#Angst and Humor

[harmonyrae]

Vow

Synopsis: You're so careful, so calculated, but one bad investment could ruin you. A leather-clad knight on a Harley has a solution to your problems, but are you brave enough to take the risk?

AN: Inked Sequel. The “FMC” was technically in Inked, so she has a set hair color. That is the only physical feature that has any relevance to the plot. Cover images from Pinterest.

Content Warnings: A LOT OF PLOT & angst, smut is coming soon & it's juicy (prepare yourself), explicit language & sexual themes, alcohol consumption, vehicle accident & serious injuries, blood/vomit mentioned, needles & medical procedures (stitches), masturbation (f), 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 14.8k

It’s cold. So damn cold. Is your evol acting up again? You feel something wet coating your leg, it’s warm and it hurts. Fuck, it hurts a lot. 

Your eyes flutter open as the warmth spreads from your shin to your thigh and continues up your right leg. You slowly turn your head and feel a dull ache along your upper back. It’s so dark, why is it so dark? Your hands reach up to rub your eyes, but come in contact with your helmet. You struggle to unhook the strap, panic slowly bubbling to the surface, and nearly cry out when you finally pull your helmet off. The helmet falls to the ground beside you and you tug your gloves off with your teeth. 

“Where the hell am I?”

You try to sit up, gritting your teeth to distract yourself from the searing pain shooting across your back. When you finally look down at the damp spot on your jeans, you roll to your side to vomit. Blood. Your pants leg is completely soaked in blood. Wiping your mouth with the backside of your hand, you squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head.

“You’re a fucking doctor, pull it together.”

You know how shock works and that the sight of blood wasn’t what turned your stomach. You see more blood than this on regular Tuesday, it’s just your body responding to the trauma. You push yourself upright and reach down to try and tear away the bloody fabric. Before you can make any progress you hear a loud rumble behind you. You stop to look around, your eyes burn as the wind whips across your face. You finally realize what happened and where you are.

You look over your shoulder and see your bike on the side of the road, tires popped, the body scratched and broken and a streak of blood leading down to where you’re sitting. You try to look for any sign of what caused the crash, but you’re too far down the ravine. There’s another loud pop and rumble. You scramble to place yourself behind the tree next to you, biting your lip to suppress a scream. Your hands sting from the sharp rocks and sticks slicing through your skin. You lean back against the trunk and wheeze, trying to catch your breath. 

What if it’s a cop? Or someone who knows you from the city? Your bike is registered with the police as belonging to a racer, and your attire wouldn’t help your case. They’d have to arrest you and then you could kiss your career goodbye. The hospital would have to fire you, you’d lose your apartment… What would your family think of you? What’ll happen to Ollie?! 

You’re on the verge of a complete breakdown when you hear the low roar of, what you think, might be another bike. Something big by the sounds of it. You wrap your arms around yourself and hold your breath, trying to become invisible. Boy, that’d be a handy superpower right about now. The bike slows and the brakes whine as it comes to a full stop. The rider dismounts and walks through the broken glass to your bike. Just as you’re about to lean over for a peek, you spot your helmet, discarded on the ground a few feet in front of you. You have no time to consider your options, the snap of a twig alerts you to the rider's new location. 

“Hello?”

A man, his voice deep and smooth as silk, cuts through the frigid night air. Another twig snaps, he’s closer. There’s nowhere you can go, but you’ve somehow convinced yourself that if you remain perfectly still, maybe he won’t keep looking for you or –

“Oh, hello there.”

Well fuck.

You glance up at the mountain of a man before you and instantly recognize his signature leather jacket and custom helmet. The brilliant red dragon hand painted with wings that turned to fire along the edges glimmers in the moonlight. Ryūō. You want to let out a sigh of relief, but he still had his helmet on, you didn’t, he’s seen your face.

A gloved hand reaches up to slide the visor up and reveal his eyes, his stunning eyes. You’ve never seen someone with ruby red irises before. And the longer you look into them, the more you feel like you’re falling. Usually having red eyes would be a cause for concern, but for him… they’re beautiful, ethereal, even. He gives you a once over before looking back at your helmet. When his piercing gaze returns to you, his eyes sparkle with excitement. 

“Yuki onna. As I live and breathe.”

Wait, he remembers you? He crouches down and examines your leg. He unzips his jacket and pulls a switchblade from an inner pocket. You shift, trying to create distance and he raises his hands, the blade balanced between two fingers. 

“Just wanted to see how bad it is. May I?”

You stare at him for a moment. You don’t have many options at the moment, so you nod, letting him proceed with opening the knife and cutting away the stained fabric from your ankle to your knee. 

“Are you cold?”

Your eyes snap to his and you open your mouth to respond, but the sound of your teeth chattering shuts you up. You shake your head. He shifts, letting one of his knees drop to the ground to sit back on his heels. His expression laced with doubt, or at least you think it is from what you could see of his face. 

“I’m just in shock. It makes you shake, I’m fine.”

He tilts his head, his brows knitting together.

“You a doctor?”

You nod and his brows unfurl to rise.

“Okay then, tell me what to do. Should I –”

“Don’t call an ambulance! I can’t… I can’t go to the hospital.”

He clears his throat, his eyes narrowing.

“I wasn’t going to suggest that. I have someone I can take you to, but I don’t want to make this worse before we get there.”

You push your shoulders back and suck your bottom lip into your mouth in an attempt to stop it from trembling. 

“Oh…”

He points at your leg with his blade. 

“So, tell me what to do doc.”

You rest your head against the tree and close your eyes, exhaling slowly.

“Okay, umm, is it an open wound?”

He shifts, leaves crunching under his weight.

“Yes.”

“Is it still bleeding?”

“It is.”

“Great… okay, I need you to cut the rest of that fabric away. Then make another cut to it, to make a long strip, you need to tie it around my thigh to slow the bleeding.”

The sounds of a knife cutting through fabric fill the space around you. His steady breathing, muffled by his helmet, is strangely comforting. You flinch when you feel his hand against your thigh. His steady hands pause for a moment, waiting for your permission to continue. You open your eyes, blinking back tears, and nod. He gently lifts your leg to pull the fabric underneath, lifting the strands on both sides.

“You need to make it tight.”

“How’s this?”

He ties the makeshift tourniquet securely and you groan, the fabric squeezing you to the point of discomfort. 

“Perfect.”

“Do you have any other injuries?”

You rotate your shoulders and shake your head. He retrieves your helmet and carefully places it on your head. You’d usually protest, your hands are fine, but your adrenaline is wearing off. He secures the strap and leans down to look at you directly.

“Can I pick you up?”

Your stomach flips and you’re almost afraid you’ll vomit again. Swallowing hard, you nod again. He wraps an arm around your waist and tucks the other under your knees, lifting you off the ground with ease. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck and let your head rest against his shoulder. He carries you out of the ravine to the road where his massive Harley is parked next to your poor Katana. He carefully sits you down and props your feet up on the foot pegs. 

“One sec.”

He walks over to your bike, pulling it off the ground and dragging it to the bushes. As he walks back, he fishes his phone from his pocket, presses a button and tucks it back into his pocket. He swings his leg over and sits in front of you. 

“Luke, I have a bike I need you to pick up and deliver to the shop. Ping my location. And bring Kieran to clean up. Make sure he checks the ravine. Call me when it’s done.”

He lifts the kickstand with his heel and walks the bike backwards a few steps. He shoves the key into the ignition and the engine roars to life. His hand pats his side and you lean forward slightly, holding onto his waist lightly. You can hear his soft chuckle as he shakes his head.

“You know better than that Yuki.” 

The bike lurches forward as he takes off and you squeal at the sudden jolt. You’re forced to lean forward and wrap your arms around him. His firmness grounds you, the way his abs tense when he leans taking a turn becomes damn near hypnotizing. You close your eyes and focus on following his lead. 

“Hey, I need you at the clinic. Injured biker. Maybe a broken leg? Yeah, be there in 5.”

“You never said who you were taking me to.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. 

“You’re right. I didn’t.”

You wait for him to continue, but he remains silent.

“Well?”

“Don’t worry Yuki, he’s a good doctor.”

You scoff and squeeze your arms together making Ryūō laugh harder. You don’t have to live in suspense for too long, he pulls into the parking lot for a small apartment building after a few minutes. He parks his bike and dismounts, he gently lifts your bad leg and brings it over the seat. He takes off your helmet before leaning forward, expecting you to wrap your arms around him again. You roll your eyes, but comply. He picks you up and carries you into the building and straight to the elevator. 

The inside of the building is opulent, with gold sconces and chandeliers, and art pieces look more expensive than your entire apartment. Looking over his shoulder, you realize the glass doors and windows are one-way glass. This doctor must value his privacy. 

You watch the numbers above the elevator doors rise, pointedly avoiding the heat of Ryūō’s gaze. Which you can feel burning into the side of your face. The elevator finally stops at the top floor and you're carried into the penthouse. A comfortable living space, large kitchen, sliding doors leading to a balcony - nothing special. And then you’re brought to a room that makes you nearly swallow your tongue. 

The dimly lit room is a fully stocked operating room. Machines lined neatly against the wall, cabinets you assume are full of supplies, an industrial refrigerator sits in the corner humming softly. You’re carried through another door into what looks like a recovery room. A soft bed, a vitals monitor, an ensuite bathroom, shelves stocked with surgical gloves, blankets and rolls of gauze. Ryūō sets you down on the bed and props your leg up.

“The bed I –”

“We have replacement sheets and mattresses, don’t worry.”

You shut your mouth and finally let your body relax. Every muscle screaming, every nerve completely shot. You close your eyes and hear Ryūō walk to the door and open it, stepping through to talk with someone on the other side. You lift your head and stare at the door - like staring at it will help you hear them better. A familiar muffled tone reaches your ears and you sit up, your hands braced behind you. 

“She was nearly at the finish line too. I don’t know why no one else stopped, her bike was right on the side of the road.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you did or she may have bled out. She’s in recovery?”

There’s no way.

The door opens and Ryūō walks in, but the man behind him makes you want to scream.

“Zayne?!”

Zayne’s shoulders tense as he looks up at you. His eyes widen and his body becomes rigid. But just as quickly as the panic settles, it vanishes and he stalks over to the bed. His expression alone made you wish you had bled out on the side of the road. 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Angry Zayne usually amused you, but being on the receiving end was not so fun. You glare at him and cock your head to the side.

“I could ask you the same question.”

His brows furrowed and he steps back, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. Ryūō approaches and leans against the wall next to your bed. His eyes lit up with curiosity. 

“You two know each other?”

Zayne looks over at him and sighs. He puts his glasses back on and turns to face you again.

“Sylus, this is my sister.”

“You have a sister?”

Ryūō, or rather Sylus as Zayne referred to him, undoes the straps of his helmet. With his real name used, he doesn’t see a need for it anymore. As soon as he pulls it off, you wish he hadn’t. His eyes were stunning, but now seeing them with the rest of his face… You almost forgot about the pain in your leg. The sharp line of his jaw, his prominent nose, his heart-shaped lips set in a smirk - he’s devastating. He removes his beanie and runs a hand through his hair, the same silvery white as your own. He looks too young for it to be natural, but then again, so do you. 

Sylus raises a brow and you realize you’ve been caught staring. You return your focus to Zayne. 

“Zayne, what are you doing?”

He shifts uncomfortably, but then he catches sight of your leg and his anger melts into concern. 

“Questions later.”

He motions for Sylus.

“We need to get her into the OR.”

“Zayne, you’re not going to perform surgery on me in an apartment, are you?!”

Sylus picks you up and you yelp. He smiles down at you and looks to be thoroughly enjoying your embarrassment. He walks back into the makeshift operating room and sets you down on the raised bed. Zayne washes his hands at the sink in the corner and puts on a fresh pair of gloves. He begins to examine your leg, completely ignoring your influx of questions.

“The skin is broken, but it’s just a cut, not a compound. Zayne, talk to me.”

Zayne puts pressure on either side of the wound and a trickle of blood oozes from the wound, dripping down your leg. You gasp and Zayne looks at you over his glasses. Typical. 

“Zayne, seriously, you’re not –”

“Wouldn’t be the first surgery I’ve performed here.” He interrupts. “I won’t operate if I don’t have to, but I need to know how serious this is.”

You groan, wincing with every poke and prod. 

“She needs an x-ray.”

Sylus is picking you up again before you can even comment. There’s no way they have an x-ray machine here, impossible. Sylus seemingly reads your mind.

“We have an MRI too. Impressive, right?”

