#- are now objects instead. and whatever changes that entails

[wheucto]

an ii/su crossover would be fun just for the trichotomy of light-based beings. inorganic light/organic light/whatever the ii contestants are

[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme Post #17 Redone

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 2, The Clue, (Job minisode; Crowley has a permit)

...

Introduction

Well, I said I would decide when the time came, and the time has come. So fine, here we are. As I said way back on my post about Before the Beginning, I have a high preference for present day Crowley as it is.

The whole story and its set of games include various challenges, and the minisodes are no exception, especially when it comes to analyzing Crowley's hair.

Surprisingly, the present day sideburns are still broadly solvable without the minisodes. If anything, they are a guide for trying to figure out the minisodes themselves by telling an audience player to seriously consider the spaces as the hair changes.

I've already admitted these things are a bit over my head when it comes to these memories, but I'll go over the how and why of it a bit more.

A good place to start is The Magic Trick You Didn't See theory I've referenced before, most notably in Post #8.

Reminder, the core theory there is that the Metatron has access to the Book of Life and has been editing it the whole time. More to the point, he's been editing mostly Aziraphale's memories and maybe Crowley's as well.

Now, something I have not said explicitly in my posts from that theory is that the author themself says Good Omens 2 has bad writing in it, presumably on purpose.

Sorry, but it does.

You know what? I'm not a professional author or even much of a reader, but that resonates.

Their idea is that the bad writing is a clue that the Metatron is editing the Book of Life, and he is a bad writer.

Well, I still think the Book of Life is actually in that matchbox, but otherwise, the idea strikes me as quite plausible. Well, sort of. You really shouldn't be able to edit someone's memories. I personally don't think that's a good story-telling device. What's the limit? What are the rules? Why not just write the story exactly as you want it to play out or the person exactly as you want them to be? Unless it's a game?

But I'm not a professional writer, especially Neil Gaiman, and I do believe the "Crowley storming out" sequence is meant to be an obvious story edit.

But not by the Metatron. That was a team effort. This effort suggests the "rules" of such a game would then entail that the Metatron isn't allowed to be the only being that can edit the story (or memories).

The Earthly Objects game is being played, and this game is powerful stuff.

As I've said, Earthly Objects itself might be a book that is a game. So, combining these ideas, Earthly Objects might still then be a book that the Metatron himself can edit, instead of the Book of Life. He still has to play the game at the end.

And certain players of a high enough caliber can make their own edits.

Then we approach what I think is a tricky question for this story.

What is the character point of view?

This question feels like a trap because of the spaces acting like a point of view within the game. People are going to ask the question anyway, especially with this episode giving at least three hints as to who was remembering a scene and who is about to remember a scene.

But since the Earthly Objects game exists, the Metatron could be editing parts, and Crowley and Aziraphale themselves can also be editing parts, an audience player is going to have a very hard time finding the answer.

My understanding is that the memories we see aren't just a person's memories.

These memories are stories, and the spaces in these memories still have readings of Crowley based on various factors though those factors aren't so easily and plainly paralleled to the present day ones.

The stories themselves, I believe, are embellished and contain hidden messages between Crowley and Aziraphale, even if they have to deal with the Metatron intruding on those memories and trying to separate them in the end.

For whatever it's worth to anyone on the character point of view question, I do think Crowley is the closest thing we can have to that.

Aziraphale is the surface-level point of view and messenger.

Crowley is the layered-level point of view and messenger.

On my first viewing, the Good Omens 2 story felt more like Aziraphale's story. It was disappointing and felt quite lacking on Crowley's end of things.

But when I dug deeper and found the games, things changed. I can't see the extent of Crowley's point of view on the story without playing the games. I can't speak for other people, but that's how I feel. The story is amazingly and beautifully different with the games. Since I have played them, I do think finding 6 Threshold Tricks is a big deal, especially with my limited understanding of how much The Pocket Trick affects so much else.

The Threshold Tricks help make the bookend nature between Crowley and Muriel scenes stand out. In turn, Crowley himself having bookend solo cuts for the season stands out more too. He's who we saw first in Before the Beginning. He's who we will see last before the credits slide his cut over to the side and start rolling. He "pockets" the story before those credits start.

So, that's why I have a hard time with the hair in the minisodes and understanding the character point of view. I'll still pass along my limited understanding throughout these posts.

...

Episode Title

This episode has got some nerve being titled The Clue!

It has the first "touch" of The Bigger Thresholds Trick, two more touches for The Sunglasses Trick, and the first two touches of The Pocket Trick. The Pocket Trick starts this episode—The Pocket Trick!!!

The Pocket Trick is loaded with so many clues, such as the most likely place to discover the existence of the Tied Hands.

This episode also has a reflection of Aziraphale in Crowley's sunglasses as a clue for The Window Trick.

There's like 10 million clues in this episode!

If the challenge is to guess The Clue that is not the record but to pick the most special clue of the clues or something, my answer is the Pocket Frame touch point in The Pocket Trick, Triple Part 2. That Pocket Frame is for capturing the Green with the rainbow. It happens before Aziraphale even "proposes".

Here is the video frame in question:

I will go over it more when I get to that part of the episode.

But anyway...

I'm using Crowley's name as a general preference and figuring I can get away with it because the official subtitles do.

Images are brightened as I see fit.

...

Hairstyle Notes

Crowley's hair is shorter than what's going to appear later, but in this minisode, short does not necessarily trend human as it does compared to the present day storyline. It doesn't necessarily mean Crowley's point of view or Aziraphale's point of view either.

This length goes down mostly to his shoulders. When he bows his head with the scroll, some skin can be seen at the neckline of his cloak.

The hair is not just short though. The sides of Crowley's hair are more fluffy and curly than what's going to be shown when he has shorter hair around Job and Sitis.

What's worth considering about the space?

Earth is a lot younger.

This reading looks more like "open" because of at least two factors that aren't Aziraphale or the goats or Crowley himself.

There are no humans in this scene.

Not only are there no humans, there are no human-built or human-inhabited structures with thresholds visible. I keep looking in case I missed it somewhere, and I'm not finding them.

The space is wide, open, and vast. There is a ravine in the background.

I still can't find any humans or human-built structures.

I can find goats, water, plant life, and rocks. There is also a supernatural ball of fire active during most of the scene though it is not formed until after the scene starts and dissipates before the scene's end.

In this particular story within the story, a stronger curl or fluff in the hair is associated with what most closely matches a "supernatural" reading later when human-built structures are involved.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects)

Crowley touches one of the goats. Aziraphale touches a rock by eventually going to stand up on a specific one. Crowley touches the scroll.

Neither addresses the other by direct name though Crowley is addressed as "Demon" by title initially. The names said are Almighty God, Almighty, God, Satan, and Job.

Questions include "Ah, shall we begin?" and "Where was I?"

Time to pay attention to the pockets.

With the changed costume, there are no present day Tied Hands. However, quickly in their place are threads on Crowley's chest that form pockets over him already.

Crowley creates a pocket between himself and the goat just by grabbing it.

He is pocketed between goats just before he creates the large supernatural ball of fire. Not only that, he briefly crosses his left arm horizontally above his right arm when "Land of Uz" appears on screen.

With his right-side snake tattoo being more evidently visible on his face than in preceding cuts, Crowley crosses his arms upward, then uncrosses them as his means to create the giant fireball.

When Aziraphale shows up, Crowley creates pockets between his arms and his head before fully lowering his arms. As a general guess, that helps keep the ball of fire where it is above him.

The scroll itself creates a massive pocket over the landscape with a small opening between Crowley and Aziraphale themselves::

Crowley is maintaining position under his fireball until he unleashes it. It's like his own temporary supernatural roof.

Aziraphale is notably touching his own robe at times during the scene.

When the crows appear, they are visually pocketed between Aziraphale's and Crowley's heads.

My tangential reading to improve my play has me at finishing Pyramids by Terry Pratchett and starting on Guards! Guards!, which is the book I've found most commonly recommended for reading first instead of going by published order. Yes, I still chose publishing order anyway. Pyramids has a funny-but-cruel "short-handed" joke, which is not a pun I've thought of yet, so I'll be keeping it in mind.

I'm also on The Sandman Volume 2 by Neil Gaiman. I'm in the early part of it but The Threshold was heavily emphasized with the introduction of Desire, and I've been emphasizing thresholds as quite important for this Good Omens 2 story in my own theories.

...

Story Commentary

The opening immediately gives us a year, 2500 BC, with some film grain on the cut as a visual alert that we have entered a story within the story we are watching. This part also helps alert us to something like a movie and different than the sign boards used in season 1. Between Crowley and Aziraphale, Crowley is the one the story tells us who likes movies. He'll mention a "Richard Curtis film" later this episode and was at a movie theater while waiting out whenever Hell would come for him in season 1.

In other words, when looking for a point of view, that's a likely clue, especially since much like Before the Beginning, Crowley is shown first, and he is alone.

Once Aziraphale arrives, does the scene shift to his point of view?

If so, I think it's shared because the stories themselves are like coded messages written between the players, mainly Crowley and Aziraphale, with some potential Metatron invasive edits.

Due to the scenes with the kids later, it's possible the camera angles hint to the point of view, at least sometimes. So, if that's the case, I think that Aziraphale's POV on Crowley is at least the 3/4ths Crowley's left view of Crowley's upper body and face.

That's this general angle:

This particular scene is exaggerated in ways that remind me of a cartoon, such as the scroll rolling its way all over the vast space. That's a clue for someone figuring out the hair about the nature of the space too. That's the type of clue I would expect from Crowley instead of Aziraphale because again, between the two of them, he's the one who is known to watch cartoons.

The scroll appears from nowhere, and once dropped, it doesn't actually go anywhere in the scene itself either. It's not on the ground. It went into that same "pocket" dimension other cartoon items do when items are grabbed for the convenience of a scene.

This scene is a parallel to the closing scene of the minisode, which is far more serious in tone. That makes it the front bookend, or part of an outer pocket, to the minisode itself.

Aziraphale alerts us to how "unreal" the scene is by saying, "This can't be real". The line itself then has two opposing meanings. The memory story can't be real, or isn't quite real, but the contents of the scroll allowing Crowley to destroy everything Job owns is "real".

Hence, maybe things didn't happen this exact way back then, but the messages inside the story are still going to be real enough to hold value to the characters.

In the dialogue, Crowley at one point says, "I am a demon. Maybe I'm lying." I can't find the post I have in mind, but I know there was one where the author remarked that was a signal for Aziraphale's POV since he talks like that in season 1. When Crowley says, "Would I lie to you?" Aziraphale says, "Well, obviously. You're a demon. That's what you do." That tracks...except of course if this memory is how Aziraphale got such notions into his head to begin with. No one ever said the game was fair.

But POV aside, I feel it worth pointing out that this logic works under the premise of "correlation equals causation." As in, the statement implies because Crowley is a demon, he is a liar. With the Rule of Three in Earthly Objects, this logic will repeat two more times during the episode. It will also show that extremely similar literal statements can have strongly different contextual meanings. Here, it means Crowley himself is suspect. Later, it means Crowley was manipulative to use Aziraphale to get him into the mansion and reach the kids. With the concluding scene of the minisode, it will mean a lie to oneself as a shield for admitting loneliness.

As I prefer to interpret the story, Crowley is not a liar because he is a demon. Crowley is a liar because he uses deception as a strategy, for his own side. That can be part of his job as a demon or part of coping with his own existence.

I have to do a lot of questioning for correlation and causation to play the games in the story itself.

In trying to examine how the spaces read Crowley, a few things came up in my notes that are worth mentioning here.

Fire is a relevant element to Crowley himself and occasionally the only visible light source within a scene. That's almost true of this one. Presumably, there is a sun out there somewhere to light the day, but it's never actually shown on screen. Aziraphale's halo—or whatever that thing is surrounding him—also acts as a temporary light source.

However, while the supernatural ball of fire is actively in place, it is shown to affect the lighting on Crowley himself, making his red hair look all the more red, for example.

General reminder, that the quote on the matchbox shown in episode 1 refers to "sparks of fire". I've mentioned I think a lot of things already suggest that link between that quote and Crowley. Fire is going to show up repeatedly.

Another thing that comes up is...hats. Or, in this case, a headband. This headband itself actually changes within the spaces too. Why hats? Why head gear that's not just his sunglasses? Do I have to start paying attention to other head accessories like earrings and regular eye glasses? I don't know. I haven't figured it out. What I have figured out is that at the end of The Door Trick, a symbol of fire can be found to Crowley's right, and a hat worn by a relevant passing human can be found to his left. He is "pocketed" between these two things that keep appearing in the spaces of the minisodes as if they have some meaning. A hat-wearing human was behind him for another crucial part in the preceding cut of Crowley facing the camera.

These are things I can also find in a number of places in season 1 once I know to look for them.

I have mentioned that I suspect Muriel's helmet helps them somehow in their part with The Bigger Thresholds Trick and being unable to fathom how I could ever figure that one out. It's still true.

If I progress further, I will update accordingly as time allows.

Yet another thing that comes up is...roofs. Roofs?!

Yeah, roofs. I was very perplexed at that.

This game is a mind trip, let me tell you. I wrote it out in my notes about my confusion for why the story wanted me to figure out something with the roofs. I know I've seen the roof of the elevator when Crowley and Muriel enter. I know Crowley touches the edge of the roof to his car in The Window Trick.

After reviewing The Door Trick and The Door Catch yet again, but not finding whatever mysterious roof thing I thought I should, I decided to look at the ending credits.

I am not joking that I wrote this in my notes:

"Why am I saving and watching the credits when the elevator roof is still lacking? What does my subconscious sense as relevant that I don't? Is that what's happening? So confused."

And do you know what happened?

Here is what I wrote:

"This game is such a mind trip.

Unbelievable.

My subconscious knew to check that Crowley raised his head enough to make a fucking self-pocket of hair that can be seen in line with the roof of his car when Aziraphale smiles before they are both blurred and disappear from the credits. WTF.

Crowley narrows his eyes when Aziraphale smiles.

That's what my subconscious wanted me to find because of the roof thing!!!"

I can't believe this game!!!

Here's my post about it before publishing this one: If no one ever told you...

Alas, while I have found the fire-and-hat pocket for the end of The Door Trick, I really don't understand why this story thinks those things are worth considering or what they mean. I just know I found a pattern that I suspect is intentional.

Anyway, time to move on...

Muriel

(For reference: Bookend Buddies - Crowley and Muriel (Part 2))

The scroll minisode scene acts as a front bookend to Muriel's one and only minisode scene in the season. Muriel is wearing a headband with some gold. It is not the exact same headband that Crowley wears, but the similarity is nonetheless noted.

I went ahead and made a composite picture to look at both of them their headbands:

The scroll looks very similar to the one Crowley held that disappeared in the preceding scene. Meaning, it's a same-or-similar earthly object they each touch even though they have no other form of interaction during the minisode.

Both Muriel and Aziraphale stand the entire time. Muriel has a desk much like what can be found in the present day scenes, but they have no chair as Michael does. The desk has folders on it too. These things remind of me of the present day form of Heaven since Muriel had a desk and folders there too.

For pockets, Muriel makes one with their hand and the scroll, some pockets between themself and the desk, and some pockets with their own hands.

Satan is brought up in the conversation but not the actual demons working for him. That is to say, Crowley is not named specifically in this conversation.

Muriel has no interaction with Gabriel. The two are not on screen together during the entirety of episode 2. Aziraphale talks to Gabriel and Michael when not with Muriel. When a number of angels show up at the end, Muriel and Uriel are not among them. Whereas both Crowley and Muriel touch the scroll, it is laid out on the floor when Gabriel is on screen, so he never physically touches it.

Crowley's scene is the front bookend to Muriel's scene. Gabriel's scene is the back bookend to Muriel's scene. Meanwhile, Aziraphale is a common thread between all three.

...

That's it for this post. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI.

...

Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

[2percentsugar]

the trouble with being trans during a culture war is that i am just a guy

[reilliane]

Dawning ⊱⊰ Heizou

A/N: Finally, finally! Angst! Yes! GRRRR YEEEES (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و This is fluff to angst, so, dear readers, it's a journey ahead of you!

✤ she/her - ✤ t/w: mentions of blood/death/murder ✤ words: 7k

✤ To tirelessly run on and on, to the goal within reach(withyou)—that's all I ever wanted

At the advent of dawning welkin, under the aspect of the omnipresent, come.

For a second-grade detective that means to give him a 'greeting', she sure is flowery. Why can she not give a straightforward message that entails the coordinates of their rendezvous area, instead?

Why not even greet him in the police station like the rest did?

Ah, Heizou pockets the slip of paper with a growing smile. But that won't be intriguing, then.

It isn't like he has a hard time deciphering what it means, why, he already knows where the place is. So, as the message said, he obeyed.

“Shikanoin Heizou, correct? What is it that you aim for? I’ve heard all virtuous answers, so if your response is any similar, then I’ll be leaving.”

Huh, a shame. His answer does subsume virtue along with a few other things—preventing crimes by stopping them at the base; the root of evil—and is thus, virtuous and honorable… so that’s a no? Is it too common of an answer?

Well, he has another objective, too.

“Simple, ma'am,” he gives an avid thumbs-up, pairing it with a chuckle. “To be the greatest detective in Inazuma.”

The response he gets is rather lackluster, or, at least that’s how it seemed on the surface. He thinks that indifference is plastered on the girl’s face, he can’t be sure, for she’s cloaked in the shadows of the rising sun.

His assumption is proven to be true, however, when she finally chooses to saunter forward, visage becoming brighter enough for him to view.

“I see, come on, then. There’s already a case waiting, and drop the ‘ma'am’, we’re both of the same rankings. It’s [Name].”

She passes by—only to stop, [c] eyes flicking to assess him. He wonders what she’s looking for by staring him down; is she judging his mien? His gait, perhaps?

Whatever it is, she’s discerning him with a kind of scrutiny that’s telling of someone who does not indulge in flippancy.

“Oh, and about that goal of yours, I think it’ll be a difficult thing to achieve,” she adds, prompting him to blink.

He stills. Difficult?

“Why do you think so?” he presses, arms folding. He hasn’t had anyone tell him that it’d be difficult—even if he knows it himself—until now.

Color him intrigued!

“Isn’t it obvious?” the wind’s billow accompanies the effulgence of daybreak, coruscating with words that gleam with determination. [Name] looks past her shoulder, smile present.

It initially takes him by surprise, eyebrows arching at the slightest, feeling the upward pull of the corners of his lips. He’s not expecting to see a smile when just a minute ago, her gaze was the epitome of throwing knives.

“You’ll have to get through me first.”

Oh? He isn’t anticipating that kind of answer, either. Then, that can only mean that her prior evaluation of him was none other than a mean to gauge his very existence?

To discern a competitor.

“Well then, isn’t this just fascinating?” he grins, “My intuition tells me this will be quite the tale between us... Don’t you agree?”

After leaving Bantan Sango Detective Agency—previously an agency he co-owned—and along with it, the thrill of the crime chase provided by his previous partner, he thought that the new, clean slate supplied by the Tenryou Commission will be bland. Boring.

After all, statutes and rules of limitations encompass said Commission, something he finds tedious. As long as he gets the job done, then there’s no problem, is there?

That’s how he operated and that’s far from changing.

But he supposed that his stay now won’t be as leaden as he thought… not when apparently, there is also someone who strives to be the best of the best.

[Name] dismisses the grin she sees and walks off, “Better start moving, Shika. Before I steal the case under your nose.”

Shika? He is taken aback a little, but picks up the pace with a snort. That's even newer.

Underneath the witness of the golden sun, a spoken rivalry was born.

And a grey day never passes them by.

Deciphering the obscured, solving the plight—they are successful each and every time in each and every single case. No failure, just success.

They’re polar opposites yet, they never fail to not work it out.

[Name] is a stickler for the rules, expressing credence that such are the foundations of a concrete job, so she follows them to the tee. She reminds him of Kujou Sara.

Rarely does he join the rest of his peers in patrol, opting to pilot according to his own set principles, but he never fails to tag along when he sees [Name] patrolling on the job. For someone who works conforming to the rules, she’s surprisingly not the kind to enforce it to anyone else unless the situation calls for it.

It’s probably why he finds her presence to be so light and breezy.

Still, there are times when he presses her buttons on purpose; be it when he’s supposed to be in the station but he’s not and she catches him snacking on a dango and running away when he's caught.

Or when his presence is required in the court but he doesn’t show up so she has to take his place and present the credentials, only to have him enter the room at the last minute.

It is never not amusing to see her eyes narrow to a stern glare, then she’d ignore him for the next few days. Nothing lasting, of course, for they never really fought—and he makes up for his antics in plenty other ways, anyway.

“Come now, it’s my treat!” he ushers a stubbornly silent girl to sit down one time in Uyuu Restaurant, “My thanks for covering my patrol earlier. Also, did you hear? Yae Publishing House has this-“

“One tonkotsu ramen, please.” She’d cut him off, lips thinned to a straight line as he snickers, passing her order on to the chef before resuming his tangent, unbothered by her bluntness.

To any audience, they’d assume that the conversation is upsettingly one-sided. But he is more than observant, for although [Name] doesn’t respond as much as others, he sees the way she nods her head. He sees the various other nonverbal cues that implies that her ears are open.

She’s much more reticent that he gave credit for, but there are times when she’s saying sentence after sentence. Those moments, to expound on, are when she’s in a crime scene, when she’s presenting a detailed report, and anything relative to said subject.

He sees it, the gleam in her eyes—the fire that rivaled the sun when they first met.

He sees it whenever he finds her working on a case, mind encompassed around the conversation she’s having with a witness.

He sees it when they’ve bumped heads looking for clues, conveniently ending up on the same page.

It’s funny—by official means, they are never working together, for detectives’ cases are each to their own. Yet, somehow, they both still run into each other, solely because they’ve completed solving their assigned mysteries and are already jumping onto the next available one that’s yet to be assigned to any doushin.

On one hand, it’s a teeny bit exasperating… because how is he supposed to one-up her when their speed is almost the same?

On another hand, Archons above, he can’t begin to describe how exhilarating it is to go against someone on his level.

[Name] doesn’t always go by her intuition unlike him, she governs by solid pragmatism, by the facts and inferences she has collected. So when she comes across him one late afternoon on the search for clues, again, unsurprisingly, working on the same unassigned case as he is, he laughs at her words.

“I had a feeling I’d run into you again,” her arms are folded, eyes bearing the bright flame as she addresses him. “Shika.”

He pats his hands away, getting rid of the dirt for he has felt the ground a second ago, attempting to track a runaway criminal. The chase is still on, but that doesn’t mean he can’t spare a minute.

“You ‘had a feeling’?” he muses, “Finally relying on your intuition, I see?”

“No.” her usual bluntness causes him to smirk, “It’s just a fact, is it not?” That you will be here.

He doesn’t deny it.

Whatever they do, they always find the other on a mystery they plan to take for themselves. Since it’s unassigned, whosoever gets to its conclusion first will have their name penned as the doushin responsible for cracking the case.

His attempt to respond is thwarted by the sound of a snapping branch, and, frivolity forgotten, their gazes snap to the source—only to find a cloaked figure on the run.

It only takes them both a shared glance until they’re giving chase.

To anyone, it might appear that they’re running after the criminal—and it’s true—but if they are to peer closer, perhaps they’d see that the two are also endeavoring to run faster than the other.

Or maybe people won’t even think that they’re chasing after somebody, and are merely just racing.

After all, there are tiny smiles on their faces as they sped through the terrain, isn’t that enough evidence to infer that they’re genuinely having fun?

To his fortune, he has gotten to the criminal first, swift to tackle and apprehend in a blink of an eye. He can’t help that the winds are in his favor, though he must say, as he sees [Name] arriving just a couple of seconds later.

It’s no easy feat for a non-Vision holder to tail him that quick.

“Apologies,” he tugs the runaway upward and gives a mischievous smile, “But I win this case.”

[Name] shakes her head, shoulders slacked with a sigh. Her display of defeat is fleeting, though, for the fire in her optics are yet to burn out as she promises the next triumph to be hers. Heizou humors it with a buoyant ‘we’ll see’ and they part ways.

One step forward, never taking steps back—that is the road to becoming the best.

Time is flying and records are piling, stacked piece by piece with alternating names denoting two aspiring individuals with a similar goal. An ambition that’s only reserved for one winner.

The thrill of being in the race for it, to seize being the best with his hands yet knowing that there’s another set of hands reaching for it as well—it thrums his chest with excitement. No one has ever gone up to his level, no one but [Name].

He doesn’t fail to commend her expertise, unafraid to give warranted praise.

“But I’ll still be the best,” he’ll say anyway.

And she’ll just simper. “We’ll see.”

Kujou Sara is not fond of either of them acting like they’re on a stage to win, but couldn’t be bothered to reprimand them. For although they do race against the other, the cases they solve are taken earnestly—it’s no child’s play.

There are instances when they do intercept and clash, because although they are indisputably the greatest operating doushins aiming for number one, their method of operating is vastly disparate.

[Name] will sometimes restrain him when he’s bound to break a code of the Tenryou Commission, and he’ll rebuke her for it, arguing that going by his principles would be swifter—better. Sometimes, it’s true, sometimes not.

It has ceaselessly landed both of them in Sara’s office and then, it’ll be the only time the General will scold them. Not like it will change things, for each morning, she sees them there—always, always on the run.

Never to settle on a pace where they can walk together, side by side.

Perhaps it is the setback of a rivalry, Sara thinks once when she sees the pair sprinting toward the Omnipresent God’s Statue for the 13th time that month.

At the stroke of daybreak, chasing after each others’ backs, running after the end goal and the crown of victory, it is endless. One step ahead, always, either of them ends up being one step ahead.

Beads of sweat rolling down their temples, chests heaving after a long race—literally, though the finish line to be number one is yet to be visible—the dawning afterglow of the sky’s golden circle on their person, they collapse on the grass.

As expected, it still ended up being a tie.

They’ve forgotten how it’s come to this; having a literal race every day. It could’ve stemmed from the instigating glances they throw one another, or maybe the challenging huffs and passing comments, they no longer know.

“What are we even doing?” he asks with a tired chortle some time as they are splayed all over nature’s green blades.

It is barely audible, but he hears it anyway, the reciprocating sound of mutual amusement. “I don’t know, just running.”

Neither of them has won anything, or if they do, then the other is just as quick to snatch another point to land them both at another stalemate.

The incoming wave of dizziness from overexerting himself again becomes the least of his worries as he lets his arm rest on his forehead.

It’s nothing a good breeze can't fix and he does this, willing his Anemo to waft the coolest of winds to pass them by.

It didn’t even matter—that the sun is continuously glaring at them. The heat is subdued by the chill of the gales.

As much as it is vexing to be unable to win, he admits that having such a splendid contender for the best is nothing short of electrifying.

First, he worried that the custom of having to go against someone every day will be something he’d be quickly accustomed to- and so it’ll start to be bland, but as he smiles, he realizes that it isn’t the case at all.

Every single waking moment beckons the unremitting frisson within, pumped with the question of ‘I wonder what awaits me today?’, ‘What will we compete on this time?’.

It never fails to excite him—and [Name] never fails to deliver the element of excitement, either.

Both of their feats are famous in the police station.

It has come to the point that their colleagues are divided, rooting for either one to come out standing as the number one detective of Inazuma. A ridiculous proposal had even been raised; that they should just share being the best and be the greatest detective duo, instead.

That’s a direct no—they both know that. They aren’t partners, but rivals.

They never pay it any mind, but it’d be a lie to say that it didn’t affect them.

If anything, they only are fired up by it and they grew to compete about almost every single thing—and it would’ve been so nice, had they not been drawing a tie single time.

“You’re.. swift today,” he manages to quip through his heavy breaths one morning, after yet another race, “You haven’t gotten an Anemo Vision overnight, have you?”

“I haven’t. I’m just getting faster,” she sounds out of breath too, “Or maybe you’re getting slow. Better practice, Shika.”

