than before. Changbin grabbed the trashcan and placed it down on the floor. "Let's take that off, hm?", he asked, gently pulling the dancer's shirt over his head, "Are you still cold? Do you want one of my hoodies as compensation?" Felix nodded tiredly, barely finding the energy to lift his arms, so the older could put it on him. "How about a change of scenery? The others are gone, so you could nap on the couch. We could put on some boring drama in the background", the rapper offered. Nodding, Felix rasped: "Sounds like fun but... Can you carry me? I don't think I can make it there." – "Sure thing", Changbin chuckled, picking the younger up. Placing him down on the couch, he told the dancer to wait there, so he could get a bucket and his water in case the Aussie would let himself be talked into drinking something. After getting everything settled, he lifted Felix' head and placed it on his lap, so he could play with the younger's hair. Exhausted from the whole ordeal, it didn't take long for Felix to drift off again.

While Felix was asleep, Changbin texted Chan about the dancer's condition, emphasizing that he really couldn't keep anything down at all. Now becoming more worried too, the leader stopped by a store to pick up some ginger ale and crackers for his dongsaeng. He hoped those things would settle better, at least he knew that that was what their families had always used in such situations. If it didn't help settle his stomach, it might at least give the younger a sense of home. While walking, Chan already started to shake the bottle of ginger ale, opening it repeatedly to get rid of the fizz. He quietly entered their dorm, not wanting to wake Felix up if he was resting. The sight looked truly pitiful. The dancer laying on the couch with his head in Changbin's lap, face white as a ghost except for a faint feverish blush on his cheekbones. He was wearing one of Changbin's sweaters, arms hugging his middle in his sleep. Chan wordlessly waved at Changbin, not wanting to disturb as he went to the kitchen to pour a glass of ginger ale. He also grabbed a small plate and put a few crackers on it. They looked really lonely but he'd already be happy if he could convince Felix of having a few of them.

Hearing a hushed conversation in the living room, the leader figured Felix had woken up and made his way over to them. "Hey, Binnie told me you're still not doing so well", he whispered with a sympathetic smile. The dancer shook his head and glanced at the things Chan was carrying. Realizing he was most likely supposed to eat that, he couldn't help but grimace already. Crouching next to the couch, Chan rubbed his arm through the hoodie and hushed: "I know you don't feel like eating that but we need to get you back on your feet somehow. You always used to eat those, right? Don't even have to be many crackers." Groaning, Felix sat up and rubbed his face. He knew Chan was only trying to help, Changbin too had meant well but his stomach was till so upset. He didn't think he could stomach anything. "I got all the fizz out of the ginger ale, so hopefully it will settle a better", the oldest mused, glancing at the box of medicine Changbin had left on the table, "Have a cracker and then just try having this medicine again, please?" Scrunching up his nose, Felix nodded and accepted one of the crackers. He took his time, nibbling on it. It didn't feel that bad on his stomach, so he nibbled down another one. The ginger ale really reminded him of home and he gladly took the medicine again. Sitting on the couch, he rested his head on Changbin's shoulder. Every once in a while, he took a small sip until the glass was empty and he laid back down to let the older lure him back to sleep.

[ailendolin]

Whump Wednesday - 6 - Loki

Fandom: Loki

Characters: Mobius, Loki, Sylvie

Pairing: Lokius pre-slash

Prompt: "Look at me. Hey - I'm right here. You're not alone." (x)

Warnings: implied torture, non-consensual enchantment, panic attack

A/N: Inspired by a discussion with @bluejaneaustenwritingtaco about Mobius only knowing almost everything about Loki’s life. Loki's torture at the hand of Thanos is one of those moments he’s never seen.

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

Mobius knew something was wrong the moment he saw Loki standing in the middle of the mall, wide-eyed and seemingly frozen in place. The variant they’d been hunting stood in front of him, her arms raised so her fingers could touch Loki’s temples, and Mobius’s stomach dropped. He started running, driven by an unstoppable force to get to Loki, to get him away from her, to keep him safe.

The variant turned her head to look at him and laughed. As if she had all the time in the world, she slowly dropped her hands from Loki’s face and opened a time door. She didn’t walk though, though. No, she waited until Mobius had almost caught up with them before she gave him a little wave, still with that insufferable smirk on her face, and vanished with a happy, “Until next time!”

Mobius couldn’t have cared less. She wasn’t his priority, not anymore, not with Loki gasping and crumbling to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut the second the time door closed behind her.

Mobius dropped to his knees beside him, looked him over for injuries, his hands hovering over shaking arms but Loki didn’t even acknowledge his presence. He just kept staring at the floor with wide, unseeing eyes – and he kept gasping for breath.

Desperate. Helpless.

“Loki,” Mobius said, trying to keep his voice deliberately soft and calm even though he could feel his own heart racing a mile a minute. “Your breathing’s a little fast there, partner. I need you to slow down, alright?”

Loki shook his head. “I – I can’t.”

“Look at me, Loki,” Mobius said. Loki’s glassy eyes met his and Mobius forced himself to smile as if nothing was wrong. “Hey – I’m right here, okay? You’re not alone. Just breathe.”

Loki tried; Mobius could see that. He did his best to be encouraging and optimistic, went through every variation of, “You’re doing good, Loki. Well done,” he could think of but it wasn’t enough. Not knowing what else to do, he took Loki’s cold hand into his and pressed Loki’s fingers against the pulse point of his wrist.

“Do you feel this?” he asked. Loki nodded shakily. “Good. Just concentrate on that. Steady. In and out. You are safe.”

It seemed to help. Slowly, the tension drained from Loki’s body and his breathing became less erratic and frantic. Mobius waited until Loki’s eyes were clear and alert once more before he placed his other hand on Loki’s shoulder and asked, “What happened?”

Loki sucked in a shuddering breath. “She was in my head.”

Just like Hunter B-15, Mobius thought grimly.

“Did she hurt you?”

Loki shook his head – too hesitant for Mobius’s liking. “I … no. I don’t think so. It just – it felt like before.”

Mobius frowned. “Before?”

Loki swallowed hard and averted his eyes. “When I was with the titan.”

A hundred alarm bells started ringing in Mobius’s head, terrible and clamouring. He knew Loki had been with Thanos after his fall from the Bifrost – everyone knew that – but he’d never found out what exactly had happened between the fall and Loki’s reappearance in New York. TVA records of that time were … sparse. Mobius had no doubt they existed but no matter how often he’d asked to see them, he’d always been denied access.

At the time, he’d chalked it up to the footage not being important for his work. Loki and Thanos had probably spent their time plotting Earth’s downfall and Mobius would be the first to admit that he had better things to do than listen to two crazy wannabe-gods talking about world domination. But now he wondered if it hadn’t been about something else entirely, something that would have painted a very different picture. Because what if Loki hadn’t been as willing a participant in the invasion of New York as Mobius and everyone else had always been led to believe? What if he wasn’t the villain of the story after all but merely a lost soul who had just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time?

His heart felt heavy at the thought.

“Did … did Thanos dig around in your mind, too?” he asked tentatively.

Loki scoffed – a wet, angry sound that failed to hide the pain it was meant to cover. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what he did to me.”

Mobius faltered. “I … I don’t, Loki. That part of your life – I never got to see it.”

That brought Loki up short. His eyes, wide and damp and awfully young and old at the same time, met Mobius’s beneath the flickering lights. The world seemed to stop for a moment, existing out of time like everything else in their lives. Then Loki lowered his head and looked away, his shoulders dropping.

“Perhaps that’s for the better,” he murmured.

Without thinking, Mobius pulled him close.

“No,” he whispered fiercely against Loki’s hair. “It’s not for the better, not if it’s hurting you.”

Loki made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Tentative hands curled into the damp fabric of Mobius’s jacket.

Mobius tightened his hold.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said quietly. “But I’m here, Loki, alright? I’m here. Today, tomorrow, in a week, a month, a year – I promise I will listen if you ever want to talk.”

For a heartbeat or two, the only sounds around them were the raging storm, the low current of electricity thrumming above them and their breathing – one slow and steady, the other still frayed at the edges. Then Mobius felt Loki’s fingers digging into his back, returning the hug with a desperation he hadn’t expected, followed by two soft words.

“Thank you.”

Mobius squeezed his eyes shut, moved by the honest and heartfelt gratitude he heard in Loki’s voice. It was more than what he had hoped for and more than he deserved at this still fragile stage of their acquaintance? Friendship? Partnership? Whatever it was, whatever they might one day become he knew it didn’t mean Loki would ever speak to him about what had happened when he was with Thanos. And that was alright. Mobius didn’t need him to talk. He just needed Loki to know that he wasn’t alone.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, holding him closer.

For now, that was enough.

[brekkersbane]

I Told You You’d Cry—Jasper Jordan

Pairing: Jasper Jordan x genderneutral!reader 

Trigger warning: Injured Jasper, near death 

Fandom: The 100

Genre: Bit of fluff, mostly angst 

Requested: No

Word count: 

Summary: Y/n hasn’t slept for a week, too worried about her injured best friend, cursing herself because he was right all along. She would cry if he died. 

*Gif not mine*

Italics = memory

“Y/n do something!” “Would you shut up for a second, Monty? Clarke, find me a wash cloth.” You said, eyes glued to Jasper’s injury engulfed body. A cough wracked his fragile form, and your brow furrowed. Clarke sprinted quick as quicksilver out of the tower your were huddled in with Monty and a barely breathing Jasper Jordan. 

“You better wake up goggle boy.” Your voice shook a little as you spoke, he was right after all. You would cry if he died. You’d more than cry, you’d yell, kick, and scream as insanity engulfed you very essence. 

“Oh come on, you would. You love me too much not too.” Jasper teased. You threw a small rock at his head, and he swooped left just in time. “Great shot, not as great as me though.” He winked, you laughed. 

“Well if you don’t die, we’ll never have to find out, goggle boy.” 

You had debated this topic with your best friend innumerable times over the years you’d known each other. He’d do something dumb and potentially life threatening, and tease you about how much you’d cry if he died, you’d deny such things and tell him the you’d never have to find out. Now here he is before you again, about to try and get to Mount Weather with a few other outlaws, doing just the same. 