He carries you into a room with a whole ass x-ray machine, the wall nearby lined with aprons. Sylus places you on the table and moves to let Zayne work. He drapes an apron over your stomach and hips, carefully straightens your leg, moves the detector under your leg and the collimator overhead. 

“You know the drill.”

You cross your arms and look at the wall in the opposite direction. Zayne’s footsteps, joined by Sylus’s, exit the room and after a few minutes you hear the machine turn on. You force yourself to stay still and try your best to calm your racing mind. Zayne is the head of the Cardiothoracic department, why is he working as an underground doctor on the side?

“Turn to the right, if you can.”

Zayne’s voice echoes from a speaker somewhere in the dark room. You carefully rotate and let your leg rest on its side. Another brief moment of silence before the machine whirs. The machine shuts off and he and Sylus re-enter the room to collect you. Once you’re in the “operating room” again, Zayne leaves to get the x-ray results and Sylus goes into the recovery room and closes the door partially. You’re left alone with your thoughts for a moment and it takes all your willpower not to spiral. 

“Is it done?”

Sylus’s muffled voice grabs your attention and you look up to see him in the partially opened doorway. You silently pray he doesn’t look over, because you’re absolutely staring now. He pulls his sweater over his head and tosses it in front of him as he talks on the phone, your mouth starts watering. Jesus, you really need to get laid or something, this is embarrassing. 

His bare torso is like a canvas at an art gallery with all the ornate tattoos etched into his smooth skin. His arms were covered in what looked like traditional Yakuza tattoos, but they were somehow… softer. The lines are delicate, faded, merging to create something beautiful. The arm you could see has traditional Japanese waves and bright red maple leaves. When he turns, the lines of something almost geometric etched along his back, like wings, come into view. As he slides a t-shirt over his head, you spot the body of a dragon weaving down his side and over his stomach, disappearing at his waistband. You have a single moment to get your shit together before he re-enters the room and approaches you. You keep your eyes locked on your hands, picking at your fingernails. 

“So, what should I call you?”

You force yourself to look up at him, putting on your best poker face before you give yourself away. But before you can speak, you see another tattoo and your brain shuts down. His sweater and helmet covered most of his neck, so now you can see it clearly, especially with how close he is to you. Down the center of his neck a traditional katana striking through the mouth of the lower half of an Oni mask. The mask is a gorgeous scarlet, surrounded by matching spider lilies. 

“Like what you see?”

Shit. 

You clear your throat and meet his eyes. 

“Just admiring the tattoo… It’s nice.”

He smiles and dips his head to level with you. 

“Just call me Yuki.”

Sylus opens his mouth to respond, but Zayne cuts him off.

“You’re extremely lucky.”

He holds the film up to the light and points to the hairline fracture along your tibia. You let out a relieved sigh. Zayne sets the film down and pulls his chair over to the table before carefully laying out a suturing kit. 

“I still need to suture this and I recommend using crutches, but knowing you, a boot will suffice.”

He turns to wash his hands, slowly rolling up his sleeves. If you had a dollar for every time you’re rendered speechless tonight, you’d have enough to buy multiple overpriced coffees at the hospital coffee cart. 

“Zayne?! What the fuck?”

Zayne dries his hands and wrists before grabbing a pair of gloves. He returns to the table and opens a new syringe to prepare the local anesthetic. Your eyes are locked on his wrists and forearms, you’re barely able to form a sentence.

“When… when did you… wha…”

Zayne looks at you, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He injects the anesthetic and begins to clean the surrounding skin. 

“When did you get tattoos?”

He chuckles under his breath and sits back in his chair, looking down at his nearly blacked out forearms. Patterns of icicles and snowflakes stand out against the dark ink. The tattoos continue up to his elbows and, you assume, beyond. But his hands are completely bare and the starting line is perfectly lined up with the ends of his sleeves. How many other tattoos does he have hidden?

“A few years ago.”

You reach out to hit him, but he rolls his chair backwards to grab more gauze. 

“Did you have them when I got my first one?”

He hesitates before rolling back over. He refuses to meet your eyes and you grab the pillow behind you, launching it straight for his head. 

“And you let mom and dad lecture me about tattoos being ‘inappropriate for the workplace’ especially ‘within the medical community’ - and you said NOTHING!” 

Sylus laughs, clearly enjoying the argument. 

“No one knows. I don’t show them to anyone.”

“I know.”

Sylus’s shit-eating grin almost makes you forget yourself. 

“Of course you know. You were there when I got them.”

Your eyes widen and you look between the two men. 

“Wait, how long have you two known each other?!”

Zayne gently taps the skin around the wound and you shake your head. He begins threading the needle and conveniently ignores your question to focus. Sylus, on the other hand, is more than happy to give context. 

“About six years ago now, right doc? A little incident helped our paths cross. Since then we’ve been associates, maybe even friends.”

Zayne glares at Sylus over his glasses.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Sylus gasps dramatically.

“Oh, I’m hurt, I thought we had something, doc.”

Zayne shakes his head and begins suturing the wound closed. His steady hands threading the skin and carefully pulling it closed. While you know it’s numb, you still wince at the sensation of something lightly pricking at your skin. Zayne keeps his focus on your leg as Sylus crosses his arms to watch him work.

“Tattoos, a clinic on the border to the N109 Zone, an illegal one at that. Who are you?”

Zayne’s jaw twitches, his movements remain slow and steady. He finishes a perfect line of sutures and looks up.

“I’m not the only one with secrets. You’re a racer? Illegal bike racing? If you get caught you can kiss your residency at Akso goodbye, and your career for that matter.”

You rub your hands down your face and shrug. 

“Guess we both have alter egos then.”

He scoffs and stands to grab a roll of gauze. He bends your knee and places your foot flat on the bed and does one final clean before wrapping your leg.

“What were you thinking… you could have died.”

Zayne’s voice is clipped, but you can feel his concern. Your chest aches and you dig your nails into your thighs, none of this should be happening to begin with. With your adrenaline level and your wound addressed, the metaphorical fog clears and you remember what’s at stake.

“No no no no… fuck… I’m fucked…”

Zayne stops wrapping your leg to hold onto your knee, attempting to steady you. Your body shakes violently.

“Is she in shock again?”

Sylus hurries to your side and looks to Zayne for answers. Zayne presses the back of his hand to your forehead and reaches up to hold your face in his hands.

“Hey, hey, breathe, what’s going on?”

The time for shame was long gone, your career was hanging by a thread and now your life might be as well. Sylus leans on the bed and looks down at you, his stoic expression softened with concern.

“I… I owe someone.”

Sylus and Zayne share a look. You flop back onto the bed and cover your eyes with your arm.

“I started racing a few years ago. I was doing so well in amateur races that I got invited to the professional, high stakes ones.”

“The buy-in for those races… how did you afford that?”

Zayne was all too familiar with the financial struggle of residency. He not only lived through it, but started the Residency Relief program at Akso to help struggling residents. 

“I did… really well in the amateur scene.”

“You gambled.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, glaring at Zayne as he tapes over the gauze. 

“And I made enough money to pay off my student loans and cover the downpayment for my apartment. The rest I invested in my bike and it paid off.”

“So what went wrong?”

You lock eyes with Sylus, his finger rhythmically tapping his cheek as he listens. 

“There was a competition and I… I made a bad investment. I didn’t even place. When I found out who I really made the deal with… it was too late, I’ve been trying to pay him back.”

“How much?”

Zayne removes his glasses and crosses his arms. God, he looks like dad when he does that - it’s terrifying. 

“I bet $250k…”

Zayne’s mouth drops open and Sylus chuckles.

“And let me guess, the bastard slapped a loser's fee and interest on top.” 

You side-eye Sylus, of course, he would know the ins and outs of racing bets. 

“The total came out to a little over $600k.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Zayne collapses back in his chair as Sylus whistles. 

“How much have you paid back?”

You cover your face, you never thought shame or embarrassment could kill, but here you are, barely hanging on.

“He doesn’t do payment plans.”

“Who?”

Sylus’s voice is rough, darker than before. You drop your hands and look up at him. He doesn’t look away, his eyes burn straight through you. You barely know who Sylus is outside of who he presents himself to be as Ryūō. He rests his knuckles on the bed and leans forward, his nose almost brushing yours. 

“Who?”

You clear your throat and try to maintain eye contact. 

“Volkova.”

Sylus smiles. A sinister, venomous smile that sends a chill down your spine. 

“I had nearly $500k saved and today’s race was supposed to be the last one. I was so careful, planning everything, I’d only have to make one double or nothing bet and I’d have enough to pay off Volkova and get caught up on bills. Maybe even have a little extra to chuck for savings. It was a track I’ve done before, turnout was lower than predicted, I was so goddamn close.”

“And then you crashed.”

You can’t stop the tears from spilling over. Sylus stands and crosses the room to look out the window. Zayne stands and rounds the bed to sit beside you. His arm wraps around your shoulders and he pulls you into a hug.

“I lost everything… I can’t pay… He’s going to…”

“He’s not going to do anything, I’ll write a check.”

You push against his chest so you can look him in the eye.

“No, you can’t. He’ll see your name and… he’ll come after you. Writing a check for that much, for me?”

“You’re worried he’ll extort me? I can give you cash.”

“He’s tracking my bank statements, he’ll see a massive cash out and realize I lost a bet. And then if I suddenly pay him in full he’ll be suspicious, he’ll find out, I know he will.”

“Did he give you a deadline? Maybe we can stagger the deposits?”

Your chest caves as you fall forward, Zayne catches you and holds you close.

“It’s… in a week. I’m… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… god…”

Sylus’s voice startles you, the timbre of his voice making you shiver.

“I’m guessing he didn’t tell you exactly what will happen if you fail to pay?”

You peek over Zayne’s shoulder at him. He sways gently, his hands tucked in his pockets. His strong features bathed in moonlight. When you don’t respond, he continues.

“He’ll probably use you. If he knows you’re a doctor, he’ll probably make you his private, personal and permanent physician. Forcing you to be available to him at any given moment.” 

You shiver at the thought of being dragged into some dark warehouse to dig bullet fragments out of wounds or ordering you to steal medicine from Akso. 

“I have a solution for you.”

Both you and Zayne sit up and look over at Sylus, who finally turns to face you. 

“Marry me.”

“What?!” You and Zayne shout in unison.

Sylus laughs, he rubs the back of his neck as he walks over to the side of the bed. You expect his expression to change, to make it clear his offer was a joke, but his jaw is set, brows relaxed - he’s serious? He places a hand behind you and leans down.

“We’d both benefit.”

Zayne stands and yanks Sylus back. He meets his gaze as an unnatural chill settles between them. You look over Zayne’s arms, the dark ink doesn’t hide the veins of ice forming, they spread down his wrists and over his hands. You see Sylus eyeing the crystals of ice forming on his sleeve where Zayne holds onto him. 

“Doc, I assure you, it’s a business arrangement, not a plot to get into your sister’s pants.”

Zayne’s eye twitches as snowflakes start to subtly fall around the men. You shift to the side of the bed and try to stand up, indoor flurries are never a good sign, he’s about to snap. When your feet hit the floor, you stumble, your legs are weaker than you expected. 

“Shit!”

The sensation of falling only lasts a moment before you are weightless, streams of black and red circle around you keeping you upright. The threads pick you up effortlessly and sit you back on the bed. Zayne rushes to your side and holds onto your shoulders, forcing you to sit back as he guides your leg back up on the bed. Sylus remains stationary, but you feel his eyes on you. 

“What was that?”

“It’s his evol, are you okay? What were you doing?”

You shove Zayne back.

“Stopping you from making him into a popsicle!”

Zayne glares at you, he tucks his hands under his arms to hide the frost, even though he knows you’ve already seen it.

“Don’t tell me you’re considering it?”

“I don’t think I’m in any state to consider anything!” 

Zayne’s expression softens, he knows you’re right. He hasn’t even addressed your blood loss or potential road rash across your back. He uncrosses his arms and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, gently holding your face for a moment. 

“You’re right. I’m going to get an IV from the kitchen, we’ll talk about all of this once you’ve rested.”

Your brows knit together and you open your mouth, but Zayne already knows your question.

“Don’t ask. I’ll be right back.” 

He leaves and you make a mental note to ask about the kitchen IVs later. You sense Sylus' approach, and you slowly look over to him. 

“I’m serious, by the way. Think it over. I’ll be in touch.”

He turns to leave and you reach out to grab onto his arm. His muscles twitch and he stares at your hand before dragging his eyes up to meet yours. 

“My… my bike?”