Heizou laughs heartily, picking up the timid tone of vexation in her voice.

He understands her sentiments—how frustrating it must be, to vie against someone who is on the same level.

They’ve been at it for so long. The finish line is in the distance and yet, they’re running at it with the same speed. He reciprocates such sentiments and finds no problems with it.

A sworn rival, it has a nice ring. Never did he thought he’d be graced with someone as supreme as her—a compeer.

It makes winning the number one spot even sweeter. Ah, he can’t wait for the day to arrive.

“What happens to the loser?”

It’s a question draped with nonchalance, spoken at the time of dusk. Under the sun, atop the green grass, two people celebrate the success of another case and lament the failure of winning against the other.

Heizou is a little disoriented, both from the sprinting session that’s now a tradition between them, and the fact that it isn’t him who initiated the conversation. Blinking away the fatigue that prowls closer, he rests the back of his head under an arm.

They never really discuss the matter of their rivalry with such specifics, it’s only ever about winning, so he’s a little puzzled.

“Get up and try again.” His answer is dry and it’s far from being the greatest, but he means it. After all, titles can be transferred, can they not?

“What if they disappear without a trace after their endeavors?” [Name] is oddly interrogative and he notes that with a tiny bit of wonder and suspicion, not to mention her recent question.

“What if all this time, you’ve been competing against a ghost?”

Swirls of wind dancing around his fingertips, he snaps them away, cognizant of its lingering cold on his skin as he answers.

“A ghost? Impossible, there are always traces to discover. The lost will only remain as is if no one strives to find them.”

“Chase after it, then seize!” he beams, his answer dripping with earnestness. He fails to recognize the invisible rift growing between them, dividing them at long last for one to continue forward.

[Name] falls to the grass beside him with a sigh and he scoots over a little, making sure there is plenty of room. “Haven’t you thought of the reason why the moon can’t ever catch up to the sun?” she asks again.

At this point, Heizou is propping himself up to his elbows, leaning to the side onto his arms so he can gaze down at the [c]nette with inquisitive olive eyes. The smile on his face is still there, though it has gotten smaller.

He chuckles when the girl huffs away the curtain of his maroon tresses that tickles her cheek, ignoring her ‘move away, Shika’ with a teasing shake of his head.

“You’re strangely talkative today… is there any reason why? Not like it poses a problem, of course. I sort of like you better this way.”

[Name] rolls her eyes and gives him a slight shove. He falls dramatically back at her side, unmoving as though he’s surrendered.

“I'm kidding! Are you getting cold feet? Are you finally acknowledging my prowess as a detective and stepping aside so I can be the best? I’m flattered—”

“In your dreams.”

He laughs again, and the subject is dropped.

He laughs—but in reality, he’s befuddled. Concerned.

He sneaks a glance at his side and he sees his rival, her eyes are closed, taking in the sweet caress of his summoned winds that provides cool air for them both.

Nothing is out of the ordinary—yet his intuition insists that something’s amiss.

It gets him pondering on her question as they go their separate ways that time of twilight. He doesn’t have an answer.

His insufficiency to construct one is upsetting and it’s as if the universe is openly mocking him for it, because there he remains laying on the grass after [Name] left, watching the sun set on the west and the moon rise on the east.

Why can’t the moon ever catch up to the sun?

He thinks if it’s some kind of implication- or something else. He does not know and he keeps on thinking over it, tinkering with the gears in his mind until it’s not sunlight that’s bathing him, but moonlight.

He thinks and he thinks—but even an explanation evades him.

“Unbelievable… you slept here?”

He awakens to pretty [c] eyes peering down at him. There’s a small pout on her face, or maybe he’s imagining things. Regardless, he stifles a yawn and casually musters up a smile.

It’s surprisingly easy to hide the fact that he’s still hung about yesterday’s oddities.

“If I told you I actually just got here, would you believe me?”

She lifts her eyebrow, unimpressed. “Absolutely not.”

He laughs—the usual response to her bluntness—and grasps the outstretched hand that helps him up to his feet. With a nod, she turns, on her way to the police station as she does so every morning.

To see only the image of her back, walking forward, feels wrong. He’s compelled to reach out and hold her shoulder- or something- anything that does not involve having to watch her move alone.

So he does.

“Race you to the station!” he calls without so much as an alarm, darting past her with his tongue stuck out in her direction in mischief.

It must’ve caught her off-guard—for he isn’t one to simply drop by the police station no matter the reminder of their higher-ups.

Yet here he is.

“Shikanoin!” he hears her splutter and then came the steps that thundered to reach him.

One step forward, and he sees [c] run pass by. The sight raises a smile on his face and he speeds up, shoulders grazing hers as they race—once more, towards the finish line.

Just like this, he thinks as they both arrive at the station, hands slamming simultaneously against the wooden arch by the entrance.

Another tie.

Like this, in an unending race. Let us just stay like this. Mirth in all its genuine bloom flushes his cheeks with cerise as he throws his head back into another breathy laugh, finding joy in the way [Name] glared at him.

“You… That was uncalled for.”

“We still ended up tying, so it isn’t a problem at all, don’t ‘cha think?”

He doesn’t know when his view towards her changed—maybe it’s because of that one question she raised, or maybe it's when he listened in on her interrogating a suspect, he’s uncertain.

But nowadays, he finds himself pondering over how it’d feel to walk with her side by side instead of the usual ‘I’m-getting-ahead-of-you!’.

He finds himself enlightening the historical absurdities their fellow doushins—mainly Amano—raised about them being partners, but he never goes through with it. He isn’t all that fond of the idea.

Heizou knows more than anyone that at this rate, neither of them will win—it’ll be a perpetual competition for first place… and that’s how he likes it. A continuous chase of each other’s backs, aiming for a single destination.

Is there a need to be partner up with her, when they're already a pair competing for a single goal?

If there ever is an end, he deems that they’ll both reach it at the same time as usual. A tie, and they’ll repeat the chase over and over. And that… that is fine with him.

The mornings, afternoons, and twilights he run with her without end. All those, he wishes to never end. Will that be selfish of him?

To want the existence of his rival at his side, next to him, pursuing the invisible conclusion together in this unending contest.

To only continue moving forward, to only continue running, reenacting the very first time they leapt off with the eternal sun as their judge.

When she can reach for his back and he can reach hers as they sprint to their hearts’ content, that is the moment he seeks to eternalize.

“The disappearances haven’t let up at all, this is getting big. I need you to be meticulous with this, and be careful.”

It’s a highly complicated mystery—well, it isn’t a mystery, but a murder case. What’s missing are the victims, or rather, parts of them. Inazuma had been thrown into a turmoil of unease for good reason, though its citizens are torn.

The victims are criminals, deserving of such a fate, and yet, morals are strewn into conflict. For no matter the severity of a crime, lives are being dealt with.

There’s nothing exceptional to it other than the gnawing concern that [Name] has been more silent. All detectives are set on the case—so in other words, under official means, they’re working together.

So why is it that when he goes to her, it is as if she’s distant?

“Have you thought of the answer?” she asks on a moonlit night, the second night after everyone was assigned the case.

It’s like déjà vu. There they were on the grass again, only, it is not morning nor the afternoon, but the eventide. He isn’t summoning any winds for the night is already cold. Eerily cold.

Heizou is tongue-tied. The question from long ago, once more, it’s resurfaced.

And once more, he lacks an answer—but this time, he raises a question of his own.

“Do you?”

[Name]’s stare on his person is full and focused. It’s as though she is searching for the answer in his own eyes, to no avail. She looks troubled.

“I don’t know myself,” she sounds upset, “Isn’t it sad?”

“What is?”

She laughs, but it’s empty.

“Reality. Maybe the answer is because it’s meant to be that way.” She raises her hand the same way he did a long time ago, clasping on thin air skyward. “Chasing and running, but never reaching.”

The atmosphere is getting bleak. He doesn’t like it. (He doesn’t like her answer, either).

Playing by déjà vu, he raises himself to his elbows and leans to the side, wearing the same teasing smile, letting his hair tickle her cheek.

“I didn’t know you could be so philosophical… how enchanting.”

[Name] only scoffs and he laughs, not missing the timid dust of pink on her cheeks. “Is this your way of surrendering, perhaps—”

“Dream on, Shikanoin.” She tuts, though she doesn’t shove him away—to which his heart skips a beat at.

Of his own volition, however—he feels like he’d combust the longer he stays in such a close proximity—he is the one who moves away, falling back to the grass with a content sigh.

Despite the use of his full name, his worries fly the moment she rebukes his words. For it can only mean that she isn’t set on giving him first place—the race is still on, and that’s more than fine with him.

As he lay there with his rival under the moon, he muses again. Stay just like this.

“Congratulations, Doushin Shikanoin.” Kujou Sara is actually smiling. (It doesn’t seem to reach her eyes, though, but what else is new?)

That should also be a celebration of its own, but that’d mean taking away the celebration meant for him and the resolution of the troubling kidnapping slash murder case.

A case that he solved, by the way.

It’s his win.

Ah, the warmth in chest, blossomed by the prospect of emerging victorious—ah, how spirited he feels! With this in the bag, doesn’t it mean that he’s on a straight road to being the best?

He doesn’t seek promotions, no, only the sentiment. Of course, he isn’t just feeling happy, but relieved, too. At least now that the suspect was caught once and for all, there’d be no more missing people.

It took an unfortunate amount of time to track and apprehend the suspect, but Inazuma can rest easy now.

Excusing himself, he stretches his arms with a barely stifled yawn. The tiny tears that gathered in his eyes from yawning are blinked away.

It’s only five in the morning, he can definitely still knock himself out on his bed. No one would mind.

Goodness, how thoroughly spent he is.

Staying up the past few nights were worth it, however. They’ve all been utilized searching for tracks and hunting down the suspect, and he’s glad that it yielded a wonderful result.

Yes, at the cost of his sleep, but he digresses.

He honestly couldn’t have solved it without [Name], who also sacrificed her sleep to work tirelessly with him during the night.

When they got enough leads in the late hours, they had to part ways, because the evidence suggested that the criminal could be at two places at once. Ah, it’s very fortunate that it’s him who ran across the man, for he’s not one to resort to violence so easily.

The criminal surrendered pretty quick, too, so there weren’t any complications at all.

The moment word got out that the capture was a success, almost everyone that was dispatched had heard it, so it's a bit strange that [Name] didn’t come to the police station as soon as possible.

If she had been here, she would’ve been restless, watching Sara pen down the doushins assigned to the case and writing down the one responsible for seeing its conclusion; him.

He’d be lying if he mentioned that he didn’t want her there to witness this moment.

For even if they were rivals, they wish no ill matters towards one another, only acceptance. It is one of the many reasons why it’s so nice to compete against her—no harm, just ambitions and fun.

He knew that she’d congratulate him for catching the lawbreaker, so hearing none of it puts him at a state of unease. That, and the morning feels off despite having caught the instigator of distress.

Such a shame, and he’s up for cooking some katsu sandwich later, too… he would’ve invited her if—huh?

Heizou halts in his steps.

Now, he may not be in the police station that often, but that does not mean that he isn’t knowledgeable of its interior, as well as the offices and rooms that belong to each member of the Commission.

And right now, he’s seeing a whole bunch of his peers examining [Name]’s office. They’re almost upending the place, even!

At five in the morning!

His confusion is warranted as he enters the room with a quizzical look. His arrival mustn’t have been anticipated, though, for the men inside are jolting. They don’t look guilty, rather, they appear dismayed. A queer reaction.

“Doushin—” he can only continue looking at them expectantly after their inability to utter nothing but his title.

When silence continues to ensue, he asks them again—what are they doing?

The glances they throw one another drags him further into uneasiness. Something is off, something isn’t right and his intuition screams about the situation’s peculiarity.

For what reason do they—his colleagues—have to conduct a search?

At long last, one brave man he recognizes is Watanabe fills him in on the reason—and before anyone can blink, he has moved out of the office.

“It cannot be helped.” Kujou Sara states without batting an eye, without even needing to look at who has entered her office.

She busies herself with arranging the files on her desk, pausing at a few others that has the written name of a certain detective that’s been working with them for as long as she can remember.

“Just like you, [Surname] [Name] is an empty slate, we have nothing about her other than a written declaration and a sworn oath of loyalty. Though the latter is questionable now…”

Heizou cannot help the bafflement on his face as he hears the General’s words for himself, practically confirming what the rest of the officers have stated a while ago.

“Again, like you, there's only her name along with some biometric data the police station requires.”

Is this really happening? He can’t understand how—he can’t understand why.

For once, he is rendered silent, and Sara takes the chance to elaborate further, albeit with a tone that sounded as if she didn’t want to continue the conversation.

She’s conflicted, that much can be discerned, but how exactly she’s conflicted remains unknown.

“One of our detectives have found blood in her house as well as this. Since you solved the case, this ought to be familiar to you.” The opening click of a drawer is heard, followed by shuffling. Sara lifts a clear bag, brightened by the light source in the room and-

Heizou stiffens, lips pursing to a line.

The murder weapon greets his eyes, concealed away in the bag that the General later sets back into its place.

Sara clasps her hands together on top of the table, austere eyes of marigold fluttering halfway down as she continues her explanations.

“Our forensics department has uncovered an additional set of fingerprints on it. Other than the suspect, it has [Name]’s, too.”

The Anemo-user is at a standstill. Is he hearing her right? Are his ears deceiving him? It’s possible that this is just some kind of trick, right?

He ignores the ceaseless nibbles of trepidation, forcing out a laugh that sounded nothing short of believable. “General, surely even you can find this suspicious. [Name]—”

“It doesn’t matter, Doushin,” Sara scowls, “Other than the blood, there is nothing. She may be painted as a possible accomplice, but again, that doesn’t matter now-”

“Whatever do you mean?”

The words are leaving before he can even think to hold them back. He’s never one to interrupt his superiors, but this—this is sounding outlandish!

Frustration is far from grasping a hold of his rationality, but he has a feeling that the calm waters will begin to ripple soon.

It did not help that he lacked sleep, and a lack of sleep doesn’t bring out the best behaviors in a person. He’s yet to be the worst of himself—he has pride in his composure—because of his outstanding success about the case, but that’s quick to be buried.

Stepping forward, the smile is dropped from his face. Think calmly.

Heizou is almost ashamed.

While it is true that he’s close with [Name]—as close as any rival can get—it is also true that he knows little about her other than her love for tonkotsu ramen. He supposes that it’s fair, given that she doesn’t know much about him either other than his favorite food.

But right now, the circumstance of knowing only each other’s personal favorites after being rivals for more than a year and counting is a slap to the face.

Nothing but blood and the murder weapon in her house. Two solid evidences, yet, she’s already deemed an accomplice? A suspect?

It’s plausible, but there is another possibility and he’s inclined to favor it a bit better, no matter the morbidity of it. At least then, she wouldn't be the bad guy.

“I do not understand the need to be impetuous in declaring her guilty when in truth, yes, she can be a suspect—but she can also be a victim.”

Sara does not respond.

Heizou can’t handle the eye contact, it’s too much to bear. Too much time is being wasted when they can get straight onto piecing together facts and points in order to reach a proper conclusion.

The gavel awaits with a proper verdict.

He turns around, fists clenching and unclenching. He’s restless, but that’s fine, it’s just his nerves acting up over the absurdity of the situation.

If the rest of the detectives are hounding her office for a thorough search, then it’s safe to assume that they already have her in confinement.

“I’ll fetch her right away-“

“It doesn’t matter.” The General repeats with an edge to her tone, leaving no room for responses. It prompts the doushin to look back at her, confused.

Confused—until he learns of the reason why.

“[Surname] [Name] is missing.”

“What if all this time, you’ve been competing against a ghost?”

He hears her voice in the back of his mind and his throat goes dry—he can’t speak.

“How will we be able to deem her guilty or innocent if there are too little evidences and absolutely zero information about her?”

Sara is blunt. Ruthless, but she speaks the truth and it dawns unto him terribly slow. So, terribly slow for someone whose job is to utilize his mind.

As if the sentient universe is cognizant of the qualms within him, a chilling breeze crosses past—as if eluding to something.

A ghost all along.

It is not one to be understood in a literal sense (a spirit). Rather, ‘ghost’ is a kind of euphemism, a word to sugarcoat one’s lack of existence—in this case, [Name]’s existence.

Is this what she meant long ago when she raised that question?

Was she aware that such a day will come where she disappears with no one being able to find her?

Had she been insinuating—hinting it to him all along?

So many questions, there are so many questions, yet she isn’t here to sate his growing distress.

“No,” he shakes his head.

The Tengu visibly recoils, albeit it’s faint, and she echoes. “No?”

To her surprise, the Doushin looks at her without the usual smile on his face. There burns, in his olive green eyes, a fire that she knows all too well, reminiscent of the fire she sees in [Name]’s until it has died out.

“The lost will only remain as is if no one strives to find them.”

Heizou states, and Sara sighs, already understanding what it is he intends to do.

“I’ll find her.”

The door closes behind him and the General slumps on her seat.

She refuses to believe that Doushin [Name] is an accomplice, too, for as Shikanoin stated, it’s ridiculous. [Name] has been nothing but an upstanding detective in the Tenryou Commission with an ambition she seeks to fulfill.

But then came this case—and it’s been a slippery slope ever since.

It does not help that nothing rules to her favor.

She is missing, she has no records of anything, and her fingerprints on the murder weapon insinuates only the worst.

All collected and available proofs paint her in a bad light and though yes, she could be a potential victim, nothing but their—the Commission’s—personal opinion of her would serve as defense.

It is terrible, but it is what it is.

She can’t believe she’s lost a noteworthy detective, but she can’t begin to imagine how the other Doushin is processing it for himself. Deep down, Sara wishes that [Name] will be found—some have already been dispatched to search—so they can settle this and clear her name… hopefully.

But hope can only be of so little aid—for what is hope, but a mere sentiment?

If only such a thing can solidify into miracles, then the swirling dread in his chest would’ve been allayed.

But alas, it cannot, and he is forced to carry the weight of suspense as he runs across the streets of Inazuma.

He has only gone to [Name]’s house two times in the duration he’s known her—which is long—both to drop her off after a drinking competition. She isn’t a lightweight per se, but neither is he, though it still ended up with her almost getting knocked out.

It was a funny memory and he would’ve laughed, would’ve brought it up… if not for the present circumstance.

Heizou doesn’t know what to expect when he enters her house, a house devoid of any belongings and presence. It is barren, just as his colleagues said.

The blood stains have been cleaned up and there’s, well, nothing.

Not a single vestige. Not a single person.

It sounds so impossible—he cannot understand, he cannot wrap his head around this- this lunacy! Just hours ago when it was still evening, when it was still late in the night, he was with her.

They were working together, hunting down clues.

And now, just hours later, just after they’ve parted… she disappeared? All of a sudden, she is an accomplice? How can things slip so swiftly in a matter of hours?

Heizou is fixated strongly on his own beliefs and intuition; it just isn’t possible that she, out of everyone, can be an accomplice.

So he gets to work, exhaustion forgotten. He upends the whole place the same way he found Watanabe and co doing to her office, seeking leads and clues—anything.

But what is there to search for in an empty place?

A trace is all that he seeks, but even with the use of his elemental sight, he can find nothing in the house. Not even a strand of [c] nor a waft of her usual, flowery scent.

There is nothing. Not even a single furniture! It doesn’t even appear like a place that someone will live in- and he falters, stepping out of the door.

How will he start a search if he has no leads? How will he start a search, if he doesn’t know entirely who he’s looking for?

He refuses to believe it, but reality greets him—dawns on him like the sun.

It can’t be possible. But still, here it is.

He’s uncharacteristically weak in the knees, so he holds onto the threshold of the door to keep himself standing.

There are plenty of emotions all at once, a blunder of confusion and fear, sentiments he isn’t used to feeling. And it’s catastrophic.

The previously shrouded nightmare uncloaks itself before him; he will reach his hand forward—yet the person he seeks to hold is far from reach. Out of reach.

The back of the rival he is chasing is gone and he is running alone. It isn’t right.

Desperate is a word that’s rarely ever used to describe him, the ambitious, cunning detective with a cast-iron countenance.

But as he takes to the streets of Inazuma City again, sprinting with a single destination in mind, he is nothing short of desperate.

There is no one to witness something that was meant to be a part of the many routines in the city. No one to witness him stumbling past the Statue of the Omnipresent God, no one to witness him stand atop a cliff, alone.

Incomplete without another.

The skies are changing colors, transfiguring from the gentle blues to vivid yellows—and there is no one but him to see such a sight.

Everything feels cold, everything feels empty, and rightfully so. During this hour, he would be heaving breath after breath with a smile on his face, passing comments to the [c]nette who would be looking impassive as ever.  

And he is here, heaving, but there is no one with him.

It’s not possible, he argues with this horrific reality. It can’t be.

But he cannot run from the truth.

For the first time, he watches the sun rise from the clasp of the water far in the horizon without [Name] at his side. He feels lost.

And as the sunlight kisses his features, so comes the dawning truth.

Heizou stands at the finish line as the winner.

Alone.

It isn’t easy to wring himself out of the void of bleakness that has befallen after the day of [Name]’s disappearance.

Many in the station thought that his competency will face a drop, so they were stunned when it did not.

In fact, to everyone’s surprise, Shikanoin Heizou worked twice as hard, seizing the best outcome out of everything. Troubled he may be, he could not let it hinder the problematic cases he needs to resolve, too.

He can’t find it within him to stop visiting the place he frequented with her, so he doesn’t get rid of it in his routine. It’s a little difficult to adjust, a little painful, but he manages.

Piling records, stacking cases, passing years, and a disappearing name... Heizou is reminded of her every single time he finishes a case and every single time his name is written as the doushin responsible for it.

Everything she was once to everyone—to him—is quickly dissolving into a memory, and it hurts to accept such a fact.

The Vision Hunt Decree took his mind off of it for a while, but after that was resolved, things fall back into place.

It does not help that he was a part of the team that took away the Visions that used to be inlaid upon the Statue of the Omnipresent God.

Beneath its regard, he feels so out of place, so lonely. It makes him laugh as he stands close to it, reminiscing a morning of long ago. He stays there, waiting for the sun to rise with earnest patience. It has become a part of his routine, his life.

He hears voices all around, evident of the passing minutes and hours, evident of everyone’s waking moment. All are given no such attention—that is, until he picks up on something that causes his breath to hitch.

“Where did you hear that name?”

Frazzled and a little bit bewildered, his eyes fall onto none other Traveler and their floating companion. He smiles, as per usual, but he cannot find the strength to do it as brightly as they’re probably used to seeing.

“It’s Heizou! Oh, and- uh! We just heard it in passing…” that’s news to him.

Interests piqued, the pair—seeing them, he almost feels envious, though he feels more lonesome, instead—saunters closer, eager to learn more. “You seem to know this person, Heizou? Who is she? The people we talked to seem to put her on a pedestal!”

He’s relieved—it isn’t just him who remembers, yes. Plenty of people have been helped by her and even if she appears austere, that is not to mistake the kind heart she possesses.

The smile he brings to his face this time comes easy. He turns to them, more than willing to sate their curiosities.

Who is the best to approach with this other than him?

“Well, you already know it! [Surname] [Name].” he chuckles at the immediate annoyance that flies over the pixie’s face.

Paimon stomps in midair, much to the Traveler’s embarrassed chagrin. “No! We meant who is she to you, a friend? Were you besties or something?”

He crosses eyes with the Traveler, golden eyes mirroring the same interest. Ah, if they’re that eager to know, who is he to deny them the information?

“Ahaha! Alright, alright…” his voice becomes quiet, “Mm, who is she…”

A friend… hm?

For that moment, it doesn’t matter to him if he appeared out of character, out of the usual jubilance he expresses. He thinks well about the question, holds it close to his chest that blooms with warmth.

“Well, we certainly were the best.”

Never did he think he’d utter the words—to share the place of the best, but it matters not any longer.

The race has ended and even if he has crossed the finish line alone, he wills himself to envision that he ran past it with a blur of [c] at his side.

As it should’ve been.

His chest clings unto a mix of nostalgia, sadness, and joy. Still, he manages not to drop his smile.

It is the chase that hasn’t ended. He’ll keep on running, looking forward, whatever it takes, searching for the ghost haunting his memories. Time has folded on and on yet he remains empty-handed.

At this point, the name has dissolved from everyone’s—but a few, he supposes—memory.

At this point, his ambition has reached merit; it is his name that rings from everyone’s lips, the best detective in Inazuma, yet to him, though it is fulfilling, it simultaneously sounds empty. Pyrrhic.

“As expected of my partner...”

If she’s here, her eyes would be wide as Paimon and the Traveler’s. Then she’d go, “Hey, who said we’re partners, huh? I’ll beat you, Shika, watch your back.”

He laughs at the idea of it.

Heizou’s smile becomes wistful as the dawning sun graces him of another morning, another day to spend dreaming of an idealized past that could not be eternalized.

At this point, he no longer knows if the one he is chasing after is truly gone—much like a ghost—no longer knows if he’ll be able to extend his hand towards her back that’s supposedly within reach, and dart past her as always.

He doesn’t know, but he will keep on moving forward because that’s what their race was all about—to move forward. To move on.

Maybe, conceivably, possibly—she is still running, and he’s yet to catch up, that’s why he must run.

So that when he’s finally able to reach her, see her, under the same sun, wherever she is…

Heizou looks at them and grins along the skip of his heartbeat.

“The greatest rival I ever had.”

Then, together with [Name], he’d gladly cross the finish line again.

a/n: haaah :') a mysterious rival who vanished in thin air, whether MC is guilty or innocent, no one knows. and heizou is left all alone to be the best- though he's gone through some period of acceptance, hasn't he? though he says he's the best, he includes MC too 🥺 oh MC, MC, where art thou MC come back to him 😭

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021 @coco-goat-milk

[katsura369]

Kunoichi amongst Pirates Sneak Peek

Summary:

Sakura just wanted this war to end, for her teammates to be able to smile together again. Instead, she wakes up in another dimension, loses her ability to swim, and becomes shrouded in more mystery than she cared for. Now she aims to travel the Grand Line, with the oddest crew mates and their eccentric straw-hat captain, in hopes of uncovering answers. But there are forces that conspire at every turn.

Will the kunoichi be able to handle the life of a pirate?

In war, there is no way to be fully prepared, and while what happens revolves around a myriad of factors, each individual will play an instrumental part in their own salvation. At the same time, they had to operate as a united front to face their enemy, which was the best chance to win the war, even if it meant losing a few battles in the process. Sakura understood that as a shinobi she was going to have to play her part and pay her toll.

 She just didn’t realize what that would entail.

 Already their numbers had been outmatched by the enemy and in terms of power, they were under the meter. The biggest blow was having to face their comrades that had passed, it became a matter not only of strength but of the heart.  Bringing back the dead shouldn't have been possible, but It didn't settle there either, separate divisions had to gather whatever forces were left and join hands in what was meant to be the final battlefield.

That's when the true dangers reared its head. Chakra beasts, dead legends returning to either aid or destroy, and that was just the appetizer for the greatest threat. Kaguya Otsutski.  

 A woman of white, with a presence that swallowed you and the true end goal of this war. Her power was beyond anything any mortal could imagine, to drain chakra from others, and take whom she decided to different dimensions against their will.

She was a force beyond anything else in this world and if they failed to stop her, then it would be the end of it all.

 After years, Sakura, Naruto, Kakashi, and Sasuke were united as a team, but of course, it had to be under such dire circumstances where the desires and goals of the individual were a thread in comparison to the tapestry that was about to be burned away by this monstrous being.

 Though there were small contributions, the only ones who had the strength and the means to stand against Kaguya were Sasuke and Naruto. Only they would be able to seal away this woman once and for all and keep the world from falling into her grasp. But it was not easy against this power, despite their best efforts and skills, this was not a battle that whit and ability could win alone.