“But what would you do if I did?” Amusement sparkled in his whiskey coloured eyes, always enjoying your reaction to his taunts. 

“Just don’t die, okay?” You groaned. He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping firmly around your waist, chin resting on top of your head. His hand moved gently through your hair, another thing he always did when the laughter died out, and his emotions were vulnerable. 

“All teasing aside though, I wouldn’t leave you like that.” he murmured against you hair. He pulled away enough to look you in the eyes, his way of showing he was sincere. Out of everything so far, this was the riskiest yet. You were back on the ground, exploring completely unknown territory, like the Lewis and Clark expedition on steroids. 

“I should hope not.” You smiled gently at him, and he leaned slightly closer to you, forehead bumping yours.

“Could you guys do that after we’ve gotten back from Mount Weather? Come on, Jasper.” Monty rolled his eyes, appearing next to Jasper, trapping his foot impatiently. 

“See you soon?”

“See you soon.”

It had been a week. Or maybe less. Or more. You didn’t know what time it was, or whether it was day or night, or how many days or weeks it had been since Bellamy and Clarke had dragged him into the camp. When they’d come back without him the first time, Finn had to lock you in the tower so you wouldn’t go bolting out of the camp, and as it turns out they found your a attachment to Jasper a liability and didn’t let you out until they came back. At least they were letting you treat him now. 

Plenty of your time was spent sending Clarke or Octavia into the forest to get plants and test them out on yourself to see if they were poisonous or not. A few had made you seriously ill, and you’d gone outside briefly so you didn’t infect Jasper, but no plants had been fatal, and most had proven relatively helpful. The others told you every day “you need to hurry, someday Bellamy’s going to take the snap” and he would, you were sure, but you would buy yourself as much time as you could muster to keep Jasper alive. 

You hadn’t cried yet, you wouldn’t let yourself, that would mean admitting he had died. If you started to get chocked up, you’d snapped your eyes shut and force fond memories of your best friend into you mind, blocking out the version of him that was sitting with a dying pulse on the metal floor in front of you. 

It was miraculous frankly that you hadn’t swallowed your own tongue yet, with only about an hour and a half of sleep each day, anyone else would have, but anyone else was not you. You had a better reason to stay awake than they did, you only wish Jasper did too. 

Peeking open eyes, you gazed at his face. His face was pinched like he was having a nightmare, and he let out occasional groans of pain, and mumbles of nonsense, though you occasionally caught your name. It shattered your heart, and your hand quickly tangled itself with his. 

This time when the tears started to prick your eyes, you let them come. You let them pour down your cheeks like the spray of a geyser. Nothing was stopping you now, and your body quaked with sobs. And then a hand squeezed yours. 

Your head snapped up, gazing at the now very much conscious Jasper. Your free hand covered your mouth, jaw hanging slack. 

“I told you you’d cry.” he rasped, a small grin tugging at his chapped lips. 

“Oh my god.” you whispered, curling you knees into you chest, and gently brushing his hair out of his face. 

“That’s my job.” he protested meekly, narrowing his eyes in protest, clearly yearning to swat your hand away. 

“I don’t care, all I care about is you right now, okay? I’m never letting you go anywhere without me ever again, I’m going to make sure this never happens to you more than once, it shouldn’t have happened at all! God, what if you really had died? There’s no one more important to me, and I’m sorry I never told you, but I’m in love with you, I have been for years, and what if you’d died and I never got to—”

“Shh,” Jasper whispered, his expression softened even more if that was possible, hand shakily battling its way towards you to cup your cheek, thumb weakly wiping away the new wave of tears that had begun to fall. “It’s okay, I love you too you know.” 

“Really?”

“Really.”

[fanfickittycat]

Time After Time

TITLE: Time After Time

CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: One Shot

AUTHOR: fanfickittycat

FANDOM: Haikyuu!!

CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

GENRE: Hurt/Comfort

FIC SUMMARY: The lack of a response after confessing your feelings to Ushijima leaves you heartbroken, but all it took was some time

RATING: T 

AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: My stupid sad brain and my desire to write about Ushijima combined to make this. If you’d like to read it on AO3 you can find it here

The words hung in the air as soon as they left your mouth. After the months of pining, and dreaming, and trying to get him to confess first, you had finally decided to bite the bullet and admit that you were hopelessly in love with the Ace of the Schweiden Adlers. The silence that followed was painful. You avoided his gaze, instead looking at your shoes, a pair of dark heels that you were hoping would bolster your confidence. In fairness to them, they had made you feel powerful and poised, but now it felt like balancing on stilts.

“Oh” his deep voice rumbled, breaking through your thoughts and sending the butterflies in your stomach fluttering all at once. You peeked up to look at him. He was so handsome. Tall and solid, with his bag slung over his shoulder from practise earlier in an effortless way that you admired. He always looked so cool without even meaning to. He was looking up at the pinks and oranges of the sky, letting the light of the setting sun cast his face in gold. Your heart somersaulted in your chest as you waited for something to follow. Anything. But he remained quiet, as the spring breeze ruffled his hair.

Dread began to set in. The flush of embarrassment and the chill of rejection created a cocktail of emotion inside of you, but you pressed your lips together and forced the sob in your throat to stay still. You knew you were going to cry and there was no stopping it, you just wanted to make sure you were away from him before the tears spilled.

“I-it’s okay” you said, your throat felt hoarse even though you hadn’t said much. You attempted to straighten up, to show him that you accepted his refusal of your affection. You tilted your head up, feeling the threat of tears in your eyes. Your lip quivered but you stayed rigid in your stance.

“I’m sorry I bothered you” you managed to say before a hot tear streamed down your face. You turned, letting go of a breath you had been holding for what felt like weeks. You marched away, willing your legs to take steps even though it felt like you suddenly forgot how to walk. You rounded a corner and stepped back so that the cool exterior of one of the buildings pressed against your back. You had half hoped to hear footsteps following after you; a cry of your name or something. Nothing. Dizziness filled your mind and you slid down the wall, hugging your legs to your chest as you wept into your knees. You knew you were being pathetic but really, you had believed that there was something there. Ushijima was always standoffish, but you had felt something kindled between you, a soft warmth that emitted every time his lips tugged into a small smile for you, or the way he’d listen to you and offer his advice sagely. Last week you had gone to a practise game of his and you’d cheered loudly enough to catch his attention. He had waved to you and even though the action was small it made you mindlessly happy for days. His cold demeanour meant that he didn’t do things like that for just anyone… But perhaps his tiny gestures were just that, insignificant. Maybe he was humouring you? Perhaps he smiled just because it was the basic kind thing to do; and he listened and offered advice because he wanted you to stop going on about your problems; maybe he just waved because he was being polite. The realisation sunk deep into you, seeping into your bones. You felt heavy and tired by the revelation. You stood up shakily, grasping at the brick wall behind you for support. You ended up grazing your hand a little, but the soreness felt good in a weird way. It brought your attention away from the turmoil in your heart. You made yourself walk home, wanting to take your time because you were afraid of having to confront the emotional maelstrom in you again. You felt like hell when you woke up the next morning. Your eyes burned, and when you rubbed them, you winced at the soreness. They felt swollen. Your nose hurt too from the constant blowing, and your mouth felt dry and stale. Pathetic was the first word in your mind. Followed quickly by sad, tragic, and pitiable. You had things to do today, places to be that weren’t your bedroom. You ran through the list of chores in your head: it was Saturday so you should change your sheets today, and clean the bathroom, and you needed to make a grocery list and go out to buy the stuff, and then you should get a head start on some work that would make Monday easier. You closed your eyes again and when you opened them two hours had gone by. You groaned into your pillow. Not only were you unfortunate, but you were also now behind on everything. A true mess. You pushed yourself to go take a shower, making the water colder than you usually liked in an attempt to shock you back to life.

You completed your tasks at home, but you felt lifeless doing it, like a zombie. The satisfaction that came with completing the chores didn’t come. You hoped the fresh air would help, and looked over your grocery list, feeling listless. You didn’t want to put any effort into the way you looked today, opting to throw on a pair of jeans that were ripped at the knee not because they came like that, but because they were old. Your hoodie was huge on you, but you had bought it with the deluded intention that this is what it would feel like to wear Ushijima’s. You looked at his clothes so fondly sometimes, jealous of the way they got to be so close to him. One night he had lent you his jacket because it was colder than the weather reports had predicted and you almost swooned. His jacket was sturdy and warm like him, and it smelt vaguely minty and clean like him. You had ended up falling asleep in his jacket, liking the way it felt like he was holding you.

The memory flooded back into your mind when you browsed the soap section, prompting your heart to race as you looked for his brand. When your eyes landed on it felt like a relief. A painful one, perhaps, but a relief all the same. Your hands hovered near the bottle. This was a way to stay close to him even when you couldn’t physically be with him. A link to the stoic man who had your heart. It was a little more expensive than the one you usually bought, and it stung that your normal brand was on sale, but you wanted to allow yourself one indulgence.

Outside the air was colder than last night. You’d heard something this morning about a cold spell hitting Tokyo as you folded your laundry, and you wished that you brought a scarf with you. Your arms ached from the weight of the bag in your hands. In the process of psyching yourself up to face the world you had forgotten your own bags and had to pay for some in the supermarket. The plastic, though biodegradable, felt thin in your cold hand. You gripped it tightly and turned to go home but your determination was interrupted by the thump of items hitting the ground.

“Fuck” you cursed under your breath, looking down at your groceries strewn about on the pavement. You could’ve cried there and then.

“I didn’t know you favoured this brand too” your blood turned to ice as your eyes snapped to the figure before you. He regarded the bottle calmly before starting to pick up the pack of spaghetti, and the bag of apples.

“U-Ushijima?” You hated that you stuttered but your mind was completely blank at this point. You couldn’t even fathom how you were able to form that many syllables.

“Here” he started to pile your things into his own empty bag.

“W-wait.” You put a handout to stop him, but he ignored you, continuing to put the rest of your things in his own grocery bag.

“It’s cold. Didn’t you hear the weather report?” He asked, finally standing to his full height. He looked down at you, head cocking to the side slightly like a spaniel. He began to unwind his scarf and placed it around your neck instead. The brush of his fingers against your bare neck made you shiver.