Sylus places his hand over yours. His warmth spreads through your fingers, up your arm and straight to your head. Your cheeks flush as he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“It’s been delivered to the shop. And the crash site has been cleaned. No blood, or vomit, left behind.”

You pull your hand back, god, you want to crawl into a hole and never come out. Sylus’ raspy laugh doesn’t help things, your head spins just from his touch, and he wants to marry you? For business, of course, but… no, you can’t really be considering this? Right?

“Talk to you soon, Yuki.”

You’re dissociating again. Everything feels far away, sounds, smells, even your vision - it’s like you’re looking through a tube. Your nerves are so fried when a hand touches your shoulder you jump.

“Oh, sorry! Your eggs are burning hun.”

Yvonne’s soothing voice slowly draws you back to this plane of existence. Looking down you see your eggs are sticking to the pan in dark clumps. You jab at them with a spatula and it dawns on you, you didn’t put butter down first. You pick up the pan and carry it to the sink, dropping it into the empty side with a loud clatter. You turn on the water and a huge plume of smoke billows upwards as the cool water hits the hot pan. You cough, swinging your hand wildly.

“Shit…”

Yvonne rushes to the balcony door and slides it open before grabbing the newspaper off the kitchen table to fan the smoke outside. Ollie, your rambunctious Maine Coon, rushes out the door and jumps up on the railing. 

“Ollie! No!”

You abandon the smoking pan to run after him, he’s too clumsy to sit on the railing like that. You approach him with your hands on your hips and he dips his head. He’s the perfect mix of black and white, his green eyes blinking slowly as he tries to guilt trip you into letting him stay. Not today. You pick him up and he stretches his front legs around your neck, his hugs will always soothe your soul.

“Come on ya big baby. You can be outside if you use your tower, not the railing.”

You plop him down on the top level of his cat tower and hurry back inside. Greyson is at the sink addressing the mess you made. He looks over his shoulder and gives you his best attempt at a scowl.

“What is up with you lately? You didn’t even turn off the stove!”

“I’m sorry… I’ve just… Not being at work has been messing with my head.”

Zayne convinced, or rather forced, you to take at least 3 days off to let the swelling in your leg go down before returning to work. No one questioned his approval for your time off and Greyson and Yvonne have been hesitant to ask what really happened to your leg. Your story about falling down the stairs at the gym was… less than convincing.

“Well you get to go back tomorrow, yeah?”

You nod and sit down at the kitchen table. Yvonne places a bowl of cereal in front of you and you give her an apologetic smile. She runs her hand through your hair and looks over at Greyson.

“How about we bring home dinner tonight? We can play jeopardy, Greyson, you still have the board from last time, right?”

He nods, carrying the pan to the garbage can to scrape the burnt egg into the trash. 

“Yeah, I’ve written up some new prompts too.”

Greyson prides himself on the jeopardy game he created to help residents study for the boards. Even Zayne was impressed with the level of detail. 

“Okay then! We’ll see you tonight. Call me if you need anything, promise?”

You smile up at Yvonne, she’s been your best friend since the very first day of your residency. This soft spoken, tiny woman was a powerhouse when she needed to be. She had worked at Akso as a nurse for about 3 years before taking an extended leave to attend medical school. She’d earned her place in the residency program before she even graduated. Greyson, an attending, had started dating Yvonne when she was still a nurse. They’ve been together ever since. Moving in with them was an… interesting decision, but you’ve never once regretted it. 

“Shit, we’re gonna be late.”

Greyson rushes out of the kitchen and into his and Yvonne’s shared bedroom. Yvonne giggles and pats your shoulder.

“With how he drives, there’s no shot we’re late.”

You laugh while she follows him into the bedroom to finish getting ready. Ollie jumps up on the table and lays down in front of your bowl. He might have been the runt of his liter, but when he stretches he’s still extremely long, almost the width of the table. He gives you the saddest look and you know what he’s asking for. You finish your cereal and dip your finger in the milk, extending it to him so he can lick it off. His little chirp of satisfaction brings a smile to your face. 

Greyson and Yvonne leave a few minutes later and you’re on your own. During your time off, you’ve tried studying or reviewing old case notes, but your current predicament was too distracting. How are you supposed to focus on your boards when your life hangs in the balance? 

Ring Ring

Your cell phone chimes and your stomach drops when you see the caller ID. The only unknown caller you’re used to getting calls from is Volkova. And he called yesterday… Did he find out about the accident? Does he know you lost all the money you’d saved? 

“Hello?”

“Good morning Yuki, how’ve you been?”

A voice deeper and rougher than Volkova’s flows through the phone. Your breath catches in your throat for a moment as you search for the right words. You hadn’t expected to hear from Sylus so soon. 

“I’m… umm… I’ve been better.”

“I assume you’ve heard from Volkova?”

You grunt as you stand from the table to shuffle over to the couch. You flop down and cover your eyes with your hand.

“I – oof!”

“What happened?”

You start to laugh as you look down at Ollie who jumped up on your chest. He crouches down and tucks his front paws under, the ultimate loaf. You rub his ears and his motor starts, you’re sure even Sylus can hear him purring. 

“It’s nothing, just my cat. Wasn’t ready for his chunky butt to land on my chest!”

Sylus chuckles, he sounds almost… relieved? 

“But yes, I’ve heard from Volkova.”

“Four days, right?”

Goosebumps spread over your body. The threat Volkova made is still fresh in your mind. 

“Yes, and according to him, I won’t like what happens if I don’t have the money.”

Sylus pauses. A tear drips down your cheek and you close your eyes to slow the flow. 

“Have you considered my offer?”

You let out a shaky breath and hold onto Ollie, the steady rumble of his purring grounds you. 

“I don’t get it, how does marrying you fix anything? I mean, I assume you have some kind of power if you think Volkova wouldn’t fuck with me if I’m with you. But then – I mean, what’s in it for you? I’m just a doctor! Not even an official doctor, I’m a resident. I don’t understand how –”

“Woah, slow down there sweetie. I can only answer one question at a time.”

His sudden switch up in nicknames renders you speechless. You close your mouth and wait for him to start filling in the blanks.

“You assume I have some kind of power?”

“Yes.”

“How familiar are you with the N109 Zone?”

“Not very, I mostly just know the city layout thanks to races.”

Sylus laughs, the sound is infectious. It’s a carefree laugh, you’re a tad envious.

“What do you know about Onychinus?”

“The gang?”

“I prefer ‘criminal organization’.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the only sound that escapes is a squeak. Ollie’s ears twitch and his eyes open half-way, he stares at your mouth as if waiting for a mouse to crawl out. You lift your hand to rake through your hair. 

“Surprised?”

You nod, realizing a few seconds later that he, in fact, cannot see you.

“Ye-yeah. You… you’re…?”

“The N109 Zone has been relatively peaceful under my control, but now Volkova has weaseled his way into the racing scene. And apparently, is taking advantage of young women who’ve clearly never made high-stakes bets before.”

“Hey!”

“So you were aware he would charge you an outrageous losers fee and stack unrealistic interest rates?” 

You can’t argue with him there. If you had known, you never would have made the bet.

“Volkova’s been in the game long enough to know a novice when he sees one. And you’re not the only one he’s doing this to. He’s crossing lines and staking a claim. In my territory. And that… just can’t happen.”

“So marriage…?”

“Marrying me puts you under my protection. You won’t be paying him a penny and unless he has a death wish, he won’t come after you. He needs to learn his place. And you need time to rebuild after the accident.”

“Rebuild?”

“I can offer you protection and stability while you get back on your feet, both physically and financially.”

“And I’m just supposed to be a pawn in your game with Volkova?”

“You’re already a pawn, I’m offering you a chance to become the queen. Protecting you from him is just one way you’ll be helping me regain control of the Zone.”

“What else do you expect from me then?”

“You’re a doctor, with a completely clean record. I have legal businesses who want to work with Onychinous but won’t sign a contract with my name on it. They’re worried it might ruin their reputation. You, however, can present yourself as an up-and-coming surgeon who wants to make the N109 Zone a ‘better place’ - they’ll sign in a heartbeat.” 

“And no one will question why this completely clean ‘up-and-coming surgeon’ married the notorious leader of a ‘criminal organization’?” 

“Of course they will, but if they know what’s good for them they’ll keep their mouths shut. And if you’re worried about your hospital friends, my public persona in circles where my real identity is a mystery, I’m just the owner of a successful Winery.”

“A Winery?”

“Who lives at his vineyard in the N109 Zone.”

Ollie’s automatic feeder turns on and the sound of his food trickling into the bowl wakes him up. He leaps onto the coffee table and sprints for the kitchen. You stand up and limp out onto the balcony. His plan is solid, his offer makes sense… no matter how many times you review it in your mind, you can’t find a reason to turn it down. 

“Still with me?”

“Yeah, yeah… I just… I don’t want it to seem like… ugh…”

“It’s not about the money. I’m not buying you and you’re not a gold digger. We’re partners in this, business partners.”

The tension in your shoulders fade, the knot in your stomach uncoils, and you can finally take a deep breath for the first time in weeks. You’ve always been independent, determined to take care of yourself with zero help from anyone. Sylus wasn’t offering to fix it for you, you’d be helping each other. You’d never even considered getting married, your career was more important. But this was a business deal, logical, realistic, beneficial for multiple parties. It wouldn’t intrude on your career plan. 

“Okay. Let’s do it. On one condition.”

“And what is that Yuki?”

“We revisit this arrangement yearly. If it’s no longer beneficial for both of us, we part ways. I’ll sign a prenup or whatever else you want if you agree that we’re not going to take advantage of each other.”

“Deal.”

You stare at your hands.

“So what now?”

“Give me a day to make arrangements. We won’t do anything ostentatious, it’ll draw too many wandering eyes. But we’ll want Volkova to hear about it and see us together, just so the message is clear. I’ll call you tonight. I suggest talking to your family, whatever story you come up with I’ll play along.”

“Okay, yeah…”

“Talk to you soon.”

He hangs up and you stare at your phone. When you decided to get into racing you never thought you’d end up here. You know would-ofs and could-ofs are pointless, but your whole life is about to change. You pull up Zayne’s number. Your parents have become more easy-going in their old age, they won’t like the idea of a shotgun wedding, but you doubt they’ll cut you off because of it. You’re their baby girl, they’ve always been a little softer with you. Zayne, on the other hand…

“Hello?”

“Hey Zayne!”

“Are you okay? Did your stitches rip?”

“No no, I’m okay. I need to talk to you. Could you come over for lunch?”

Zayne is silent for a while. You’re tempted to repeat the question, but he clears his throat.

“I can. I’ll put Greyson on call for me.”

“Okay, yeah! Umm… I’ll make some…”

You stand up and waddle into the kitchen, which still smells like burnt eggs. 

“Actually, I’ll order something. Does noon work?”

He hums in agreement. Before you can say another word you hear the tell-tale sound of his pager. He gives you a hasty goodbye and hangs up, probably running down the hall to the OR by now. The possibility of Zayne being angry with you turns your stomach. He’s the most important person in your life, you can’t lose him. 

Meow!

Ollie strolls into the kitchen and rubs against your boot. You stumble as you shift your leg away, he clearly doesn’t care that you’re unsteady because he just turns to rub your other leg. You bend over and pick him up, his legs wrap around your neck and you shove your face into his fur. 

“Don’t worry buddy, you’re still my baby boy. Nothing will change that.”

He purrs and rubs his face into your hair. At least you’ll always have Ollie.

You’ve just set down the last box of takeout when your doorbell rings again. You shuffle over to the door and peek through the peephole. Zayne stands on the other side with a small box in his hands, his hair wet from the rain that started just moments ago. You swing open the door and invite him in.

“It was just sunny out 15 minutes ago! Where did this storm come from?”

Zayne sets the box on the entry table and shrugs his coat off, hanging it on the hook by the door. You pick up the box and lift up a corner. You see two cupcakes, decorated with a thick layer of chocolate frosting. Zayne smacks your hand away and takes the box back.

“The Italian bakery across the street from Akso added new items to their menu.”

He walks past you and sets the box down amongst the takeout boxes. You follow him and push a container towards him.

“Well, I got onigiri, udon and curry rice from Katei ryōri, they opened up a new location closer to us so Greyson and Yvonne have been ordering a ton. I had coupons for free nama donuts cause they’ve been ordering so much. So you can pick and choose, whatever you want, totally up to you and –”

“You’re rambling.”

Zayne sits down and opens the udon to put in a bowl. You sit across from him and pick at your fingernails. He watches you as he makes himself a plate of curry rice. 

“I assume you wanted to talk to me about the Volkova situation?”