It was fortunate that Kaguya had preservation about killing them, or the battle would have ended long ago.

 It seemed that patients were limited. Sasuke and Naruto just needed an opening to bring the seal onto her, then she would be powerless. Though the objective was clear, the obstacles were a great hurdle to overcome.

 Several dimensions had been jumped through, Sasuke and Naruto were deliberately separated and once they were brought together, Kaguya attempted to change tactics, wanting to kill the incarnates, but was prevented, saved by Obito in exchange for his own life.

 Not long after Naruto was finally able to give a powerful blow to Kaguya, severing her arm that held Black Zetsu,  Sasuke and Naruto knew this was their chance to strike but Kaguya wasn’t giving in easily though, her hand stretched out as she hovered above them. A door of black opened.

 By now they knew that this was the power of opening windows into another dimension and how she was able to travel through to those different places. This time however she only made the entrance big enough for her hand to go through and everyone was on alert, waiting to see if she was going to perhaps attack them from that distance by opening another window near one of them.

But their fears weren’t realized.

 “Are you truly resorting to that?” Black Zetsu called from below, still tucked into Kaguya’s sleeve, but pinned under the barbs that Naruto stuck into him after her arm was removed.  

 “It’s the only choice,” Her hand came out of the darkness, and with it, a spherical object, green tinged with violet that spirals all over creating paths around it.

 Black Zetsu narrowed his beady eyes, his wide mouth turning down in disdain. He didn’t want her to have to devour such a thing. That had been hidden in another dimension for good reason. But he knew that with it, she would be able to achieve their goal.

 “With this, I won’t have to lose their chakra,” She wouldn’t allow them to seal her away this time. Even if they were together, she would make sure that they gave back the chakra they were bestowed.

 She brought it towards her mouth.

That’s all! The rest of that chapter will be coming out on 30th of October on (ao3, fanfic.net, wattpad, quotev) Just look up Katsura369 to find me!

Available now for ko-fi members only.

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

Cassette

Just something short and quick and unrelated to WotQ^^

When he left the Dispatch, he did not take much with him. Just the clothes on his back, his scythe, a locket on a chain – and a tape recorder complete with a single cassette and a set of batteries.

In a world filled with objects from both past and future, the cassette deck had caught his interest the most. Humans were always able to preserve what they saw in images and paintings, but it had taken much longer to catch and capture sound. And while cassettes were not – would not be – the first or last objects used to store and replay sound, he liked them the most. He liked the spools and how they allowed him to roll the tape back and forth, roll it from one reel to the other. He liked to watch the tape’s movements which were just like a film’s or Cinematic Record’s. Only, this time, he was the full master of it; he could choose what to capture and store and what to leave out. The rollers’ teeth reminded him of cogwheels, and when he put his finger in them and turned softly, he felt like he was part of the machinery.

When he had first seen the tape recorder, he had taken it without much thought and kept it with him ever since. He grew to like the feel of it in his pocket and the reassurance the recorder brought with it: If there was ever something he wanted to record, he would have it right there and ready.

He had reached for it many times before ultimately choosing to leave it in his pocket. Whatever he would record had to be truly important. Only there was nothing important in his life anymore. There had not been for a very long time.

Like that, the years passed. Day by day, he reaped souls, feeling the cassette deck in his pocket and the silent hope it radiated. Maybe, maybe he would find something to record with it one day. Maybe, maybe he would find something to live for again one day. Something to store, hold close, and never let go of.

One day. One day.

And the days turned into weeks, spun into months and years – and the years blew out his hope until only a spark, an ember was left. Day in, day out, he had been collecting and collecting souls without pause, without reward. Where was the forgiveness he had been promised? How much longer did he have to keep on going like that? He had done this for so long already. Had given so much already and never received anything in return. And when the thread of his patience had been worn away to nothing and crumbled, he decided to leave fighting and taking apart what he helped to build.

He stepped out of this life and into another, shed and burned his Dispatch clothes for a mortician’s uniform. It was almost the same. Again, he worked with death, but instead of taking from the dead, he gave something to them – a restoration, a funeral, a kinder farewell than the one he was used to. And although he still worked in the shadows, he was not invisible anymore.

He used to take souls and then leave the bodies where they were, barely seeing the aftermath, seeing the pain and despair of the dead’s loved ones. Now, he did and saw it all. The glassy eyes, the silent cries, the faraway gazes, and the trembling hands.

And the sadness and joy and fresh tears when he presented them the prepared bodies.

No one had thanked him in his old job; they would not have if they had known. Now, they did, and it was such a strange feeling to receive something in return. Despite all that his work entailed and what they thought of him, they gave him their gratitude.

He thought about recording every “thanks” he was given, but he could not bring himself to take out the cassette deck and press the button. It was not quite right yet. Those moments were too fleeting, their frequency too high.

But the gratefulness of his customers’ relatives and friends kept the ember alive even if it did not reignite it.

Again, the days passed, evolved into weeks and months and years. This time, they did not wear him down, though the sight of the world changing and moving made him melancholic. Everything around him moved on while he stayed stagnant – a fixture in an ever-changing, ever-moving world. And the world moved and moved…

…and moved her to him.

The day she had first entered his funeral parlour was etched into his memory. Despite her small stature, she had filled out the room with her presence. And soon she filled his life too and set the ember ablaze.

There was so much to her, and she pulled so much out of him and he out of her. They had so many shields and layers, and together they broke them down, unleashing long-forgotten laughter and joy. They were so similar in a way. They both worked from the shadows, were both grateful for the company, grateful to be seen as they were and not as they were perceived.

Even when he was alive, he had never felt so full of life as he did when he was with her. Being with her was all the reward he needed.

She filled his life with purpose, filled his days with light – and filled his cassette with sound.

It was a miracle that it still worked; he must have kept it well and he could not be happier. Now and then, he would take it out, press “record,” and let the machine take in her words. He was collecting snippets of her, stealing away fragments of their conversations, weaving them into a rag doll band.

“What is this for?” she had asked the first time he had taken out the cassette with shaking, excited hands.

“To store sound,” he had told her. “To store you.”

“And why would you do that?”

“To have you with me even when you’re away,” he had said before pressing the button. Her amused voice saying “You cannot get enough of me, can you?” was the first bit the cassette had ever recorded. He could still see her shake her head and smile whenever he replayed it.

Bit by bit, the cassette was filled with her, with them. 90 minutes, 45 on each side, every minute filled with so much love and warmth and laughter, teasing and the beginning and end of arguments.

He wished it was longer, the tape’s time, their time.

He pressed the tape recorder against his chest, against his heart when her voice died out mid-sentence for the second time.

The day she had left his life was etched into his memory too.

He had not captured her last words with the cassette, there had been no space left, no time left; his mind replayed them instead. Again and again. The weak “I am so-” that had passed her lips while he had held her and her blood had seeped into his clothes.

***

It took years for him to obtain more batteries. He had gone to great lengths to get objects from the future again. Not only for this; they were mainly for another endeavour.

Like the day he had first pressed “record,” his hands were shaking and his heart was racing in excitement when he pressed “play.”

“- Cedric,” her voice resumed that second cut-off sentence.

One day, he hoped she would resume the first.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello! I haven't really been in Johnlock scene, but I suddenly had a MIGHTY NEED for mutual pining between the two, and your fic recs delivered in the best possible way. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing so much about these two! (and now it seems I'm lost to Johnlock, send help, but not really, this is awesome)

Hi Nonny!!

AHhhhh thank you for your kind words about my lists!!! I’m so happy you enjoy!!

You’re in luck, my friend!! I have a Part 2 list of my Mutual pining fics with enough to start a new list, so here we are!! Also, if you’re interested in exclusive pining, I’ve a part 2 to my Pining Sherlock list in its final stages of cleanup, so keep an eye out for that one!! <3 Enjoy!!

MUTUAL PINING Pt. 2

See also:

Mutual Pining Pt 1 

Pining Sherlock || [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

Pining John

One Sided Pining

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour (M, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fix It, Five and Ones, Drinking, Pining, Second Person POV Sherlock, Armchair Sex, Cracky and Fluff, Sherlock’s Imagination, Happy Ending) – 5 different ways it all could have gone + the one way it actually works itself out.

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

To the Nines by suitesamba (M, 2,724 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Magical Realism, Pining, Angst, John Whump, Time Travel, Fortunes, Time Jumps) – John skips forward in time, and Sherlock reads the signs that point to nine. John knows he’ll eventually be with Sherlock, but the waiting is nearly impossible, and his body is a lot more than transport. A foray into magical realism where all the canon events occur, and a hell of a lot more.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

Apodyopsis by QuinnAnderson (E, 3,347 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Anal, Sexual Tension) – Apodyopsis: (æpəʊdaɪˈɒpsɪs) noun. the act of mentally undressing someone. Part 2 of Undressed

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Sleeping next to you by Salambo06 (E, 5,018 w., 2 Ch. || ASiB Fic, Bed Sharing, Frottage, Mutual Masturbation, Rimming, Anal, First Kiss/Time) – Based on an Anonymous Prompt: "So, that scene from ASiB when Mrs H has been attacked by the American CIA guy & John, Sherlock & she are in Mrs H's kitchen when John says "She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her." to which Sherlock replies with "no". John of course suggested that because he cares about her safety, but maybe he also did it cause he /wanted/ that to happen. What if they finally agreed on letting her have John's or Sherlock's bed & J&S sleep in the same one?" Part 12 of Tumblr Collection

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) –  When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

Time on my hands by Mildredandbobbin (M, 7,179 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S3, One Night Stands, Mutual Pining, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Sexual Exploration / Discovery, Desperation, Body Worship) – Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.

Unwasted by patternofdefiance (E, 8,966 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3 / S3 Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Angelo’s, Fluff, First Time, Anal, Cum Play, Flashbacks to ASiB, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Bottomlock, Cuddles, Multiple Orgasms, BJ’s, Bed Sharing) – John finds it three months after he's moved back. He's on the hunt for something to make for dinner, is scrounging through the cupboards, when he happens upon the graveyard of pasta boxes Sherlock still seems to create when left to his own devices. Behind seven boxes of pasta, all almost completely empty, is a dark-glassed bottle, with a paler coat of dust.It's unopened. John's face falls slack when he sees it, instantly recognises it, and for a long moment he just stands and looks at it.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Traitor's Gate by roane (E, 17,714 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mystery, Bets and Wagers, Undercover for a Case, BAMF John, Scientist Sherlock, Teasing, Established Relationship, Military Base, Sexting/Texting, Military/Uniform Kink, Frottage, Dirty Sex, Anal, Bottomlock) – John and Sherlock go undercover at a top secret government lab to find out who is selling research. John is back in uniform and Sherlock is back in a laboratory, but they have to pose as strangers. Sherlock thinks he'll have an easy time of it, but John has his doubts. It's up to them to find out who is responsible for putting a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, and try to keep their hands off each other at the same time.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock's body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn't as sure...

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

Sentenced by SarahKnight (T, 44,777 w., 30 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Alternate S4 Canon, Drama, Angst, Pining, Feelings are Hard) – Virtual series 4 opener. Sherlock's in prison being targeted by a murderer, John's married to a pregnant assassin and Moriarty's back.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w., 28 Ch. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place

[bellygunnr]

Of the Same Steel and Temper

John regarded Dr. Halsey calmly as she revealed the information he already knew-- Project MJOLNIR was entering its final stage, and he was a player in its execution. He doesn’t even smile as she continues to talk, only resting his holographic hand on the hilt of his holographic blade, allowing bits of his code to fritz together as he ran operations elsewhere. He was rather proud of his latest bit of detective work. Infiltration was his specialty.

Not that he enjoyed it, but he did like showing off his prowess in all tasks.

“I’ve already selected my teammate,” John announces, cutting off Dr. Halsey.

She stops short, raising an eyebrow, but expression otherwise unreadable.

“And who have you selected, John?” she says patiently.

John unsheathes his blade with a flourish and points theatrically at a picture frame on the corner of Dr. Halsey’s crowded, messy desk. In the picture, a single woman stood at attention while an Admiral-- Stanforth, he notes-- pinned the UNSC Legion of Honor to her chest. Her expression was relatively schooled, but a mischievous brand of fire shone in her eyes, permanently captured in eternity by the photo. He didn’t have to look at the other citations and medals weighing on her chest to know that she was well-accomplished.

A moment passes. When Dr. Halsey doesn’t say anything, seemingly unable to recover, John forges on.

“Master Chief Petty Officer Cortana-117,” he says, weighing each word carefully, “is a highly accomplished and experienced Spartan. I’ve taken the liberty of researching her thoroughly and I like what I’ve seen. As I speak, I am already calculating our compatibility and… find them within acceptable parameters.”

“It seems you have made up your mind, John,” Dr. Halsey says slowly. “But are you sure?”

“I do not dwell,” John says seriously. “She seems to know how to take action. I can appreciate that in a body.”

“But you know she excels particularly nowhere in terms of physical or mental prowess, yet is the most willingly to undertake risks. She got that medal by attacking Covenant head-on and saving Marines in the process.”

“I am aware. Again, that is something I can appreciate in a body, Dr. Halsey.”

John had wandered off from his holopad to stand inches away from Dr. Halsey’s face. His sword is back in its sheathe, hands clasped firmly behind his back. Under the lights, his ancient Spartan armor glitters emerald green and fire yellow, body rapidly shifting between the two colors.

Despite his level best efforts, his emotions tended to reveal themselves. He was tense and excited but most of all, determined. He would have Cortana as his teammate.

“And what of a mission if she were to become compromised? What would you do if she could die?”

John immediately tenses, his holographic form flashing a brilliant ruby red. A second later, it washes back into his neutral dark green, swirling across his stout frame in ragged bands of hue.

“I don’t think you should ask me questions you are not prepared to answer yourself, doctor,” he replies, affecting a flat tone. “You insult me.”

AI and human stare at each other. Dr. Halsey seems flustered, her thoughts visibly racing behind steely eyes. She cuts one last look at Cortana’s photo before allowing her demeanor to shift, conceding defeat with just a tip of her head.

“Very well, then, John. You can have her,” Dr. Halsey says. “Now, what of the rest of the mission?”

---

The differences in the new model of armor ranged from subtle to obvious. It was definitely heavier, but the modification of her neural implants made the weight negligible. If she was feeling generous, she might even say she was moving faster in this armor. There was also the addition of the shielding-- a shimmering electric layer that reminded her of oil spills on pavement. Iridescent and full of color, but dangerous.

But there was one more thing-- the second major change they had given Mjolnir. So far, it hadn’t come up at all, overshadowed by the shields. The shields were fantastic (as long as she didn’t slip and fall), but it was high time they moved along.

She cocks her head wordlessly at Dr. Halsey. In reply, Dr. Halsey withdraws something from her bag.

“Your own neural lace has been upgraded to better interact with the armor, as you may know,” she starts, “but it also it interface with an AI. A layer of memory-processor super-conductor has been added between the reactive and bio-layers of your armor.”

Cortana nods once. “The same stuff found in an AI’s core?”

“Correct. Your armor will be able to carry an AI-- the same kind that starships house. John will be able to interface between you and the suit. His primary objective will be to provide intelligence support while you’re on the field.”

“What does that entail?” Cortana says, tilting her helmet.

She liked AIs. They were useful and often had personality. She wasn’t sure about sharing her armor with one, however. John wasn’t even impressive name-- who went to all the trouble of making an AI just to name it John?

“John has been outfitted with the best of ONI’s computer infiltration routines and software. He is also equipped with Covenant translation programs. He’s also quite resourceful, but his specialty is, essentially, spywork,” Dr. Halsey replies.

Hm. So this John would be the AI they brought with them, should the upcoming test go well.

“How much… jurisdiction will he have over the suit?” she asks cautiously.

“None. You will have full control of it at all times. John will only be reading and translating the link you have between your brain and the suit-- and improving upon it, so expect that whatever you’re feeling now to be multiplied.”

Cortana liked the sound of that. Real-time intelligence data and greater physical performance? She would be unstoppable. Provided they got along, of course. But everything Halsey was telling her just raised more questions, but before she could ask, Halsey started talking again.

“I’m afraid we only have a small window of time. Please, kneel down so that we may insert the AI into the suit.”

Obediently, she takes a knee, bowing her head to expose the chip’s slot. There’s a moment of hands flicking something open, then a rush of ice water and pain jolts the back of her neck. The sensation trickles like water down the length of her spine before dissipating, leaving her strangely… the same.

Then the AI spoke, and everything was different.

“Hello, Master Chief,” a deep voice said. It was slightly raspy and reverberated in the suit’s speakers.

“Hello, John,” she answers, eyes wide. “Got enough room in there?”

“Not nearly enough. It will do… Thank you for asking.”

Oh. Well, at least he was honest. It was probably difficult to jam the processing power of a starship into the fractional space of her Mjolnir, though she had to wonder how he was compensating for it.

“Let’s begin the test. The conditions have been changed to involve combat-- not ideal, but it should provide ample opportunity for you two to become acquainted. The “win” condition of the test might be familiar to you, Cortana.”

“Ring the bell?” she guesses wryly.

“Indeed. Be careful, and be wary, Master Chief. I hardly need to remind you to be prepared when ONI is involved, but I will say it anyway. You are also authorized to neutralize any threats to accomplish the objective.”

Then Dr. Halsey leans in, voice low, worry lines etching deep into the contours of her face.

“Some would like to see you fail this test,” she says. “See that you don’t.”

“No, ma’am,” Cortana agrees.

Dr. Halsey nods once, then turns on her heel. Just before exiting the tent, however, she looks over her shoulder to stare into Cortana’s face plate, flanked by technicians.

“The second I leave this tent, you must count to ten. After that, make your way to the obstacle course where the bell will be located. And be careful,” she adds, voice firm. “Good luck.”

Cortana resists the urge to salute Dr. Halsey in jest. Instead, she shakes her body out, getting the feel for the armor one more time. As she wiggles her fingers, she hears the metallic clack of weapons from outside the tent.

Her HUD shimmers. The proximity tracker immediately lights up with yellow blips that turn red on the next cycle.

“Assume that all units are hostile,” John says. “The targets are equipped with MA5B assault rifles. Be prepared for my participation.”

“I hope you participate,” she says dryly. “What do you think about this? We’re engaging our own soldiers.”

Eight.

“We’ll win, but I am more excited to see how you handle this,” John says, a hint of emotion slipping into his gravelly voice.

Nine.

Cortana flicks her eyes across the walls of the tent, noting the surprisingly clear silhouettes of soldiers moving outside. She didn’t enjoy facing off against UNSC personnel, especially when they weren’t Spartans, but she never had a choice. Her apprehension only spikes when the shadowy figures become real, breaking into the tent with guns already brought to bear.

Shock troopers. ODSTs, to be exact.

Ten.

The center Helljumper opened fire on thin air. Cortana dove from her elevated platform before his finger could depress the trigger, but she didn’t target him right away. She ripped the rifle out from his port-side buddy’s hands and winced at the unmistakable sight of a shoulder dislocating. Still, she cracks the butt of the rifle across the lead’s chest before turning on the third, suddenly aware that she was in “Spartan Time.”

To her, the third trooper was moving in slow motion, still caught in the throes of reacting to his companions’ defeat. She rips his gun out of his hands and shoves him to the floor, biting back a sigh at the sensation of ribs cracking.

This suit was definitely a step above the last mark. If she didn’t want to hurt them, she’d have to restrain herself even more.

“That’s an odd notion,” John says suddenly. “You have been ordered to neutralize the targets. Why not kill them?”

Cortana frowns as she bustles out of the tent. Immediately, her motion tracker updates with seven more yellow blips that flash red. If she had to hazard a guess, John was forcing the suit to acknowledge the troopers’ FoF tags as ‘foe.’

Interesting.

“John. I think that might be murder.”

“We do need every soldier available,” he concedes.

The tracker’s blips appeared to be concentrated in another on-site tent. On the far side of the tent, she witnesses an ODST peek around the corner for three full seconds before abruptly withdrawing. A thrown grenade replaces them.

Cortana shoots it out of the air. It detonates in a shower of shrapnel and flame, jostling the tent with the shockwave and shredding holes into its roof, but not catching it alight. She’s cutting an entrance into the tent before the smoke and flak has even cleared.

The troopers are facing away from her, rushing for the exit in uniform, slow motion fashion. To her surprise, one twists around and opens fire, bullets pinging across her chest.

She slings the knife she��d been equipped with into his gut. Shielded or not-- and the shields did their job well, turning the impacts into tickles-- she didn’t take kindly to being shot. His buddies she pursues out of the tent, bringing the butt of her rifle to bear on the back of their skulls.

They drop instantly.

“Unconscious, not dead,” John chimes as she whips around to face the other four troopers. “Thought you’d like to know.”

“Thanks,” she says shortly.

More bullets ricochet off her shields. The meter in the corner of her HUD blinks as it diminishes uncomfortably quickly, still un-replenished from the last round of projectiles. Not eager to damage the armor, she rushes forward, grabbing the closest trooper by the torso.

Effortlessly, she tosses his frame into his allies before grabbing up his gun, crushing the barrel. Her HUD wavers as a bolt of alarm flits through her, gaze drawn to the grenade the furthest ODST was trying to arm.

She lets her boots fall onto the arms of the first two troopers, determinedly not thinking about the state of their bones. She also does not think about how the alarm wasn’t her own, instead focusing on snatching up the final two soldiers by their chestplates and tossing them aside.

“Shoot them,” John hisses into her ear. “They’re not neutralized if they’re conscious or functional.”

“What do they have to gain by fighting me? I threw them forty meters!” Cortana exclaims. “I don’t want to hurt them, John.”

John doesn’t say anything but he does mark their position as nav-points on her HUD. She pointedly ignores him by stripping one of the downed soldiers for their grenades, which she promptly attaches to a magnetic hardpoint on her armor. With that done, she takes to the outer edges of the immediate area, making herself as hard to locate as possible.

The obstacle course is achingly familiar by the time she reaches it. It was an endless expanse of tough gravel, just over ten acres of the stuff. She remembered having to cross it bare-foot multiple times alongside her siblings; she could almost feel the ghostly sensation of rocks stabbing her soles.

Before she could step off, however, John speaks, low and urgent.

“Throw a grenade at the field.”

“That’s-- why?” Cortana asks, bewildered.

“There are Lotus mines and that’s the best way for me to calculate the layout. UNSC Engineers try to randomize the pattern, but humans are predictable creatures,” John says impatiently.

Well, it was as good as reason as any. She pulls a grenade from the stolen bandolier and arms it-- and holds it for three full seconds. With a controlled flick of her arm, she chucks it at the ground, watching it bounce once and explode.

Two Lotus mines explode in a geyser of gravel of dirt in reply several feet apart from each other.

“Give me a second,” John says. “Okay. These are rough estimations, but they shouldn’t get you killed. As you were, Master Chief.”

A graph flickers to life, overlaying itself perfectly across the gravel expanse. Yellow flower-like symbols join it in an affixed pattern, telling her what to avoid. That was… extremely useful.

“Don’t like that they’re using anti-tank mines,” she says, gravel crunching underfoot. “Seems a bit much.”

They make the trek across the gravel field in three minutes.

“Thanks, John. That’s really helpful,” Cortana says, making her sigh of relief productive.

“...There’s radio chatter on D band,” John says, his voice oddly pitched. “Encrypted and encoded, but it’s from the nearby airfield. I don’t like it.”

“That sounds exciting…”

But they had bigger things to worry about. After the gravel field was the long, narrow strip of mud and razor wire. It would be interesting to see how the armor’s shields fared against the constant scrape of barbed line. She doubts she could hunker low enough to avoid it entirely.

...If she didn’t get shot to hell first.

“Chain guns, 11 and 1 o’ clock,” John says, almost as soon as she notices them. “I advise evading. I do not feel like dying today.”

Crawling through the razor bed probably doesn’t count as evading, she thinks dryly. She’s glad for their incredibly slow rotation and similarly slow rate of fire at least. It meant that at least one was deactivated by the time she took off sprinting for it, firing at its power lines with her rifle.

There were two chainguns at the far end of the route, clearly meant to create a field of crossfire should she crawl. She’s silenced the one closest to her, but its cousin’s 30mm rounds punch into her chest, threatening to drop her shield into zero with just a handful of impacts.

She silences it by kicking the first chaingun into its chassis, toppling them both.

“Elegant,” John remarks once the residual firing stops. “I am going to investigate something. Don’t get shot.”

Cortana feels the AI slip out of her neural lace. To escape the sudden gaping emptiness, she charges into the rest of the razor-lined trenches. It gave her a few moments to reflect, too. John was an interesting AI. Not horrible to work with, if a little bossy. And vague, too.

If this didn’t feel so high stakes, she’d be arguing more.

Ice water rushes down her neck the same instant she comes up on the next stage of the obstacle course. Years ago, when they were all very young, the Spartans had dubbed this portion the ‘Pillars of Loki.’ It was a nightmarish network of smooth poles of wood-- razed trees-- interspersed with traps and danger. She’d seen the kind of damage the traps could cause.

She wasn’t keen on taking any of them on.

“The airfield is launching an aircraft,” John announces, his voice edged with anger. “A Skyhawk.”

Fuck.

“Language,” John says sternly. “Do you have any ideas? I calculate roughly 30 seconds before contact.”

Well, the best way to avoid traps was to go around them, right? She stares into the crisscross of pillars and deadly vegetation for a couple seconds too many. It would leave her too exposed to try skirting the borders of the field, but maybe climbing onto the poles…

Yeah, that would work.

Cortana scales the nearest tree with a certain lack of finesse. Her armored fingers leave indents in the hard wood and her boots gouge out chunks of bark and flesh from the pole, but she’s standing atop it with-- 15 seconds to spare.

A timer was now ticking down in the corner of her visor.

“Don’t know if that’s helpful, John,” she mutters.

“Bandit inbound,” John replies. “Ideas?”

She launches herself from one pole to the next, taking a diagonal route across the Pillars of Loki. The Skyhawk was an atmospheric fighter that specialized in close air support. It’s complement of four 50mm cannons and anti-tank missiles made it a terrifying and formidable ship, and against her?

Mjolnir, augmentations, AI assistance…

Well, she was as dead as any Covie soldier.

“Contact!” John barks.

The air thrums violently around Cortana as the aircraft bears down on her position. She kicks off of the pillar, free falling just as a spray of bullets sunder the air. Trees shatter into pieces behind her and the world blurs as she tucks into a roll, hitting the ground.

The Mjolnir’s gel layer absorbs much of the impact, but it still hurts.

“Eleven seconds! Goal: 300 meters!” John barks again.

“You’re yelling,” Cortana huffs, climbing to her feet. “No need to yell!”

Once again, a timer was ticking down on her HUD. Nine seconds and going. She was no Kelly, but how hard could a three hundred meter dash be?

Nothing achievable when it was rockets she was facing. The eight-seven-six seconds must be the Skyhawk’s turn time. Maybe she should run for cover.

“No time! New timer! About face!” John shouts, his voice so intense that it drowned out her own panicked thoughts.

Dirt and grass sprays with the force Cortana applies to twist herself around. Her HUD pulses red once before yet another timer pops up, accompanied by the silhouette of a missile. John’s presence inside her mind and suit is suddenly overwhelming.

“When the timer hits zero, the missile will be on top of us. Deflect it.”

John had a knack for sounding like a drill instructor. Or a suicidal admiral. Firm, commanding, unshakable, and slightly tyrannical.

The Skyhawk was hovering nearby. Plumes of white smoke erupt from its left wing as it lets loose a Scorpion missile. Cortana grinds her teeth, feeling a lurch as her brain overclocks into Spartan Time once again.

Three.

Cortana nearly falls over as the Mjolnir’s shields are ramped to their maximum settings.

Two.

The Skyhawk is bearing down on them, outpacing its missile.

“Now!”

Cortana jinks to the side, slapping the fuselage of the missile and sending it off course.