“What’re you doing?” you mumbled, looking down again. The sense of déjà vu was not lost on you as you regarded your everyday sneakers.

“I came to buy groceries” he said bluntly, and despite all the pain and anxiety coursing through you, you smiled. He was always so reliable.

“I was hoping I would run into you” he said after a beat, his hand held your chin making you gasp. He tilted it up, so you were no longer looking down, and this time he was meeting your gaze. His dark olive eyes bore into your own with an intensity that was difficult to hold.

“You don’t need to apologise or anything.”

“You’re wrong” he said “I do. I’m sorry.” You nodded at his words, disappointed once again that you were still holding out for him.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, I…” he stopped himself, and pressed his lips into a firm line. You blinked a couple of times to make sure you were seeing things right. Ushijima was so candid all the time that the sight of him hesitating was new. He looked away momentarily.

“I return your affections” he said, and you stared in awe as a faint pink blush blossomed in his cheeks.

“You don’t have to say that.” He looked you in the eyes again, softer this time. His thumb absentmindedly began to stroke itself across your heated cheeks.

“Yes I do. I love you and I’m sorry I couldn’t say it yesterday.”

“Ushi…” you practically melted despite the chill in the air. He leaned down and pressed a kiss onto your forehead, making your head swim.

“Come” he said, letting go of your face in exchange for your hand “I’ll make dinner.” You made no attempt to protest against his wishes, instead letting him lead you in the direction of his own apartment.

“I love you too.”

[annaraebananawriter]

The Day He, I, We Died

And here we are! The last oneshot I managed to get done. I gave you two days worth of fluff and light-hearted laughter, and now it’s time to attack with all the feels I’ve been holding back.

Hopefully, anyway.

Enjoy!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically the UTMV

Characters: Nightmare and Dream (Who belong to Joku)

Warnings: Character Death, and I think that’s it. Let me know!

Word Count: 2011

~oOo~

The negativity in the air was growing stronger. It darkened the skies of multiple AUs, made people slow to a stop and stare blankly around, forgetting for a moment what they were just doing. Other people screamed, too much anger for a small instance. Others sobbed, crying out for people they missed, begging for anyone to come and help them. All around, people were hurting, good memories nothing more than just that—a memory, the calming and positive effects gone.

It was sickening.

Nightmare felt all of it. Every fear, every mourner, every heartbreak. He let it all wash over him like a wave, numbing any of his own feelings. The weight of it all coiled in his chest and made it hard to breathe, like the negativity from the Multiverse decided to come back and kill its guardian. He forced himself to breathe, forced himself to absorb the power he was being granted, let it travel and spread throughout his body like electricity, a tingling feeling left behind.

He clenched his hands, extra energy thrumming through his soul. He wanted to run, to find people to mess with, AU's to massacre. He needed to calm down, find a way to get it all out so that he could go home and relax, hang out with his boys.

But...

Another pulse of energy jolted through him, stronger than all the rest. Nightmare froze, a mixture of joy and dread—his own emotions—spiking through all the noise. It felt like something clicked, something breaking and ever so slowly beginning to die off and never be felt again. One side of the scales was dropping, with nothing to replace the weight that had been keeping it level.

Positivity was dying.

But he couldn't bring himself to take the steps back home. He couldn't bring himself to tell his boys that he did it, they won, negativity now reigned supreme. They were free to live as they wanted, without being called evil. He couldn't bring himself to look away from the person whom he had sacrificed to get this ending.

He had ever wanted to kill Dream. Never. It had been an unspoken rule among his boys that they weren't to fatally injure the guardian of positivity, just wear him down and deal some damage. They mostly left him to Nightmare—which was good. He knew just how much to hold back to avoid killing him, knew when to deliberately pull back and stop attacking.

This didn't stop him from hurting Dream. Be it through words or actions, he knew that somewhere in their fights his brother had always gotten hurt in a way he couldn't fix. Maybe he could've, would've, once way back. But he wasn't that person anymore. It wasn't his job to help Dream, to console him after battles and hug him through rainstorms.

He had grown up.

Dream needed to see that.

Despite not wanting to kill Dream, something had happened in their last fight. He wasn't sure what. One minute Nightmare had been thinking about pulling back, already pulling at the magic necessary to teleport away. Dream had been getting quite unsteady and was stumbling into attacks he could've easily dodged. This was the time to call it quits and let him rest for a few days.

Then something bubbled and spit inside him, like a volcano on the verge of erupting. This caused Nightmare to pause and created a lull in the battle. He had vaguely registered Dream dropping to his knees, taking the time to catch his breath, staring up at him in confusion. Nightmare had focused on himself, a hand placed on his chest, where the volcano laid, frowning softly.

The silence had stretched, enough that Dream had found the strength to speak. "Night, what's—" He never got to finish. It was only a couple words, spoken softly, gently, concerned, but they were enough for the eruption to take action.

The red hot feeling of burning rage, hate, with an undertone of deep misery, overspilled.

Nightmare wished he could say that he didn't remember the next part, but he did. He remembered a desire overriding all of his rational thoughts and promises, to himself and others. He knew, on a subconscious level, that part of him that still remembered and still didn't want to see his brother dead, that this new desire was wrong and was an alarming thing. He felt sick thinking back on it now, shame riding up his throat.

It was a desire to kill.

Unfortunately, there was only one other person there with him.

Dream.

In his brother's defense, he did make an effort. He fought back and dodged as much as he could. He wasn't prepared to face someone actively trying to kill him, though, and that tripped him up. He had tried calling for Nightmare, trying to help him calm down and stop attacking (he must've realized something was wrong and Nightmare was himself yet also not himself and was a bit lost right now).

It didn't work.

The next thing either of them knew was that Dream tripped and a tentacle pierced right through his chest, right through his soul.

And like that, the volcanic negativity had disappeared, leaving just Nightmare behind. Once in his right mind, he quickly retreated his appendage, but didn't dare come any closer to Dream, who had dropped to the ground. He only watched as his brother coughed and coughed, hands shakily clutching the gaping hole in his sternum.

He only watched as his brother struggled to lift his head and meet his gaze, eyelights flickering bright gold to gold to bright yellow to yellow to light yellow to pale yellow and eventually growing white and fuzzy.

He only watched as Dream smiled.

"It's okay," were the final words of the guardian of positivity, Dream, his brother. Then his eyelights disappeared entirely and he slumped sideways, physical body all but dead.

Nightmare watched, blank.

He was slow to catch up, slow to gather the will to move, to walk across the clearing and kneel beside his opponent. He held himself back from reaching out and gathering the body into a hug. If he did, he knew he would never find it in him to let go and he would starve himself to death. So, instead, he slowly looked over Dream, taking in every detail possible, committing it to memory.

He expected guilt to bury him in its clutches, but it never came.

He felt numb.

He should feel something. He should be angry at himself, how he even thought for a second he had control over whether Dream lived or died, by his hand or not. He should be in misery, how his brother died right in front of him and he watched and was the culprit. He shouldn't be sitting here, staring blankly at the body in front of him, soul too absent to feeling anything.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

But they did.

Nightmare reached out, laying a forcibly still hand on Dream's shoulder. The body was still solid, so signs of breaking into dust yet. It was also cold, gathering from the small amount of white bones his hand was touching. Of course it was cold.

It was dead.

Nightmare blinked and hovering above the body was a little golden orb of flames. It wasn't as bright as it used to be, giving off a faint glow that barely illuminated them both. It was smaller, too. The orb flickered weakly; bright gold to gold to bright yellow to yellow to light yellow to pale yellow—

It was Dream, back to his origins.

And that's when it finally sunk in for Nightmare that his little brother was dying right in front of him and he could do nothing to stop it.

All at once, the numbness disappeared and panic took its place. Nightmare sat on his knees, hovering over the body, eyes widened in helplessness and locked onto the orb—spirit. He had to do something. He didn't want to be alone. He couldn't be alone, not anymore.

Without thinking, his hands went towards the spirit, hoping to gather it close so that Nightmare could—

It flinched away.

A sharp pain went through his soul—heartbreak, he dimly recalled, bring his hands towards his chest and holding them there. He hunched in on himself. Dream flinched away from his hands. Dream was scared of him. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, just that it hurt.

His vision started to blur with tears.

Dream's spirit slowly drifted closer, probably confused as to why Nightmare was crying.

He closed his eyes as it grew closer until it was in front of him.

Warmth made him open them.

He gazed in surprise at the orb. Its glow had increased, although he could feel it start to drain away even faster because of that. Dream had recognized him. It was sending out waves of love for Nightmare, radiating the determination he had seen frequent Dream's eyes so many times in their battles. There wasn't an ounce of hate or confusion over what had happened, just pure love. Pure forgiveness.

A sob broke through his mouth, words finally starting up as if a dam had been broken. "Dream..." His voice was raw and hurt. He knew Dream noticed, as the love increased, a feeling of reassurance's coming too.

Nightmare swallowed. "Dream."

The orb floated forward.

"I-I'm...so sorry." Nightmare said, breaking into another sob at the end. He inhaled and wiped at the tears. He pretended he was looking his brother in the eye. "I didn't mean to. I didn't want to kill you. Never. I'm sorry."

The orb gave a pulse of light, wavering slightly as it used up more of its energy.

"Don't do that. Stop." His voice came out as just a whisper now. "You're using up your energy."

Dream was stubborn and gave another pulse of light.

"Dream."

The orb shook, dulling into a gray colour. Nightmare furrowed his brow in worry, again reaching up and cupping the flame in his hands. Dream couldn't keep this up. The waves of love started petering out, being replaced by the growing negativity again. The warmth they gave stayed.

Dream mustered up the strength for a final pulse, growing smaller and smaller until it was just a speck. There was no love this time, no more warmth, but rather a whisper. A question. It was faint, the voice tired, but it was undoubtedly Dream.

"It's...okay?"

The speck waited as Nightmare blinked.

Funny. Dream had said that to calm Nightmare down before and now here he was again, the same words, asking if it's okay that he died and left him behind. So funny. Before it was a reassurance, to let Nightmare know that it was alright, even though it wasn't. Now he was asking permission to let go and die. From Nightmare.