You nod.

“So, you’re accepting my help, yes?”

You shake your head. He sets the container of rice down, takes off his glasses and tucks them in his breast pocket. He links his fingers together and rests his arms on the table, leaning forward to stare at you.

“Zayne…”

“Please tell me you’re not considering Sylus’s offer.”

You bite your lip and dig your nails into your palms.

“I already agreed to it.”

Zayne’s face goes from stern to shocked to angry in rapid succession. He pushes his chair back and stands. He walks toward the door and takes his coat off the hook. You quickly stand and run - well more like quickly walk - to stop him. You grab his coat and hold it tight against you.

“Zayne please…”

“You’ve already made up your mind. I’m not sure why you couldn’t have told me this over the phone.”

His tone is eerily calm. 

“Because you would have hung up on me and avoided me for weeks. I know you think this is a bad idea, but…”

“It is a bad idea.”

“I haven’t been able to think about anything else since the accident. I’ve tried to figure out a way to deal with this and Sylus’s offer makes the most sense.”

“How can you possibly think that? You don’t even know who he is!”

“I do! He told me. And this arrangement is beneficial for both of us, it’s like a business deal! It’s the most logical –”

“A business deal? You’re marrying him. You’re making vows. How can you think this is the best option? I’m right here, offering you a way out and you’re trusting him over your own brother?”

He reaches for his coat, but you hold tight. He rubs the bridge of his nose and retrieves his glasses, sliding them on before grabbing the door handle. He only opens the door a crack before you step in front of him and press your back against it, slamming it shut. 

“Zayne please! I… I need to do this. You don’t have to like it, but I’m begging you, please, please don’t walk away.”

Zayne’s image becomes blurry as your eyes fill with tears. Your big brother has always been there for you, if he walks away now you’re not sure how you’ll handle it. He turns and walks into your living room, sitting in the armchair by the window. Ollie jumps up on his lap and he doesn’t even try to push him away. 

“What will mom and dad think?”

You sit down across from him and quickly swipe a tear away as it falls. 

“I’ve already talked to them.”

Zayne looks up with wide eyes. Ollie chirps as if he’s responding in kind. 

“I told them I met someone and I didn’t mention being in a relationship because I didn’t think it would last given the pressure of residency. That he proposed and we don’t want to waste time or money on a big wedding. Mom’s surprised but happy and dad’s just glad he doesn’t have to pay for anything.”

“And what do they think he does?”

“Sylus told me he has a persona that owns a Winery. That his vineyard is in the N109 Zone and he’s very private.” 

“And what are you going to tell mom when she asks about grandkids?”

“She’s always known I put my career first. That won’t change.”

“So you’re just going to marry him and what? Live a lie?”

And with that, your last shred of self-control disappears.

“You can’t say shit about living a lie! You have secrets that I still can’t wrap my head around! Tattoos? A secret clinic or, actually, a whole ass secret hospital that you use to treat racers and whoever else Sylus might bring to you! You can’t be serious, Zayne!”

Zayne looks down at Ollie on his lap. His nimble fingers stroke the center of his forehead, making Ollie’s eyes close. 

“Sylus helped me a few years ago. I wouldn’t be a doctor if he hadn’t stepped in. I doubt I’d be alive. And you’re right, I do have secrets. I never wanted you to get too close because you have your whole career ahead of you. But now…”

He finally looks up at you, his anger long gone, replaced with fear. You’ve never seen him look afraid. He was always your brave big brother. Helping you manage your shared evol, teaching you how to use it to keep bullies away when you entered high school, protecting you from Wanderers or creeps on the street. But now, he’s afraid, and you don’t know why.

“Now you’re facing something equally as dangerous and I… I don’t want you to throw away your future.”

You lean forward and take his hand, ignoring Ollie’s disgruntled growls as Zayne stops petting him. 

“I’m not. I’m making sure I still have one and that I’m the one in control of it.”

“And you think Sylus can give you that?”

“I do.”

Zayne sighs. When he looks up at you again, his fear has been locked away. 

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea, but… I will support you. Just don’t come running to me when you realize what a pain in the ass Sylus is!”

You giggle and stand to wrap and arm around him. His stiff posture relaxes and he pats your shoulder. 

“Let’s eat, I have a left ventricular remodeling in an hour.”

When Sylus informed you the wedding would be on Saturday - literally 2 days away - you may have panicked just a bit. And by a bit, you may have spiraled while on the phone with him and he had to talk you through some breathing exercises. 

“We’re scheduled with Judge Bishop for noon. We’ll get the vows and paperwork out of the way and then around 5 the reception will start.”

“The reception?”

“Since we’re doing a private ceremony, a public reception is the best way to get the news out. It’ll also be a chance for you to celebrate with your friends and family - I don’t want our arrangement to drive a wedge in your relationships.”

You lay back on your bed and pull your blanket up to your chin. Ollie chirps at the sudden change in his sleeping arrangement. He quickly readjusts, curling into a ball against your back.

“Okay, vows at noon, reception at 5.”

“Tell you what, how about we meet for dinner on Friday night. We can go over the details in person. I have a few more things to finalize anyway.”

“Uhh dinner? Wh-where?”

Sylus is quiet for a moment.

“I’ll pick you up after work and we’ll go wherever you like.”

Work was unbearably slow - which is objectively a good thing in the medical field - but you’re miserable. Ever since you told Greyson and Yvonne about the wedding, they’ve been distant, even at work. When Yvonne finally stopped giving you the silent treatment, she nearly cried arguing with you over why you kept your “relationship” a secret from her. While she forgave you, you know she’ll be hesitant to trust you for a while. 

Friday afternoon held the same pattern, the ER was slow, your appointments were postponed thanks to your leg and Yvonne and Greyson avoided you for the most part. Thankfully they sat with you at lunch to discuss the reception happening the following evening. And by the time your shift was over, Yvonne was hugging you and squealing about being invited to the vow exchange. She would be your maid of honor if you’d done things the traditional way, so she deserved to be there. 

While you thought ahead and brought a dress to change into, you were almost tempted to just wear your scrubs. Why were you trying to dress nicely for him? He wasn’t marrying you for your looks - it shouldn’t matter. Right? Against your better judgement, you peel off your scrubs and carefully pull on a pair of thick black tights, adding a pair of leg warmers to protect your bandages from your walking boot. The black oversized sweater dress you toss over your head is one of the few dresses you own that you actually wear. Your phone buzzes on the bench next to you and you nearly drop your lipstick.

Sylus 𝘐’𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵, 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?

Me 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥.

You stuff your scrubs in your backpack and pull on your denim jacket. The walk to the front entrance from the locker room wasn’t far, but you hoped you wouldn’t run into anyone who cared enough to ask why you were so “dressed up.”

The gust of cold air that hits you when you open the door makes your eyes water. Winter is fast approaching and you’ve barely had time to enjoy it. You even missed the first snow of the season thanks to an MCI that kept you in the operating room nearly 12 hours past the end of your shift. But it’s fitting, you getting married during the winter. 

When you don’t see Sylus’s bike in the parking lot you stare at your phone, your finger hovering over the call button. Before you get a chance, he calls you.

“I’m not on my bike.”

“Oh, wait why?”

“I didn’t think you’d be too comfortable on a bike with that boot on your leg. I’m pulling up now.”

The call disconnects and you look up to see a blacked out Escalade pull up to the curb. The driver's door opens and you see the top of his head over the roof of the car, his hair nearly glowing under the fluorescent lights lining the entrance. He rounds the car and approaches the passenger side, opening the door for you. As you approach you notice there’s something different about him, and then you catch it, the sparkle of steel.

His ears are lined with various studs and small hoops, an industrial bar crossing the top of his left ear. A small septum hoop hangs above his lip, which holds two piercings of their own. Two silver studs sit on the outer edges of his lower lip. He raises a brow, bringing your attention to the piercing there as well. You can feel your mouth run dry.

“Is there something on my face?”

You roll your eyes to match his teasing tone. 

“I just didn’t realize you had piercings…”

“I take them out when I’m racing, more comfortable. Now, after you…”

He motions towards the car and extends his hand for you. Accepting his help, you step up to the car. He places a hand on your waist and guides you onto the seat, bending to lift your bad leg into the car. He closes your door and returns to the driver’s side. Ignoring your pounding heart, you buckle yourself in. 

“So where would you like to go?”

Sylus turns on the heat and you feel your legs warm. Heated seats? In a custom Escalade? Jesus. Suggesting a cheap burger feels out of the question.

“Uhh… well I don’t know what you like.”

“I’m not picky.”

“Well, maybe…”

You’ve only been to a handful of fancy restaurants in Linkon. And always as a result of a work related event: an employee appreciation dinner, the first year residency celebration and a Christmas banquet. Only one name comes to you and you pray you can remember what you ordered. 

“The Linkon Grille?”

Sylus nods and pulls away from the hospital entrance. As he drives, you take this opportunity to examine him out of the corner of your eye. Sleek black suit pants, a red dress shirt with the collar open to showcase a stack of silver necklaces and his signature leather jacket. You’ve always wanted to ask why he wore a jacket with, what looks like, red and white lightning strikes when it didn’t quite match his alias. 

“Is the lightning intentional?”

You’ve always wanted to ask, you had no intention of ACTUALLY asking, oh god. Sylus smiles.

“Not really. I liked how it looked, so I bought it.”

Might as well keep the conversation going.

“You wear it when racing, does it… relate to Ryūō somehow?”

“No. My helmet has Ryūō artwork, my jacket is just a jacket.”

“Oh…”

Okay, no more attempts at small talk, you suck at it. Thankfully, you arrive at the restaurant before you have to explain your silence. The valet approaches and Sylus hops out to open your door. He helps you out and hands the keys to the young man. 

“Shit… I’m not sure if this place requires reservations…”

“How many times have you been here?”

You stare at the ground as you walk. Sylus laughs, but doesn’t stop. He opens the door for you and rests his hand on your lower back to guide you inside. 

The interior was outrageously ornate - dark wood, armchairs instead of dining chairs, waiters wearing gloves carrying boxes of cigars to each table. You’re out of your depth here.

Sylus approaches the hostess and you don’t miss how she gives you both a once over and scowls before speaking. 

“Hello! Do you have a reservation?”

You stare at your feet to hide your embarrassment. 

“It’ll be under Ony.” 

You look up at him to find him smiling from ear to ear. The hostess pauses for a moment before looking at her book. Her expression changes to sheer terror a moment later and her entire demeanor changes. 

“Oh, Mr. Sylus! I apologize, I didn’t recognize you! Would you like your regular table?”

“That’s fine. Shall we?”

He extends his arm and you hook your hand around it. You follow the hostess to a private table at the back of the restaurant. Sylus helps you out of your coat and pulls your chair out for you. He hands your coats to the hostess who apologizes once again before rushing through a nearby door. A minute later a man in a three piece suit arrives with a bottle of wine.

“Mr. Sylus, I do apologize for Regina. Please accept this Pinot, free of charge.” 

Sylus takes the bottle and traces his finger over the label. He smirks and hands the bottle to the man with a nod. He opens the bottle and pours two glasses. 

“Just let me know when you’re ready to order and I’ll make sure Osvaldo prepares it personally.”

He sets down the bottle and bows before taking his leave. Sylus chuckles and you realize you’re completely zoned out, just staring at the bottle of wine.

“Maybe I should have mentioned I am an investor at this location.”

You pick up your glass and down the wine in one go, grabbing the bottle for a refill without hesitation. Sylus picks up his glass, twirling the stem between his fingers before taking a sip. 

“I’ve been here once. I have no idea what to order and oh my god, this wine is expensive!”

You look at the label and recognize the brand. Just one bottle would set you back two months rent. You set the bottle down and push your glass away. Sylus leans forward and fills your glass himself.

“Please, indulge.”

“I can’t… I can’t afford this.”

“Sweetie… When you’re with me, you’ll pay for nothing. That’s part of our business arrangement.”

“Since when?”

“Right now. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you’re a caviar and oyster girl.”

You wince, your last experience with oysters had not ended well. You shake your head. 

“How about I order for you? If you don’t like it, I’ll order something new until you find something you like.”

Your cheeks warm, surely it’s just the alcohol. You nod. 

“Benji, we’re ready.”

You look around, wondering who he is talking to and gasp when you turn around and see the man who brought the wine appear out of thin air. Sylus swirls the wine in his glass and keeps his eyes locked on you while he orders.

“We’ll both have the lamb chops over lobster mash with honey glazed carrots. And tell Osvaldo to make some fresh espresso, we’ll be having tiramisu for dessert.”