It still explodes several meters behind her. The resultant explosion knocks out her shields and launches her ten meters into the air. Darkness overwhelms her and several internal systems start wailing.

“Run like hell.”

She didn’t have to be told that twice, but her body is shaking violently as she hauls herself back to her feet. Her initial few strides are wobbly, growing steadier in fits and bursts. The goal’s nav-point is blurry and out of focus.

Oh, she was bleeding!

Cortana uses the bell’s tripod to stop her forward momentum. It collapses underneath her and crumples like a tin can, unable to stand up to a half-ton of armored Spartan.

She’s rewarded by the crackle of Dr. Halsey’s voice in her ear: “Test complete. Withdraw, Colonel Ackerson. Magnificent, Master Chief, but please don’t move. I’m sending a recovery team.”

She picks herself up from the bell. Despite its crushed state, she can tell it’s the very same bell she rung some thirty-odd years ago.

“We did it, John!” Cortana laughs. “That was… exhilarating.”

Gingerly, she sets the bell back onto the ground, panting and bleeding inside of her helmet. She probably broke her nose but that was nothing compared to the sense of peace she was now feeling. Whatever this had been, she had conquered it.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, either,” she says softly. “Thank you, John.”

“...Thank you, Master Chief,” John replies. “It was a pleasure working with you.”

Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?

[candlelight27]

Chapter 6: This Mask That I've Become

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: kissing in a church lol, tresspassing and etc... don't do that, kids

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 7065

AO3: This Mask That I’ve Become

A/N:  Thanks to @galamixx again for being my beta! It's hard, I know lol so I appreciate it a lot!!!

I hope you like this chapter! It was a bit hard cause I'm going into unknown territory, but I hope you enjoy it either way. Comments, likes, whatever is really really appreciated! Thanks for sticking around with this!

My dearest Byleth,

Your letters brighten my days, otherwise dulled by duties. I must ask for your forgiveness again, since I couldn’t answer any text message yet. Seteth is trying to help me, but he’s not well versed in technology either. The world is moving way too quickly for us to catch up…

Please, keep updating me with the news of our dear students. I’m truly happy to see them thrive and prosper in the continuation of their studies. All those stories you tell me remind me of good times, already gone… Times I wish to never forget. It’s a gift of the Goddess to be able to see them again, even though I must stay in the shadows of this lonely cathedral.

I know we mustn’t be seen together, but I long to see you. Please, visit us soon. Seteth wants to have tea with you, too. He’s much more cheerful now that he’s sure Flayn is safe and sound whatever she wishes to do.

The real reason for this letter is to inform you that I arranged an archive to keep all of our memories safe. I know I refused your petition at first, but after long hours of deep thought, I came to the same conclusion as you. It’s our obligation to ensure the safety of the continent and everyone who lived here, and if we lose our memories, we wouldn’t be able to do it. And in case we die… others will take on our legacy. Hopefully, you’ll be able to take a look at them soon, so you can add any necessary information. I’ll send them as soon as they’re finished.

I’m doing as you instructed: I’m writing reports and so are the other Nabateans.

Thank you for your dedication, Byleth. I’ll always be here for you.

Yours sincerely,

Rhea.

Sylvain and you were next to each other, leaning over the table in your kitchen. Your gaze was fixed on the careful strokes of Rhea’s quill. Ingrid wasn’t home, so told her you’d invite Sylvain over to study and finish that project ‒ which you hadn’t touched in months, if you were being honest. Of course, it was just an excuse. Instead of doing homework, you were chatting and conspiring among opened books about matters not related at all with university. Who’d rather do that when you were living a real adventure?

As you went over the letter for an eleventh time, Sylvain called your name expectantly. He had a bright gleam in his eye that screamed trouble.

“Do you know what day it is next Friday?” He asked, a tilted smile on his lips.

“It’s the 21st,” You answered. You took the letter with your index finger and thumb, and slowly placed it back inside the envelope.

“Yes and no, my dear friend. It’s the founding day of the Kingdom of Faerghus”, Sylvain pointed out. You raised your eyebrows, questioning. You already knew that, just as every other student; that day marked the date when lessons were interrupted. Typically, there was a week more to hand over projects and other requirements to pass the subjects, so some students went right back home, yet others stayed behind in their dorms until they were completely finished.

“So what?” You asked.

The redhead breathed deeply as he prepared mentally for what was coming next. He felt the weight of your eyes on him. Were you judging him? No, you weren’t, he was well aware of that, but he couldn’t discard all those doubts that bombarded him at all times. He felt the guilt running through his veins and he was second guessing his next proposition.

“I’ve got a plan,” he managed to say at last. That charming façade of his that made him always get his way had faded away. You tilted your head, unable to make heads or tails of Sylvain and prompting him to explain himself. He cleared his throat and continued. “That evening, a special mass is going to be celebrated, just like every year. It’s the perfect opportunity to sneak a peek of those documents.”

“The perfect opportunity?” You exclaimed, eyes wide open. “Sylvain, it’s going to be crowded!”

“Yes! That way, nobody will notice we’re hiding in the old confessionary booth! You know they barely use it anyways. Then, we get out when everybody’s gone, we go to Rhea’s office, find the documents and run away as far as we can.”

You blinked, once, twice, thrice. Sylvain was impatient to hear your opinion. He was jolting his leg up and down out of nervousness as you bit your lips, deep in thought. He already knew you had said you were in this together, that you'd help him find the truth, yet those were just words, not acts. He needed your reassurance once again, for deep inside his chest, against his wishes, he was expecting you to reject his idea, to ridicule him and leave him behind ‒ just like Miklan, like his parents. Because wasn’t that what always happened? He trusted someone, then they’d betray him for circumstances that he never could understand.

“Are you sure that’s not trespassing?” You frowned.

“Since it’s a religious building, I’m pretty sure it’s not,” he claimed. “There’s a right of devotion, or something like that.”

“You’ve thought of this carefully, haven’t you? It’s a solid plan.” You nod slowly. Solid and stupid. It could work, but it entailed a great risk.

“It is,” Sylvain said. His heart was pounding fast in his chest, waiting for your objections.

“What if somebody catches us?”

“We’ll say we forgot something”, he posed. “My phone, your purse, whatever.”

“Seteth won’t buy it”, you argued.

“But it’s me who you’re going with,” he pointed to his own face. “He’ll just think we’re there to bang. He’ll lecture us and won’t think about it further. My reputation precedes me, after all.”

“Okay, fine”, you yielded easily. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” You stretched your arms, thinking about what you were getting into. However, for some indefinite reason, you weren’t worried about it. You were more worried about him.

Sylvain was relieved but, as always, uneasy with his own actions. Was he asking too much of you? Was he pushing your limits? It was hard to act all cool and mighty around you when he could barely control his own feelings and the messy train of thought that always accompanied him.

“I’ll drive us there,” Sylvain commented when he noticed he had been silent for a while. Even though you nodded and tried to smile, you were worried about Sylvain. You noticed him getting lost in his own thoughts, and it was worse that he had the horrible habit of never telling anyone what tortured him inside. Despite wanting to ease him, you couldn’t do anything but reassure him that the plan will go well. Executing it was the only thing left to do now.

--

Sylvain double parked right in front of your building. He was well dressed to go to the Cathedral, with a white button-up, dress pants and boots. His parents might be there, after all, and he didn’t want to piss them off. Sylvain tapped the wheel with his fingers. It was too early, but he couldn’t wait at home — He was restless, so he had driven to distract himself. Still, that didn’t make him calmer, so he was restless in front of your window instead.

Impatient and anxious, Sylvain grabbed his phone out of his pocket and wrote a message. There was a reason for his uneasiness: he was going to ask you out. Or he was going to reiterate his love for you and see where things would go from there.

Torn between his own actions, his happiness, and if it might make this whole timeline shenanigan more confusing for you, he couldn’t fall asleep and instead dwelled on it for hours. Something had to change. Pitying himself and being a hollow piece of shit to almost everyone only deepened the wound in his soul.  He plucked up the courage and decided he’d do things the right way from then on. And, first, he had to confess to you a couple of things ‒ a sort of declaration of intent.

Sylvain wouldn't ask Ingrid for advice, because she would think this is another one of his dating escapades. She never takes him seriously. Dimitri always understood him, but was clueless. So was Felix, who would be even more unwilling to help. Claude would give him the best piece of advice, but he refused asking the Almyran out of pride. And he was sure Dorothea would tell him to fuck off. So he had only one option. His usual first option, because she knew him like the palm of her hand and always spoke her mind: Mercedes.

Sylvain 15:10 : Mercedes, pls, help me ☹

Mercedes 15:10 : What’s wrong, Sylvain?

Mercedes answered almost immediately. Her attention eased his nerves. Sylvain looked at his watch; he had about twenty minutes left until you’d meet him and sort out his agitation.

Sylvain 15:11 : It’s about you-know-who

Sylvain 15:11 : I need your advice

Mercedes 15:11 : You-know-who finally confessed?

Sylvain 15:12 : No, but I might?

He had finally worded it. A weight lifted off his shoulders. Mercedes would know if it was madness or in fact it would work, right?

Mercedes 15:12 : What are your true intentions?

Sylvain 15:12 : I think I’m in love, for real

Mercedes 15:13 : Oh dear

Mercedes 15:13 : At first I thought you weren’t that serious

He could hear the voice of Mercedes exclaiming, as he had for years. He wasn’t surprised. How many times has he toyed with the idea of love only to discard it? And he had never ever been serious with anyone. If somebody showed the littlest interest in him, he’d dismiss that person and do terrible things to them before they’d do them to him.

Mercedes 15:13 : I told her to be careful around you because you play with women’s feelings

Sylvain 15:13 : I’m not angry, can’t blame you for speaking the truth

Sylvain 15:14 : But you’re the worst wingman ever, tbh

Sylvain 15:14 : Still love you tho <3

Mercedes 15:14 : There is something positive!

Mercedes 15:14 : You-know-who hasn’t run away yet! You two grew closer instead! Most would have run away!

Mercedes 15:15 : I think that’s a good sign

Mercedes 15:15 : She might be in love with you, even if she doesn’t know it

Sylvain 15:16 : I don’t like that might. I’d rather to be sure about it

Mercedes 15:16 : Just remember doubts are natural, but you must persist

Mercedes 15:16 : It’s now or never, confess your love!

Mercedes 15:17 : And don’t play with her feelings, please

Sylvain 15:17 : I know it’s hard to believe, Mercie, but I’m serious

Mercedes 15:18 : Sothis has answered my prayers then 😊

Sylvain 15:18 : Or Byleth. The professor paired us on that damned project.

Mercedes 15:18 : I have to go now. I’ll answer later. Write to me if you need it, ok?

Sylvain 15:19 : Ok, see you! Thanks, Mercedes

He appreciated Mercedes’ honesty. However, she had given Sylvain another headache, for the devout girl had reminded him of something else. He hadn’t gone out with a girl in months. He had uninstalled all his dating apps – which weren’t exactly for dating, obviously, but flings. Even so, years of being a bastard had to catch up with him at some point, and he guessed it’d be soon enough.

A knock on the window of the car startled him. It was you, with a radiant smile.

“You’ve come early!”, he greeted you as he opened the window. Unknowingly, Sylvain hid his mobile phone. “Get in.”

You went around the car, which looked new, but not extravagantly expensive, and opened the door.

“You’re the one who is early!”, you said, fastening your seatbelt. “Did I have you waiting for too long?”

“Not at all!” Sylvain brushed it off.

“I saw your car through the window, that’s why I came earlier”, you smiled.

Without further ado, he started the engine and thus began your two-hour journey to the biggest cathedral in Fódlan, and your old highschool.

--

The nearer you were to Garreg Mach, where you practically lived for years – excluding holidays, of course, when you’d visit your family – the more mountains and nature you’d see through the windows.

Sylvain was suspiciously quiet yet again.

“I thought Dimitri would be coming with us?” You asked to spark a conversation against the unbearable silence.

“He’s going to spend all the break with his father in Faerghus after the mass, so he’s not returning to college afterwards,” Sylvain explained nonchalantly. “Besides, he doesn’t like when others drive. Just an odd habit of his.”

“What about you?” You asked. “How come you aren’t going to Faerghus afterwards too? You’ve finished all your papers.”

“Nah”, he shrugged. “My relationship with my family… is rocky. So I’ll be staying behind until our university closes and I finish all my excuses.”

“I thought Miklan was gone for a long while.”

“Well, it’s not just Miklan...” The redhead added. “My father is not interested in me and my whole being, but rather in my grades and my capacity of managing his businesses and his land. Oh, and he’s also-” Sylvain hesitated. He realized he usually doesn’t open up to others this fast. However, thinking about the past you two share, and how you’re always genuine to him despite everything he’s making you do, he continued. “My father is also constantly trying to auction off my hand to any bigwig’s daughter who might make a big investment for the family. It’s exhausting.”

“Sounds horrible. I’m sorry you have to deal with a family like that.” You commented sympathetically. You wanted to express your compassion, so you caressed his shoulder. However, Sylvain flinched in the slightest manner, which you noticed and retreated your hand.

“Remember those girls in the library long ago?” He wondered.

“Yes.”

“I met them in one of my father’s parties. Two fickle, capricious girls that wanted a good catch to get expensive gifts and an exciting roll in the hay.” His tone was harsh, and you saw his knuckles whiten over the wheel. Suddenly, he changed his register into a lighter one. “I forgot to tell you that Edelgard is going to be there with Dimitri. She usually can’t attend, since Enbarr is too far away. Maybe she’s going to stay with Dimitri in Fhirdiad to… amend their relationship. Who knows. And Hubert will be surely there, being Edelgard’s shadow.”

“Ah, I see. Well, she is Dimitri’s step sister, after all, they ought to be on good terms,” You commented.

“Isn’t she your friend?”

“Not exactly. Well, not like Dorothea. We get along, but we haven’t met that much outside the classroom.” You answered.

“I see.” He nodded slightly.

You took advantage of your position in the co-pilot seat and observed him. His soft hair, dark red in the roots and orangey where the light caressed it, the shape of his straight nose and his outlined jaw... He was objectively handsome. The actions of those girls Sylvain talked about were despicable, but it wasn’t hard to imagine that they thought they had won the lottery: this man was rich, handsome, friendly and extremely seductive. However, they had miscalculated the situation, because they had not been the first nor the last ones to try, and they didn’t know Sylvain hated playing that game.

It saddened you, that he had to live that. But it saddened you even deeper in your heart that you didn’t know what to expect. Nothing could assure you that Sylvain would get over his ex-lovers and stalkers. And yes, you liked him – some would assure you were in love with him – but would you be able to pursue a romantic relationship? Especially in this situation?

Ingrid had voiced her opinion a lot of times: you shouldn’t try it. You knew that whatever you did, she was going to support you, but she had her reservations. Mercedes was wary as well. The only dissonant view was Dorothea’s.

Dorothea had gone to a date with Sylvain back in high school and she concluded he was a pig. You had heard so, sat in your desk right behind hers as she was telling the story to Edelgard. Despite that, Dorothea and Sylvain became allies of some sort – which made you jealous until you finally befriended the star of the Garreg Mach choir. It might have been the common nature of the gossip they both faced, or the fact that most of the high-end parties they attended were frequented by the same dull people. It didn’t matter what it was, but, although Dorothea restated constantly that Sylvain was nauseating, her attitude towards him had changed. It lit a small hope within your heart that your friend, who usually despised a lot of men of his kind, was encouraging you.

“Give him a chance!”, she exclaimed one day while you were having lunch with her and Petra. “I feel it in my gut! You’re made for each other.” Petra agreed, although she didn’t know either of you that much.

Yet, what made you different from all those girls Sylvain hated? That unexplained deep connection? Because, other than that, nobody could tell if your love was more authentic than theirs. You weren’t even sure yourself. Did you like him because he was a pretty face, or because you actually were in love? It was hard to tell.

As if Dorothea had read your mind and your hesitation, your phone vibrated.

Dorothea 15:53 : GO FOR THE KILL

Dorothea 15:53 : Make him suffer a little bit before falling into his arms tho

Dorothea 15:53 : AND tell me ALL the juicy details afterwards 😉

“What’s wrong?” Sylvain glanced over at you with a chuckle.

“What?”

“You just snorted!” He laughed.

“Oh, just Dorothea wishing us good luck,” You tried to sound nonchalant, but you weren’t as good as him. He laughed.

“Is she telling you to avoid me like I’m a pest?”

“Something like that…” You lied.

--

It didn’t matter from which angle you observed it; the Cathedral had always been impressive. The clear stone, bathed in the sunrays, seemed to be pure gold, resplendent in its holiness. The place stirred like a hive with the confluence of people, most of whom you knew. A nostalgic sensation washed over you.

“Could you wait here?” Sylvain asked, moving his head around and narrowing his eyes to figure out the identity of the people around you. “I have to go greet my parents.” He clarified.

“Do you want to go alone?”

“Yes”, he scratched the back of his head. “I’m sure you’ll meet them one day,” He winked, “but not today.”

The redhead faded into the crowd, while you waited in the courtyard right before the hall. You didn’t know what to do, so you sat over one of the low walls. You saw a patch of blonde hair, but you weren’t sure if it was Dimitri, so you didn’t move. Meanwhile, you recognised many of the passers-by, as they were family of your own classmates, but you doubted they’d remember you.

A deep voice called your name from the shadows of a nearby tree. You looked at the source of the sound.

“Hubert?” You blinked several times. That was a surprise.

“Indeed. I’m here to accompany Edelgard. What are you doing here?”, he asked. “I was certain that you didn’t like going to mass, and you have to ties with the Kingdom of Faerghus.”

“I’ve come with Sylvain”, you answered. Hubert’s eerie, yellow eyes were fixed on you, disturbing you.

“I see,” he commented. A small grimace that resembled a smile formed on his lips.

“He’ll come in a moment”, you forced a smile. You didn’t dislike Hubert, but he had an extraordinary ability to put your nerves on edge.

“I wanted to thank you for that favour,” he commented efficiently.

“That thing?”, you made an ‘o’ with your lips. “No need to thank me, Hubert. We’re… friends?”

“I prefer the term strategic partners”, he nodded.

“Okay, that name is fine too.”

“The reason I’m here is that I must inform you that the heir of the Gautier is engaged”, he said with solemnity.

“Excuse me?” Your little world shattered into pieces, broken. What the fuck was Hubert talking about?

“A month ago, his parents engaged him with one of the daughters of Mr. Rowe. Since you’re rather close with him, I thought you should know it.”

“... I see.”, you muttered, still shocked, trying to remain composure.

“I must go now,” he said, but he didn’t move. “I apologise for being the harbinger of bad news.”

“No need to worry, I just was surprised. See you around”, you waved at him, indicating that you’d be okay. Hubbert made a bow and vanished.

That was an unexpected turn of events. Your heartbeat was loud and fast, and you did your best to quickly blink away tears so that no one would notice. Despite the doubts, the second thoughts and all the things against you, you had thought you’d be in control whether you ended up with Sylvain or not. However, just like the rest of your life, it seemed that you were trapped in a book somebody else was writing. And now, in the place where your crush had begun, any hope you harboured had disappeared, just like a flame put out with a bucket of cold water.

You opened and closed your eyes rapidly to make the tears disappear and stood up. You breathed in and out in slow movements. Your body began relaxing.

Where was Sylvain? There was almost nobody else outside. The mass would begin in almost five minutes. He must have been talking with his parents, if what Hubert said was true. How were you in such a deep mess?

As if your thoughts had summoned him, Sylvain appeared from the lateral of the cathedral.

“Hey! You ready?” He sprang to you.

“Yes,” You tried to cover your face. You couldn’t let him see you in vulnerability.

“Okay, remember the plan.” He leaned into you, lowering his voice. “We sit on the back row, and 10 minutes before the end we get out. Then, we enter through the left door and hide in the confessionary booth. You go in first, then I follow you 3 minutes apart.”

You nodded and walked into the cathedral. You couldn’t look at him in the eyes. It was going to be a long evening.

--

The confessional booth was dark inside. There was a separation between the two parts that composed it, so the space was reduced. You sat on the wooden bench, thankful that it didn’t crack at all.

Sylvain had been right: nobody saw you. The confessionary itself, with an entry in the back, blocked the view of the lateral door to any onlooker that could have been there. On the other hand, you could see the people sitting in the left wing of the building through the lattice in a very convenient way. It was an excellent place to hide. The pulpit was far away, yet the voice of Archbishop Rhea was heard everywhere.

In spite of your relative security, this had to be by far the worst idea you had ever agreed on. Everything seemed doomed in that moment. You were sure in that moment that you’d get caught or expelled. You wanted to run away.

But right then, the back door silently opened and Sylvain entered the scene.

Sylvain’s wide shoulders almost didn’t fit through the entrance. You tried to move around to make some space for him, but it was in vain. You were thankful for the shadows, because your cheeks were growing redder and redder by the moment as his presence became more and more noticeable.

You didn’t know how exactly, but you ended up with your legs over his lap, your shoulders touching and your faces way too close for your liking. At least right then, when Hubert’s words were still fresh in your mind.

The choir started singing a tune, which indicated that the mass was approaching its end. Such pure voices were inappropriate for that moment you were sharing with Sylvain.

“I swear this was bigger before...” Sylvain whispered in your ear. It made your hair stand on end.

“Yes, when we were confessing, being 12 and younger, and being alone. Now it’s even more tiny because someone decided to have the both of us in here.” You grunted back, careful of not being heard.

His breath caressed your face, and his warmth radiated from his clothes. He was too comfortable, and you felt like you could be cuddled like this forever, while at the same time you wanted to run away from his touch. It occurred to you that he might have been a sorcerer, and that he had put you in an unavoidable spell. How else would all these feelings be so intense? It couldn’t be just love, right?

“I have something to tell you,” Sylvain said, but he wasn’t looking at you.

Was he going to tell you that he was engaged? Your breathing was erratic once more. You couldn’t flee, much to your dismay.

“What is it?”

“I…”, he cut himself.

“You…?” You were suspenseful, but you weren’t sure for what. Disappointment? Elation? Sylvain turned his head and fixed his pupils on yours.

“Be my girlfriend.” He managed to speak. You had no words. The world was definitely laughing at your face. “I’m in love with you and you’re in love with me. So why not? Isn’t it the logical thing to do?”

“It’s not that easy, Sylvain, despite how much I wish it was.” You sighed, at a loss for better words.

“Why not?” He pressed.

His heart dropped and a thousand thoughts rushed into his mind. He wanted to scream. How could he dare to think someone would genuinely love him? He got hurt, as it always happened. He shouldn’t have let his walls down, not even for you. He shouldn’t seek love, he shouldn’t have bothered. Everytime he considered himself worthy of love, the world around him would start crashing down. ‘You’re set yourself up for failure’, Sylvain kept repeating to himself. That’s what his father always told him when things didn’t turn out well. His father had been right. He was a failure. Even when his intentions were pure, he had already tainted his future. There was no redemption for him, right?

You picked up on the rising panic on Sylvain’s face, and you felt guilt inside your chest.

“I’m scared,” you said, trying to justify yourself. You believed it was the moment to be sincere. “I’m scared that you’re lying to use me. Or that you’d just get bored and throw me away.”

“I’d never do that to you,” he said, horrified by the fact that you wouldn’t accept he was telling the truth. “You’re not like the-”. He interrupted himself. “I see it now. I won’t stop repeating the same sentence, right? Now nobody will believe me.” Sylvain covered his face with his hand. “I cried the wolf way too many times…” He mutters.

“There’s something else,” you whispered.

“Just say it. It’s not gonna get worse at this point.” Sylvain chuckled somberly.

“You’re engaged.”

“It’s not something I chose. And it’s definitely not something I’m happy about.” He stated. Your words felt like a knife on Sylvain’s skin. “I didn’t want to tell you because I thought I’d get my parents to break the engagement first, but it’s taking longer than I’d expected.”

Out of the blue, Sylvain placed his hands around your face.

“Will you be my girlfriend? You didn’t say no. You know that I wouldn’t willingly propose to a girl when you are right here by my side. You haven’t seen me with another girl, have you?” He assured, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

“I don’t want to say no,” you answered, confused. “But- Sylvain, we’re doomed. We’re not meant to be.”

“I don’t care about fate. Does that mean you’d give me a chance?” His eyes were intense, hard and, all the same, warm and comforting, with the colour of liquid caramel. Sylvain threw all his doubts away for once, just wanting to be with you. You were one of the only things keeping him happy.

“I don’t know… Sylvain, I-”

“If you tell me I’ve still got a chance, I’m not going to give up. I love you.” He announced seriously. “Don’t get me wrong, if you really want me out of your life, I will do it, but otherwise…”

“This is a trap. How am I supposed to tell you looking at you in the eye that I don’t want to see you ever again?” You complained.

“I’m not a trickster, but I’m not gonna let you go either. I’ll have to convince you to be mine, then.”

“And how are you going to convince me?”, you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I already did the hardest part, I made you fall for me.” he smirked.

With that, you couldn’t resist the invisible force pulling yourself to him anymore. You crashed your lips against his and sat astride his lap. It was easy; you had already done it before. Sylvain was amazed, but he was not one to lose an opportunity. He kissed you back. Unable to control himself, his hands grabbed your waist, but he didn’t let himself explore. He was unsure of what was happening, but he was glad he’d got to taste your lips a second time.

You pressed your chest against his torso, while trying to hug him closer. His lips were soft and firm, his movements decided, and he knew what he wanted. Sylvain took advantage of a pause you took for breathing and let his tongue slide in. He was voracious and greedy in his attentions, and he did not let a single speck of your mouth untouched.

You were starting to feel dizzy and wanted much more, but you stopped.

“Everybody should be gone by now,” you muttered, his mouth still pressed to yours. He was panting, and you could guess what was on his mind – you could feel his excitement rising in his lap, after all.

“What was that for?”

“I felt like it.” you lovingly took off a lock of his hair from his forehead. “I’m not going to give you my heart just like that, but I swear to the Goddess, I can’t resist you.”

“Well, I’m not going to complain if you do it again, you know.” he smirked, releasing you from his grip. “After all, we have to make up for lost time.” He grabbed your wrist before letting you go completely, and lowered his tone. “But don’t get used to torturing me like this, or I’ll eventually lose my composure.”

“I’ll risk it,” you playfully answered while you distanced yourself.

You exited the booth without a single sound. The church was dark, since there was no light coming from the large windows anymore. The sun was gone. The place was creepy without a single source of brightness, and the stone was grey and cold.

Your steps followed Sylvain as he manoeuvred between the pews and towards the sets of stairs that led to the upper floor. You had not been there frequently, just once or twice to help Seteth move some books after class. Sylvain, however, knew the place like the palm of his hand due to Seteth’s insistence in correcting the mischievous redhead’s nature. Seteth never achieved his ambition, of course, but as a result, Sylvain could go to Rhea’s office with his eyes closed. And to Seteth’s one, to the cleaning supplies stall and many more rooms he had the pleasure to visit in his youth.

“Careful with the stairs, the stone is worn-out, and you can fall down”, Sylvain warned you.

There were bright coloured statues of the saints and Seiros splattered around, along with some old-looking tapestries that needed to wash. You couldn’t admire them for long, because before you could register that you were raiding the empty cathedral at 8 p.m., Sylvain had already stopped before a wooden door.

“It’s here”, he stated solemnly.

“Are you ready?”, you asked.

“More than ever”, he smiled and turned around the doorknob.

Of course, it was closed.

“Fuck”, he said.

“We should have expected that”, you rubbed your temple.

“Do you have a bobby pin?”

“Nope”, you hummed.

“Okay, time to go home I guess”, Sylvain suddenly laughed, and so did you. “It feels like we’ve gone crazy, right?”

“Oh my god, Sylvain, you thought about the confessional booth but it didn’t occur to you that the door might have been locked?”, you giggled.

“Shut up! You could have guessed it, too!”