Why?

Nightmare was the one who killed him. He should be scrambling to get away, putting as much distance between the two of them as possible. He should be jumping into the afterlife or whatever, relieved to get to rest. But he wasn't. He was here. Waiting for Nightmare to tell him it was okay.

...What did Nightmare ever do to deserve such a kind brother?

He started chuckling, though they weren't happy. They were filled with an aching sadness that couldn't be put into words. He looked at the speck, looked at his brother, trying to imagine his patient and awaiting look, bright golden eyes sparked in curiosity and worry—not of himself, but of Nightmare—and he tried to smile.

"Yeah." He whispered, talking through the tears. The pain was forced down. "It's okay."

The speck disappeared.

Nightmare watched the space where it used to be, silently breathing for a long time. Before he realized it, his shoulders were shaking and he thought for a moment he was laughing. But that would be cruel; his brother dying, and he laughed? No. He was crying. When he realized that he could hear the sobs and felt heavy as the weight of grief and pain and sadness and guilt all hit him at once.

He collapsed onto the body in front of him, felt it start to dust. He held on tightly anyway, fingers grabbing fistfuls of shirt. He buried his head in the neck, not caring anymore about not toughing the wound.

"It's not okay." He whispered it over and over, even when he was left holding nothing but clothes and dust covered him.

Positivity was dead.

Nightmare felt like he somehow died right along with it.

[danny-chase]

Breaking a Promise - Read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), The New Titans (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Dick Grayson/Joseph Wilson Characters: Dick Grayson, Koriand'r (DCU), Joseph Wilson Additional Tags: tw for self harm, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Angst, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Canon Divergence, emotional breakdown, Broken Bones, description of injury, star crossed lovers, Flowers, Canonical Character Death, it's Joey guys, I'm Sorry, Swearing, lot of f bombs, POV Dick Grayson, Dick grayson centric, Dick Grayson is bi, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, Dick Grayson is Discowing, Dick Grayson Needs Therapy, Dick Grayson Whump, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, a little bit of fluff near the top, Gardening, when your gf is poly and ships you with someone else, Heartbreak, Heartache, no beta we die like -sobs- Joey, Hurt/Comfort, and then hurt/no comfort to follow it up Series: Part 5 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

The one where Dick Grayson has his heartbroken twice.

Full story under cut

Two years ago:

“Dick, what about this one?” Kor’i smiled sweetly, positively glowing in the sun. She gestured to a little potted plant sitting in the shade of the bottom rack. Her hair fluttered in the wind, seeming to sweep up his heart as well. Crouching, he gently bumped her shoulder, and she nudged him back. Perfect.

 “Why don’t we look over there?” Dick asked, pointing over to another shelf.

 “But I like this one.” She pouted, puffing out her bottom lip slightly. He glanced at the little sprout she picked out, his mind happily buzzing as he identified it without looking at the tag – botany lessons with Alfred had paid off.

 “Lamprocapnos spectabilis.” He began. Kor’i nuzzled her head on his shoulder, reaching out a hand to stroke the leaves. He grabbed the little tag sticking out of the pot. “This one is of the Valentine variety.”

 “Mmm.” She rested her hand back on Dick’s thigh, warmth spreading from the spot. “Tell me more.” He swallowed and complied.

 “They’re a perennial – they come back annually. They like full or partial shade, and are native to Siberia, Japan, northern China, and Korea.”

 “How big will it get?” She asked, rising to her feet, carrying the plant with her.

 “About yay high.” He spread his hands two feet. “But Kor’i, uh, I can’t just give that to Joey it’s-”

 “Commonly known as the bleeding heart?” She smiled mischievously. “I don’t see why not, your heart bleeds all the time.” She innocently widened her eyes, batting her eyelashes. “Or is it because it symbolizes love? Do you not love him?” Doubt was as clear in her voice as it was in her face.

 “I-” He stammered; he would never cheat. “I love you.” Heat rose to his face. “Only you.”

 Kor’i was perfect, she was so loving, always building him up, never tearing him down. Always healing, nurturing, growing seeds of her own – not just in him, she seemed to bring out the best in everyone she met. People basked in her beauty, and he simply basked in the knowledge of her presence. In being loved so fully, so openly and honest. Dick didn’t know if he could ever love anyone more.

 “Oh.” Kor’i looked thoughtfully at the clear cerulean sky. “I wouldn’t mind if you… loved someone else too.” He frowned.

 “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I did, but Kor’i, you’re the only one for me.” He stood, lightly pecking her on the cheek. She grinned, grabbing his hand, dragging him towards the checkout line.

 “I like this one, forget silly earth symbolisms, Joey would love it.”

 Dick sighed, following along anyways – she was right, of course, she always was – Joey would love the flowers, they were pals after all, he wouldn’t read too much into it.

   One year ago:

A cool breeze snaked its way over the hillside, finding its way around the rock at his back and through his hair – leaving him disheveled in its wake. A chill rain up his spine, goosebumps swiftly decorating his arms. He could feel his hair slowly rise up, standing in a desperate bid to retain heat.

 Dick wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, knees tucked to his chest, head resting on his crossed arms. Too long likely. He should be back to the tower soon – he didn’t want anyone to worry, but after the mess on Tamaran, it was best for him to be alone right now.

 He was just… so tired. He’d already destroyed half his punching bags trying to fight the emotion out – which had worked to some extent, leaving his hands throbbing and arms burning. He sprinted as far as he could go before his legs gave out. It had dulled the anger and pain, leaving him worn out and exhausted. The dull ache in his chest returned just as soon as it had left.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at the night sky – he’d come out here for comfort – to watch the waves lap against the rocks from far above and gaze up at the stars. But the stars could never shine brighter than Kor’i, only serving to remind him of what he’d lost when he’d ventured too close to the sun.

 It wasn’t fair – Kor’i hadn’t loved Karras though they were together – legally bound, and he was here, light years spanning the distance between those bound by their souls.

 He never believed in love in first sight. Not until he’d met her.

 He’d always believed in love, though, from the time he was a child – his parents were living proof. It was foolish – his parents had died hadn’t they? Believing in their love until the bitter end, loving their lives, each other, him. It was love that kept them on the trapeze all those years, and that love had killed them.

 He sighed, maybe Bruce was right – love wasn’t something compatible with their lifestyle. He never shared himself so fully with others or lost himself so fully either. Always playing cat and mouse with his lovers, never committing, communing with another soul the way he had with Kor’i.

 He licked his chapped lips, tasting salt in the air. Light footsteps padded towards him. He curled further in on himself, not in the mood to talk. A rough woolen blanket dropped over his shoulders.

 It smelled like crisp green apples, mixed with a hint of cinnamon.

 Adeline Wilson had great tastes in laundry detergent – something she’d handed down to her son.

 Joey crouched next to him, wrapping an arm around him, offering warmth and comfort. Dick hesitated, mind screaming to recoil, run away – be alone and repress, but heart yearning for the warmth and comfort he always seemed to find in Joey. That same warmth reminded him of Kor’i.

 The desire for comfort won out, loosening up, he leaned against Joey’s shoulder. Joey’s chin nestled into the base of his neck; soft puffs of warm, wet air sent tingles down his spine. He raised his head a little dislodging Joey, feeling weirdly uncomfortable – but not displeased – just – he’d think about that later, now wasn’t the time.

 Joey quickly backed off, removing his arm. Dick gave him a side glance and for a moment, lost himself in kind emerald eyes. <em>He isn’t Kor’i</em>. Why was that so hard to remember?

 It took him a minute to process Joey signs. ‘Your hands.’ He followed his gaze down to his numb fingers. Upon seeing them he was hit by the realization they hurt like hell. He probably should have remembered to wear gloves, or at least wrap them, before taking his frustration out on punching bags.

 His right hand had swollen, both had bruises blossoming, his skin rubbed raw, blood freely dripping from busted knuckles.

 “Fuck.” He’d be out of the game for at least a month, if he was right about his right pinky – that was a boxer’s fracture. Tendrils of pain crawled out from the spot, his hands throbbing in time to his pulse. Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes like that – the Titan’s needed him!

 Joey squeezed his upper arm, ‘let’s go’, he suggested, rising to his feet. Dick bit his lip, internally cursing himself for being such a dumbass. He shakily rose to his feet, immediately hit by a wave of exhaustion. Which in hindsight – he probably shouldn’t have sprinted until he dropped either.

 Joey wrapped an arm around his waist, bending slightly to stand under his shoulder and steadying him as the blanket slipped over his shoulders. They left it were it lay – more pressing matters to attend to, but Dick shivered in the cool night without it. He took a few wobbling steps forward – and dumb – his knees gave out.

 He never came close to the ground, instead, finding himself lifted into a princess carry. Joey smiled apologetically, with a little shrug. Dick sighed; this was embarrassing. He was eighteen – he should know better – Bruce had taught him better!

 “It’s fine, thanks.” He ignored how rough his voice sounded, instead concentrating on the throbbing from his hands, using the pain to block out the ache in his chest. He focused his gaze forward, not thinking about how close he was to Joey, how Kor’i used to carry him this way, how Joey smelled like honeysuckle and lilac, how this was everything he missed – and he just prayed he wasn’t falling in love again – he couldn’t be, no – he just... he was projecting. He just missed Kor’i.

 He ignored Donna’s concerned eyebrow raise as they passed her on the way back to the tower. Gar’s whistle as they crossed the living room. The way Joey was so delicate when placing him in the passenger seat of the helicopter, so careful to avoid eye contact, so mindful of his pride.

 In the brighter lighting he noticed stark red against Joey’s golden curls. A flower from a bleeding heart had made its way into Joey’s hair. There were gardening gloves in his back pocket

 His heart sped up as they took off, he felt weirdly lighter than before – though perhaps he was just dizzy from pain. Joey stared at him, his eyes darker than before, brow set determinedly, but looking pained and a bit melancholic.

 “What’s wrong?” Dick asked, feeling guilty for ruining whatever gardening project Joey had evidently come from. A lot was wrong, he was wrong, was asking a stupid question.

 The tips of Joey’s lips curled into a frown. ‘Do not do that again’ he pointed at Dick’s broken hands.