The man nods and rushes away. Just the thought of tiramisu makes your mouth water. You pick up your glass and take a small sip, taking a moment to savor it this time. 

“So… tomorrow…”

Sylus smiles, he’s clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. 

“Yes, tomorrow. Paperwork at noon, reception at 5. Do you have any questions you’d like to ask?”

“Yes… a ton actually… uh…”

“We have all night, sweetie. Take your time.”

You forgo your tiny sips and down the rest of your second glass. You reach for the bottle to refill while considering which question you want to ask first. 

“The reception, where will it be held?”

“I own a club along the border to the zone.”

“A club?”

“Paradise.”

“You own Paradise?!”

“Is it really that shocking?”

“No, I just… I’ve heard about it from my colleagues and it’s… impressive.”

“I take it you’ve never been?”

You take another sip of wine, your body slowly relaxing as the buzz from the alcohol settles in.

“I don’t really go to clubs, or parties for that matter. My weekends are for sleeping and studying.”

“You and Zayne are very similar then.”

“Aha… yeah, now you’ll say I copied my big brother in becoming a doctor, right?”

Sylus frowns, he taps his wine glass.

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

You clear your throat and stare at your wine glass, wondering if you’ll be officially drunk if you chug this third glass. 

“Is that what most people say? That you copied your brother?”

You nod and place your glass on the table, forcing yourself to make eye contact with your future husband. 

“I skipped the same grades, went to the same medical school, was offered the same residency at Akso, where he works. I mean, we even have the same evol. It’s like I’m a carbon copy.”

“I disagree. You don’t look like him, that’s one difference.”

“I used to, when I was a kid. People thought we were twins.”

“Is that why you changed your hair?”

You tuck a strand of your ivory locks behind your ear, subconsciously twirling the end over and over.

“I… didn’t…”

His brows drew together and you chuckled. 

“I have pernicious anemia. Basically, my body doesn’t produce the protein needed to absorb B12. Usually, the lack of B12 would cause hair loss, but in some rare cases it can cause premature graying. My hair started turning white when I was 10, but I had been dealing with symptoms for a year before that. I missed a lot of school because I couldn’t stay awake and I’d faint from dizzy spells. I was in the hospital for almost a month between figuring out what was wrong with me and then trying to get stabilized enough to go home. My hair has been white ever since.”

Sylus nods, his expression turning somber.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s okay! I mean, that time in the hospital is what made me want to become a doctor. My parents are both doctors, so I spent a lot of time in hospitals anyway, but as a patient I got to see the other side. I was like a puzzle. Watching everyone trying to figure it out was fascinating.”

“Are you okay now?”

“Oh yeah, I take vitamins and get B12 shots when I need to. It’s completely manageable. Just a horror show when you’re a kid, you know?”

He nods, but he doesn’t look up from his glass. You spot Benji rounding the corner and start to clap, making Sylus jump. He smiles as he watches you bounce in your seat as the food arrives. You almost whine when he pulls the wine bottle to his side of the table to keep you from grabbing it.

The tender lamb sits on a bed of lobster mashed potatoes, the honey glazed carrots perched on top with a healthy sprinkle of decorative herbs. The lamb is perfectly cooked, falling off the bone to swim in the savory potatoes. You can barely contain yourself, sighing loudly as you devour your meal.

“Oh… I like carrots!”

“That’s… great.”

Sylus sits back to watch you as you lift a carrot on your fork to look at it.

“Zayne doesn’t like them, I do, that’s another difference!”

He smiles, finally understanding your outburst. 

“So I explained my hair, what about yours?”

Sylus runs a hand through his hair. He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his fist.

“What about it sweetie?”

“Why is it silver? And white? Silvery white. You’re too young for it to be natural.”

“My job is pretty stressful, it could be.”

You shake your head and squint at him.

“No, no. I can tell.”

“Well, I don’t know, if I’m honest. It’s been like this for as long as I can remember.”

“What about your parents? Will they be there tomorrow?”

Sylus’s smile falters and he looks down at his plate, lining the carrots up in a row with his fork. 

“My parents are… gone. It’ll just be me and the twins tomorrow.”

“Twins! Oh… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… uhh… wh-who are the twins?”

His gaze softens and he lifts a finger. You look over his shoulder to see Benji rush into the kitchen.

“Luke and Kieran. They work for me. They’ve become… like family, in a sense.”

“I look forward to meeting them.”

Benji reappears and sets two plates of tiramisu on the table.

“I can make a to-go box if you like ma’am?” 

“Oh that would be lovely, thank you!”

He takes your plate and Sylus’s and disappears through the door once again. You reach for the plate closest to you, but Sylus pulls it away. You look up to glare at him.

“I thought we could practice for the cake cutting ceremony.” 

“Oh! Uhm… okay… wait, there’s gonna be cake?”

“Of course. Chocolate with white icing and red roses. I thought it best to keep it classic. Unless you want something different?”

“That… that sounds beautiful. I… I honestly never thought about what kind of cake I would want. I never thought I’d get married.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Just… never thought about it. My career has always been my focus.”

Sylus places a plate between you and holds out a knife.

“Well, I hope you enjoy what I have planned for tomorrow regardless.”

You reach out and wrap your hand around his. You both guide the knife through the soft layers. You let go and pick up a dessert fork, watching him pick up a forkful first. You scoop up a bite and lean forward. Sylus moves the plate out of the way and extends his arm towards you. You carefully take the fork into your mouth while feeding Sylus his serving. The bitter espresso soaked ladyfingers melt on your tongue, the sweet cream so fluffy you could barely keep your eyes open. 

Then you feel the fork in your hand move slightly. You finally break eye contact and look at his mouth, the corner tilting up into a smirk. You can feel his tongue circle the utensil, making sure every ounce of the delicious dessert is consumed. Your heart pounds in your chest and you lean back until the fork slips out of your mouth. He does the same and you stare at him for a moment, unsure what to say or do.

“You’ve got a little…”

He leans forward again and brushes his thumb over the corner of your mouth. You freeze, almost afraid he’ll feel how hot your skin is, or how your entire body is pulsing with your heart beat. He pulls his hand back to reveal a bit of cream on his thumb. You open your mouth to thank him, but you’re rendered speechless as he sticks his thumb in his mouth to suck the cream off. 

“I think that went well, we just have to do it in front of a crowd tomorrow.”

You sit in silence, staring at his mouth. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and you watch the silver studs rotate slowly. He’s definitely aware you’re staring and doesn’t seem to give a fuck. He releases his lip and extends his hand to gently take hold of your chin. He tilts your head up until you meet his eyes.

“You think you can handle that, sweetie?”

You blink rapidly, trying to pull yourself out of your drunken, horny haze to reply.

“Yeah… yes. For sure.”

“I think you may have had too much to drink.”

You try to shake your head, but his fingers holding your chin keep you still.

“How about I get us a room? I don’t think I should drive.”

Your bleary eyes clear slightly and you sit back, pulling your chin from his grasp.

“You barely drank!”

“I have a relatively low tolerance. Buzzed-driving is still drunk-driving, you know.”

Benji approaches the table with your to-go box and gives Sylus a pat on the shoulder.

“Osvaldo is thrilled you ordered the tiramisu, he sends his thanks. Is there anything else I can do for you two tonight?”

“Yes, can you prepare my usual room and –”

Before Sylus can finish you wave your hands, attracting both Benji and Sylus’s attention. 

“I… we are not… I’m not getting a room with you, I don’t… we shouldn’t…”

Sylus looks at Benji with a knowing smile.

“If you could replace the twins beds with a queen, I doubt she’d be very comfortable on a single.”

Your eyes widen as you slowly realize your mistake. You sit back in your chair and fold the napkin on your lap into a tiny square. You hear Benji’s footsteps fade and Sylus clear his throat. 

“Sweetie? Did you not realize this restaurant is part of a hotel?”

You shake your head without looking up.

“I have a suite on stand by with a separate room for the twins when we stay here. I wasn’t going to force you to sleep with me.”

You quickly look up at him, embarrassed and unsure.

“No, I didn’t think… I… I’m not a prude I just…”

“I don’t expect anything from you. And I will never force anything on you. I want that to be perfectly clear. You never need to worry about that when you’re with me.”

Your throat stings as you try to keep yourself from crying. Damn, you’re emotional when you’re drunk. You grab your glass and down the rest of your wine, wincing at it burns the back of your throat. Sylus' smile returns.

“What about tomorrow?”

Sylus stands and extends a hand to you. After a moment of consideration, you take it. He helps you stand and places a hand at your waist to steady you. He walks slowly, making sure you don’t trip over your boot. 

“I’ll wake you up with plenty of time to get ready. Don’t worry.”

He ushers you into the elevator and presses the penthouse button, of course it’s the penthouse. You roll your eyes and a wave of dizziness hits you. Sylus leans back against the wall and you lean with him, your back resting against his chest. 

“I had your leftovers sent to the minibar, if you wake up and want a midnight snack. There’s also spare clothes in the wardrobe if you’d like to sleep in something more comfortable. Just call the front desk if you need anything else.”

You look over your shoulder at him and melt under his heated gaze. You find yourself staring at his lips again. Would it be uncomfortable to kiss with those piercings? Or would it feel… thrilling? The ideal mix of hot and cold with his tongue in your mouth and the cold steel on your lip. You rest your head back on his chest and sigh, you just want a taste… one… little… taste…

Ding

The elevator reaches its destination and silently swear, you had almost worked up the courage to close the distance. Sylus takes a step forward, forcing you through the door into the large penthouse entryway. 

He guides you through the suite, pointing out the kitchen, the living room, the laundry closet and the door to the balcony. He stops in front of a set of doors and slides them open to reveal a small hallway. He points to the room on the right.

“That’s my room, if you need anything just knock.”

He opens the door on the left to reveal your room for the night. Sure enough, a queen bed was delivered and made up with a luxurious comforter and nearly a dozen pillows. He leads you inside and opens the door to the bathroom, a clawfoot tub catches your attention. If it wasn’t for this damn boot and stitches, you’d soak in that tub for an hour. 

“Make yourself at home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He lets go of your hand and waist and you instantly miss his warmth. You watch him leave, disappearing behind the door to his room across from yours. You hurry across the room to close the door and lock it. You’re flinging your sweater dress over your head onto a nearby chair and kicking your shoes off, using only a tiny bit more caution with your injured leg. Your tights follow and then your underwear. 

You lay back on the bed and shiver as the silky blankets cool your bare skin. You pull the blanket to the side and slide under, propping your feet up to keep your legs spread. Your body moves on instinct, your mind is too fuzzy and filled with the filthiest images, you need to release the tension, now. 

Your fingers slide down your naked body, pausing over your chest to roll your perky nipples between your fingers. One hand slides further, dipping between your folds and spreading yourself open. You shiver at the thought of Sylus’s fingers replacing yours. Those long fingers tracing your clit and sliding into your pussy with ease. You close your eyes as your fingers start to work your clit with urgency. His thumb wiping that cream off of your mouth, fuck, you wish you had grabbed his wrist and pulled him to you. To watch him stare at you with those hungry crimson eyes as you close your lips around his thumb and suck. You lift your other hand to your face and stick your thumb in your mouth, imagining it’s Sylus’s. 

Your fingers dip into your throbbing pussy, which almost immediately sucks them in deeper. You pump in and out, rubbing against your clit with the palm of your hand. A strangled whimper escapes your throat as your tongue circles around your thumb. You’re so close, and you’ve only been at it for a minute. You imagine his lip rings brushing against your nipples as he kisses down your chest. Does he have piercings anywhere else? What if he does, what would they feel like? You bite your thumb as you come undone. 

You lay there, sweating and sticky, letting your mind wander. You haven’t been attracted to someone for a long time. You’ve never let yourself get into a serious relationship. One night stands in college? A fuck buddy in medical school? Sure. But a relationship? Someone you see and talk to everyday? And yet, here you are, getting off to the guy you’re going to marry after knowing him for a week. What are you getting yourself into?

You went to sleep later than you intended, you wanted to wash your bedding - no way you’re letting the hotel staff find your mess and it somehow gets back to Sylus. You also took the time to shower and wash your hair. You were planning on doing a full body shower at home to prepare for the wedding, but the bathroom here had everything you needed. 

When you finally fell asleep your dreams were full of Sylus. He wore a fitted tuxedo, his hair slicked back, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. You saw yourself in the mirror, a gorgeous white wedding dress, lace, tulle, the works. He handed you the flowers and adjusted your veil, twirling his fingers through your curls. Black and red roses lined the aisle of the church. Rubies hung from the ceiling, shimmering in the sunlight to cast intricate patterns on the walls. His voice calls out your name and the world stops spinning, it’s just the two of you. He holds your waist and you press yourself against him. 