“Four months ago I thought I’d never speak to you in my life, and look at us now”, you couldn’t help the laughs.

“What’s so fun?”, Seteth’s voice reverberated through the narrow corridor, shutting both your mouths at the same time.

He had appeared from a door right across you ‒ from his own office, you presumed. You were so nervous that you couldn’t say a word. It was surreal. Seteth didn’t look angry, he looked curious instead, something you weren’t used to. The years might have eased his nerves. But that fact didn’t make your position any easier.

“Look, Seteth, we’re not here for any funny business”, Sylvain defended himself and you. He stepped forwards out of habit.

“Because entering Lady Rhea’s office is not suspicious at all”, Seteth calmly replied.

“Okay, it seems suspicious. But it’s not what it seems,” he began scratching the back of his head. “I dragged her here and…”

You had relaxed enough to form coherent words. And you decided it was the moment to come out clean, because lies and secrets were just turning your life upside down. Furthermore, Seteth’s presence ignited an old feeling; the need to rely on a much more mature adult. You cut Sylvain’s words.

“Seteth, we’ve come here looking for some papers that belong to Lady Rhea”, you said loud and clear. “We were going to steal them.”

“What are you doing?” Sylvain asked incredulously.

“Seteth, we’ve been having the weirdest dreams”, you said. “And they won’t stop, to the point they seem real, like memories.” Seteth's disposition changed. He tensed, and his face paled. “We went to Byleth’s office and… we read a letter from the Archbishop. We know that those dreams happened, but we wanted to verify it and learn why everything’s happening. Otherwise, we’ll go mad.”

Seteth’s green eyes went from your figure to Sylvain’s and back to you again. It was visible that he was torn, choosing what to do. The older man sighed, defeated. He had lost from the beginning, because he couldn’t conceal his fear from such an unexpected accusation.

“It’s a long story”, Seteth said. “Come into my office and have some tea.”

He let you in the room, only lit with candles scattered around. You and Sylvain sat on a sofa that was behind the coffee table. Sylvain went to a desk filled with piles of papers, where there was an electric kettle and various wooden boxes.

“I’ve got ginger tea and a four-spice blend. There must be some sweet-apple blend too somewhere here, Flayn’s favourite”, Seteth offered.

“I don’t mind which one”, you said, smiling politely.

“We’ll have whatever you're having, Seteth”, answered Sylvain.

There was a prolonged silence. The only sounds were the boiling water of the kettle and Seteth rummaging in his drawers. A nice aroma of ginger slowly spread through the air.

The man of the church placed three teacups on the table and sat in the armchair right in front of you. You had never noticed, but Seteth was fit, way too much for a man of his profession. It made sense, though, when you remembered his expertise upon a wyvern.

“I’m sorry about the light. I never got around installing lamps, and I like the candles. They remind me of more familiar times…”, Seteth said as he poured you a cup of steaming tea. “Where should I begin?”, he inquired.

“Did those things really happen?”, Sylvain asked first.

“Yes”, Seteth nodded matter-of-factly. “All those memories you’ve recovered have happened in the past. Or… in our other lives, as I like to say.”

“Are those things going to happen again?”, it was your turn to ask, then. Seteth could sense the fear in your voice.

“We hope the war will never repeat itself”, he reassured you. “We don’t really know what the future has in store for us, but we’ve deemed it very unlikely. The events that have happened in this era are completely different from those in the past.”

“Who are ‘we’?” Said Sylvain. “If you don’t mind the questions…”

“The Nabateans,” Seteth answered dryly. He took a sip of his cup of tea. “I’m sure you remember, the Immaculate One back in the battle of Garreg Mach, right?”

“Some things are… vague for me”, Sylvain lamented, because you had told him the story a million of times, but he couldn’t recall the encounter.

“I remember it. It was Lady Rhea, right? I remember Edelgard telling us she was a monster controlling the continent from the shadows.” You explained.

“Yes… So-”

“Wait,” Sylvain interrupted Seteth. “Can you turn into a dragon?”

“Not me,” he denied. “It's been hundreds of years, but that’s not quite the topic of this conversation, is it?” The green-haired man reminded him.

“But how did it happen? How did we end up living so many lives?”, you interceded. “Why didn’t we… just die?”

“It’s Byleth’s doing”, Seteth replied. “Lady Rhea, back when Byleth was born in 1159, placed Sothis’ heart in his, hoping our mother would live again…”

“Sothis… the Goddess? She’s real?” Sylvain was dumbfounded. You looked at your cup of tea, then to Seteth, unable to articulate an answer. You were thankful for Seteth’s patience.

“Yes. This gave him great power, as he became one with the Goddess. Which granted Byleth as well the power of turning back the hands of time.”

“So he’s been turning back the time after the war of Fódlan?”, you exclaimed.

“Byleth wanted to save us all from the tragedy that devastated Fódlan. He kept turning back to the year 1180, yet one way or another, the string of events led to the same. So, at last, Byleth decided he needed to go way back, to the beginning of everything.” He paused, and saw your faces focused on every word that was escaping his mouth. He smiled to himself, remembering those times when you both were younger and listened to his lessons. Your faces might have changed, and your voices and bodies, but the eyes of his pupils were still the same. “Sothis, aware of the future, made her holy sacrifice to prevent Nemesis and his kind to take over. The history of Fódlan changed just enough to give us a rest...”

“So Byleth’s hair will be dark blue forever now?”, Sylvain asked.

“Yes. The professor is no longer the vessel of the Goddess,” Seteth clarified. “There are no longer any crests nor Hero’s relics. Therefore, technology has prospered, and your generation was born later ‒ although we don’t know exactly why this happened.” Seteth paused to sip his tea and hear your questions, but all the information had left you and Sylvain dumbfounded. Therefore, he continued his speech, somewhat relieved that he could finally tell a human all these burdens. “Flayn used to cry a lot, weeping about your absence,” he tenderly recalled. “Lady Rhea and I were sad too. We’ve been through a lot, all of us, after all…”

“I have another question, Seteth…”, Sylvain started. He was in deep thought, just like you. “Why is it that we’ve got our memories back?”

“I honestly have no idea…”, Seteth shook his head from side to side. “It could be because of your previous relationship. Back in the Officers Academy you were on... extremely good terms, as far as I know, so when I was your teacher in this high school it surprised me that you two never coincided. However, you’ve found your way next to each other, so perhaps some things are meant to be…” The older man trailed off, but continued. “Well, I don’t know. I know for us, the kin of Sothis, it’s probably due to our blood. For humans… it’s harder to tell.”

You looked at Sylvain from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t dare to face the ginger.

“Isn’t this a big secret?” you questions, amazed that Seteth ‒ and no other than Seteth himself ‒ was confiding to you such details.

“Yes, it is”, Seteth confirmed, narrowing his eyes.

“Why are you telling us, then?”

“Because, as I said, I appreciate you. Both of you. We’ve fought side by side, you’ve rescued Flayn numerous times”, he crossed his arms over his chest again. “Sylvain risked his life for Flayn numerous times, while you were also close to Byleth. It’s unnatural not to trust you...” Then, Seteth spoke once more. “But I must request that this reunion stays between us. Please. We don’t want any resentment to be born in such a peaceful time as this is. And I’ve broken so many rules right now that I’m frankly scared of what might happen.”

“Okay, we won’t say anything, Seteth”, you nodded. “I promise.”

“You have our word”, Sylvain accepted.

“Not even… Rhea or Byleth. If you don’t mind, this never happened.” Seteth touched his beard.

“Wait, Seteth, I still have Professor Byleth’s letter”, you said, worried. “He must have noticed it went missing…”

“Don’t worry about that, Byleth is a disaster. He came by this morning, I’ll tell him he dropped it and that he should be more careful”, Seteth smiled.

“Thank you, Seteth. For real”, Sylvain said. And you saw for the first time in his eyes the lightest shadow of hope.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Lily (from "Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus", what else?) and Lenin and maybe some other people? Watch "Heathers". Reactions? Or what they get transported there? Sorry, it's just that I'm in this Heathers-obsession phase and since I love your work so much (and the fact that Trotsky is kinda sorta like JD) I've been wondering about a crossover like that. I honestly have no idea what your answer to this will entail.

I’ve been musing on this one for a bit now but I suppose it’s time to dig in and answer.

First, I’m not usually a fan of the “X characters watch Y thing” so we’re going to avoid that. Also, to Wizard Lenin, it’d undoubtedly be yet another one of Lily’s weird 80′s movies that she loves so much and forces him to watch. It’s less gory than Predator, but dammit Lily, high school isn’t like this! 

Getting transported there is a similarly weird story. It’s such a muggle setting that it really doesn’t mesh well with the “Sisyphus” cast. Why would Lily and Wizard Lenin be stuck in this high school in Ohio? Would they even do anything besides go “That JD kid sure is weird” and “Wow, the death count here is higher than Hogwarts!”? Point being, I can’t imagine they’d get entangled in the true plot of “Heathers” and at best would be providing riff track commentary on this crazy high school. 

So, instead, let’s go the good old fusion route. Let’s make the world of “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” just a bit more like “Heathers” and see how it pans out.

Because “Heathers” is all about the destruction of society from within, we’re axing Voldemort. Sorry, Tom, you got stuck in a magical mirror, eaten by bears, or something after 1943 and are going to be Sir Not Appearing in this Universe. As a result, there’s no Voldemort, but the deep societal issues that Tom took advantage of very much remain and are flourishing. 

In this world, Lily is still a god, but is not immediately recognized as such by being the girl who lived. Instead, she’s just a strange, dangerously overpowered, nuisance that nobody likes. And her home life is trash.

I imagine in the world without Voldemort, Death Eaters, and a second war Lily and James’ marriage quickly crumbles. This is mainly due to the stress of marriage but also due to having a gifted, ridiculously intelligent, and creepy child. Within a few years, Lily Evans has the audacity to do what is never done: she divorces her pureblood lord husband and tries to vie for child custody. She loses, of course, as she’s a muggle born woman, and is basically banished from ever seeing her kid again.

James never really gets over this, Ellie looking so much like Lily Evans certainly not helping matters, and over the years grows very cold to her. She’s not a son so is useless to inherit, she’s nothing like him, and she’s just an all around disappointment. James very quickly gets remarried for political purposes, marrying a far less scandelous pureblood witch from pick your prestigious family, and they have a son meaning that Lily is no longer heir.

Lily thus attends Hogwarts as essentially the half-blood Potter. She’s for all intents and purposes a bastard child, one barely acknowledged by her father, and is also weird. As a result I imagine she’s bullied relentlessly much in the manner Luna is. For years.

I imagine Luna Lovegood is her only friend, as the pair have bonded over constantly having their stuff destroyed and being locked out of their dormitories. 

Enter Lily’s seventh year and thus the plot.

The outside world is looming and Lily effectively has no future. Despite being the daughter of Lord Potter, she’s in a similar position that Tom Riddle was. She won’t be hired into the Ministry or basically any position thanks to her dubious heritage as well as the fact that no one likes her.

Mostly, she just wants out. She wants out of the country where everyone knows exactly who she is and where she came from. Her best hope for this is employment with the goblins but she needs recommendations from a professor. Her best bet is Slughorn, but while he’s always been awed of her ability after seven years of Lily the charm has worn off. Lily has never received an invitation to the Slug Club.

Lily realizes that to get out she must become popular so someone can vouch for her to Slughorn. Not to mention her life might become slightly, slightly, less miserable. So, Lily approaches the Heathers. Much like in the film/musical, Lily offers her services to them for the fee of making nice, pretending to like her, and getting her an in with Slughorn.

This spirals out of control as the Heathers instead do the makeover and make Lily suddenly cool. She’s suddenly invited to parties, people talk to her, it’s a whole new world.

Around this time, Lily in the room of requirement happens to stumble across the diary (nevermind how he gets there, we’ll pretend Tom just never managed to smuggle him out of the castle). Tom has been trapped in there, dying, and Lily obliviously informs him that all his ambitions and sacrifices amounted to nothing. There was no dark lord after Grindelwald, she’s never heard of a Tom Riddle, and everything she describes makes it sound like nothing has changed.

Tom Riddle inexplicably vanished off the face of the earth leaving only the diary behind.

Naturally, Tom is very pissed about this, and sets about plotting how he can return, trying to get Lily to open up by asking her for help returning him to his body. Lily does him one better and just returns him to his body without any sacrifice, casually remarking that she’s always been like this as long as she can remember, fully accepting Tom to yell “SHE’S A WITCH! BURN HER!” to her face as everyone else does.

Tom, however, is floored and everything he’s ever known to be true is thrown out the window. He decides to make Lily his new pet project. 

Unfortunately for him, by this point Lily has a Slug Club to attend, only it goes horribly wrong. The Heathers have purposefully set about humiliating Luna, Lily’s only friend, and Lily has to very publicly break ties with them even though it means sacrificing her only real chance of leaving the country with gainful employment. Worse, the Heathers promise wrath the likes of which Lily has never seen before.

Lily, devastated and despairing, goes back to Tom and confesses all the shitiness of her extremely shitty life and how she doesn’t even know what the Heathers will do to her now. Tom finds this a little odd, as Lily has quickly proven herself the most powerful person on the planet, but he’s willing to play along. More to the point, Lily and Tom’s relationship goes from 0 to 100 as he is not only the first guy to show interest in her but he’s very very interested and very very hot. When Lily decides to beg Alpha Heather for forgiveness, Tom notes that he’ll come with, he’s better with people than she is.

Tom, having hit a low point of nihilist rage thanks to Voldemort having amounted to nothing, poisons Alpha Heather and dutifully covers for Lily by writing her suicide note. This works. There is an ecstasy of joyous grief throughout the school as staff and students alike confess how they never knew the true Heather. Lily is astounded, Tom is ecstatic.

Lily tries to return to life as normal, goes back to hanging out with Luna, but also has to introduce Tom to the school. Tom suggests she mind wipes everyone, that makes Lily uncomfortable, so she instead confesses what she believes is the truth in that Tom was trapped in an enchanted object. Dumbledore nearly has a stroke, but since Tom Riddle never became Voldemort, it’s more that this is a solution to an unsolved mystery and the castle is glad Tom isn’t actually dead. They’d thought he got hit by one of those muggle bombs during WWIII or whatever it was the muggles had going on. 

HA HA HA HA, but no, Tom says in response.

In the meantime Tom gets to witness Lily’s weird and strained relationship with her father, his friends, and her younger half-brother. Tom points out that Lily seeking out gainful employment is unnecessary. Lily doesn’t have to be a part of society, like all these worthless people around her, she’s so powerful that she can do whatever she likes however she likes it. She can simply leave the country, she could become a dark lord even, there’s nothing stopping her. Lily’s never thought of it like that before, to become a true part of society, to be accepted on some level by that society, has always just seemed like the obvious path to her. What else would she do?

Due to this, Lily and Tom’s relationship continues to grow as they’re really the first people to see each other as they are. Naturally, this is when shit hits the fan. Thanks to Tom, Lily’s invited to another Slug Club with him (Tom can still become minister even if he was trapped in a book for fifty years! Slughorn says). Lily gets hit on and nearly sexually assaulted by some of the boys there, Lily gets out, but the next day rumor circulates around the school that Lily was in a threesome with them.

Tom Riddle sets up a ridiculous scheme in which he fakes their murder suicide where they confess to being homosexual. Lily is increasingly horrified. The school, once again, is in an ecstasy of joyful grief over the loss of these two, beautiful, oppressed, gay souls. Lily realizes that Tom is A Bad Dude (TM) and tries to confront him. He easily confesses he cares nothing about these people and has decided he wants to watch society burn. These are the people who thought he had died in the Blitz and did nothing. They are people who cannot and will not change. They’re the absentee fathers who dote on far less powerful, pureblood, sons. Tom has officially, completely, given up on the wizarding world and now he will destroy it as quickly and horrifically as he can. Lily, not belonging to society, can pour the kerosene on with him.

This is getting a little too gnarly for Lily and she dumps Tom.

Unfortunately, he quickly becomes exceedingly popular thanks to his angelic face, his natural charm and charisma, and his understanding of people. He passes around a petition for suicide and bullying awareness that everybody and their brother signs. What they’re really signing is pages from the diary which, much like Death Note, promises him both their magic and their life force.

Tom confronts Lily and admits he’s going to murder everybody, an entire generation of wizards and witches gone in an instant, AND LILY CAN BE HIS DARK QUEEN! Lily and Tom get into a fight, Tom accidentally murders the shit out of her and is devestated, only of course for Lily to wake up later after he’s left because she was unwittingly immortal this whole time.

Rising from the dead, Lily hunts Tom down before he can blow up the school, and sucks him back into the diary. Upon graduation Lily makes up with Luna, still has no prospects and plans to go and be homeless in India, has hesitantly gotten in contact with Lily Evans, basically has no contact left with her father, and has a boyfriend diary named Tom who might be let out in fifty years if he promises not to blow up a school. 

[yogaadvise]

Introduction to the Niyamas

Yoga is an ancient system for human development that is countless years of ages. Patanjali was a wonderful sage who described the system into the text the Yoga exercise Sutras. While he laid out yoga right into a text, yoga exercise itself came several centuries prior to him and was passed down through sages as well as educators with practice.

Yoga is a system separated into 8 parts, also referred to as limbs. While the West often miscategorizes yoga exercise as just among the arm or legs known as asana, yoga includes multiple facets that integrate mentors for both the internal and also outside aspects of individual development.

The limbs are categorized listed below in Sanskrit with the English matching: 1. Yamas: Behavior or restraints 2. Niyamas: Way of life development 3. Asana: Postures 4. Pranayama: Control of the breath 5. Pratyahara: Withdrawal of the senses 6. Dharana: Concentration 7. Dhyana: Meditation 8. Samadhi: Realization

Both the Yamas and also Niyamas have extra rungs, elements that contribute to the entire limb. The yamas contains ahimsa (non-harming), satya (fact), brahmacharya (ideal usage of sex-related energy), asteya (non-stealing), aparigraha (non-possessiveness). Specialists need to have a solid understanding of the yamas prior to establishing the niyamas. Without exercising the very first arm or leg, exercising the second limb can cause injury to the individual without the appropriate habits from the individual.

The Niyamas are composed of the following rungs: 1. Saucha: Sanitation or purity 2. Santosha: Contentment 3. Tapas: Self-discipline 4. Svadhyaya: Self-study 5. Ishvara Pranidhana: Surrender to the Divine will

The Niyamas

The Niyamas concentrates on personal regards that not only influences the individual yet just how they connect with others. Exercising the niyamas brings about a higher understanding of the self and helps in the path to realization.

Saucha-- Sanitation or Purity

Saucha translates right into cleanliness or purity. Associating with just how individuals manage their psyches, connections, as well as actions to tasks, saucha allows individuals to deal with stability and also presence.

From the viewpoint of personal activities, purity can entail cleanses. Cleanses permit stuck energy in the body and also mind to move and also liberate the mind and also body for the other rungs of the niyamas and arm or legs of yoga. Cleanses can associate with all aspects of a person's life. They can cleanse their body from toxins, clean their houses, and remove their minds from adverse self-talk.

From a relationship perspective, exercising saucha involves not just connections with individuals yet their atmosphere, animals, things, and anything beyond themselves. To practice saucha, individuals have to remove their requirement for control and also assumptions. Because of this, it emerges that the Yamas such as ahimsa (do no harm) and also satya (truth) should be practiced initially. For relationships to be pure, one must let go what his or her concept of purity is and also allow whatever communication to merely happen. As opposed to enforcing expectations and also standards, to practice saucha one should accept what or who is without trying to regulate, change, or adjust it.

In regards to action, exercising saucha can be explained as not multitasking. To have a pure or undistracted minute or communication with themselves or others, one should attempt not to dilute it with interruptions. When having a discussion with someone else, the moment is no longer in between those two individuals when he or she starts to respond to notices on their phone. The minute ends up being spoiled by the attention lost.

From an asana standpoint, people can look internal to see what the factor of their technique is. Do they show off to thrill others in the class? Do they push also difficult to the factor of injury to "get involved in a posture"? To practice saucha in their asana technique, yogis need to subtract any kind of preconceived notions or objectives and simply accept where they are at in the process.

Santosha — Contentment

By exercising saucha, santosha becomes simpler to achieve. Rather than being disturbed with what people do or do not have actually, getting stuck in the previous or today, individuals can end up being content with what they have now. By recognizing that life is not always excellent, that there will always be challenges or things to learn, individuals can find out to find joy with whatever situation or event arises.

To practice santosha, people can just stop seeking enjoyment or trying to prevent undesirable scenarios. Rather than investing their time and also mental effort looking for pleasure or trying to prevent pain, experts can find out to quit controlling situations and also learn to locate ease in whatever their existing situation is. By approving that whatever psychological disturbance is an outcome of their very own wish to manage, aim, or expect, people can deal with what they can manage- their reaction or reaction to undesirable occasions and also locate contentment.

From an asana perspective, people can discover to be content with where they remain in their technique. As opposed to aiming for advanced positions they can find satisfaction with where the body goes to in the procedure. Other instances, can be seen with injuries, age, or restricting physical conditions where certain postures are no more attainable. Instead of being disturbed with what they are no much longer able to do, they can discover ease in their existing practice.

Tapas — Self Discipline

By discovering contentment as well as coming close to life with purity, self-control becomes less complicated to practice. Tapas actually equates into "heat" as well as can be seen as how one continues to keep their internal fire melting to rid themselves of thoughts and actions that are not conducive to supporting a healthy and balanced mind and body.

By utilizing self-control to exercise the limbs and also rungs in the past, cleansing the body, not triggering harm, being genuine, and so forth, the body and mind naturally rids itself of negative habits, bad wellness, and mental disturbances. Practicing self-discipline is a choice and also pupils require to decide to practice daily, picking maybe less amazing however extra productive tasks and also thoughts that generate lasting joy and results versus shorter-term pleasures or much easier paths that can trigger injury to the body as well as spirit.

Relating to asana, tapas can be viewed as remaining to practice regularly to maintain the energy moving via the body and to maintain the body and mind healthy for the following arm or legs of pranayama, pratyahara, therefore on.

Svadhyaya — Self Study

By exercising syadhyaya, one experiences greater credibility to their very own life. By practicing self-study, yogis can discover that they lack all of the incorrect realities, tales, classifications, expectations, and unfavorable self-talk that everybody enforces on themselves.

To participate in svadhyaya, one must require to understand the estimates that they produce right into the world. When a person adversely checks out somebody as arrogant, they are able to see the arrogance because they possess the qualities themselves. People can additionally see what they are thoroughly familiar with. Once individuals have the ability to see what they are projecting, they can begin to recognize their very own demons and also ways to resolve them.

In regards to asana, students should ask themselves exactly how their method is serving them. Are they gotten ready for the position? Is a strenuous practice offering them? Why are the practicing or not exercising at particular strength levels? Exactly how do they really feel after their method? Is the method the practice benefiting them as a whole. By asking these concerns, students can adapt their yoga method to what they need versus what they want.

Isvara Pranidhana-- Surrender to the Divine Will

Isvara Pranidhana can be translated into the abandonment of the Divine will or a letting go of the vanity. By recognizing that we are all component of something bigger than the individual self, one's reason for being comes to be even more clear. When releasing the ego, a person is surrendering to a higher pressure whether it be God, deep space, or simply life.

By giving up, individuals can discover to approve whatever comes their way without requiring to challenge it or produce added suffering. There is a tranquillity in no more needing to regulate or compel expectations since there is an understanding that whatever happens whether it really feels favorable or negative is meant to occur.

In an asana practice, one can merely succumb to how their method is that day. If the method is not pleasurable, they can accept that there is a higher purpose for it not having the degree of pleasure that they want.

The Other Niyamas

While the Yoga exercise Sutras show 5 niyamas, the Upanishads indicate 10 niyamas. The Upanishads were composed in the later part of the Vedic duration as well as give an extra thorough explanation of the yoga exercise practice.

The 10 niyamas according to Upanishads are as complies with: 1. Hri: Modesty 2. Santosha: Contentment 3. Dana: Charity 4. Astikya: Faith 5. Ishvarapujana: Prayer of the Lord 6. Siddhānta śrāvaṇa: Scriptural Listening 7. Mati: Cognition 8. Vrata: Sacred vows 9. Japa: Incantation 10. Tapas: Self-Discipline

Conclusion

Yoga is a system that includes 8 parts. The niyamas is the 2nd arm or leg of yoga, with the most usual depiction concentrating on the 5 rungs. To exercise the 2nd limb of yoga, experts ought to likewise examine the very first arm or leg of yoga exercise to assist ensure they are exercising the niyamas to their max potential. In a similar way, to exercise asana, pranayama and also the remainder of the arm or legs wisely, experts ought to also study the 5 niyamas.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

I Trust Him

Summary:  Unlike the others who are so eager to please that they practically beam when he gives them a hello, Jim hasn’t met this one face to face yet. As far as he knows, Hood is on the side of the heroes these days, but just barely. It’s been a confusing couple of years. There’s a duffle bag with eight heads stuffed into it that he just can’t sweep under the rug.

Read on AO3!

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Jim checks his watch. The signal has been on for ten minutes now, its trademark bat silhouette shining against the backdrop of Gotham’s smog and pollution like a holy beacon. He’s running late tonight. Jim pulls his jacket tighter around himself and it takes everything he has not to shiver as his breaths turn to mist in front of his mustache. If Batman got a paycheck, Jim would dock him a hundred bucks for making him wait in the cold like this. He should have brought a heavier jacket. “Need a smoke?” he hears, which just about gives him a goddamn heart attack. He wheels around, hand flying instinctively to his gun holster, only to find the Red Hood leaning against the door to the roof. And he thought the Bat was good at sneaking up on him. Hood’s holding out a pack of cigarettes.