 Dick shrugged, it was a dumb move, he couldn’t guarantee he’d never break his hand again. He shifted his gaze back through the window. Joey tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Promise.’ Well, if it would keep Joey happy, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

 “I promise.” He wouldn’t break his hand as long as he never broke his heart.

   Now.

He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid, and he didn’t lack self-awareness. He knew how to bottle his feelings into a jar, create a vacuum seal, and tuck them away on a shelf. The thing was, he also knew eventually he had to deal with the things he compartmentalized.

 It had been a month since Joey died. He’d been putting it off. But today…

 The bleeding heart had wilted.

 The jar fell to the floor and shattered, his heart disintegrating into a million shards with it.

 A watering can joined the broken glass on the floor, before he knew what was happening, he was running from Joey’s garden, not knowing where he was going, not sure of his surroundings. His vision narrowed, relying on muscle memory and reflex to avoid crashing.

 Crashing was a good way to describe this.

 He was right there. Looked Joey in the eyes. Watched him become twisted and never even noticed that his beloved friend was going through things no one should ever go through, slowly destroyed from within, suffocating from a painfully sluggish death before Slade made the final move.

 “FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCK!” Birds flapped away as he screamed at the sky, at the world for letting this happen. Joey never knew – he never told him – was too scared that this would – that he would –

 WHY DID THINGS HURT SO MUCH HE SWORE NOT TO LOVE ANYONE LIKE HER AGAIN-

 *CRACK*

 He broke a tree, feeling bone snap against splintered bark.

 He froze, staring at his right pinky, and laughed.

 So much for promises.

 Laughs turned to sobs, knees buckling as he fell to the forest floor – sitting on his heels before flopping to his back. Staring up at the baby blue sky, cumulus clouds drifted by without a care in the world, laughing at him, mocking him from the high heavens.

 Tears flowed freely, nature as the only witness.

 His heart wasn’t supposed to break like this, he’d locked it away long ago, he wasn’t supposed to care about people like this anymore, that wasn’t in the fucking plan. He’d restrained himself, time and time again, turned down offers, avoided hanging out – he did everything he was supposed to do to not fall in love again.

 And absolutely none of it mattered.

 Love had mattered – fuck love for being like this – fuck Bruce for making him believe he could live like him – fuck the world – fuck Joey – fuck Kor’i – fuck everything. Fuck whoever he was supposed to be, his training, his painstaking control of his emotions.

 He pounded the ground with his good hand, promises could be broken, but he wouldn’t break – not today – he didn’t have time. He could be dead today, next week, fuck – half the Titans were dead, Jason was dead, he couldn’t waste time like this - his life was going to be short.

 His life was going to fucking short and he needed to pull himself together – he had family to get back to. He had people he loved – if his heart was going to break anyways – he was so FUCKING stupid.

 Drowning in regret, he slammed the ground again, hard enough for the shockwaves to jar his broken hand. Feeling pain was better than feeling this – because fuck – fuck – he loved Joey. He loved Joey and Kor’i and they were both gone and nothing was okay anymore. Joey never even knew. Never even knew – and it was all his fault – and he never knew how much he mattered – never knew how when he smiled it everything around him dulled in comparison or how when they talked it was like he had known him his all life.

 He never knew.

 And would never know.

 He focused on taking painful breaths sobbing himself silly, laughing till he couldn’t breathe, and crying until he couldn’t feel. Time passed in a vacuum, hysteria waxing and waning until he ran out of tears to cry.

 He rolled over, pressing himself up, wiping his face on his shirt, ignoring the familiar pain creeping up his arm.

 He made a new promise because well, fuck the last one didn’t work out so he might as well start over. Giant pines towered over him standing tall as silent witnesses. He swore on the living along with the dead, any that would listen really – he didn’t care - he couldn’t keep living like this.

 “Whoever I love will know.” He whispered the words as a sacred oath, finding an odd sense of solace. He paused, letting the words hang in the air as if imbuing them with some sort of power.

 Stumbling forward, he made his way back home.

[fireladybuckley]

You Set My Heart on Fire (Part 4)

or: The 5 times Buck tries to hide that he’s in love with his best friend and the 1 time it all comes out.

Fandom: 9-1-1 Pairing: Buddie - Evan Buckley (Buck) x Eddie Diaz Word Count: Part 4: 1632 Summary:  Buck struggles with his realization that he’s in love with his best friend, constantly getting flustered, turned on, or full on heart-eyes around Eddie, until it all eventually comes crashing down in the best way.

Chapter 4 summary: Stuck on a treadmill while Eddie lifts weights nearby nearby, Buck tries to pace himself and ends up failing miserably.

Read it on Ao3

Read Part 1: here Read Part 2: here Read Part 3: here Read Part 5: here Read Part 6: here

Beta’d by the absolutely amazing @firemedicdiaz​ <3

                Chapter 4:  Buck Tries to Literally Outrun His Problem          

            The fourth time it happened, Buck tried so hard to hide it that he nearly passed out.

            Maddie had gotten him a smart watch for his birthday and he’d been dying to try out the fitness features.   So that day at work he strapped it on, fiddled with the options, and hopped onto the treadmill to test it.

             The watch let out a small beep every time his heart beat to keep track of his pulse, and Buck settled into a nice easy jog, listening to the steady beeps and slowly increasing his speed, interested to see how much his heart rate elevated based on how much effort he put into his stride.

             Buck had escalated to a light run when he glanced up and noticed that Eddie had entered the workout area and was setting the weight on one of the chest press machines.  Buck groaned internally as he watched Eddie pull off his hoodie and sit down in a black tank top on the machine.   Eddie looked up, and upon seeing Buck glancing over at him, gave a little smile and wave, which Buck returned, swearing profusely under his breath.  Buck looked away as his watch started to beep faster, despite the fact that he wasn’t running any faster, and tried to control his breathing.

             Buck resolved to not look at Eddie, to just focus on his own workout, but once Eddie started using the machine and there was the regular thunking sound of the weights lifting up and down, occasionally accompanied by Eddie’s grunts of effort, Buck couldn’t help but let his eyes stray in Eddie’s direction.  This was definitely a mistake;  the second Buck laid eyes on Eddie his heart rate quickened, and Buck heard the beeps increasing in response.  

             To explain away the rise in his heart rate, Buck began to run a bit faster.  Unfortunately, his eyes kept wandering back to Eddie, even though he kept trying to look away.  After a moment he gave up trying to resist and watched Eddie as he ran.  Eddie’s face was a mask of concentration and Buck bit his lip as he watched Eddie’s arms strain as he pulled on the machine, raising the considerable weight behind him.  

             Buck’s heart rate increased again so he increased his speed to match, still at a comfortable pace as his eyes travelled up Eddie’s arms to his sweaty face and back again, watching his muscles tighten and relax as he moved.  It was incredibly sexy, both from a visual perspective and also Buck was incredibly turned on by just how strong Eddie was as he watched the stack of weights rise and lower over and over.  After a while, Eddie stopped his reps on that particular machine and Buck looked away quickly as Eddie stood, not wanting to be caught watching him.

             Buck shot a sideways glance over at Eddie after a few moments and saw that he’d gone to the bench press and was attaching the weights to it.  Buck grabbed his water bottle and tried to take a sip as he ran, dribbling some of it down his front and glad that Eddie hadn’t seen as he reached up to wipe his chin.  By the time he glanced back, Eddie had settled himself on the bench and began slowly lowering the bar to his chest.  Buck watched, captivated, feeling lust shoot through him once more as his heart rate elevated again.

             Cursing under his breath and praying Eddie wasn’t noticing these constant increases in his heart rate, Buck forced himself to look away and began to run faster.  The cycle continued for several more minutes;  Buck found the willpower to look away, sped up his run,and then his willpower crumbled and he looked over at Eddie again, which inevitably lead to another increase in his heart rate as he took in just how attracted he was to Eddie and it pounded through his brain like his feet were pounding the treadmill.

             Eventually, Buck was running at nearly full tilt and his watch was beeping so fast he couldn’t keep track anymore.  He had finally stopped looking over at Eddie, forced to concentrate to be able to maintain his speed.  His feet slammed into the treadmill belt over and over, and he was quickly starting to tire, running out of breath, sweat pouring down his face as he attempted to keep pace with his racing heart.  He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this one;  he could slow down and stop, but Eddie might notice that his heart rate was faster than it should be.  But on the other hand, if Buck kept this sprint up, he was not going to last much longer and he’d be eating floor when he lost traction and fell.

             “Buck!  Slow down!”

             Buck looked around to see that Eddie had sat up on the bench and was looking over at him in concern, clearly having noticed that he was running like his life depended on it.  When Buck didn’t respond, Eddie got up and walked over to him, shaking his head.

             “Are you going for a record or something, man?  You need to slow down, your heart rate is way too fast.”

             Eddie gestured to the watch beeping on Buck’s wrist and Buck kept on running, trying not to concede defeat, but knowing that he had no choice but to slow down.  As embarrassing as this could be, it would be worse to go flying off the treadmill because he couldn’t keep the pace anymore.   Nodding because he was unable to speak through his ragged breath, Buck hit the buttons on the treadmill to slow himself down, first into a slower run, then a jog, then a walk.  

             Finally he came to a stop and shakily stepped off of the treadmill, holding tightly onto the bar beside it as his chest heaved, his legs like jelly.  Eddie grabbed his water bottle and handed it to him, and Buck gratefully shot some into his mouth, still breathing hard and holding himself up.   Eddie watched him closely as he tried to catch his breath, the beeps from his watch filling the silence around them.   Buck reached down and pried the buckle of the watch open - difficult to do with shaking hands - and stuffed the finally quiet watch into his shorts pocket.

             “You okay?” Eddie asked, his tone cautious as he watched Buck’s face closely.  “You were running pretty damn fast.”

             “Yeah, just… wanted to push myself,” Buck gasped, still holding onto the treadmill railing for balance as his heart thumped uncomfortably fast in his chest, still breathless.  It was mostly because of the running, but Eddie standing so close to him was not helping.

             “Well, your heart rate was too high, you should sit down.”