A series of knocks at your door bring you back to reality. You quickly get out of bed and wrap a plush white robe around you. Hobbling over to the door, you unlock it and open it a crack. To your surprise, it’s not Sylus.

“Hello Miss. I’m Veronica. Mr. Sylus wanted me to deliver these dresses. Tanya is here with your breakfast as well.”

You look over your shoulder at the clock on the wall, 7 am, you have plenty of time to go to your apartment and get the outfit you originally planned to wear. But you’re curious, what did Sylus get for you? You open the door and let the women in. Veronica wheels in a clothing rack, setting up in the corner next to the bathroom. She unzips each garment bag and pulls the dress out so you can see it fully. You sit on the bed and stare at the spectacle unraveling before you. The dresses, a small table unfolded and covered in plates of food. Tanya smiles at you every chance she gets and you try your best to return the pleasantries. 

“I brought you a variety, you can pick and choose. Quiche, french toast, crepes, a fruit platter, coffee, juice - if there’s anything else you want, please just call the front desk. I’ll bring it right away!”

Tanya gives you one last smile, her eyes full of tears. She hurries out of the room and closes the door. Veronica laughs.

“Sorry about Tanya, she’s always wanted Sylus to get married, she treats him like a son. She’s a little emotional today.”

She picks up a bag off the bottom of the rack and pulls out a large makeup bag and curling iron. 

You glance over at the makeshift vanity she’s setting up and quickly put down your glass of juice. You rush over to her before she can unload any more equipment. 

“Wait, wait… Sylus, he… uhm…?”

Veronica places her delicate hands on your shoulders.

“Sylus hired me to help you get ready. He told me you might not want any help, but to offer it just in case. If you already have a dress, I can send someone to pick it up. Or you can choose one of these. They should all match the measurements I was given.”

You look over at the dresses then back at Veronica.

“Wait, how’d you get my measurements?”

Veronica smiles, her eyes sparkling.

“Sylus has a knack for that kind of thing.”

You wrap your arms around your waist and look around the room, trying to balance on your good leg. Veronica continues setting up her station and gives you space to think. You glance over at the clothing rack and decide looking can’t hurt. Up close, the dresses are divine - silk, chiffon, organza, lace, anything you can imagine. 

“Feel free to try them on. Sylus asked for long dresses, but I can pin them up if they’re too long.”

You smile to yourself. Long dresses to hide the boot. He really thought of everything it seems. 

You look through the dresses and find one that you love. While you can’t imagine yourself wearing it you decide to try it on. You take the dress into the bathroom and slip your panties on. Suddenly very thankful you decided to wash your intimates after the bedding was finished. You carefully drape the dress over your head and try to zip it up. When you’re finally done criticizing your short arms you open the bathroom door to seek Veronica’s help. 

“Hey Veronica, do you think you could –”

You stop short when you realize Sylus is sitting at the breakfast table Tanya set up. His eyes light up when he looks at the dress you’re wearing and the butterflies in your stomach swirl once again. Veronica comes up behind you and zips your dress closed and ties a bow to secure the halter neck. She holds your arm and leads you to the full length mirror, which is right next to the breakfast table. 

“You were right, this one does look spectacular on her.”

Veronica steps aside and you finally see your reflection. You’ve spent years laughing at those bridal shows and rolling your eyes at brides who cry over their weddings, but now you feel a little guilty for the mockery. 

The soft white silk feels heavenly against your skin, the halter neckline is flattering to both your chest and shoulders. You turn to look at the back and smile as you spot your tattoo framed within the open back design. The dress is the perfect length, hovering off the floor so you don’t trip, but long enough to cover your unsightly boot. It’s not fancy or frilly, it’s no ball gown, but it makes you feel like a bride, even if it is just for a courthouse wedding. 

“Do you like it?”

You run your hands down the front of the dress and sway, watching the mermaid base swish around your ankles. Sylus steps up behind you, his clothes from the previous night slightly wrinkled. You look at him through the mirror and he smiles, his eyes dropping to your back. You feel the ends of the bow shift away from your skin.

“It’s beautiful.”

You feel your cheeks flush and when you check in the mirror, sure enough, your cheeks are nice and rosy. You clear your throat and put your hands on your hips, feeling the fabric stretch over your curves.

“It’s a snow leopard, right?”

You nod, your smile widening. 

“Yeah! It took me years to find the right hyperrealism artist and then I was hung up on what color blue I wanted for the background. Three six hour sessions later, I have my spirit animal with me forever.”

“Your spirit animal?”

You cross your arms and glare at him.

“Do I not give off vicious snow leopard vibes?”

He laughs, that same carefree laugh that makes your heart skip. He steps closer to you, his hands moving to rest on your shoulders. 

“I’m not sure yet. What I do know is you look like an angel right now.”

You scoff, your bedhead and bare face could hardly be considered angelic. His hands squeeze your shoulders.

“I mean it. You look incredible.”

Your eyes stay locked on him as he circles around you. He stands before you, his hands sliding down your arms to hold your hands. 

“This might be a business arrangement, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t feel like a bride on your wedding day. And you’re certainly…”

He lifts one of your hands to his mouth and places a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“... the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

You let out the most outrageous giggle, your hands instantly moving to cover your face in embarrassment. Sylus grabs your hands and stops you, so you quickly change the subject.

“Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride on their wedding day?”

He rubs his thumbs over your fingers, slowing down when he reaches your ring finger.

“Well, we’re hardly doing things the traditional way. But… I will leave if you want me to.”

He lets go of your hands and you reach out for him, grabbing his wrist.

“No… stay.”

Now it’s his turn to blush, his ears turn the lightest shade of pink and you silently celebrate not being the only one flustered in this encounter. He sits down at the breakfast table and puts a quiche on his plate.

“You should try on the reception dresses I picked out, so V can make alterations this afternoon.”

You look over at Sylus and then to Veronica, who casually walks out the door into the hallway.

“Reception dress?”

Veronica rolls another clothing rack inside and starts unzipping the garment bags. Compared to your wedding dress, these are… bold. Red velvet, purple lace, black silk. Long skirts, once again, to hide your boot, but a variety of necklines and cut-outs. Your wedding dress was intended to be classy and subtle, these… These are sexy. 

“Sylus… I… these are…”

“All going to look incredible on you.”

You stare at him for a moment. Is this your life now? Designer dresses, penthouse suites, making grand appearances at his club while holding onto his arm? Not that you’re complaining, but compared to the life you expected… you're…

“Overwhelmed?”

Sylus’s voice cuts through the noise. His eyes shine as if they’re burrowing into your soul and you don’t look away.

“My world is complicated, sometimes messy. I’m sure being a doctor is like that as well.”

You nod, your fingers mindlessly tracing the lace pattern on the dress in front of you.

“What do you do when you’re overwhelmed in the operating room?”

“I… imagine I’m floating. On a cloud, just… blue sky, sunshine, a soft cloud under my feet. Everything is quiet, clear… peaceful. I just float.”

“Okay, then for today, let’s float together. No expectations, no danger, just… float.”

You turn back to the dresses in front of you and take a breath. You look at the dress you’ve been holding, a red velvet off-the-shoulder number with a black lace corset and lace gloves. If you’re going to step into this new world, you might as well step into it looking fucking hot.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @spacegroteske @namjoonseuphoria @celestialforce @rafshottestgf @oxamarok @withering-dream @zaynessbeloved @animecrazy76 @yournextdoorhousewitch @addiglessthanthree @4ttack-ur-heart @moonberry69 @pandoras-rabbit @cookiesaresquishy @hamnaalien @needlewandandthimble @brekkers-whore @goddexxluv @satansdaughter123 @poisonf0rest @darkalleycat1987 @morrigan87 @never-justforever @ericherries @lev-berryz @aishasylus

(If you're tagged, you were on the Inked Taglist. If you'd like to be removed, just message me!)

Also, for funsies, this is what Sylus looks like in this fic. (The one on the right I made in Canva it's rough lol)

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Don’t get me wrong, I *love* “assumes they’re together after losing memories” fics.

But, I think the reverse could be neat.

Geralt wakes up without memories and is taken care of by a beautiful, kind, talented bard.

When Geralt works up the courage to ask how they know each other, Jaskier claims they’re lovers.

And Geralt refuses to believe him.

“No, really, how do we know each other?”

He just refuses to believe Jaskier would settle for him and is convinced that the bard’s claims stem from pity.

"Darling, really." The beautiful man says with exasperation. "Just end the joke. What are we?" "We're lovers, Geralt! Lovers! We love each other!" "There's just no way!" Geralt repeats. Every time he reiterates this fact, the strange man claiming to be his beloved looks more sad. Because the joke isn't working? Or his.. His evil scheme isn't working? Because it's just not possible that this beautiful perfect bard loves HIM. There's no way. Nothing as good as him could love something like Geralt. Geralt doesn't remember him. That's- That's fine. It's fine. They could've figured it out. But Geralt is just so insistent on the principle that they could never be in love with each other. Jaskier begins to worry that Geralt truly hates everything Jaskier does, and the only way they ended up together is because Jaskier wore him down. That's not what happened, right? Surely not...

[mediumgayitalian]

“Hide me hide me hide me hide me hide me.”

Nico blinks, watching blankly as Will ducks under his arm, situating himself behind the door and peeking around it. When Nico doesn’t move, he cranes his neck to look at him, face urgent, and says, “Close it, dude, hurry up!

“Solace!”

“Fuck,” Will curses.

Nico blinks again. He squints across the common, trying to suss out what Will’s staring at. It doesn’t take long. She’s hard to miss, especially in full armour.

“Are you…hiding from Clarisse?”

“Am I hiding from —” He scoffs. “No, I’m just behind this door for fun. Fucking obviously I’m hiding from Clarisse, Nico, now get with the program and close the damn —”

“Solace!”

Both of them jump. When Nico looks, Clarisse is already way closer than she should be. Before he can process enough to slam the door, and heedless of Will’s increasingly-harried oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods fuck fuck fuck fuck, Clarisse is closer, and closer, and then suddenly she’s barging inside, pushing Nico aside like it’s not his damn cabin.

Will groans. “Aw, come on, Clarisse!”

She doesn’t bother to humour him with words, choosing instead to grab him by the collar and drag him bodily out. Will does not make it easy, going completely limp and getting his clothes grass-stained beyond belief, because Clarisse tugs him along like a sled behind her, bouncing over every stone. Nico follows, on the grounds that it’s not being nosy if Will dragged him into it technically.

“You have siblings! You have a boyfriend!”

“And yet I’m choosing you,” Clarisse says easily. “I’ve already told Chiron. It’s a done deal, weatherboy. You’re chariot racing with me.”

Will groans, trying in vain to squirm out of Clarisse’s grip. “There is no reason for me to be your partner in the stupid chariot race, I am a healer, I am at camp to heal —”

She shakes him a little to shut him up. “All the more reason. You focus too much on one thing, brat. All you do is heal and study like a big nerd. You need to get out of your comfort zone.”

“Um, no way. I’m very comfortable in it. That’s why it’s called a comfort zone.”

“You could use some training,” Nico pipes up, and the betrayed look Will gives him would be more effective at making him feel bad if it wasn’t so funny. “Last time I tried to teach you how to use a sword you almost sliced off your own face, so.”

Clarisse looks at him with appraisal. “Maybe you do have some sense in you, di Angelo.”

Nico chooses to take that as the compliment it is.

“Ugh,” Will says dramatically, and finally manages to wrench out of Clarisse’s grip in order to embed the appropriate level of drama in his face-down flop to the floor.

Clarisse kicks him. “You’re pathetic.”

“Ugh.”

Notably, he stops protesting. She kicks him again, affectionately this time, and stomps away.

———

“If I work myself into another coma, I don’t have to chariot race,” Will says gleefully, shoving the bottles of nectar Nico hands him onto a shelf. He’s been buzzing around the infirmary all day, healing things he is meant to be healing with a band-aid and a stop being a clumsy dumbass, dumbass with hymns and salves. “I’m gonna try to cure cancer again.”

Kayla, walking by, reaches out and smacks him. “Try it and I’m crack your country CDs in half.”

Will turns to her, opening his mouth —

“Every single one of them,” she stresses, green eyes narrowed.

— and closes it again, huffing.

“I’ll find a way,” he says glumly.

Nico pats him delicately on the back. “There, there.” A pause. “I mean, personally, I can’t wait to watch you fall out of a chariot.”