Unlike the others who are so eager to please that they practically beam when he gives them a hello, Jim hasn’t met this one face to face yet. As far as he knows, Hood is on the side of the heroes these days, but just barely. It’s been a confusing couple of years. There’s a duffle bag with eight heads stuffed into it that he just can’t sweep under the rug. “No thanks,” he says after a moment, pulling his hand back from his firearm. “I’m trying to cut back.” Hood tucks the cigs into his jacket pocket. “Good choice. These things’ll kill you.” Then he snickers, like he’s sharing an inside joke with himself. “So where’s the fire?” Is...Is this it? Batman really sent the Red Hood ahead instead of meeting Gordon himself? Jim hopes he’s not mad at him; he’s been waiting three days to show Batman the pictures he took of his latest kitchen remodel. “Uh. There have been rumors of a robbery happening tonight at the Gotham Museum of Antiquities. A team job, at least four men. I don’t know what they’re looking for, but my intel is pretty sure the target is in the art exhibit.” Hood nods. “Gotcha. I’ll head over there.” Is it weird that Jim is so accustomed to the Bat vanishing on him that he doesn’t entirely know how to end a conversation? Not this kind, anyway. Jim rubs his hands together, trying to coax warmth back into the frozen appendages. “If you don’t mind me asking, where is he? Batman, I mean.” “Had a date. I was unlucky enough to be serving backup tonight.” “Batman dates?” “I know, right?” Another snicker. It’s so creepy hearing him laugh from inside the helmet, echoing faintly like a threat. “I keep telling the others how fucking weird it is but they just get all ‘it’s about time he settled down’ and ‘they’re both old so who cares’ and ‘so what if she’s a criminal, she makes good sangrias’. Fuckin’ kissups.” Jim doesn’t know what surprises him more: that the Batman and Catwoman rumors are true, or that Hood is friendly with the other bats. Since he first started showing up in Gotham, the Hood has always been a wild card. Only kills the worst of the worst, but in such brutal ways that he can’t be trusted not to escalate. And yet, he’s been spotted on multiple occasions giving food to the homeless kids in Crime Alley and escorting the working girls home at night. Then he goes and reveals that not only is he on friendly terms with Batman, but that he’s practically one of the family now? If Jim had a death sentence, he’d ask if Hood’s doing this all just to torment him. “So when’s the robbery supposed to go down?” Hood asks. “I’m a busy guy so I gotta arrange my manicure appointments accordingly.” Jim is pretty sure that’s a joke. Then again, who knows? Jim makes a point of never missing his monthly spa days. His cuticles are grateful for it. “Sometime between eleven and two. I already have some of my men watching the place, but these guys have nabbed priceless objects from right under security guards’ noses.” “Got it,” Hood says. “Do the bat thing. And for your sake, I promise to stick with rubber bullets this time.” Thank the lord. Jim isn’t in the mood for the extra paperwork any deaths would entail. Hood pushes off the door and heads for the edge of the rooftop, taking out a grapple gun. “Now get back inside, commish. You look fucking freezing.” Hood raises his arm to shoot off a line, but Jim stops him. “Wait. Can I ask...is it true?” “Is what true?” “That you’re him. The one he lost.” Hood turns to face him and crosses his arms. “Does it matter?” “To me? I like to think so. It near broke my heart when the kid stopped showing up.” Understatement. When Batman lost his second one, Jim didn’t see the big guy for weeks. The best he got were glimpses in newspaper articles, detailing the Bat’s new form of violence as if the world had personally wronged him. He’d truly gone off the deep end, and Jim knew in his gut that it wasn’t just vengeance for himself. Then, when Jim was sure there was nothing to be done, a new one showed up. The third kid. He wasn’t like his predecessor, who was the brightest firecracker Jim had ever met. He liked chocolate bars and doing cartwheels along the roof’s edge while the adults talked, chiming in with a quip every once in a while. Sometimes Jim would make a trip to the vending machine right before their meetings and buy the kid a Snickers bar, just to see him light up. Robin would repay him by sneaking into his office and planting a bag of Swedish Fish somewhere he knew he’d find it. It became a game for the two of them. “He died,” Hood says. Jim can’t see his face, but he imagines a scowl hiding beneath the helmet. Just like his mentor. “And now?” A shrug. “He got better.” Jim shoves his hands into his pockets. “Well, if you happen to see him, give him my best. I’ve missed him. He’s a good kid.” “Was a good kid, you mean. People change.” “Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever the case, he was always my favorite one.” Hood’s expression doesn’t change because...well, it’s a hood. But Jim likes to think that he’s smiling under there. “I should go.” Jim nods. “Good luck. And go easy on my guys, will you? It’s not easy getting them to trust a gun-wielding maniac. No offense.” This time when Hood snickers, it’s not as threatening as it was before. “None taken. But what about you? Do you trust a gun-wielding maniac?” Now there’s a complicated question. After a moment, Jim settles on, “I can’t say that I agree with everything you do. And as far as the GCPD is concerned, you’re on real thin ice.” Hood nods, like he expected that much. “But that kid who used to hide candy in my office? I trust him.” Red Hood raises his grapple again and gives a quick two-fingered salute. “Cool. See ya, Gordon.” And then he’s gone, leaping off into the shadows. Even though there’s no one left to see, Jim smiles and salutes back. “See you, kiddo.”

[creepy-carrion]

Scents

Ticci Toby x reader

This... really isn't that good lol. This wasn't intended as something grand, just a scenario that popped into my mind. The last time I wrote an actual piece of fanfic was 5 years ago. This is kind of an attempt to get back into the flow of writing fanfiction, but I hope someone out there enjoys it nonetheless?

Toby has always been very sensitive to smell. It’s one of the senses he relies on the most, and its accuracy was enough to even unsettle some of the other creeps. You, being the one and only Tob’s S/O, got to experience the extent of his little superpower all too often. Naturally, his nose was always buried in your hair or clothes. Especially after he had a strenuous mission, the proxy would crawl in your bed with you, invited or not, and just take some deep breaths. You would always feel his tightened muscles relax, the breaths he took would slow down, until he finally fell asleep squeezing you against his chest.

Sure, sometimes it could unsettle you just a little. This boy could sense the slightest change in mood or health just by scent alone. Sure, you could usually kind of smell whether someone is sick or not, but a whole day before you started showing symptoms? And it was even beyond EJ how he could sense your mood dropping just by taking a whiff. It was odd, but you didn’t really question it too much. It was pretty nice how he would always try to help you before you, or anyone else, realized you needed it.

You never really minded, anyways. It was actually kind of adorable in its own little way. However, you did start having an issue with it when random objects from your room vanished into thin air. Objects you needed. Sure, when your hairbrush was nowhere to be found, you could just ask Jane to borrow hers, she didn’t seem to mind. Towels… egh. Kind of annoying. But right now, you were missing all of your pajama pants, your sports bras, and even your damn toothbrush. That was just fucking nasty. He steered clear from (most of) your underwear, though, probably aware of the storm he’d have coming.

And of course, once you’d confront Tobster with the facts, he’d deny it like a child who just stole from the cookie jar. It was incredibly obvious he was the culprit, but he’d still shrug and lie through his teeth. Didn’t exactly matter you encountered one of your t-shirts in his closet. He was determined to convince you he wasn’t the culprit. And if you were bold enough to take back one of the stolen objects, well, you would be met with crossed arms and a pout. Admittedly, the both of you could be petty sometimes. When Toby didn’t know how to deal with a setback, he would often get really petty with everyone in the house, while it didn’t even really stop him from doing whatever he felt like. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t fight fire with fire from time to time.

So that was exactly what your current plan entailed. You knew he had an assignment from the big man upstairs today and would actually bother getting a proper breakfast for once in his jammies, so there you were, sneaking into his room like a thief in the night. Toby’s regular outfit was dumped unceremoniously dropped on the floor, which only made your little mission easier. You quickly piled all the items up before shoving them against your chest and making a dash for it to your own room.

Apparently, Toby was still busy with breakfast. Perfect. This gave you the last few minutes to put everything on. This ended up being more of a task than you’d initially guessed. First of all, his legs were longer than yours, making the fabric cover your feet and inevitably drag over the floor. His goggles just… fell off your face. They awkwardly hung around your neck, bumping against your collarbone whenever you moved. And his mouthguard just kind of made it difficult to breathe, so you left it on your nightstand.

His sweater was nice, though. Really nice. It was obviously old, and the fabric was a little worn out and rough from all the washing, but it… it had a nice scent to it. Very nice. You felt some of the tensions you didn’t even know you had melt away as your body relaxed. It reminded you of the times he’d just hold you against his chest when you were scared, sad, upset, just to make you feel safe… Fuck, this was exactly why he’d been nicking your belongings, huh?

A clicking noise behind you caused you to turn around, and the man of the hour himself was standing in the doorway, clacking his tongue at you. Whether he was disapproving of your theft or if it was just one of his tics, you couldn’t tell. But still, that little pout of his was back on his lips as his dark brown eyes scanned over you. You felt your lips curling into a sly little grin, and you two just stared at each other.

“I need those to- to- to work, you know?”

With several long strides Toby was in front of you, grasping at the fabric and tugging at it gently, but not forcing it off of your form. You guessed he didn’t mind as much as he tried to convince you he was. Your suspicions were confirmed when he just tugged you closer to him and placed his nose in your hair, breathing in slowly.

“I know… But sharing is caring. Surely you of all people would understand that, huh, Tobs?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle when his little pout grew even more prominent. He could truly act like a dissatisfied toddler sometimes.

“Wipe that expression off your face, you baby. You’ll get ‘em back. Here, I’ll-“

“In a minute…”

His grip on you tightened as he snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you into his form. His head moved down to your neck, lips ghosting over your skin but never being placed down. You felt a shiver ripple down your spine, and you instead you just opted to press your face into his chest, sometimes feeling him twitch as he pulled up his shoulders or cracked his neck. You both just took a moment to appreciate each other’s presence, taking in the other’s scents, just being in the moment before Toby would inevitably have to go.

“We sho- sho- should do this more often.”

The proxy snorted as he took a step back, taking another look at you in your new outfit.

“I am g- g- g- going to need them though.”

“I know, I know… But… Toby?”

“Hm?”

“Please give me back my fucking toothbrush.”

[sandalwoodhusbands]

Hey, it's the request anon again :) I would love to read some fluffy elu, maybe them finally getting a cute dog and Eliott being incredibly happy about how much his life changed for the better since he met Lucas? And maybe a smut oneshot too? Like, Eliott wanting Lucas to take the lead, for him to be in control or something? Sorry in advance, I know this is a lot but I just love your writing so so much! (You don't have to do them of course) 🤍🤍🤍

hello there! first off, thank you so much for the requests! i had a lot of fun writing the first one, and in perfect timing for eliott’s birthday. i gave it a little spin that i hope you’ll like anyway.

i’ll come back to the sexy one in a couple of days, but in the meantime please enjoy <3

-

(also in ao3)

“I think Lucas is getting me a stripper for my birthday.”

The words make Idriss shoot his head up from his book so fast Eliott is concerned he might have pulled a muscle.

“You think Lucas is what?” Idriss asks in a high voice, eyes full of bewilderment. “What?!”

“I think,” Eliott repeats calmly “that Lucas is getting me a stripper for my birthday.”

Idriss blinks at him.

Eliott shrugs innocently from the couch, uncrossing and crossing his legs under him as Idriss gapes stupidly at him.

“What the fuck,” Idriss says at last “do you mean that Lucas, your best friend, is getting you a fucking stripper for your birthday?”

Eliott straightens his back, smiling at Idriss like he’s finally asking the questions he should be asking.

“I’m glad you asked that.” He says in glee, clasping his hands together. “Well, one, Lucas isn’t half as sneaky as he thinks he is.”

“That’s not even a valid argument.”

Eliott throws Idriss a disapproving glare. “That’s not the point, Idriss. Two,” he lists off with his fingers “he’s been asking really weird questions lately. Like the other day, he asked if my landlord cared about loud noises. And what’s that code for? A party.”

“Eliott, I don’t think-“

“And then,” Eliott interrupts. “Just last night he told me I should make some space in the living room for my surprise.” He makes air quotes, looking at Idriss expectantly.

Idriss only stares back.

“The fuck do you mean surprise?”

Eliott wets his lips. “A dancing pole, obviously.”

Idriss’ mouths falls open, and then-

“Your brain works in ways I will never understand, bro.”

Eliott smiles smugly, leaning back on the couch. With a lazy raise of his eyebrows, he nods at Idriss solemnly. “I’m gonna be right, you’ll see.”

Idriss hums non-committedly.

“Pity he’s not the ass you’re seeing naked though, right?”

Eliott throws the tv remote at his head.

“Shut the fuck up.”

***

It’s a week after his conversation with Idriss that he sees Lucas’ lit up face as he talks to the girl behind the counter, and knows he can’t keep it in anymore.

He tries. He really tries to keep it in, for everyone’s sake, mostly because he doesn’t actually ruin Lucas’ surprise. A little because they’re in public, and he knows Lucas might try to knock him out with a bowling ball if he embarrasses him.

In the end he blurts it out.

“Are you getting me a stripper for my birthday?” He asks, and immediately winces when he sees Lucas’ expression.

Lucas’ entire body falters, hands raised up below his knees where he was tying the laces of his shoes. He’s looking at Eliott half with surprise and half like he wants to kill him, and then he’s pressing his lips together, closing his eyes with exasperation.

Eliott gives him a sheepish smile, shrugging a little.

“Eliott Demaury, you’re a fucking idiot.” He says, but then he’s smiling a little, the corners of his lips curled up prettily.

Eliott takes one step closer to him. Lucas rolls his eyes, hugging his middle in the way he does when he’s laughing really hard, raising an eyebrow at Eliott.

“So is that a no?”

Lucas huffs, but the grin in his face betrays him.

“Yes, that’s a no, you moron. Why would you even think I would get you a stripper?” He asks, throwing his hands up. He talks with his whole body, with his mouth and the sway of his hips as he walks towards an empty lane. Eliott watches entranced his every move, and he must have been silent for too long, he thinks, because then Lucas stops walking. He turns to him with a dubious expression. “Wait, do you want one?”

And.

Well.

“I suppose not.” Eliott shrugs. Because he doesn’t, not really. Now that the thrill of figuring his best friend out has ran its course, he definitely doesn’t find the idea appealing. He’s almost happy he got it wrong this time. But as Lucas keeps studying him silently, eyes squinted as if he’s trying to read Eliott’s mind, Eliott only laughs, shaking his head. “No, I definitely don’t need to see naked people shaking their ass in my face.”

The red fluorescent lights shine on Lucas’ hair, coloring some of the strands in a pale bronze, and his eyes are bright. He’s beautiful, Eliott’s golden boy.

He smiles, watching the way Lucas’ wary expression turns into mirth.

“Ah, okay.” Lucas nods. “Guess I’ll return my sparkly gold thong then.”

And then he’s walking away.

Eliott jogs after him, unexpected laughter bubbling up his chest that lasts all the way to him.

They’re not the only ones here tonight, but they’re definitely the loudest, he thinks, when he catches up to Lucas, his hands tugging at him by the shoulders, and Lucas’ laugher is the only sound he hears.

“Wait,” Eliott says. There’s laughter in his voice, and he hasn’t said anything funny yet, but Lucas is laughing too. “Wait, wait. If it’s your ass we’re talking about…”

Lucas groans, batting Eliott’s hands away half-heartedly. “Oh my god, shut up.”

Eliott lets him go reluctantly. If this was a Tony Stampley song, he’d say something tacky and corny that Lucas would hate and make him punch Eliott in the shoulder, something like I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave.

They’re not, but Lucas’ ass still looks good in those black jeans, so he settles for the best next thing.

“When are you gonna let me have a feel at your perky butt, Lallemant?” He calls out.

Lucas turns around then, tilting his head to the side.

There’s a sudden rush traveling up Eliott’s veins when he watches the unimpressed expression in Lucas’ face; exasperation, fondness and something bright that only Lucas’ eyes have, all mixed in one as he stares at Eliott. If Eliott could, he would have Lucas, and only Lucas stare at him like this until the day he dies.

Lucas opens his mouth, and before he can say anything, Eliott knows it’s gonna sting.

“When you grow the balls to ask me out properly, Demaury.” He says with bite.

Despite himself, Eliott laughs.

He walked himself right into that one.

***

So the thing is.

The thing is, and Eliott knows that Lucas absolutely hates when there is a ‘thing’, so he’s never told him with quite these words, but the thing is that he’s in love with Lucas, and he thinks Lucas might, at least, like him a little bit in return – or at least he’s pretty sure that’s what’s happening here.

One can only brush their hands together so many times until it starts meaning something.

So he’s in love with Lucas. Lucas, who is the best person that has ever happened to him, the only person he trusts with all there is to see him; the only person, asides from his parents, who’s seen him at his worst, and then at his fucking worst.

He’s in love with Lucas, because how the fuck could he not? And Lucas might be too, and the thing is that he’s scared shitless.

“So,” Lucas starts when they get in the car. “For our next non-date you might want to bring a pair of spare underwear.”

Eliott would’ve laughed any other day. He thinks that’s why Lucas does it, because they know each other, and he actually likes Lucas’ stupid out of context innuendos. Because they’re best friends, and that’s how much they know each other.

When you asks me out properly, Lucas had said. As if this was a transitory state, and he was expecting Eliott to take the next, logical step.

Because Lucas likes logic.

Lucas likes science, and he likes waiting until the ice-cream is melting to eat it. He likes blueberry juice and pineapple on pizza, but he picks it out of the slices and eats them at the end instead of ordering a dessert like any other normal person. His hair smells like coconut, and he still holds Eliott’s pinkie when they’re passing a dark street on the way home from the club.

Eliott knows all this because they’re best friends. But he also knows that Lucas gets goosebumps when Eliott lets his hands travel up his back, and how his eyes go crossed when they’re standing too close at a party, and Eliott has to tip his head down to whisper in his ear – and then it’s not platonic anymore, or at least it doesn’t feel like it is.

So Eliott? He’s confused as fuck.

So instead of answering, he lets his fears run wild.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” He asks, hands gripping the steering-wheel.

He doesn’t have to turn to look at Lucas to know he’s frowning.

“What does?”

Eliott heaves a sigh. “This,” He says, and then as a clarification, “Us.”

Lucas makes a sound at the back of his throat that sounds a lot like an objection.

“Is it because of the shit I said back inside? Because Eliott, you know I was kidding. I’m fine with taking this, whatever this entails, slow.”

Every bone in Eliott’s body lights up with frustration. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? They’re taking it slow, and as long as Eliott doesn’t overthink it they’re fine. But then when he does think about it; when his brain whirls, and whirls, and whirls, and eventually halts to a stop, the momentum rips him away or pull him closer to Lucas.

“No, or.” Eliott curses under his breath, knots in his tongue that he doesn’t know how to undo. “I don’t know. We’ve been friends for years.”

Lucas huffs. “Yeah, and I’ve wanted to kiss you for as many years.”

Eliott shoots Lucas an amused glance. “Way to take it slow, Lu.” He watches from the corner as Lucas’ cheeks fill with pink warmth, and he cuts him off before Lucas can start apologizing. “Maybe you have, but the difference is that you actually haven’t.”

“I guess?”

Lucas sounds as confused as Eliott feels.

This is the closest they’ve gotten to discussing their new dynamic since it started. It fills the car with a weird tension that Eliott isn’t used to feeling around Lucas, and this. This is what he’s talking about.

Of things changing, maybe for the worse.

He risks looking at Lucas at a red light. His insides churn at the sight of him, of his blue eyes clouded over and the slight pout on his mouth, forrowed eyebrows that Eliott wants to smooth out with his thumb, or maybe his lips. He’s pressed all the way against the door, his hands fiddling with the threads at the rip on his knee, and he won’t look at Eliott.

The sight hurts him as much as it leaves him completely breathless.

“I’m just scared,” his eyes go back to the road, but he reaches with a tentative towards Lucas’ seat. “That we might throw everything – this friendship, us, away if we take the leap.”

After a moment, he feels a thumb pressing down on his open palm.

“It scares me too, but what’s the other option?” Lucas asks in a small voice. “Finding someone else? Because, at least for me, that would destroy me more than trying and realizing we don’t work as lovers.”

Fuck, the thought of Lucas being with someone else-

He closes his hand around Lucas’ thumb.

“So it’s scary,” Lucas starts, “but we could be scared together, don’t you think?”

Could they?

The answer is yes, he thinks. They could. They could do anything, Lucas and him. They were fifteen and seventeen, and their knees were scrapped and there was blood running down his knee, and Lucas had looked at the fence they had jumped before looking at Eliott, and he’d said, “you and I, we could conquer the world.”

So that’s not the question Lucas should be asking, maybe. Less of a ‘could we?’ and more of a ‘are you up for the ride?’.

So in the end, he settles for less than what Lucas deserves.

“Maybe.”

They spend the rest of the ride in silence. There’s a soft murmur coming from the radio, a station that only plays rock songs, because they’re Lucas’ favorite, and he’s never been his own priority when it comes to happiness, but Lucas has. So he listens, for Lucas, turning his grip on Lucas’ hand until their fingers are loosely intertwined, because he might not be ready to give him himself, but he’d give him the universe if he tried.

At the end, they part with a joke.

“So there’s really no strippers tomorrow?” Eliott asks, just to be annoying, and because he knows it’ll make Lucas smile.

It does.

Lucas huffs, but there’s a hidden smile in the corner of his mouth when he looks down to unfasten his seatbelt, and the last rays of sunlight reflect on his eyes when they dance over towards Eliott’s face.

“No Eliott, there’s no strippers.”

His hand leaves Eliott’s hold, so Eliott holds onto the hem of his shirt before he’s out of the car.

Lucas gives him a funny look, confused little smile in his face that makes the butterflies in Eliott’s stomach go into haywire.

“What’s up?”

“I just.” Eliott shrugs. Lucas eyes him suspiciously, and he laughs. “I hope I’ll still get to see someone naked anyway, that’s all.”

Lucas snorts. “I’m getting out of the car now, thank you.”

Eliott beams. “See you tomorrow, Lu.”

I’m sorry I’m such a coward, he doesn’t say.

Lucas might have understood anyway, because his eyes are the color of the summer sea, and his hand is warm on Eliott’s shoulder when he leans in to press a small kiss to his cheek before leaving the car.

“See you tomorrow.”

Eliott smells summer breeze and strawberry chapstick all the way home.

***

When Lucas goes over to Eliott’s apartment the next afternoon, Eliott lets himself get pulled by his t-shirt towards the door.

“We’re late, c’mon you ass!” Lucas says loudly. “Up, up, up!”

Eliott trails right behind him. There’s still a hand gripping the front of his t-shirt, so he curls his fingers around the wrist and keeps it there, smiling at the back of Lucas’ head as Lucas goes on and on about how ungrateful he is, and I can’t believe I got here and you were in your fucking pajamas, Eliott, everyone is waiting at the park already!

That makes Eliott pause.

“Wait. We’re not throwing the party here?”

Lucas looks over his shoulder, an expression on his face so familiar that Eliott instantly knows he’s mentally plotting all the ways he can smack him against a pole and make it look an accident. He’s in love with a psychopath gremlin.

Speaking of poles though-

“No?” Lucas asks, effectively cutting Eliott’s thoughts off. “Do you honestly think we can fit all of our friends here?”

Lucas has a point. In his defense, out of all the holes Idriss meticulously blew in his plot, he never mentioned a space problem. So he’s not the only idiot here.

Maybe Lucas is just smarter than everyone else.

“I just thought – nevermind.” He shakes his head, putting his shoes on at the entrance before standing up. Taking Lucas’ hand in his, he smiles when Lucas squeezes them. “Lead the way.”

Lucas stops him. “Hey,” he says, turning his body towards Eliott, and with his free hand he wraps it around Eliott’s neck. “Happy birthday, Eli.”

Eliott sneaks his arm around Lucas’ middle, pulling him closer. “Thank you.” He says into Lucas’ hair. “You’re the best.”

He feels warm lips on his neck, a tug at their joined hands, and his heart swells with love.

When they get to the park Idriss takes a good look at their joint hands, and then he’s walking away, hands on his stomach as he wheezes all the way towards the snacks table. Eliott fucking hates him.

“So you really had Lucas all figured out, huh?” Idriss asks a while later.

The sun is setting already, and they’re two of the few people that are still around besides Emma, Yann and Imane. Eliott looks around, searching for Lucas’ frame, smiling when he finds him folding plastic tables.

For a fleeting moment Lucas looks back and waves, beaming happily.

Eliott beams back.

“I swear I’m usually better at reading him than this.” He says.

“Hmm.”

They leave not long after. Packing everything up in the backseat of Yann’s old van, they leave the park as they found it.

Eliott insists on lingering for a little while longers, arms full of hugs and mouth full of gratefulness, because sometimes he still can’t believe he drew the long straw in life. He doesn’t really get it, he’s certainly done enough things to elicit exactly the opposite of love, but when he finds Lucas  looming by a near tree, a small proud smile on his face – as if he’s proud that Eliott was born 22 years ago.                    

It’s something that Eliott doesn’t get, but as he smiles back at Lucas over Imane’s shoulder, he thinks he doesn’t need to.

On the way back home, Eliott drags Lucas to the nearest McDonald’s, and Lucas laughs like he knows something that Eliott doesn’t. He gets large fries and a milkshake, because although Lucas is a little shit that is still smiling at him teasingly, he knows it’s Lucas’ favorite.

Lucas’ breath smells like chocolate when he leans in to drop a thankful kiss to Eliott’s cheek, and Eliott thinks that he’ll take all the teasing in the world if it’ll always earn him whipped cream lips-shaped pints.

“Okay.” Lucas walks backwards towards Eliott’s apartment door. “Close your eyes now.”

Eliott watches, a lot confused and a lot amused as Lucas hits the door with his back. He places the empty cup on the stair railing, that Lucas had so charismatically put in his hand when he’d finished it, before fishing his keys out of his back pocket.

He jiggles them in Lucas’ direction. “Maybe you might need this if you wanna get in?”

“Oops,” Lucas grimaces. In one swift movement he steals them from Eliott’s hold, and then he’s back at the door. “Okay, now close your eyes.”

“Why?”

Lucas looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Because your surprise is in there.”

“Really?” He says, and he takes one a step closer to Lucas.

He tries to suppress his laughter at the look of utter confusion in Lucas’ face as he pulls on the loops of his jeans, making Lucas stumble slightly towards him.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m just checking that you’re not wearing that gold underwear.” Eliott says teasingly, pulling harder at the loops and making Lucas yelp. “I’m still not entirely convinced tonight won’t end up in some stripping.”

Lucas honks out a startled laughter, loud and obnoxious in a way it should be unattractive, but it only makes Eliott’s inside melt.

“Fuck, you’re annoying.” Lucas groans, pushing him away. He takes Eliott’s hands and puts them over Eliott’s eyes. “Now behave, and close your eyes. Don’t peek.”

“I won’t.”

He stays true to his words. He doesn’t peek when he hears the keys jiggle, or when Lucas unlocks the door. His heart thrums with excitement, but he doesn’t peak when he hears footsteps walking away from him. He does bounce on the heel of his shoes, smile threatening to split his face in half as he waits for Lucas to give him the green light.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.” He hears from inside the apartment.

Eliott does.

His hands fall limply at his sides. There’s a gasp trapped inside his chest, dampness in his eyes when his gaze falls on the fluffly little thing nestled in Lucas’ arms.

“Oh my god.” He says. He stays pinned in place, his knees trembling under him, but still, he finds enough strength to take two long strides inside the apartment before closing the door. “You did not, oh my god Lu.”

Lucas smiles softly at him, before looking back down at his arms. “I did. Come say hi.”

Eliott walks closer towards him, until he’s fitting his hands over Lucas’ hold.

“Oh fuck.” He whimpers. With one careful hand he brushes down the puppy’s back, eyes springing with a new wave of tears when he feels the soft puffs of black hair between his fingers. “Oh my god, hello little thing.”

He watches, completely captivated, the rise and fall of its little chest. He brushes his fingers between the ears, slowly, and the puppy lifts its head up, blinking up at him.

“You’re so fucking cute. How are you so cute?” Eliott whispers “He’s just like-“

“Yeah.” Lucas interrupts him. “I remember when you told me that, you know? One of the first nights I stayed over at your house. You thought I was gonna run the other way when you told me about your bipolar, I could see it in your eyes.” He confesses. He joins Eliott on the floor, sitting in front of him, brushing his hand up and down the dog’s fur. “And then you told me about the one that got away. I was really sad for you that night.”

“Lucas…“

“So I promised myself that, when the time came, and I could afford adult things like food, I’d do this for you. I read that dogs are really good company, too, you know?”

Something inside Eliott shifts.

“Lucas.” He says with urgency. His heart beats hard against his ribcage, mouth dry, and he thinks that if he had to Lucas and go, he’d be fine with it. “Lucas, I really wanna be scared with you, I think.”

Because he gets it now. It never was a matter of who would ruin it between them first. It was about happiness, and when it comes to that, Eliott knows Lucas has been the object to his happy dreams since the day they met. And if he can make Lucas as happy as Lucas makes him, he’d give everything and anything to keep it that way. For as long as he can, until he can’t anymore.

Lucas looks at him hesitantly, eyes fitting between Eliott and the distance between them.

“You think?”

“No.” Eliott shakes his head. His knees bump against Lucas’ thighs when he crawls towards him, and Lucas’ face is hot under his palms when he cups his cheeks. “I know.”

Lucas breathes, chin tilted up. “Yeah, okay.” He whispers, hands gripping the back of Eliott’s shirt.

The world ceases to nothing when their lips touch. The sky might have fallen and the oceans turned blood, and Eliott wouldn’t know anything past the brush of his mouth against Lucas’. At first it’s tentative, lips against lips touching softly, Lucas’ hands spread open on the small of Eliott’s back.

His heartbeat stops then, just to beat with more intent when Lucas’ tongue swipes down on his lower lip. He parts his lips, letting Lucas’ tongue play with his inside his mouth. Their lips slide together, Lucas rolling Eliott’s bottom lip between his teeth in a way that makes Eliott’s toes curl.