             “Oh, I think that th-thing’s broken,” Buck said, attempting to sound casual, before remembering that Eddie knew he’d just gotten it as a gift and it was brand new.

             “Uh huh.  Let me be the judge of that,” Eddie responded in a slightly sarcastic tone.  Before Buck could react, Eddie had grabbed Buck’s forearm in one of his hands and settled two fingers over Buck’s radial pulse point.  Buck immediately panicked internally, both because he knew Eddie was on to him and also because the feeling of Eddie’s hands on his skin was driving him mad.   But Eddie was gripping his forearm tightly enough that Buck would have to wrench himself hard to get away, and he’d already flinched away from Eddie several times in the last week or two;  he didn’t want to give Eddie the wrong impression, like he didn’t want to be touched.   He and Eddie had never been weird about casual touches, and he didn’t want to ruin that now.

             “It’s still pretty fast,” Eddie murmured, his voice low as he focused on counting the beats below his fingers, glancing at his watch.  Buck swallowed hard and thought “I wonder why that is?”, looking away from Eddie’s face, wishing he could sink into a hole, unable to control his racing heart.

             “That's it, I’ve decided.  Enough running for you today.  You need to have some lunch.”

             Eddie’s voice was authoritative and Buck nodded, obeying without a second thought as Eddie gestured for him to move out of the workout area and pointed at the stairs.  Buck obediently moved over to the stairs, figuring it was just best to do what he was told.  He was still feeling a bit shaky from how fast he’d been running and he didn’t trust himself to take off to the showers alone just yet.  Buck followed Eddie up the stairs and flopped down in a chair as Eddie told him to sit, watching as Eddie moved over to the fridge and pulled out some leftovers for them to eat.

             Buck’s heart skipped several beats as a smiling Eddie brought him a plate of food and set it down in front of him.  Buck did his best to eat his food as he tried not to look too closely into Eddie’s eyes, fearing he might get lost forever and make the confession that was always just on the tip of his tongue.  They spent the next twenty minutes or so in what appeared to be amiable, general conversation, but in actuality was Buck falling more deeply in love with Eddie with every syllable the other man spoke.  By the time a call came in and they were forced to abandon their nearly empty plates, Buck was feeling light-headed with that wonderful, floaty feeling of falling in love for the first time, and couldn’t stop himself smiling all the way to the call, despite the looks everyone kept shooting him, wondering what he was so damn happy about.

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

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[bcdrawsandwrites]

Fandom: Coco

Rating: K

Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Miguel, Héctor, Imelda, and smaller appearances from the rest of the family

Warnings: Depictions of PTSD

Description: It’s been a year since the fateful Dia de Muertos when Miguel traveled to the Land of the Dead. Miguel is helping his family get ready... and then sees a familiar sight: transparent, glowing skeletons walking around the streets.

It doesn’t make him as happy as you might expect.

Beta Readers: @jaywings, @pengychan​

Notes: Takes place in the same ‘verse as most of my other Coco fics, including Neither Can You, BUT if you’re not familiar with those, don’t worry! You’ll simply learn stuff along with Miguel, since this fic is from his perspective.

---~~~---

Dia de Muertos was going to be different this year.

It wasn't just because a certain someone wouldn't be there—well, especially because she would be there, Miguel assured himself, swallowing down the tightness in his throat—but because... someone else would be there, too. On top of that—and really, because of that—this would be the first Dia de Muertos in many, many years that the Riveras would be celebrating with music.

Music, plus a certain ancestor... and... oh, yeah, about a dozen or so other family members that didn't normally visit.

Voices from the kitchen interrupted Miguel's thoughts:

"Okay Mamá, I think we've got enough food for everyone," his papá said with a laugh.

"Absolutely not!" Abuelita retorted. "Your esposa's family is going to leave here well-fed! Now help me with the mole negro."

"Ay," Papá said, and Miguel could hear the smile in his voice.

It made him smile, too, but only briefly. Feeling a familiar wave of worry wash over him, Miguel rushed out to the ofrenda room for the fifth time that night, just to assure himself that Papá Héctor's picture was still there, and that Dante hadn't knocked it off, or something. He'd admittedly freaked out earlier when his mamá had taken down the photo to clean a smudge off of it, and had made some lame excuse about worrying she would drop the frame and it would break, like he'd done with the same photo the year prior.

But, sure enough, the photo still sat proudly atop the ofrenda, with Papá Héctor's face lovingly taped back where it belonged, and the photo given a lovely custom frame. Though it was not placed at the very top of the ofrenda this year, Miguel made sure that something worthy of the Rivera name was: a custom-made boot in Mamá Imelda's favorite style, and a miniature guitar decoration made by Miguel himself, the two items carefully propped up, each leaning against the other. He hoped his ancestors would appreciate the touch—maybe he'd ask them about it in a letter later. He also hoped they would appreciate—

"Oh, oh! Look, there's the twins!"

"Manny and Benny!"

"They've gotten so big!"

"That one over there is Carmen, Berto's esposa."

Miguel scratched his head—the voices sounded familiar, but he couldn't place them immediately. He knew what that meant, though, and poked his head through the doorway. "Papá, they're here!"

"Go on and say hi to them, mijo. We'll be out soon!"

"Got it!" Miguel stepped out of the room, looking down at his shirt and briefly wondering if he should go ahead and change into his new charro suit. He supposed it could wait until after he met his—

He looked up, and was greeted with the sight of roughly half a dozen skeletons glowing in a transparent orange shade.

No.

Heart leaping into his throat, Miguel ducked back into the ofrenda room, his back against the wall, and panted as he frantically looked over his left hand. But no bone showed through, and his skin was as solid as ever. But... hadn't he just seen...?!

Shakily Miguel poked his head out the doorway once more. Yes, the skeletons were still there. Their backs were turned, but he immediately recognized the tall twin frames of Óscar and Felipe, and his Tía Victoria, and Tía Rosita, and Papá Julio, and... and...

A small part of Miguel wanted to run up to them immediately, to embrace his Mamá Coco who had been absent for nearly a year, to wrap his Papá Héctor in the biggest hug... but his entire body was trembling. It was like when he'd ride in the back of the pickup truck, but he wasn't shaking from riding around in a car—he was shaking on his own. Once again he checked his hands, his arms, feeling them to assure himself that there really was flesh and muscle there and not stark white bone. But... what if he really was invisible and just couldn't tell yet, like he had been at first, after he'd grabbed the guitar last year? What if the second he tried to touch someone, they would pass through him, and he would turn transparent?

What if he was still...?

Before he realized what he was doing, he found his feet carrying him of their own accord to the kitchen.

"¡Papá!" he cried before he even stepped into the room. To his relief, the response was immediate:

"Miguel?" His papá nearly bumped into him, stepping back when Miguel threw his arms around him (doubly relieved to find that he could even do so). Immediately concerned, his papá stooped slightly, placed a hand on Miguel's shoulder. "What's the matter?"

Immediately he felt pulled down by the weight of shame, and took a step back, holding his wrist. "Sorry, Papá. I-I was just..." What could he say? He couldn't possibly explain the curse—that would require explaining everything that had happened last year, and how could he do that? "I saw... people coming in, a-and I realized... I'm gonna have to play this song for all of them! Wh-what if they hate my music?"

Abuelita cut in: "If they do, they'll hear from me!" She held up her spoon like a weapon, though it wasn't quite as scary as her chancla.

Meanwhile, his papá chuckled, shaking his head. "Miguel, your music is the reason they're here in the first place!" he said, unable to contain his grin. "When your mamá’s family heard about everything, they couldn't wait to come over to see it for themselves."

"Exactamente," Abuelita said with a decisive nod. "You don't have anything to worry about, mijo."

Miguel resisted the urge to wipe at his eyes, opting for what he hoped was a convincing grin instead. "G-gracias," he managed to stammer.

But to his dismay, his papá frowned, moving his hand from his shoulder to his back. "You're trembling. Are you all right?"

Oh, he was still shaking, wasn't he? He really wished his body would cut it out, but he had no idea how to make it stop. "I-I'm just nervous about the performance." And, suddenly remembering his Papá Héctor's words, he took a step back. "I need to shake out the nerves!" he said, and shook himself in an exaggerated manner.

Laughing, his father clapped him on the back and straightened himself. "That's my boy! Go on, now, you should get into your outfit!"

"Sí, Papá," Miguel said, glad for the excuse to leave. Without waiting for anything else to happen, he hurried off to his room, quickly latching the door behind him. His new outfit was laid out neatly on his bed, and he lifted the jacket, wishing to admire it... but couldn't ignore how badly he was still shaking.

"¡Basta!" he hissed to himself, dropping the suit and wrapping his arms around his body. He wished Dante were here—his spirit guide usually helped soothe his nerves, but the dog had been absent since he'd given him and Pepita some tamales in exchange for delivering a letter. But... why would he even need Dante right now? Usually when he got like this, it was when he would wake up from a nightmare, or when he was missing Mamá Coco, or when something happened that reminded him of...

The memory of transparent skeletons immediately came to the forefront of his mind.

...oh.

Groaning, Miguel laid his head onto his bed, burying his face into his arms. Stuff like heights and getting dunked underwater had been freaking him out, yeah, and that sucked, but now the sight of his own dead family—the very ones he'd been missing so much this entire year—was making him like this?

What was wrong with him?

Sure, his parents had said that it was normal when stuff freaked you out after something bad happened, but this...

He was still shaking.

With a frustrated sigh, Miguel lifted himself up again and got to work changing into his new charro suit. If this was going to freak him out, then he'd just have to ignore them. That would definitely work.

Right?

---~~~---

This was not working.

His dead family was, of course, all over the place. When he looked one way, he would see the twins marveling over Tío Berto's new shoes. In another direction, Tía Victoria and Tía Rosita were talking about Abuelita's tamales and how many she'd made. When he turned again, he nearly ran smack into his Mamá Imelda, whom he tried desperately to avoid the gaze of. Every time he caught a glimpse of them, he had to fight the urge to check his hands for a hundred-and-thirteenth time, to make sure he really wasn't disappearing or turning into a skeleton. He kept a fistful of cempasúchil in his pocket, just in case, which he also had to constantly resist the urge to check.