The look Will shoots him is nothing short of wounded. “You think I’m so uncoordinated I’m gonna fall out of the chariot?”

“Gracefully!” assures Austin from across the infirmary, smiling supportively. He grins brightly when they turn to look, nose scrunching with the force of his smile. “I’m sure!”

Will’s scowl twitches in the face of his brother’s blind enthusiasm. (It is impossible not to be endeared by Austin. He is genuinely the sweetest kid in the entire universe. Nico even gets, to his horror, the occasional urge to squish him. Gently.) He sighs.

“Thanks, Austin.”

“Of course! Love you Will!”

The twitching scowl melts into a full smile. “Love you too, kiddo.”

———

Watching chariot race practices, very quickly, becomes Nico’s favourite pastime.

He sees, now, why Achilles would bring them up, unprompted, wistful look in his eye, every time Nico visited. There’s a beauty in the rawness of it; the whipping winds, wild horses. Squealing wheels and bending axels, open-backed and inches from death at all time. Dangerous, exhilarating. Humanity, at it’s most thrilling and old — some of the first tools, the first domestic animals, the first machines, all at once. It’s pure, raw excitement.

Also, Will falls out of the chariot, like, eight whole times. And there’s nothing funnier than watching him lose his shit at a splintered pile of wood that was once a carriage, helmet thrown to the ground in a fit of rage, accent so thick he’s literally incomprehensible. Nico never gets to see him like this. His stomach actually hurts from laughter on several occasions.

Slowly, though, he starts to get the hang of it. He’s smart — incredibly so — and when he stops spending half his time complaining, and the other half pouting, he actually gets pretty decent. He’s fast, after all, and quick to observe, to respond; the other teams struggle to land hits on him, in practice runs, and sabotage is difficult when your opponent seems to have an almost prophetic gift to see things coming.

He can’t, however, steel himself to hit back.

And therein lies the trouble.

“For fuck’s sake, Will, I’m not asking you to kill anybody,” Clarrise snaps. “You need to get your head in the game!”

Will’s shoulders curl defensively. “I know! I’m trying! It’s just —” He kicks at their broken wheel, in two clean pieces on the ground. “Do no harm.”

“Do some harm. Or I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Will brightens. “And then ask somebody else to be your partner?”

“No, and then make you my partner forever.”

“Oh.”

Will’s sullen face is hard to look at. He’s got those big, puppy dog eyes, round and sad and pouty. Not even Clarisse is immune. (And certainly not Nico, who finds himself halfway off the spectator’s stands and jogging to the tracks before he wonders what exactly, the fresh fuck, he is doing, and sprints right back.)

“Shit, Solace, don’t look like I killed your goddamn mother.” She cuffs him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling with a muffled oof. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go again.”

Accepting the spare chariot someone wheels towards her, she pulls herself up, making space for Will to do the same. He doesn’t get on immediately, still looking miserable, but concedes eventually.

His forearms look kind of nice when he grips onto the rails for dear life, Nico notices. From a totally objective perspective.

The four practicing teams guide their horses to the starting line, running a few last minute checks. To avoid spilling any secrets or strategies, everyone uses the same practice-issue wooden chariot and wears the same armour, but it’s still obvious who’s who.

The Hephaestus team’s chariot, despite being standard issue, gleams like it’s brand-new. The wood is polished and looks to be altered, barely; a carved groove here, a sharper wing there. Nothing that could really be considered an upgrade, but definitely making the whole thing look smoother. The spears they hold promise a plethora of untold ability hidden within.

The Hermes chariot looks deceptively beat up. There’s a chunk missing from the top of the left side, and one of the wheels appears to be just slightly out of alignment. Upon careful inspection, though, Nico can see clear, hollow tubing attached along the rails and open to the back — definitely a quick rig of some sort. Base (not acid, Cecil had happily lectured him on the benefits of using a base rather than an acid when dissolving anything from steel to human flesh), if Nico has to guess, or maybe Greek fire.

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot doesn’t have to do much to look great. The whole thing seems to coast gracefully to the beginner line, and neither charioteer looks particularly bothered or preoccupied with the competition — if Nico recalls correctly, and he does, their goal is to win through “gay audacity”, which Nico does not understand but supports wholeheartedly.

Will and Clarisse’s chariot, by comparison, is pretty run-of-the-mill. They haven’t done much training with the Ares horses or the Apollo flying chariot, because Clarisse is primarily concerned with training Will — she knows the equipment is fine.

Lacy, standing at the edge of the track, puts a sparkly pink whistle to her lips and blows loudly. It’s not nearly as loud as one of Will’s sonic whistles, but it does the trick, and the teams are off in a blur of movement; Will and Clarisse in the lead, Hephaestus behind them, Aphrodite-Iris in third, and Hermes lagging slightly behind.

As they turn their first corner, positions largely unchanging, Nico hears footsteps from his left — Lou Ellen smiles at him as she climbs the stand, settling into the space he makes next to him.

“What’d I miss?” she asks, brushing dust off her hands.

He shrugs. “Not much. They were in the lead the last practice round, too, but on the last lap Hermes caught up.” He gestures to the heap that was once their practice chariot. “Julia had her sword at their wheels. They were on the inner ring, nowhere to move; the only way to get rid of them would have been to knock her arm, probably dislocate her shoulder. Will couldn’t do it.”

Lou Ellen winces. “Ah.”

There’s a ripping sound, followed by cackling — the Hermes chariot has finally made use of their hasty rigging, setting off an explosion behind them that rockets them forward. It has the added bonus of shaking the ground, slightly, unsettling the other drivers for just barely long enough for them to pull into third place. Far ahead, still in first, Nico can see Clarisse yelling instructions at Will, although he can’t hear what they are. His grip on the rail has tightened.

“Why,” starts Nico carefully, and based on Lou Ellen’s pinched face she knows exactly where he’s going, “does she make him — well, you know.”

Lou Ellen is silent for a good long while, watching the practice chariot race with eyes that aren’t paying attention. Hermes is gaining, but Hephaestus is gaining faster.

“Clarisse has always liked Will,” she says eventually. She meets Nico’s incredulous expression, snorting. “Well, as much as Clarisse can like people. I got here way after he did, so I don’t have any more details there than you do, but he’s never been afraid of her, and she likes that. He’s never been mean to her, either. I mean, I know she can be a bully, but people aren’t exactly light on her, to be fair.”

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot turns out to have some tricks up its sleeve — it starts to glow; barely at first, but quickly blinding. At its crux, everyone has to look away, allowing them to pull into first.

Well, except that Will doesn’t seem nearly as staggered as everyone else. In fact, he doesn’t look bothered at all — for the first time that Nico has seen, there’s something like competition pulling a crooked smile on his face. He stares straight at the still-too-bright chariot, reigns wrapped around his arms as he yanks them forward.

“Is that why she drags him away sometimes?” Nico asks. “To train?”

“Something like that. Most of his training was with —” she falters. “Well, you know who. Medicine and some archery.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Neither of them ever knew Lee or Michael well, if at all, but over time Nico has found himself almost clamming up at the mere thought of them, the way one might tiptoe around an authority figure when they have something to hide. Forbidden subjects, where before Nico simply didn’t think of them often.

“You can’t just not train, though,” Lou Ellen murmurs, eyes trained on the chariots. Hephaestus throws one of their spears, lodging it in the spokes of the Aphrodite-Iris chariot. They come to a very abrupt and very screechy halt, knocking them out of the race in any real capacity. “Not at Camp Half-Blood. She taught him hand-to-hand because she was the only one strong enough to physically drag him to the arena. Everyone else gave up after the first few tantrums — I think she was kind of amused by the challenge. Or something.”

“Or something,” Nico agrees. Privately, he thinks that there is something about Will Solace that makes you want to protect him. Not frailty — he is not by any means incapable — but something about his smile, his genuineness. The stubborn belief that people are good and kind and worthy of everything he has to give. A naivety, except someone who’s been through what he has (what they all have) cannot be naive — his hope in the world is hard-earned and well-won. It makes people want to protect his hold on it, by any means necessary.

Even, Nico reasons, ornery old fuckers like Clarisse LaRue.

The three remaining chariots start the last leg of the race — Apollo-Ares, barely squeezing out in front; then Hephaestus, quickly gaining; and finally Hermes, lagging slightly but not to be discarded. As they round the bend, Nico watches as Clarisse cuffs Will briefly on the arm, clearly proud. This is the farthest they’ve made in first so far, after two weeks of training. Will, reigns safely transferred back to Clarisse, beams at her — bright enough that Nico can see it from dozens of yards away.

With sudden, calculated speed, the Hephaestus chariot surges forward.

As if coordinated, Nico and Lou Ellen inhale sharply, leaning forward. He sees the scattered few other campers so the same in his peripherals, watching with single minded focus as the chariot levels exactly with Will and Clarisse. Nico eyes the spear nervously — of all weapons, they’re the easiest for Will to dodge, to fight off. More impersonal.

But the sons of the smartest god around would know that.

For at least a hundred feet, nothing happens. Ares-Apollo and Hephaestus stay neck in neck, every urge forward matched, every pesky road-blocking stone avoided. The finish line is dangerously close, but no one pulls ahead, nothing changes. Four shoulders remain tense, four helmets stare resolutely forward.

Then, in a quick movement, the taller Hephaestus charioteer hands the spear off to the shorter, swiftly taking the reigns, and the shorter lunges — aiming right for Will’s shoulder. Will’s quick, though, and has his own spear poised to parry in an instant. There’s a barely perceptible nudge from Clarisse, and then Will’s eyes harden, and he lifts his spear to jab right back, needle-thin tip gleaming in the late afternoon sun, right for the chink in the charioteer’s armour and then —

The charioteer rips their helmet off, dropping it at their feet.

It’s Harley.

Hephaestus’ darling; hell, the camp’s darling. One of their youngest and brightest, with big, mischievous brown eyes, contagious smiles, endless enthusiasm. Cute, clumsy Harley, the only one of Hephaestus’ children Will doesn’t have to nag to get treated, who walks dutifully over the infirmary every time he gets so much as a second-degree burn and treats each one of Will’s overcautious instructions with utmost seriousness. Who Will sends away each time with an affectionate kiss on the forehead and a prized purple sucker — who Will, frankly, favours. Who Will would never, in a million years, even consider hurting.

A dirty trick by the Hephaestus cabin.

But an effective one.

Immediately, Will flinches back, spear dropping from his hand and splintering under thundering hooves and spinning wheels. Without a second of hesitation, Harley launches his spear in the same move as before — sticking it in the wheel’s spokes, inertia sending the charioteer’s sprawling, knocking them out of the race.

Except, maybe it’s different when the chariots are so close. Or maybe the chariot was faulty to begin with. Because as soon as the spear gets wedged, the fragile floor of the chariot seems to implode — sending Will and Clarisse under the still-moving machine, instead of flying over. The horses, disoriented from the sudden change, rip free of their harness, adding more force to the already precarious tumble.

There’s a sharp, sickening crack, so loud Nico can hear it as if it’s next to him. In the brief nanosecond immediately afterwords, he closes his eyes, sending a prayer to his father: please be the axle. Please be the axle. Please be the axle.

As the Hephaestus and Hermes chariots rocket past the finish line, Clarisse lets out a shrill, blood-curdling scream.

———

Nico’s off the bench and halfway towards the crashed chariot before he can blink. He’s not the only one — he processes, barely, everyone else’s quick convergence, including the remaining charioteers — but he’s there first, diving into the wreckage seconds before anyone else is close enough.

There’s not a lot of actual debris, chariots being as small as they are, but the dust cloud from the track is so huge and the pieces of wood are so splintered that it feels like there is. As the dust settles, and he kicks some debris out of the way, he starts to see the shape of Will, kneeling, in front of a prone Clarisse and an ever-growing pool of blood.

There’s a bone sticking straight out of her thigh.

As the rest of the campers converge upon them, Will looks up and meets Nico’s eyes. His own blue eyes are dark, steely — determined, but afraid.

“I don’t have time,” is the only thing out of his mouth before he braces both hands on Clarisse’s leg, immediately starting to sing urgent hymns.

Nico understands.

“Lou, Julia, Chiara,” he barks, taking charge in absence of Will’s voice. The three girls snap forward to him immediately. “Sprint the the infirmary and tell them what happened. Austin’s on duty — make sure he doesn’t come with you, we need him to prep a surgical suite. Send everyone else and send them fast. Bring a stretcher.”