Eliott sighs inside Lucas’ mouth, drawing circles on his cheeks with his thumbs. He feels Lucas melting against his body, and he smiles involuntarily. Lucas’ own mouth starts curling up in a smile, and then they’re just clinking their teeth together that, despite everything, still counts as the best kiss Eliott’s ever had.

“Wow.” Lucas whispers when they pull away to catch their breath.

“Yeah.” Eliott agrees. Foreheads pressed together, he brushes the back of his hand down Lucas’ cheek, and Lucas nuzzles into his touch. “Wow.”

There’s no words that can describe the lines the butterflies are drawing inside his belly. His body feels like cotton, putty under Lucas’ stare, and there’s so much happiness inside of him that he wouldn’t be surprised if it started slipping from under his fingertips.

To make sure it doesn’t go to waste, he presses the pads of his fingers into Lucas’ skin, and he only sighs, stealing another kiss from the corner of Lucas’ mouth.

Lucas kisses back, once, twice, running his hands up Eliott’s back and tangling his fingers in his hair, pressing kisses to Eliott’s face.

“I am very happy with this upgrade.” Lucas whispers between kisses. “Very fucking happy.”

Eliott laughs deliriously. “Fuck, me too.” He agrees, nipping at Lucas’ bottom lip. “Me too.”

He’s deepening the kiss when he feels something nudging his leg.

Pulling back, he finds his little black furball bumping its head against his knee impatiently. Lucas laughs at the noise of distress coming from Eliott, but his chuckles die down when Eliott picks the puppy up carefully, kissing its pink nose as an apology.

“You just wanted kisses, didn’t you?” Eliott asks in a baby voice, nuzzling their noises together. “Yes you did. Hello, you’re very cute.”

Lucas suddenly groans, falling back on the floor. “Fuck, I didn’t realize how adorable this would be.” He whines, throwing his arm across his face. “I’m not gonna survive.”

Eliott takes his gaze away from the squirmy puppy in his arms to flash Lucas a happy smile.

“This is the best birthday present ever.” He nudges Lucas’ foot with his own. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t notice Lucas inching closer to him, too busy running his hand down the puppy’s nose. His hand covers its face, making the puppy chase his fingers with a jerk of its head, wiggling its tongue excitedly when Eliott moves his hand closer.

There’s an arm wrapping around his back, and Eliott blinks, head turning to the side to find Lucas curling against him.

“What are you gonna call him?” Lucas asks. His eyes are soft, soft, soft, and he’s cupping the dog’s head with his hand as he smiles up at Eliott.

Eliott takes a good look at him. He’s small, black all around, and when Eliott stops his motions down his back the puppy blinks up at him with confused little sea eyes. His heart fills with love.

“Lucas.”

Lucas squeaks. “No fucking way you’re naming your dog after me, mister.”

Eliott grins, scratching between the puppy’s ears. “No?”

“God, no.” Lucas huffs, shaking his head decidedly. “Imagine when we have s-“ he stops himself, face flushed red when he stammers out a rushed “I mean-”, and Eliott laughs loudly.

He laughs loudly as Lucas hides his red cheeks in the crook of his shoulder, keeps laughing when he feels a weak punch on his shoulder, and when Lucas complains in a whine to please just stop laughing, oh my god.

“You’re really eager, aren’t you?” Eliott asks teasingly, moving his hand to cup the back of Lucas’ neck. He plays with the short hairs he finds there, smiling to himself when he feels Lucas’ smile pressed to his skin.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“No, but I agree. I wouldn’t want this little guy to scratch the door down whenever I scream your name.” He says, and Lucas breath hitches. He decides not to comment on it. “What about Blue?”

Lucas unburies his face from Eliott’s neck. “Blue?”

“Yeah, look at his eyes. They remind me of yours.” He says, bringing the puppy closer to their faces.

In cue, the puppy stares at them with deep blue eyes. And then he yips.

“So Blue then?” Lucas asks with a grin. Happiness looks good on him, so overwhelmingly good that when he turns to check on Eliott, Eliott can’t help but a sneak a kiss to his jaw before nodding. Lucas cups his hand, where it’s holding the puppy’s head, and curls his fingers around it. “Welcome to the family, baby.”

There’s a second where they’re both quiet, and then Eliott breaks the silence.

“Does that mean I can call you daddy now?”

Lucas takes Blue from Eliott, sneering. “Fucking shut up, or I swear to God I’m taking this dog with me and you’ll never again hear from either of us.”

Some things never change, Eliott thinks, and the thought brings him peace.

Lucas has light in his eyes when they look at each other, and his nose scrunches up the closer Eliott gets.

“I’m sure I could persuade you.” He says, wiggling his fingers in Lucas’ face.

“Eliott- no.” Lucas warns. His warning falls on deaf ears, because one second later Eliott’s fingers are dancing all around his body, tickling under his chin and digging into his sides. “No, no, stop!” Lucas shrieks between bursts of laugher. Blue yips happily at his side, licking sloppy stripes on Lucas’ cheek that only make him laugh harder. “Blue, help me!”

“Go Blue! Knock him out!” Eliott cheers, and their happiness echoes through the four walls of his living room. “Good boy!”

Blue’s tail wiggles against the wooden floor loudly, as loud as Lucas’ shrieks of laughter, and when Eliott looks down, he knows. This is his family now.

Lucas had asked him just yesterday, if they could be scared together. As he looks down at the boy squirming under his hands, laughing so freely, it’s hard to remember what he was supposed to be scared of in the first place.

***

He wakes up to something tickling his forehead.

“You can’t sleep on my face, okay baby?” Cracking one eye open, he finds himself face first with a mop of messy brown hair. A naked neck followed by a naked shower, Lucas’ warm skin under his arm where it’s curled around his waist, and a wiggling tail between their heads. “I know it’s scary to be all the way down there on your own, which is why I let you up here last night, but no sleeping on my face, okay?”

Blue only yips happily, and Eliott tries to snort. What comes out is more of a snuffle that he presses against Lucas’ back. Lucas tucks Blue under his chin before grabbing Eliott’s arm, bringing it up to eye level, and drops a kiss to the back of his hand.

“Go back to sleep, my love.” He says.

And Eliott smiles.

He sleeps.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Ghost Busted || Morgan, Adam, Jasmine, Nell, &Constance

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @walker-journal @halequeenjas @nelllraiser @constancecunningham

SUMMARY: Morgan’s plan to bind Constance gets busted.

CONTAINS: gun use (salt rounds)

Binding a soul wasn’t much more complicated than binding anything else, as it turned out; not in terms of ingredients, at least. Morgan was able to gather the herbs on her own, mostly foraged, to save her pride at the Eye of Newt, but to adhere as closely to the spell instructions, she braved Vera’s judgmental looks for the last few things. Now it was time to take stock and go over the plan one last time before doing the binding. Morgan felt for the bottle in her bag. Still there. As far as she understood it, just about any vessel that could be marked with the right sigils would do, but using any of the tiny jars she had left from her crafting days made her feel uncomfortable. They seemed so small, keeping someone in there just seemed so...unsafe. And what if she could somehow see Constance staring at her through the glass? The thought made Morgan shudder too much, so she got a nice arcane looking, opaque, ceramic jar.

The day was bright, the kind you painted on a greeting card for fall. Morgan turned at the sound of footsteps, not certain how much she should smile, with Jasmine and Adam at least partially on the fence. But this was a net good for everyone. A bottled ghost was going to kill a lot less people and cause a lot less chaos than a free range one. After they did this, she could figure the rest out on her own if it came to it. Morgan offered a small wave. “Uh, hey?” she offered. “Did you...get everything you needed okay?”

Apparently, Nell was the first back from her little monster hunting excursion. In truth, she would have preferred to still be out gathering spell items for many reasons, but the primary one stemmed from the little guilt monster that was gnawing away at her stomach. Now that she’d talked about exorcising Constance at the first chance possible with both Jasmine and Adam, it was emotionally difficult to sit here and pretend as if everything were still going according to plan, sitting next to Morgan as if nothing had changed and she would still get her revenge. But it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. There’d been multiple occasions in which she’d had to make decisions that her friends wouldn’t like for the benefit of themselves and others. Still...that didn’t mean it got any easier. Nell could only hope that Morgan might be forgiving in the long run, and still want something to do with her at the end of the day. “Yeah, I got them,” she answered as she held up her trophies. “Are the others back, yet?” Taki, her Ovinikk familiar, hadn't been far behind- looking proud as anything while he carried a few grathered herbs between his teeth.

Nell kept her response short, not wanting to say much else when she was caught up in wondering whether or not her and Morgan’s friendship would make it to see the end of the week. “I’m just gonna look over the stuff again, too.” Then she gingerly plopped herself onto the ground next to a basket of herbs, muttering to herself about their quality and picking through them with a careful hand as a means of keeping herself busy, and hopefully safe from too much conversation.

Chickcharney feathers, a catalyst for the curse. The larynx of an Aravo to bind their voice. The pelt of an Aufhocker to weigh them down to earth. A heart burst by a Carach’s fractoxtin to remind them of heartbreak. The exoskeleton of a Dearoile, to echo their life’s pain. A bone from a Gashadokura slain a century ago, to rekindle memories of fleshly deprivation A Valravn skull medallion, a symbol of death as the inescapable devourer.

Adam entered and began to place these cheery trophies of several weeks hunting in their assigned places, thoughts heavy with the twisted moral balance of what was about to transpire.

There had been no doubt in her mind that Jasmine was doing what was necessary. Whatever grudge Morgan had against this ghost mattered very little in the big scheme of things. Her ingredients had been more or less easy to gather. A mix of herbs and different salts. She was never without iron flakes and rods either. Once she had made it back to their meeting spot, she mentally began envisioning where she could lay out a salt circle. It wasn’t entirely necessary for a typical banishment, but it made things easier. Even if she had any intention of playing along with this whole binding the ghost until Morgan found a way to torture her, she’d be taking these same precautions. It all lined up with what they were doing here, just instead of Nell doing the binding, she’s simply banish Constance. Whether or not she deserved worse would be up to whatever cosmic power she faced after being thrown out of this plane. “It sounds like we’re ready then,” she said as she contemplated laying out a circle. She turned to Nell with a knowing look in her eye, “So, when are we doing this? Did we want to go ahead and knock this out before anyone else is hurt?

Constance didn’t feel at home in the manor. The walls reminded her too much of the ones she had dusted and cleaned for the Bachmans, and the environment was so unmoving save for spare objects that were fiddled with and tossed by spirits. Constance preferred to take them out to the woods where the oaks grew tall and remembered everything, even her. Or to the lake, veiled in mist and shining waters. “And did you know!” She cried, turning to Nancy trailing behind her in strange garb that had come into fashion after her death. “I taught her everything she knew about magic. Her mother was a beastly woman with no talent in her right fingernail, doing charms I had managed practically with my intuition. I gave Agnes the keys to the kingdom of the gods, which makes me the reason that tiny, ugly cow Morgan could tap into any of her magic at all. But, oh! The raptures we would find in these woods. They weren’t half so thick, and we felt so fearless and bold hiding here and--”

The sound of other voices made her stop and drift up into the trees. She had gotten better at this now, having so many ghosts to practice with and help her along. Most of the faces were familiar. Morgan, of course, tramping her muddy boots through her woods. The girl from the summoning. The boy from the classroom. And then some other woman, but if she was in league with the others, then she couldn’t be any more trustworthy. She hovered in the soggy gold and red of autumn leaves still hanging on, knowing that Morgan could see her always. There were strange things being passed, salt, herbs, some runes she recognized, and a jar.

“Those cruel, treasonous fiends,” Constance hissed. Did Blanche know about this? Was she just biding her time, placating Constance until this very moment, when she might be trapped forever? Or until such time as a suitable punishment could be given? As if being stripped of her liberty, of everything but her consciousness wasn’t punishment enough. “Nancy,” Constance whispered. “You said we could play a game today, right?”

Morgan wrapped Nell into a quick hug. “Thanks, Nell,” she said quietly. “I’m glad you’re doing better.” She nodded to the others, smiling tensely. They weren’t thrilled to be here, that much was obvious, and she wasn’t sure if any kind of thanks would smack with passive aggression she didn’t intend. “It looks like we’re gonna be all set, and the town is going to get a lot safer once we’re done and she’s all tucked a-- fuck. Nell, get down!”

Morgan grabbed the young witch and shielded her with her body as she saw Constance come soaring out of the trees. And this time, she wasn’t alone. Her iron rod was at her hip, she could give her a good whack or two and be done, but she couldn’t leave Nell vulnerable, and there was Adam and Jasmine to consider. “Okay, uh--new plan!” She screeched. “We get some salt lines down and nobody dies today, how about that?”

With the waking nightmares gone, the ghosts had also returned to their normal state of invisible. As it were Nell would have had not a single clue that Constance or Nancy had appeared if it weren’t for Morgan and Taki. Blindly following Morgan’s command, she ducked— hoping that whatever she was dodging might simply fly over her. It took a moment for Nell to make the connection between salt and spirit, and then she could only assume that it was Constance who had come for them. “Is it her? Constance?” she asked both Jasmine and Morgan. Taki’s fur had bristled into an enormous ball of fluff the moment the ghosts had appeared, hissing and spitting in disgust as the spirits approached. Remembering that last time Taki had met Constance at the ghost’s summoning and how it had ended with the familiar in the pet hospital, Nell instinctively picked up the dog-sized cat. Shit- they needed salt like Morgan had said. Focusing her magic for a split second, Nell Summoned the table salt from home, a blue canister blinking into existence in her hand. Then another appeared in her other palm, and Nell silently thanked Bea for sometimes buying in bulk. “Here!” she called before tossing the salt container to Adam. Hastily, she began to draw her salt circle, first using it to encompass the spell ingredients. Losing them would be too much of a set back to risk.

In another town, if people just started freaking out for no visible reason and tossed him salt, Adam might have questions, concerns even. However Adam was becoming accustomed to weird improv game that invisible spookums entailed that he just caught the salt contained and got to work putting circles around the important stuff.  

This was all happening more quickly than Jasmine could have anticipated. As a familiar chill ran over her, she felt her whole body tense. No, not now. Not while Nell was here and she didn’t even have a proper circle yet on the ground. This was less than ideal, but she could make do without the circle if it was just a simple banishment. Minimal distractions would be needed so she had to trust Nell and Adam could hold down the fort if Morgan threw a fit about what she had to do. Once she actually caught a glimpse of the ghost, her mouth dropped. Even if she never planned on going through with the torture, it was still shocking that she wanted to torture an actual kid. “Seriously,” she shot a glare at Morgan, “How old is this ghost? Sixteen? You want to torture a teenager?”

She shook her head and didn’t need any further motivation to push forward with the exorcism as planned. It hardly mattered to her whether or not Morgan approved of the decision. “Nell, stay back and keep everyone away,” she directed as she took her place in the room. A haphazard salt circle was laid out on the floor and she stood directly outside as she began the familiar incantation she followed for banishment rituals. The air was whipping around them, but she knew she could do this. It was only a banishment, she just needed Morgan to stay away. She could feel the familiar bolt of energy going through her as she spoke the words. Her eyes remained on Constance who was getting pulled closer toward the circle as she chanted. She could feel the fight in her, but this was the kindest outcome for her.

“Fucking Stars, she’s nineteen and a few centuries! How is that important right now!” Morgan screamed. She wasn’t going to make Constance into Jasmine’s problem. She would find her own exorcist, and maybe a plan B or C just in case they crapped out on her. Morgan was pulling Nell back to the Subaru. She was trying to shield her with her body and fish out her salt at the same time. “Salt outside the car and get inside, okay?” She turned to Adam, pointing furiously at the car, “Stuff is replaceable, you are no--!” She didn’t quite finish, because the roar in the air grew quiet and she heard Jasmine--chanting? Morgan whirled. “What are you doing? That’s not the binding, what the hell is that?”

A burst of force knocked her to the ground and dragged her through the salted earth until her head collided with a tree. It happened so fast, Morgan’s vision blurred. She grimaced, reaching for the salt pistol clumsily to her belt when she looked up and saw… some 1950’s barbie with a snapped neck. “Who the fuck are you?”

Constance screamed to the heavens. At last her body held some gravity, but it wasn’t binding her to the earth. She was being dragged towards a circle. She didn’t need to see its sigils to know it would mean her end. “Nancy!” She screamed. The leaves rose from the ground at her cry, the trees trembled. Control. A strong spirit was like a strong witch; she needed control.

All the herbs and magic playthings Morgan’s brood had gathered froze in the air, and with them, the two bodies not protected by Blanche Harlow’s words. She did not see Nancy lift her concentration, much stronger and better practiced than her own, to do likewise, nor how she approached the circle to take her place. There was an evil scream from Morgan, then the world shattered and bodies flew.

As Morgan tugged her towards the car, Nell did her best to wrestle from her grip, not keen in the least to let Jasmine and Morgan take the brunt of whatever it was the ghosts had come to accomplish. “I’m not gonna hide in the car!” she refused, though her indignance was also cut short as the exorcist began her ritual. Would Morgan retaliate? Try to stop Jasmine from doing her job? The witch wouldn’t get an answer as an invisible force threw her backwards along with the others. She landed roughly, arms scraped open by the assorted twigs and rocks of the forest floor when she’d tried to catch herself in a roll, trying to shield Taki from ricocheting off the ground as well. It was then that she officially decided that fighting ghosts was the single worst thing in the world and all its realms to go up against. How was she supposed to stab something she couldn’t see? She couldn’t even stab them to begin with. With a frustrated growl she rose from where she’d landed, wincing as her body protested the movement. The Ovinikk leapt from her arms, making a beeline towards the ghost named Nancy before erupting in an angry and thunderous dog’s bark, doing his best to ward off the spirit. Following his line of sight, Nell plucked the salt canister from where it had landed before blindly tossing its contents in the direction of the familiar’s barks, hoping it might miraculously find a hit.

Not for the first time, Adam found himself sprinting as things he couldn’t see turned his surroundings into an obstacle course. Autumn leaves were a dry whirlwind of red and gold as uncontrolled telekinesis and the sacred energies of exorcism caught everything in spiritual turbulence. Bowls and canisters shattered, sending shrapnel of glass and pottery zipping through the supernatural gale. The contradictory smells of pungent herbs and the frigid sterility of fall wind filled Adam’s nostrils as he booked it towards where the cars were parked, trying to not get pulverized as he ran across the grove.

Trying to pry off the windborn leaves that kept getting plastered against his eyes and mouth, Adam knelt by the closest car and started slating a circle around it. Adam’s world spun a bit as a stray herb bowl hurled from out of ritual space and shattered against the back of his neck. The ex-Hunter blinked flaring white spots from his vision and ignored the trickle of hot warmth down the back of his back.

His eyes cleared enough to see Morgan get flung against the tree with a blunt cracking sound.

Shit...well um, least she was already dead right?

Then Morgan started asking more nonexistent people who they were.

...that’s not good

How quickly things could spiral out of control wasn’t entirely new to Jasmine though it was different when it was just her and a ghost. Knowing how close Nell and this Adam kid were only steeled her sense of determination. The kids weren’t getting hurt on her watch even if it meant having to go up against two ghosts on her own. She laid more salt down and kept her eyes firmly between Constance and Nancy as she yelled out, “Nell, Adam. Car now. Morgan, not now. I keep the ghosts from killing us and you get the kids out of here.” There wasn’t time for Morgan to fight her on this. Constance was undeniably strong and her friend seemed to have been practiced, too. It was inconveniently her friend that was now bound to the circle as the air whipped around them at an impossible speed. Jasmine dug her heels in the dirt to try and stabilize herself against the whirlwind happening around her, but found she found herself floating in the air alongside Morgan and all the items they’d gathered.

The howls of air swirling were hard to shout over especially with no stable ground beneath her feet and Constance’s shriek still ringing in her ears. She had to keep pushing if any of them were going to make it out of this. Nancy was bound to the circle and it didn’t seem like Constance was going to join anytime soon. They couldn’t fight off both of them and Jasmine felt the fear creep up on her. Making the hair on her arms stand on end and added to the dizziness she was feeling from above the ground. Her words weren’t steady as she was whipped around, but not a syllable was missed. Right now, getting rid of one ghost would have to do as she kept going with the banishment ritual she knew like the back of her hand.

After what felt like an eternity, her chants drew to a close and Nancy simply disappeared forever. It’s what she wanted to do with Constance, but she already felt entirely too drained to perform another banishment. The floating in the air only furthered the feeling of unsteadiness, until she was no longer in the air. It was all very sudden after Nancy was gone that she found herself being thrown into the tree. The crack of bone against wood was enough to make her nauseated and she let out a pained shout as pain shot through her left arm. “Bitch,” she screamed knowing she had little else to stand on and her iron rod was too far away for her to grab in her condition.

Constance saw it all and yet was powerless to do a thing. The gravity on her body ebbed, all the energy she’d been pouring into fleeing sprang back and she shot into the trees, watching from the branches as Nancy disappeared without so much as an ‘I’m sorry.’ A thought came to her as lightning: this cruel departure had always been Nancy’s plan. If not to use her as a bridge off this miserable world so she need not bear pretending to care, then to grant Constance more time. Either way, she was utterly abandoned. Was this the so-called pleasure of lifting her gaze to anything beyond her one wish?

“You monster!” She screamed, flinging herself back down to the ground. She reached for the woman’s bent arm, as if she could will herself solid and snap it like so many twigs. The trees screamed with her as she wailed. To think she had ever considered Morgan’s friends worth sparing, that to be direct and careful was the only and best way to fulfill the fate she had written. Not anymore, maybe not ever. Constance wanted to burn it all, and for their remorse to be written on every human face as too little, too late.

Bang. A salt round fired through Constance and exploded into the trunk of a tree. The ghost turned just in time to see who had done it. Her mouth opened to scream just as she dissipated. Morgan stood crooked and seething as her spine knit itself back together. Her pistol dangled lip in her fingers. “You’re welcome,” she growled. “Now please explain to me what the hell was going on with that. You could have just taken her with iron, with literally anything else…” The last of her vertebrae snapped into place and she was able to look around. The herbs, irrevocable. Jar, smashed. Hides and fluids, destroyed. If Constance was going to be bound out of trouble, they would need to start from scratch. But there was something else that nagged at her worse. For a moment that had gone so completely off the rails, there was a serious lack of surprise and confusion among her friends. A lot of the attention was on her, and it didn’t seem like the ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘we’ll try again’ variety. “What’s going on…?”

Once the winds had returned to normal, and Morgan stopped shooting at thin air, Nell presumed the coast was clear. Crouching next to Jasmine, she took in the awkward angle the exorcist’s arm had been broken into, grimacing in sympathetic pain. “We gotta get you to the hospital.” Then as an afterthought— “You have insurance, right?” She wasn’t about to willingly lead someone else to thousands of dollars in debt. Jasmine’s injury had sparked the fire of worry in Nell’s belly, but Morgan’s question ignited it into a full blown flame, guilt beginning to pool. “I agreed...that Constance should be gotten rid of if the moment presented itself.” She was used to taking the fall with her sisters, so it came naturally to try and focus the blame on herself in this situation as well. Besides, it only felt right when she’d essentially betrayed the trust of her friend. It was true that Nell had never promised against exorcising Constance, but she’d also agreed to helping Morgan do it her way, and the two paths weren’t all that conducive. “I’m sorry,” she replied reflexively, not knowing what else to say.

It was becoming increasingly more apparent to Jasmine that Morgan hardly had her priorities straight. She was injured and others had been put in danger’s way yet her biggest worry was the fact she tried to get rid of said dangerous ghost without torturing her. Not to mention the ghost was practically a child. None of it sat well with her and she found anger boiling over in her. “What do you mean what the hell was I doing? In case you didn’t notice, we had a ghostly tag team try to kill us? Or did you not notice my extremely broken arm here… which, hey, kind of your fault for not wanting to handle this in an even remotely responsible way. A cast is going to clash with literally my entire wardrobe,” she huffed out as she tried to gesture to her broken arm but failed as she winced in pain. She shot Nell a look, “Nell, you don’t have to take the blame for this. I would have tried to get rid of the murderous ghost with or without your approval. That’s literally why I have these powers to begin with.” She quickly looked back to Morgan and rolled her eyes, “Look, I get you’re pissed and have your whole torture revenge thing, but your feelings aren’t more important than people’s lives. Which should be glaringly obvious.”

“I dissipated Constance in two seconds and I could’ve done the same with vintage Barbie too! We could have finished this just fine!” Morgan snapped. “And if you didn’t notice, I was protecting the kids while you were busy doing some kind of banishment instead of walking them into thin air!” But there was something more, something worse, and it made Morgan deflate and back away from them all. What did Nell mean by ‘agreed’ to do something in the ‘moment.’ Morgan played back all of their last conversations, searching for the time when Nell had said, sorry Morgan, but no, I think this is bullshit. She’d posed some questions, she was afraid of there being more collateral damage than there needed to be, but she never said she didn’t want to. She’d said she would help Morgan. They’d talked about what was happening to her powers. Hot chocolate. Movies. Her mom. Everything but stepping out of this. “If we had just stuck to the plan, no one else would have gotten hurt,” she said, her voice trembling with shock. “Which apparently doesn’t matter to either of you, but don’t throw your choices on me like I don’t give a shit.”  She searched for Adam in the midst of them. “What about you? After all the times I said you didn’t need to do anything you didn’t want to. Was this your idea too?”

“Nope,” Adam stated with blunt honesty as he stepped out of the salt circle and walked to the back of his car. He popped the trunk up with a click and the footballer’s head vanished into the cargo space. Some clicking and unlatching sounds were followed by Adam remerging with a tan military medic’s kit slung over one shoulder.

Adam crossed the rubble-strewn ritual space, tennis shoes crunching on pottery shards and autumnal leaves. He took a knee by the ladies and unzipped the tactical med kit with the purposeful calm of someone used to tending to grizzly battlefield wounds.

He produced a tincture of watery translucent goo with the depiction of a grotesque goblinoid creature with a distended barracuda-like jaw and bone claws on the label. “You’ll want some of this for the pain,” Adam said to his companions offering them the anesthetic tincture of reified Rawhead salvia and a stopper. “Only a drop or two though, else you’ll get muscle paralysis and shit yourself,” he explained with that gentle bedside manner Hunters were famous for.

Adam furthered purposed a splint and bandages for Jasmine, along with the more sutures, gauze, and antibacterials for everyone’s general lacerations.

“Honestly Beck, I was just gonna stab you in the spine and hold Miss Hale at gunpoint till she exorcised Ginger Casper normally,” Adam admitted, speaking of assault and threats in an amiably conversational tone. “But it looks like they’d worked out something smarter than that already.”

Jasmine could feel her blood boiling beneath her skin despite the lightheadedness she was feeling. Between blood loss and banishing Nancy, she found herself pretty zapped in the blood sugar department. As much didn’t stop her from glaring at Morgan, “I told Nell to go to safety so there was no chance for either of them to hurt anyone ever again.” Her voice was getting weaker, but fire was pushing her nonetheless. “You’re going to end up just like them on your whole revenge path.”

She eyed Adam as he tried to give her something for the pain. Her eyes narrowed and she asked, “Uhm, what the hell is that?” The mention of shitting herself was enough to make her wary of it, but if he was going to insist on patching her up she figured she better use it. It only served to make her more woozy as he went on and everything felt like it was spinning.

It was difficult to brace herself even with the numbness though Adam’s genius plan was enough to make her eyes widen. “Excuse me?” This kid was going to force her to perform an exorcism at gunpoint? “You were going to what?” She moved away as he had already placed the splint and muttered, “Ugh, you know what. Not a priority. Do you have a driver’s license? I’d like to see a real doctor and I can’t exactly drive like this.”