Finally it was time for him and his cousins to perform their song, and Miguel had to throw his everything into his music. It was slightly easier to ignore the skeletons wandering around when he was focused more on singing loudly and clearly and getting the chords right as he played. Even so, he found himself wandering about the courtyard as he sang, meeting the loving gazes of his living family as he tried to ignore the presence of the dead.

Dante helped a little, galloping up to him and licking him in the face to show him that he'd come back. Even so, Miguel almost lost his composure entirely when he passed Abuelita, only to find his Mamá Coco, in skeleton form, wrapping her arm around her in a loving embrace. He managed to cover for himself by belting out the next line even louder than he had before, which worked just as well, since he was nearing the end of the song. The joy and excitement of his living family made it easier to ignore the presence of the glowing souls around him, but he couldn't help but be reminded, when his papá and tío lifted him up onto their shoulders, of when Héctor had done a similar action when they'd last performed together.

Finally the song was over, and Miguel found himself panting, clutching his Papá Héctor's guitar far more tightly than he'd meant to. It felt good to sing with all his might—and a song he'd written himself, too!—but he was eager to step away for a while.

But his family wasn't exactly making that easy—several of them were calling for an encore, while his mamá urged them to let him catch his breath first. Miguel looked around the crowd, hoping to find a space he could squeeze through, and quickly pushed himself toward a small gap where a couple relatives he was less familiar with were standing.

"Great job, Miguel!" one of them—a tía or an older prima, he wasn't sure—said as he passed, and he looked up to thank her.

But his gaze was instead immediately pulled to a glowing figure who had followed him out of the crowd, and for a moment, he was frozen.

He looks like he's about to cry, was all he could think as he looked up into his Papá Héctor's eyes.

And then he realized his mistake.

Héctor, who had indeed looked like he was about to dissolve into happy tears in that moment, suddenly stared into his eyes, a look of shock crossing his face.

Terror immediately gripped his stomach, and Miguel ran.

Fortunately, other than the confused tía, no one had noticed his sudden departure as he fled into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. In a moment of panicked stupidity, he found himself shoving the white guitar under his bed (part of the neck poking out) before following suit, knocking his hat off and hiding with his hands over his head like a little kid scared of a thunderstorm.

But he felt like he could hardly breathe. He gasped for air, his breaths short and sharp. He was shaking. And this was stupid.

It was so stupid for him to be scared of this. Why was he scared? He'd missed his Papá Héctor. He'd even written that song for him and Mamá Coco. So why was he scared of seeing him again?

But then why was he seeing him in the first place? It didn't make sense. It made no sense. It made no sense, unless he was cursed again, which was why he could see them last time, but he didn't want to be cursed again, that would mean he would have to go back to the Land of the Dead. What if he had to face Señor de la Cruz again? He didn't want to face him again, he didn't want to get thrown into the cenote again, he didn't want to be thrown off a cliff again, he didn't want to fall into water or get trapped and lost away from his family, he didn't want to go through that again, he didn't want to be cursed—

A sharp whine from the other side of the door cut through his panic.

"¿Mijo? We're not mad at you. Please, are you in there?"

He realized the voice must have been talking for a while now. He was pretty sure he knew who it was, but he kept silent anyway, clasping his hands over his mouth to muffle his panicked breathing.

It was a moment before she spoke again. "I'm sorry, mi amor. Maybe Dante led us to the wrong room."

Dante whined again, scratching at the door with his claws.

"Are you sure he saw you?"

"...Sí."

The sheer amount of sadness in that single word caught Miguel off-guard. He hadn't even considered how his suddenly running off like that would look to Héctor.

"This is my fault," Héctor continued. "I should have told him—"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Héctor."

There was a long silence from the other side of the door, and Miguel leaned forward, straining to hear.

"He's... probably upset with me." Another pause. "I should go."

"N-no, don't!"

He clapped his hands over his mouth again when he realized he had spoken. There was a soft clatter of bones on the other side of the door—clearly he'd startled them as well.

"...Miguel," Imelda began again, her voice edged with caution. "May we come in?"

Well... no use in staying quiet anymore. "S-sí, Mamá Imelda."

For a moment he expected the door to open, only to be startled when the orange-tinted ghost of his Mamá Imelda phased through the door. She looked confused upon not immediately seeing him, and looked to her side, only to pause. "Héctor, come on."

"...H-he only said you, not me."

Rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, Imelda reached through the door and yanked Héctor into the room. His shoulders were hunched and his hand gripped his wrist behind his back in anxiety, but from the other side of the door, Dante gave a satisfied ruff and trotted away.

Now that his great-great-grandparents were actually in the room, it felt pointless to keep hiding, but at the same time, coming out from hiding would mean he'd have to acknowledge he'd been childish enough to hide under his bed in the first place, so Miguel stayed put.

"Miguel, it's all right," Mamá Imelda said. Her voice was calm, like it had been the very last time he'd heard it, right before he'd been sent back to the Land of the Living, and his Papá Héctor was seizing up in violent flashes— "You can come out now."

Miguel swallowed; his throat hurt, and he turned his head away.

"I'm... sorry I scared you," Héctor said, his voice rougher than Miguel had expected.

"You didn't scare me," Miguel mumbled. He wasn't really sure what gave Héctor that impression in the first place, but then, Miguel had just turned and ran from him.

Hearing his voice, Héctor knelt down next to Miguel's bed, and Imelda followed suit, leaning down in an attempt to see him better. "Is something else the matter, mijo?"

Miguel swallowed again, feeling more and more like some dumb kid with every passing moment. Part of him almost didn't want to say what was bothering him, but... unlike his living family, Mamá Imelda and Papá Héctor would be the ones to understand, even if it was really stupid. Even so, it was an effort to make himself speak, and his voice cracked: "I don't... want to go back to the Land of the Dead."

"Oh, mijo." Héctor's voice was warm with sympathy. "You won't have to go there again for a long, long time."

The knot in his chest loosened a little at the realization that his great-great-grandparents were not mocking him. The worries, however, kept a tight grip on him. "But... I can s-see you."

"So you can," Mamá Imelda remarked. There was a frown in her voice. "Miguel... did you get yourself cursed again?"

"I-I don't know!" he cried, and growled in frustration when his voice squeaked again. "I didn't do anything! I-I didn't steal, I promise!"

"If he's been cursed, we can just send him back. There's petals everywhere." Héctor pushed himself back into a standing position, and helped Imelda up. Something seemed odd about the way it looked, but Miguel didn't dwell on the thought. "Come out from under there, and let's take a look."

With his great-great-grandparents backing up to give him space, Miguel finally crawled out from beneath the bed. Unable to meet their gaze, he simply stared down at his hat on the floor.

"Let's see your hands," Imelda said, and Miguel obediently held out his left hand, still looking away.

He suddenly felt a strange combination of cold and warmth pass through his hand, and shuddered, pulling it away and looking it over. Nothing seemed out of place. "What happened?" he asked, and finally looked up to see Héctor and Imelda staring down at him in surprise.

"Oh," Imelda finally said, and reached out to him again. She moved to place a hand on his shoulder, and while Miguel could sense a faint warmth from it, he could not actually feel her touch. When she lowered her hand further, it passed completely through his shoulder, and he shivered from the chill.

"...You can't touch me," he said slowly. It was like when he'd tried to touch a living person last year, except the opposite. Experimentally he reached for his Mamá Imelda's hand, but his passed straight through hers, leaving a similar sensation of warmth and cold.

"Strange." Imelda crossed her arms, frowning as she stared at the floor. "This didn't happen before."

"And everyone else can still see me, too!" Miguel added. "They couldn't last time."

Héctor's face broke into a hesitant smile. "Maybe it's a leftover from last time," he said. "A good leftover from the curse."

Shuddering, Miguel shook his head. "Uh-uh, I'm not taking that chance. H-here!" Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a few petals, more spilling out onto the floor. "Can you take this?"

For reasons he didn't immediately understand, Héctor seemed hesitant to take the petal, but Imelda stepped in for him. She reached out, carefully, and plucked one of the petals away—while all of them remained in Miguel's hand, a spirit copy of one had appeared in hers. "I suppose it counts as an offering," she remarked, then held it out to Miguel again, her expression growing more serious. "Miguel... I give you my blessing."

Miguel held his breath, and waited.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Imelda flicked her wrist and held the petal out again, closer to Miguel. "Miguel, I give you my blessing."

They waited.

Nothing.

"Huh." Héctor stared down at the petal. "If you can't give a blessing... there must be no curse."

"S-so..." Miguel fidgeted. "I don't have to... g-go back? And see de la Cruz?"

Héctor stiffened, his gaze going distant, while Mamá Imelda carefully held her hand over Miguel's shoulder. "No, mijo. Why would you think you would have to do that?"

"I-I... I dunno." He stepped back, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. "I've..." He swallowed—he couldn't tell his parents this, but he could tell them. "I-I didn't tell you about it in the letters, 'cuz I didn't want you to worry, but... I've been having nightmares about him for a long time. Since it happened. And wh-when I realized I could see you, a-all I could think was that... I was cursed again, and I'd h-have to go back to the Land of the Dead, and... s-see him."

"You won't," Héctor said suddenly, causing Miguel to jump; his voice was a lot rougher for some reason. His gaze was out of focus, like he wasn't really looking at anything, or like he was seeing something that wasn't there. His left hand gripped his right wrist tightly, to the point where it was shaking, Miguel thought, but no—his entire frame was shaking. "N-not ever again. You won't."

"Tranquilo, Héctor," Mamá Imelda said, now placing a hand on Héctor's back, while another gripped his right hand. "Estas bien."

Confused, Miguel looked them over again... and then he saw it. Mamá Imelda was not holding Papá Héctor's hand, but a weird contraption attached to his wrist. "Oh!" he cried, his own fear momentarily forgotten. "Papá Héctor, what happened to your hand?"

That seemed to snap Héctor out of... whatever was going on with him, and he wilted, the life (so to speak) seeming to drain out of him. Imelda looked between the two in sympathy. "Seems you've both been hiding something from each other," she said softly. Gently she pushed Héctor forward. "You can tell him, mi amor."

"Not all of it," Héctor said, his voice a lot weaker than it had been as his gaze rose to meet Miguel's. There was a great deal of guilt in his expression, and it made Miguel feel sick. "We... d-didn't want you to worry, mijo."

Miguel pressed his hands between his knees anxiously. "Worry about... what?"

Slowly Héctor raised his right hand—or rather, the contraption attached to his wrist—and turned his arm a certain way. The contraption—a prosthetic hand, Miguel finally realized—clenched in response. Héctor moved his arm again, and the prosthetic hand un-clenched. Miguel stared at it in wonder before a terrible thought crossed his mind.

"P-Papá Héctor? What happened to your real hand?"

Héctor drew in a breath, gripping his wrist, but making no effort to hide his prosthetic hand this time. He stared down at the floor, almost looking like he was going to just... go blank again. "It's... it's gone," he finally answered. "I don't have it anymore."

"What—?!" Miguel jumped up from the bed, looking up at Héctor in alarm. "Why?!"

Again Héctor didn't answer, and started to tremble again, and Miguel's stomach wrenched in worry.

But Imelda stepped forward, again placing a hand on Héctor's back, though this time she faced Miguel. "First, you should know that we are safe now," she said firmly. "None of us are in danger."

If that was supposed to make him feel better, it had failed miserably. Miguel's legs shook, and he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed again. "Then... you were in danger?"

Mamá Imelda turned toward Héctor, rubbing his back carefully.

"Ernesto," Héctor blurted out, as though he'd had to force the name through his throat. "H-he took it."

"What?!" Miguel's breathing quickened, and he had to fight to push the nightmares he'd had of the man aside. "Can't you get it back?"

"We tried to, mijo," Imelda answered.

"It's gone f-forever," Héctor stammered, his throat jerking in a phantom gulp. With his attention drawn toward it, Miguel could spot faint scratch marks in the vertebrae, though he wasn’t sure what that meant. "He... t-tried to make sure I never played music again."

Something dropped from within Miguel's chest, falling straight through him and beneath the floor, and taking the life of him with it. "You... can't play music...?"

To his surprise, Héctor cracked a wavering—but genuine—smile. "Just because he tried doesn’t mean it worked."

With practiced precision, he loosened the straps on his prosthetic hand to remove it. He then reached into his pouch, swapping out the prosthetic hand for something that looked more like a claw, which he attached to the wrist instead. It looked weird, Miguel thought, like something a cartoon villain might have, but still kinda cool. After producing a guitar pick and placing it in the claw, he then stooped down, picking the skull guitar—or rather, a spirit copy of it—off the floor. He took a moment to feel the guitar in his arms, and drew in a breath, shutting his eyes.

And then he began to play.

It was not the same skilled music he had heard his great-great-grandpa play a year ago, in an old shack in Shantytown, nor was it the beautiful accompaniment he played for Mamá Imelda later that same night. It was Miguel's own tune, Proud Corazon, carefully plucked from the strings.

But there was clearly a struggle to it—Héctor nearly dropped the guitar pick at one point, and he occasionally struck a note wrong. There was also no skillful finger work, since he had no fingers on his right hand to work with.

"It's... not the same," Miguel said softly. And without warning, the emotions bubbled up from within his chest, breaking through him in the form of a sob. He growled, forcing his emotions back down, and lowered his head, gripping it in his hands. "This isn't fair!" he choked out. "Wh-why won't he leave us alone?!"

"Hey, hey." Héctor was suddenly sitting at his side, his good hand—his only hand—hovering just behind his back. "It's okay, mijo."

"He's in prison now, and should be for a while," Imelda said lowly, taking a seat at his other side. "So he is leaving us alone now."

"But he's not!" Miguel said, kicking his heel at the edge of his bed for emphasis. "He doesn't leave us alone! There's still people who like him, and they think we're a bunch of liars, and even though he's not here, I have nightmares—"

"I know," Héctor murmured. "I know." Careful of clipping, he wrapped his arms around him in an invisible embrace. Somewhere in the back of Miguel's mind, he realized that he could still feel a faint warmth, even from the prosthetic.

"He haunts our dreams too, sometimes," Imelda muttered, crossing her arms.

"W-well... you can hit him with a shoe, at least."

He realized how ridiculous that sounded just before Héctor burst out laughing, pulling away from Miguel and slapping his leg. Imelda only rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. "Yes," she admitted. "I can do that, but not hard enough to knock any amount of sense into him."

Though his face burned a little in embarrassment, Miguel tried to grin anyway. "Well if you hit him that hard, you'd probably just break his face."

The comment made Héctor laugh even harder, doubled down over himself and clutching his non-existent sides.

"...Did you get to hit him again?" Miguel asked, suddenly curious. "For real, not in a dream."

Imelda sighed. "No, but I believe your Papá Héctor did."

"Really?" He turned to Héctor for confirmation.

"S-sí," Héctor replied, looking up and grinning. "Hard enough to make his cabeza spin."

For a moment he pictured the face he'd so often seen in his nightmares... and Héctor's fist connecting with it. "...Cool."

"Heh, I guess it was cool." Héctor smiled down at him, only to cringe back with a shudder.

Alarmed, Miguel sat up straighter. "P-Papá Héctor?"

"Ah, it's, um, n-nothing," he replied, wrapping his arms around himself. "Just... remembered something I'd rather not."

"Oh... that... happens to me, too." He went quiet for a moment, staring down at his feet. "My Mamá and Papá told me before that... sometimes, things can make us remember bad things."

"Was that what was happening to you earlier, Miguel?" Imelda asked, leaning closer. "When you ran away from Héctor?"

"Sorta." He gripped the edge of the bed uncomfortably. "I was just being dumb, and was scared of going back and seeing de la Cruz again."

Héctor breathed out a laugh. "At least you didn't jump out a window when you were scared."

Miguel gave him a look. "Did you do that?"

"Eeehhhh..."

"He did," Imelda confirmed, rubbing her forehead. "Don't follow his example."

"Uhh... point taken." Miguel shrugged awkwardly. He felt a little better, though, knowing Héctor knew how he felt, but... "...Papá Héctor," he said, and waited until Héctor leaned closer. "Does it ever happen, when... something happens, and reminds you of a bad thing... and... suddenly it's like... you're there? Again? Even when you're not?" He gestured helplessly. "Like... you're there, and you can feel it... even though you're not..."

"Sí, mijo," Héctor said gently. Miguel was afraid to look at his face to read his expression. "That… has happened to me."

Swallowing, Miguel found his throat suddenly tight again. He pulled his feet up onto the bed, leaned his head on his knees, and wrapped his arms around his legs. His voice cracked again as he spoke: "I wish it would stop."

In spite of what his parents had said, he still couldn't help but feel dumb for still being so scared, after all this time—for still panicking about someone who wasn't there anymore. For being afraid of someone who couldn't hurt him. And he couldn't even talk to anyone about it—he couldn't tell his parents, his living family. How would they ever understand? But... why would they even need to? Why couldn't he just get over it?

But slowly he was aware of a faint warmth in the air, despite the fact that it was November. Lifting his head a little, he found an orange glow surrounding him, and was momentarily afraid that he was being transported by petals again, as he had a year ago. But raising his head further, he realized... no, it wasn't marigold petals.

It was Mamá Imelda and Papá Héctor, cocooning him in a soft, protective embrace.

Part of him wanted to protest—tell them that he was fine, that they didn't need to worry like this. But that thought was soon quenched by the realization that, unlike his parents... they understood. They knew exactly what he had gone through, and exactly what his nightmares were about.

They knew that sometimes... he really wasn't fine, and they knew why.

"Does it... ever stop?" Miguel found himself asking, already dreading the answer.

"I don't know," came Héctor's reply, confirming Miguel’s fears. He spoke softly, though his voice had a rough quality to it again. "But... whenever it does get bad... go ahead and tell us."

Imelda nodded at his other side. "We won't always be here, but we'll help however we can."

"G-gracias." Finally uncurling himself, he felt warmth around him spreading into his chest. Even just knowing that someone else knew... it made him feel less alone. But... he turned to Héctor. "...Will you tell me, too, Papá Héctor?"

Héctor leaned back in surprise, but was clearly touched by the gesture. "Of course, mijo."

Swallowing again, he reached out, imagining he could hold each of their hands. Really he could only hold his hands near theirs, pretending to feel the solid bone beneath his fingertips. While he couldn't feel that, he could feel the warmth of their presence, and that would have to be enough for a long, long time.

The moment was broken by his mamá's voice calling from inside the house: "Miguel? Did you go to bed already?"

"Oh—no, sorry, Mamá!" Finally Miguel slid off the bed, rubbing at his face. "I was just... uh..." He glanced back at his skeletal grandparents, who nodded to him. "Taking a break."

He could hear his mother's footfalls coming closer to his room, as well as the cooing of his little sister. "Come back out here soon! My papá was asking if you would play another song."

"Coming! I'll be out in a minute!" He reached down to pick up his hat.

"Out into the fray, eh?" Héctor said, standing up off the bed. “Here—“ He stooped down to pick up the guitar, only to blink when he found the spirit copy in his hand again. "Oh."

Miguel laughed, picking up the guitar on his own. "I got it, don't worry."

"Are you going to be all right, Miguel?" Imelda asked. "They shouldn't make you play more music if you're not feeling well."

"No, I..." Miguel looked up at his great-great-grandmother, then turned to meet the gaze of his great-great-grandfather. "I... I'll be fine," he said, and meant it.

Then, noticing the spirit copy of the guitar still in his Papá Héctor's hands, he gave a mischievous grin. "I'll play them more music... but only if you can keep up with me!"

Héctor seemed surprised, but smiled all the same. "Can't pass up a challenge like that." He clicked the two ends of his prosthetic claw together before slipping a guitar pick back into its grip. "Let's see if you can keep up with me!"

"You're on!"

Feeling his spirits lifting, Miguel hurried out of the house, his great-great-grandparents just behind. When he saw the other spirits around the courtyard, he paused, his stomach momentarily jumping in terror.

But he felt a warmth on his shoulder, and he didn't need to look back.

His fear wouldn't go away entirely, but it no longer held him back as he lifted his guitar, and began to play.