The entire situation had quickly dissolved into a shit show, and Nell wasn’t sure where to begin with Jasmine and Morgan. The witch didn’t have a defense for the choices she’d made other than the fact that she hadn’t wanted more unneeded innocent blood being shed on the path to ending Constance. And though Adam was doing his best to patch up what he could, it seemed that Jasmine wasn’t all that fond of possibly being made to complete an exorcism at gunpoint. Which was...fair enough. Nell wasn’t a mediator. She was better at creating tense situations than resolving them- especially when there was no common enemy to point anyone towards. The only way she knew out of a situation like this was to focus on an end task, and try to get the others to do that as well. “Let’s just get Jasmine more medical care,” she repeated, assuming the exorcist had already remembered that Nell didn’t have a car license. Latching onto the woman’s uninjured arm, she began to try and guide her towards Adam’s car.

The choice of whether or not to look at Morgan was one that took Nell a long pause to make, trying to decide if she wanted to see the hurt and disappointment that she was sure to find there. This was why she’d done her best to avoid the woman ever since she’d made her decision to get rid of Constance by whatever means were fastest. Ripping off the bandaid hurt less if the wound beneath it already had the chance to scab over. Finally she found Morgan’s eyes, knowing it was the coward’s choice not to face the consequences of her actions. But now what? What could she possibly say that would do any good to either of them? She wasn’t sorry for trying to get rid of Constance, even now. It was the right thing to do— minimizing collateral damage. The only regret she has was that of hurting her friend. “We should go,” was all she could settle on.

Adam’s hidden plan wasn’t all that surprising to Morgan, given his ‘barbed wire in a backpack’ ways and how quick he’d been to share his distaste with Constance’s age. It would be awkward in class, if the full moon didn’t kill him first, but it was nothing she couldn’t brace herself for. Jasmine’s cunning had tripped her up; most of the dutiful types she’d met in White Crest didn’t encumber themselves with lying to your face, but she’d remember not to let the exorcist’s confidence fool her into thinking that what she saw was what she got. It was Nell that left Morgan dumbfounded, staring slack-jawed and stupid as she helped carry Jasmine to Adam’s car, so focused that Morgan may as well have been a ghost herself. “Wow,” she said, too stunned to even put much venom behind her voice. “Not even an explanation, huh?” Morgan’s eyes burned as she spoke and she wished, bitterly, for even an ounce of banshee control so she could just stay hard and steady and leave. But her face was trembling on the verge of collapse, her voice full and ready to crack on the next breath. “I trusted you. I gave you a choice, so many choices, Nell, and I trusted you…” She hadn’t deluded herself into thinking she was nearly as important to Nell as Nell was to her. Nell had a family, a community that had seen her grow, friends her own age. It was an imbalance Morgan could live with, to feel like she had a family of her own. But she hadn’t reckoned on being worth so little that Nell could turn her back on her with ease, that she would be left alone in the underbrush as the sun cut red over the trees.  It took all the self control Morgan had to turn her back on Nell in kind and get back to her Subaru. “So much for that.”

[pikapeppa]

Sten/f!Mahariel: Fall Into The Tide, Chapter 9

The second-last chapter of Sten x Yara Mahariel is up. Angst warning: the babes talk about what happens when they arrive in Par Vollen.

~5700 words. Read on AO3 instead.

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Sten turned the page and continued to read in an endearingly flat voice. “‘If you think I will be leaving you in this state, you are sadly mistaken.’ Lyonne fluttered her scarves. ‘And what state is that, my good chevalier?’ Garren stood, and Lady Lyonne gasped: his manly sword was rising more quickly than the morning sun. ‘A state of such modest dress, of course,’ Garren said, and he ripped off his shirt. ‘Now come, ma chérie, and let us end the day like only two beautiful citizens of Val Royeaux can do.’”

Yara smiled and nestled more securely into his chest. “Is it terrible that I’m imagining Garren to look and sound like Bann Teagan?” she asked. 

Sten glanced at her. “Why do you imagine that?”

“The awful flirting,” Yara said. “Orlesians aren’t the only ones who use terrible lines.”

Sten frowned, and Yara smiled more widely. “Don’t you remember? When we were in Redcliffe, I asked Teagan if he had any family, and he immediately assumed that I was asking if he was single.” 

Sten’s frown deepened. “I have no memory of this.” 

Yara chuckled. “He said I was lovely. I was covered in undead blood at the time. It was very odd. I can’t believe you don’t…” She suddenly stopped, then laughed again. “Oh Creators, I know why you don’t remember. You weren’t with me at the time. You were in the village terrorizing the children.”

Sten harrumphed. “I do not terrorize children. I am not at fault for the foolish preconceptions of basra imekari.”

Yara grinned at him. “Sten, you stole cookies from one of them.”

He scowled. “Kadan, I told you before: I did not steal the cookies. I relieved him of the cookies for his own good.” 

She giggled and settled back into his chest. “All right, all right, the cookie thievery was very noble of you. Do you want to finish this chapter, and then we can go spar for a bit?”

Sten shook his head. “We should continue reading. I must finish this book in the next three days.” 

“Why?” she asked.

“Because we will land in Par Vollen in three days,” he replied.

“Ah,” she said. “I was wondering if you were trying to finish it before we got there.” She gave him a cheeky smile. “Why the rush? Are you going to report on it to the Arishok after all?”

He huffed. “Very funny, but no. I will not be permitted to keep this book when we arrive.”

She leaned away from him slightly. “You can’t keep it? Why not?”

“It will be confiscated and handed over to the priesthood,” Sten said. “They will study it for strategic value, and if there is no value to be found, it will be ground into mulch and made anew into paper for our own books.”

Yara sat up on one elbow. “Seriously? That seems extreme. It’s just a romance novel. I hardly think it needs to be destroyed.”

“It will not be destroyed; it will be repurposed, as I told you.” He sat up as well and turned to face her. “My people do not waste anything, be it books or people. Everything has value and purpose, even bas literature.”

A cold sort of tingle stole over the back of her neck, and she frowned. His expression was oddly serious.

She tapped The Rose of Orlais. “But you said this book was drivel.”

“It is drivel,” Sten agreed. “But that does not mean it is not dangerous. Reading is the surest way to spread ideas, whether those ideas are the true wisdom of the Qun or foreign notions such as… the ones that are inscribed here.”

A chill washed through her chest. She knew what he meant: foreign notions such as romantic love and sex. And the fact that Sten had avoided saying these words… His avoidance was somehow more ominous than if he'd just spoken bluntly like he usually did. 

She was getting a bad feeling about this. “But… but you’ve been reading this romance novel,” she said. “So you’ve got foreign ideas in your head now.”

“Reading this novel is the least of it,” Sten said. “I am steeped in bas ideas from travelling among you for over a year.”

Oh gods, she thought. If Sten thought he was full of foreign ideas just from travelling with her and her companions, then… 

Her pulse was starting to race. She took a deep breath to try and calm herself. “And… what about us?” she said faintly. “Our relationship? This… us being together is a product of foreign ideas.”

“Yes, kadan,” he said, very quietly.

The implication in his words, his talk about repurposing, the subtle softness in his stern expression… Fenedhis, she really didn’t like where this was going. It felt like something terrible was looming over her shoulder, like a demon that she didn’t know the shape of yet, but one that she’d known was there all along and had been trying to deny. 

Sten was looking at her still with his soft purple eyes. The topic she’d been trying so hard to avoid was upon them, and Yara had no choice but to face it.

She took a deep breath. “Sten… what’s going to happen with us when we get to Par Vollen?” 

“I will report to the Arishok, as my mission demands,” he said. “And then I will turn myself over to the Ben-Hassrath.”

“Turn yourself over?” she said blankly. “Why — what’s the Ben-Hassrath? Are they some sort of city guard?”

“They are a branch of the priesthood, governed by the Ariqun,” he said.

She gazed at him in rising confusion. “But you belong to the army, not the priesthood. Why are you reporting to a branch of the priesthood?”

Sten took her hand, and Yara froze. The affectionate gesture would usually please her, but combined with the look on his face, it only scared her more. 

“Do you recall the parable I told you?” he said. “Of the ashkaari and the laundress?”

“Yes,” she said tensely.

He nodded. “Tell me what you remember.”

She licked her dry lips. “You said that the ashkaari wanted to know why the laundress wasn’t soaking the clothes for longer to get all the stains out. The laundress told him that soaking the clothes for too long would make the dye bleed out, and… something like stained clothing still has value, and that if the stains are too obvious, then the clothes are…” She trailed off as her sense of something terrible ratcheted higher still. 

“They get re-dyed,” she said faintly.

“Yes,” he said. 

She stared at him pleadingly. “But… I don’t understand.” She tried to pull her hand away, but Sten squeezed her fingers.

“You do,” he said. “You do understand.”

She shook her head. “No, I… please, Sten, just tell me,” she begged.

He gazed calmly at her: a sharp contrast with the thrumming agitation in her gut. “My people are the cloth,” he said. “Yours are the water, and your ideas are the stains. The Ben-Hassrath perform the process of re-dyeing.”

She gazed at him in growing disbelief. “So you… you think you’re — what, that you’re stained from spending time with us? With me?”

“It is not a matter of what I think. It is a matter of what is,” he said. “I am not the soldier I was when I first arrived in your lands. The Ben-Hassrath will help me return to what I was before I left.”

Return to what he was? And what in the Void did that mean? “But – Sten, you’re not an object,” she argued. “You’re not just a piece of faded cloth that can be dyed a different colour. What does going to the Ben-Hassrath actually mean?”

“In truth, I do not know,” he said. “Only the Ben-Hassrath truly know what the process of re-education entails. But I know that it will restore my purpose and my enlightenment.”

Re-education? She really didn’t like the sound of that. “But you don’t need to be… re-educated or whatever,” she said tensely. “You’re still a good qunari. You’re still loyal to the Qun!”

“The fact that we are in bed together now is proof that I am not,” he said. 

She stared at him in growing horror. With every panicked beat of her heart, her feeling of everything crashing down was growing worse. 

She shuffled closer to him and squeezed his arm. “Sten, I don’t like this,” she said pleadingly. “I don’t think you should do this. Re-dyeing a person? You can’t just… you can’t re-dye people. You can’t just start over and force people to think a different way. People don’t work like that.”

“Evidently they do,” Sten said. “Re-education has been a mainstay of my people for many ages.”

“But… but isn’t the fact that re-education is necessary — isn’t that proof that people don’t work like that?” she said. “That they need to be able to change?”

Sten shook his head. “It is proof only that we have one choice: whether to struggle, or to accept. I choose to accept.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “This is what must happen, kadan. When we arrive in Par Vollen, I must report to the Ben-Hassrath for re-education.”

She pulled his hand away from her hair and clutched his fingers. “And what about me?” she demanded. “What will I… what am I supposed to do in Par Vollen while you’re doing that?”

“You cannot come to Par Vollen,” he said.

A jolt of shock coursed down her throat. “What?” 

“I have already paid the captain for your passage back to Denerim,” he said. “When we arrive, you will remain on the ship, and the captain will take you home.”

Yara gaped at him in silence, dumbstruck by this sudden turn of events. Sten was sending her back to Denerim? He was making her go back without him? In all her worried imaginings of what would happen, she hadn’t foreseen this. 

“I… I don’t understand,” she said finally. “I came all this way, and you’re just sending me straight back to Ferelden? Why?”

“You have a purpose in Ferelden,” Sten said. “It is a worthy one. You do not need another.”

She stared at him, stunned by the unfairness of this. Why was Sten the one who was suddenly in charge here? What made him think that he could just decide to send her away?  

“And what if I want a new purpose?” she said.

His eyebrows rose slightly. “What?”

She pulled her hands away from his. “What I do isn’t up to you,” she said. “I don’t have to go back to Denerim just because you said so. What if I want to convert to the Qun? What if I want to be re-educated, too?” It was a petulant bluff, and Yara knew it; she didn’t really want to convert to the Qun, especially not if it involved having her way of thinking be ‘re-dyed’, whatever that ominously meant. But the thought of Sten sending her away so suddenly, like she didn’t matter to him at all… 

“It is not about wanting,” he said. “It is the way of things. You have a purpose, and it is not here.”

His reply was calm and measured, and it made her chest hurt even more. She swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat. “B-but you said some people can visit in Par Vollen. Why won’t you even let me visit?”

“Some bas can visit if they are not deemed an immediate threat to the Qun,” he said.

She frowned. “And you think they’d consider me an immediate threat to the Qun?”

“It is a risk you should not be willing to take,” he replied.

Or what? she thought. But Sten’s response was foreboding enough that she didn’t want to ask. 

He was still gazing at her steadily, just gazing at her with those beautiful jewel-like eyes, and the lump of distress in her throat swelled again. “I don’t want to go back to Ferelden,” she said. “I want to stay with you.”

“You can’t,” he said. “You know this, kadan.”

His tone was especially gentle, and to Yara’s horror, a tear ran down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away as Sten continued to speak. “You have listened to what I have told you of the Qun. You know that the ties between us are forbidden. And when I have finished with the Ben-Hassrath, you will not want to stay with me.”

A fresh bolt of dismay curdled in her gut. “What? What do you mean? Why not?”

He inhaled slowly before replying. “I will go back to being the soldier I was before I left. I will not feel the same way about you as I do now.”

“Wha… what are you saying?” she said faintly. “They’re going to make you forget me?”

“I will not forget you,” he said. “But I will not want to be with you anymore.”

She stared at him breathlessly. It felt like he’d just kicked her in the ribs. Her chest was literally hurting from what he’d just said. 

She forced a painful inhale. “And you’re fine with that?” she rasped. “You’re fine with just… letting this get wiped away?”

He lifted his shoulders. “How I feel about it is of no consequence. It is to be.”

“No!” she blurted. “No, it’s not! It’s — you don’t have to do this!” She gripped his hands. “Let’s just turn around and go back to Ferelden together!”

For the first time since this conversation had begun, he dropped her gaze. “Kadan...”

“No, hear me out!” she begged. “We can just go back to Ferelden. You don’t have to let them take you.” She cradled his face in her trembling hands. “We can just go back to Ferelden and keep on living our lives!”

He met her gaze once more. “And what would we do with these lives?”

“I’m still a Warden,” she said eagerly. “I still have my purpose, just like you said. I still have Warden things to do. I need to root out any darkspawn leftovers and… and, um, I need to meet up with Alistair, and we’ll – we’ll recruit and all that in case there's another Blight.”

“And me?” Sten said. “What would I do?”

“You would come with me, of course,” she retorted. “We would travel together. Maybe you could even become a—!” She stopped short before suggesting that he become a Grey Warden too. What if he died during the process? That would be worse than letting the Ben-Hassrath take him. 

His eyes were steady and his face was calm, but this only made Yara feel more agitated. She floundered for a response. “You could… you… look, we can figure it out,” she said desperately. “But what matters is that you would still be yourself! You wouldn’t have to be re-dyed!” 

He shook his head slowly. “If I turned my back on my people, I would no longer be the man you know. I would be a Tal-Vashoth. I would be worse than dead.” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Is that what you want for me? That I become irredeemable even to my own people?”

“No!” Yara said plaintively. “That’s not what I’m saying! I just…” Another tear escaped her eye, and she hastily wiped it away. “I love you,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I am my purpose, kadan,” he said softly. “Without purpose, I would be lost to you anyway.”

She scoffed and tried to force back the tears that were pressing at the backs of her eyes. “Well, it looks like I’m going to lose you no matter what, then,” she retorted.

“Yes,” Sten said.

She looked up at him, hurt by his bluntness. She pulled her hand from his and pushed the sheets off of her legs. “You don’t love me,” she said tremulously. “Not really. If you did, you wouldn’t be so cold about this.” She got out of the bed and started pulling on her breeches.

Behind her, she heard him shuffling over to sit at the edge of the bed. “I do love you,” he said. “But love is not purpose for qunari.”

She spun around to face him. “Well, I’m not qunari, all right?” she snapped. “I’m — I’m a stupid emotional bas who thinks that love is important and who followed you like an idiot all the way here from…” She trailed off. Something horrible had just occurred to her.

She met his eyes. “How long have you known you were going to do this?” she demanded. “How long have you known you were going to leave me behind when we got to Par Vollen?”

He frowned slightly. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it tells me how much of a bastard you are,” she retorted. “Was it before or after we started having sex?”

“Before,” he said.

She paused, surprised by this. “You… you were going to make me stay behind even before we started having sex?” she asked. 

He nodded, and Yara frowned. “But we — our relationship wasn’t a problem for the Qun before that.”

Sten shook his head. “That is incorrect. It has been a problem since I allowed you to join me on this ship.”

She inhaled slowly to try and control her rising anger. “So you’re telling me that from the minute I set foot on this ship, you knew you weren’t going to let me come into Par Vollen with you?”

Sten sighed and rubbed his chin — the first sign of agitation he’d shown during this whole conversation. “No,” he said. “At first, I was uncertain of what you should do when we arrived in Par Vollen.”

“Then why did you even let me come with you?” she demanded.

“I don’t… know,” Sten said. “I was… not thinking at the time.”

Yara stared at him. She’d never heard him sound so uncertain. 

A tiny bitter laugh escaped her lips. “You don’t know? You sound like me.”

He shot her a sharp look. “I am aware of that. All the more reason I must go to the Ben-Hassrath.”

She recoiled, hurt once again by his implication that being like her was so bad that it needed to be re-dyed or… or re-educated, or whatever he was going to do. She inhaled through the painful vice around her ribs. “You should have told me you were going to send me back,” she accused. “You should have told me when I got on the ship!”

“There was nothing to tell when we first got on the ship,” he said in a hard voice. “You did not know why you were here. I did not know why I had invited you to come.” He leaned forward slightly, and Yara noted with a pang that he was glaring at her now. “This may come as a shock to you, but I am not a soothsayer. I could not predict what would happen.”

“What do you mean, what would happen?” she snapped. “What sudden change could possibly have happened to make you realize that I couldn’t actually come into Par Vollen with you?”

“I realized that you were considering joining the Qun,” Sten said.

“So?” Yara yelled. “Why does that make a difference?”

Sten stood up and took a step toward her. “If you join the Qun, you will find wisdom, but you will change,” he said. “You will be given a new purpose, and I cannot predict what that purpose would be. If you joined the Qun, you would not be the same person you are now.”

She held up a hand. “So let me get this straight. You’re going back to the Qun to let them brainwash you, but you don’t want me to join the Qun and get brainwashed.”

“You — vashedan. You do not need the Qun,” Sten said angrily. “You have wisdom and purpose already, even when you are too emotional to see it. The Qun would change who you are now.” He took another step toward her. “I love you as you are now.”

“Good thing the Ben-Hassrath will be curing you of that, then,” Yara said bitterly.

His eyebrows rose, and a surge of remorse twisted in her gut. What she’d just said was terribly cruel, especially since she knew deep down that Sten never meant to be cruel to her. When he’d questioned her about her purpose, when he’d tried to keep her at a distance, and even now when he was trying to keep her out of Par Vollen: in the most logical corner of her mind, Yara knew that Sten was not trying to be cruel. 

But anger was still pulsing hotly at the backs of her eyes and in her ears, and she couldn’t force an apology past the rage. She folded her arms defensively and looked away from his brilliant purple eyes. 

A moment later, Sten stepped back and left the cabin, closing the door behind him and leaving her alone. 

Yara stood frozen in place, stunned by the sudden silence and the terrible echo of their argument in her head. She was still reeling from the fact that he was making her go back to Denerim, and truth be told, a small part of her wanted to debark in Par Vollen just to spite him. 

But Sten wouldn’t have told her to go back to Ferelden without a very good reason. No matter what he thought, he was a loyal qunari, and he wouldn’t have warned her off unless coming to Par Vollen would mean something she really wouldn’t like. 

But going back to Ferelden without him? Being alone again, after having found the kind of connection and love that she’d always hoped to find? 

The throbbing pain in her chest pulsed in her throat. She slowly sat at the edge of the bed and bowed her head, and tears she’d been holding back finally spilled over. 

She couldn’t believe this. She couldn’t believe Sten was leaving her like this. All the conversations they’d had, the sparring and the unexpected laughter and the incredible sex, all of that after having grown to know and love each other over the course of a long and difficult year of facing foes together: after all of that, Sten was willing to just throw it all away like it didn’t matter? He was willing to let the Ben-Hassrath brainwash him into thinking that she didn’t matter? 

If he was willing to drop her so easily, how much did she matter to him, really?

She choked out a sob and wiped her cheeks, and for a minute she allowed herself to sink into a painful morass of self-pity. But the self-pity did nothing to soothe her heartache, especially when part of that heartache was a horrible sense of guilt.

She knew Sten loved her. He might not be as demonstrative in his affections as Alistair or Leliana, but he was far more tender and open with his heart than she’d ever imagined he would be when they’d first set foot on this ship. He’d gone against his entire upbringing to be with her, and he was going against his upbringing by trying to protect her from it. 

And how did she repay him? By basically telling him she was glad he was going to get re-educated. 

She heaved a heavy sigh and dragged her fingers through her hair. “I’m an ass,” she muttered. She lifted her head and breathed carefully to quell her remaining tears, then rose from the bed and washed her face before leaving the cabin.

She stepped out onto the deck. It was early dusk, and the sailors were gambling and drinking while a couple of the more musically-inclined crewmembers played a fiddle and a drum. They greeted her casually as she stepped onto the deck, and she smiled awkwardly at them before looking up at the forecastle deck.

Sten was sitting on the bench alone. No, not alone: Fen’ain was sitting beside him, and Sten was scratching the mabari’s head — something Yara had never seen him do before. Sten would spar with Fen’ain or play fetch with him on the pretext of training, but Yara had never seen him pet the mabari in an affectionate manner.

A fresh pang in her chest made her eyes burn. She blinked carefully to quash the tears, then made her way quietly to the forecastle deck. 

She sat beside Sten. He glanced at her briefly before returning his gaze to Fen’ain. 

Undeterred by his neutrality, Yara took his hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry, Sten. I was horrible to you before. I… I really don’t want the Ben-Hassrath to change you. Gods, that’s the… it’s the last thing I want. You — you know that, right? You know I didn’t mean it? I was just angry, and I — not that that makes it all right,” she stammered. “It’s not all right, and I shouldn’t have said it, and I — I’m… I’m so sorry.”

He nodded but didn’t meet her eye. But he didn’t take his hand from hers, either. 

Yara carefully laced her fingers with his. They sat silently on the bench together while Sten continued to scratch Fen’ain’s ears. 

A few long, melancholy minutes later, he spoke. “Misery is a choice,” he said.

Yara wilted. “Sten—”

“Stop talking,” he said. “Let me speak.”

She closed her mouth and raised her eyebrows, and Sten exhaled slowly. “Misery is a choice,” he said again. “It was my choice to keep this misery to myself. I did not want…” He trailed off and shook his head slightly, then finally looked her in the eye. “If you had known what was to come, you would have suffered. I did not want that for you.”

A bittersweet feeling squeezed her heart. “You didn’t tell me because you wanted me to be happy with the time we had,” she murmured.

He nodded, and Yara sighed and closed her eyes. Sten had kept this suffering to himself so she could be happy? It was… gods, so selfless. And sweet. And horribly painful. 

The lump of misery was swelling in her throat again, and she forced herself to breathe through it. Then Sten spoke again. “If I had told you, would it have changed anything?” he said. “Would you have acted differently? Chosen not to enter a sexual relationship with me?”

“No,” she said immediately. “I… no. It would have changed nothing. I would have still chosen to be with you.”

He nodded. “It is to be,” he said calmly. He looked her in the eye again. “You and I were meant to be, just as we were meant to end.”

His face was stern as always, but his gaze… he was looking at her in that piercing way, like he was seeing more than she’d ever deigned to show anyone else, but his eyes were soft and bright. 

Yara sobbed suddenly. Sten’s eyes were bright with tears, and she couldn't believe she’d thought for even a second that she didn’t matter to him.

He put his arm around her, and she curled into his bare chest and covered her face with her hands. Then Sten’s lips brushed the crown of her head. “I am glad you came,” he said quietly. “I did not want to spend these last days alone.”

Her chest throbbed, a horrible aching feeling like her heart truly was breaking in her chest, and she sobbed again. “Sten,” she whimpered, but she couldn’t say anything more; she was crying hard like she had that night when they’d discussed asala-ataar, like an eruption of half-quashed feelings were suddenly unfolding and spouting from her eyes and mouth.

Fen’ain whined and rested his chin on her knee, but she ignored him; she was too mortified and miserable to reassure him right now. She tucked her face against Sten’s chest and clamped her lips shut to try and stop the tears, but her whole body was shaking now with the efforts to stop herself from bawling, and it felt awful.

“Come,” Sten murmured. He eased himself away from her, then carefully picked her up.

She sobbed and hooked one arm around his neck, keeping her face hidden in her other hand. Sten carried her back to their cabin, and as soon as the door closed behind them, Yara burst into horrible noisy tears. 

Sten silently carried her to the bed and sat down. The second he was sitting, she shifted awkwardly until she was straddling one of his broad thighs, then wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against the side of his neck. 

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and Yara sobbed. “I l-love you,” she cried. “I don’t… don’t want you to–” An uncontrolled hiccup burst from her throat and cut her off, and she struggled to finish her sentence. “I don’t want you to change,” she sobbed. “I love you as you are n-now, too.”

“I know, kadan,” he said softly. His big callused palm was smoothing slowly along the length of her back and stroking her hair, and it felt so good and so soothing that it hurt. 

She tightened her arms around him, and Sten held her close with one arm while stroking her back and her hair with the other, and Yara sank miserably into the bitterness of how good it felt to be in his arms. 

It wasn’t until their cabin was draped in the gloom of early night that Yara finally stopped crying. Heartsick and exhausted from her tears, she slumped silently in Sten’s embrace, her forehead still pressed to his neck and her arms draped loosely around his shoulders. 

He was still gently stroking her back. Yara finally sighed and lifted her face from his neck. “You can let me go now,” she said quietly. “I’m all right, I promise.”

He ran his fingers through her hair. “I would prefer to continue holding you.”

His voice was a little husky, and Yara pulled away slightly to look at him. He turned his head away from her, but in the dimness of their shared cabin, she could just make out a slight shine just beneath his eye. 

Her heart twisted painfully. “Sten…” 

He frowned and quickly wiped his face. “I am not crying,” he said sternly. “Sten of the beresaad do not cry.” 

Yara cupped his face in her hands and kissed his forehead, then pressed her lips to the tip of his pointed ear. “You’re not a sten of the beresaad right now, vhenan,” she whispered. “You’re my Sten. Until we get to Par Vollen, you can cry if you want. You can do anything you want.” 

His jaw tightened, and Yara watched tenderly as he tried to master himself. She stroked his cheek and pressed her lips to his forehead once more, and when she pulled away to look at him again, a tear ran down his cheek. 

He immediately brushed it away. “Vashedan,” he muttered. Then he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. He tucked his face against her neck this time, and his embrace was tighter than before. 

Yara hugged him firmly in return, and when she felt a trickle of moisture on her neck, she simply hugged him harder. 

The night faded on, leaching the remaining hints of sunlight from their cabin and leaving only streaks of moonlight behind, and Yara and Sten continued to hold each other in silence. Eventually they lay down on the bed, shedding their clothes clumsily in order to feel the heat of each other’s skin, and when they began to kiss, the salt that Yara tasted on his lips was the most terrible proof of how much she mattered to him. 

They kissed and stroked each other’s bare skin, shifting slowly beneath the sheets until Sten was looming over her. They moved together in a slow celebration of skin-to-skin, Sten’s much-larger hands holding hers down to the bed as they breathed together in their shared bed, and still they were silent, and Yara was relieved.

The talking they had done today was more than enough. For the rest of the night, Yara didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to think or cry or brood over what was going to happen in just a couple of too-short days. 

She wanted to… be. Clasped in the warmth and safety of Sten’s bare-armed embrace, Yara just wanted to be.