He turns to the Hephaestus kids. “Jake, Harley, start clearing the debris to make space. Damien, join them; move the big stuff first, small stuff is secondary. We need a space for Will to work and a space to lay the stretcher. Jen, Butch, Lacy —”

He barks off a list of orders, doing his best to channel the commands he’s watched Will give dozens and dozens of times. In minutes, he has the track cleared, Will’s medical bag dragged over from the stands, and everyone who is not helping stabilize out to the infirmary to help as needed.

As soon as there’s an opening, he rushes over to Will and Clarisse, kneeling by her head.

“Help is coming,” he promises, watching the glow dim and flicker in time with the rhythm of Will’s chanting. The bleeding has slowed, marginally, but he can tell from the volume of blood alone that this was an arterial hit. It’s going to take more than Will’s raw healing power, although there is a lot of it, to keep Clarisse alive and keep her leg functioning in recovery. He needs tools, he needs nectar and ambrosia; he needs the surgery suite. He needs time.

“Is it helpful for me to knock her out?”

Clarisse, of course, is still conscious. Barely — and in so much pain Nico will be surprised if she’s processing anything at all — but enough that every few seconds she lets out an agonised shout of pain, writhing and flinching so hard Will has to focus on steadying her as much as healing her.

Without breaking his song, eyes still trained on the injury, Will nods. Nico breathes, squaring his shoulders, then shuffled forward to rest Clarisse’s head gently in his lap, fingers pressed to her temples. He presses, hard enough to feel the beat of her heart — weak — through his fingertips, and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s no son of Hypnos, but dreams are the Underworld’s domain. Are his domain, as heir and prince of the Underworld, in every way that matters, that can be counted.

He lets himself sink into careful limbo; body in physical space, mind and soul elsewhere. Not too much — he’s no use if he falls unconscious — but enough to slip into Clarisse’s mindscape, step into her subconscious.

The whole place bleeds white, hot anguish.

Nico stumbles when he first walks in, nauseous despite being nothing but his own mind. It’s been a while since he’s experienced this kind of pain, his own or not, and he has to consciously beat back memories of brimstone and rot; liquid fire, endless red, red, red.

“Clarisse?” he calls, softly as he dares.

She doesn’t respond. He’s not sure she knows how to respond, even if she could. Cautious of the memory and emotion swirling around him, he steps forward. If he focuses, her anguish is pointed — is central. She will be at the centre of it.

He has volunteered, but he’s not sure he wants to follow.

Steeling himself, he shoulders through swirling masses of pain, of hurt, of fear. It’s blisteringly hot, and feels not unlike the sandstorm he was once stranded within, in the middle of the New Mexico desert four years ago. His face prickles; he’s blinded.

He trudges forward.

“Clarisse? Clarisse! Can you hear me? It’s Nico!”

Desperately and uselessly, he wishes he had more practice. Will has offered, the few times he’s needed to anaesthetize someone, but for the most time Nico has foolishly declined. Why on Earth he would pass up a much easier mindscape to navigate through in preparation for something like this is a mystery to him. Fuck.

“Clarisse! Try to — focus on me, can you hear me?”

He forces himself forward, a few more — well, there’s no distance in a mindscape, nothing measurable, anyway. He forces himself to look up, braving the assault to his face, and try to scan his surroundings. The swirling mass is more centralized, now, almost hurricane-like and conal. He’s closer than he was before, but if he can only find…

He looks up, and almost cries in relief: weak against the roaring storm, but still present, is a flickering, golden light. A very familiar light. Nico squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting out his own energy in an uncoordinated mass — boy, is that going to be uncomfortable to extract later — and flails wildly until he finally feels the warmth of Will’s energy entangling with his own, grounding him. He opens his eyes, and suddenly everything is clearer.

Clarisse kneels in the centre of her mindscape, hands pressed tightly to her ears, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Hey,” Nico murmurs, kneeling in front of her. It takes a few seconds, and a few moments of gentle coaxing, before she looks up.

“It hurts,” she croaks.

She’s more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her — eyes brown and big and wet, pained, face twisted and chin trembling and achingly, unbelievably young. She is nineteen years old, but in that moment she appears almost childlike. The years of warrior’s hardness has abandoned her; she is armourless.

Nico swallows the lump in his throat. “I know.”

“Help me. Please.”

“Come here, Clarisse.” He reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around hers, tugging her close. The knee jerk discomfort at close contact is barely a flicker — he is so entwined in her right now that her fear has started to bleed into his; her rawness. He needs this comfort almost as much as she does. Right now she is a person, in agony, and so is he, and it is unbearable.

He holds her until the pain slowly stops.

———

Will is in the surgical suite for seven straight hours.

“Bed,” Nico says softly, rising up to meet him as he exits. It says something about how exhausted he is that he doesn’t even protest, letting Nico place a hand on the small of his back and guide him past the on-call room, past the patient cots, past the Big House living room couches, past Cabin 7. He leads him across the common and right into Cabin 13, with its double beds and blackout curtains, with its insulated, soundproof walls. With Nico.

He helps him out of his bloodstained scrubs, peeling them off his skin and tossing them directly into a trash can. He’d guide him to the shower, usually, but there’s a — glassiness, to his eyes, that there usually isn’t after surgery. Nico chooses instead to skip it, guiding him into the sweatpants he left behind the last time he was here and an oversized The Doors t-shirt of Nico’s, and then to the spare bed he always uses, across from Nico’s. He peels the covers back for him like he’s a child, tucking him in, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He’s asleep in minutes, curled tightly around a pillow, furrowed crease not leaving the space between his eyebrows, even in sleep. Nico smooths it away with his thumb.

“Goodnight, Will,” he murmurs, brushing the backs of his knuckles across his forehead.

He watches him sleep far past what is normal, and then slips back out of the cabin.

———

“On the bright side,” Will says, squeezing the hand that has left to leave Clarisse’s arm, “you’re free from your chariot race obligation! As am I!”

Predictably, she only glowers.

“Not a chance, Solace,” she rasps.

Will helpfully gets her a glass of water, fussing over her blankets while she drinks until she bats him away. Chris watches the whole thing with great amusement, shoulders brushing Nico’s.

“He’s a mother hen, isn’t he,” he comments, tilting his head in Will’s direction, who narrowly avoids having his fingers bitten off trying to feed her a square of ambrosia.

Nico snorts. “Yeah.” He watches the fussing for a few more seconds, making note of Will’s shaking hands, his shakier smile. “He’s guilty.”

“He didn’t do anything. She doesn’t blame him.”

Nico meets his dark look, mouth twisted in understanding. They both know this logic is futile.

“Yeah, well, someone tell him that.”

“Will — stop it.” In a startlingly quick move for someone on as much morphine as she is, Clarisse darts out and clutches Will’s fluttering hands. He hesitates, wondering if it’s worth it to pull out of her hold and possibly jostle her leg. “I’m fine. And you’re still charioting.”

“You’re not fine,” Will frowns, conveniently ignoring the part of the sentence he doesn’t want to deal with. “Your femur snapped in half and tore through your femoral artery on its way out of your leg. You’re going to be on bedrest for a week at least, and it’ll be tender for a good long while besides. That’s what we in the medical business call a Big Fucking Deal.”

She tightens her hold, staring at him until he finally meets her eyes.

“Will.” She narrows her eyes. “You are still participating in the chariot race. I’m not asking.”

“It’ll have to wait until you’re better,” he says lightly. “Besides, we’re focusing on you right now.”

Nico can see in her face when she decides to switch strategies.

“Okay,” she says, stubborn glean in her eye, “then I’m asking you, as a personal request, to stay in the race. Or else I’ll drag myself onto a goddamn horse myself, killing myself in the process, and that will be on your head.”

The tactic works.

Will scowls. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Clarisse doesn’t bother repeating herself, letting go of his wrists and readjusting her blankets.

“I am done talking now. I believe it’s time for morphine-induced unconsciousness. Please remember that I took down a drakon with my own bare hands; it is well within my abilities to drag myself out of heroin-haze and onto a chariot with no legs, let alone one. Good talk.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she leans back on her pillows and passes out. Genuinely, actually passes out — not closes her eyes, not behind to fall asleep; she is unconscious. Snores ring through the air.

“Well,” Chris says carefully, unfolding his arms. “It might be time to let Clarisse rest for a while.”

Will, healer that he is, cannot exactly argue with that. Will, drama queen that he is, decides to make his fury known by stomping out of the room, a feat in flip-flips possible by him alone.

“She is so infuriating!” he shouts the second they’re in the main room, startling several people. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I put effort in! I failed! She can’t even — it’s not even about spending time together, obviously, since I still have to do it! What does she want from me?!”

Chris, like Nico, has wisely decided to let the hypothetical questions remain hypothetical and stay silent, lest his fury be turned onto them. Ten minutes into Will’s rant, Chris excuses himself to go sit by Clarisse. Nico waves him off.

“Will,” Nico suggests the next time he takes a breath, “let’s maybe go for a walk.” He glances at the group of wide-eyed patients. “I think you’re scaring people.”

Deflating, Will nods, following Nico out the door. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go for a walk.”

The fresh air probably doesn’t fix things, per se, but as they lap around the cabins, Will seems to droop further and further, curling in on himself. The anger recedes from his features.

“I feel really shitty,” he admits softly. “Just, like, generally.”

Nico softens like a goddamn slab of ice cream on hot pavement. For the second time in three days, he opens his arms in offering, although this time it’s significantly less difficult.

“Come here.”

Without even a beat of hesitation, Will collapses into him, arms around his waist, head tucked under his chin. Nico fights the urge to wince — Will, usually, takes quite a bit of pride in his height. He likes to be the one to wrap around people, not the other way around. Nico has been indoctrinated into Will-affection, in the time since the Giant War, and if Will is the one curling into him, seeking comfort, than he is struggling.

Nico hates it when Will struggles. He always feels out of his depth.

“There, there,” he hedges, feeling a good bit like an NPC. “It’ll be okay.”

Will makes a small, wounded noise. “You don’t know that.”

“Um, yes I do, I know everything forever. I’ve never been wrong even one time in my life.”

His awkward attempt at lightening the mood is rewarded by Will’s laugh. It’s slight, and nowhere near the brightness it usually is, but it’s there and it’s genuine and that’s all Nico wanted, really.

“You good?” Nico asks softly, squeezing his arms.

Will nods. “Yes.” He hesitates. “Can I stay here a little longer?”

Nico wraps his arms impossibly tighter, aching at the quiet vulnerability in his voice.

“As long as you need.”

———

The last practice before the chariot race is nowhere near as fun to watch as the others. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Clarisse, casted and upright, appoints her brother Sherman to race in her place, much to both his and Will’s very vocal complaints. Will’s, because he still doesn’t want to race at all and especially not now that Clarisse is out of the running, and Sherman’s because, well, when isn’t Sherman complaining about having to breathe the same air as someone or whatever.

Clarisse silences both of them with a glare. “Do it,” she orders.

They comply, stomping over to their practice chariot.

The practice race is awful. Nico is surprised, frankly, that they managed to finish at all, as badly behind as they managed. He could practically hear their squabbling all the way from the stands. For as much as Will is generally easy to get along with, he’s impossible when he’s stubborn, and worse when he’s petulant. He takes every command from Sherman like it’s a personal offence, and Sherman, being who he is, does too. Every shout to veer right or deflect an attack somehow sounds like a jab at Will’s speed, or a remark about his general intelligence. When they stomp off the track, helmets thrown in a heap with the rickety chariot, Nico is almost relieved.

“We’re going to lose, tomorrow, and I can’t wait,” hisses Will darkly, fists curled at his sides.

Nico watches him warily. “You’re not even going to try?”

“What, so he can remind me that even when I’m trying I’m a useless idiot? Not a chance.”

Nico has to almost jog to keep up with him, striding as powerfully as he is. He’s not even sure where he’s going — he seems to be, mostly, going away from the track and from Sherman, wherever that may be.

“You’re not a useless idiot,” Nico offers, when some of the stormcloud has lessened its hold on Will’s usually sunny face. “Nobody thinks you’re a useless idiot.”

Will closes his eyes, sighing. “I know.”

“And Sherman is just a generally grouchy person.”

“I know.”

“It feels very, very weird to be the optimistic and comforting one, right now.”

Will snorts, finally meeting his eyes. “I know.” He flops onto the ground, cheek resting in his knees, and pats the space next to him. Nico sits much more delicately. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole lately.”

“You’ve been stressed,” Nico points out. “A little assholery is warranted.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Nico knocks their shoulders together. “I forgive you, then.”

Will smiles. “Thank you.”

For a while they sit in comfortable silence, watching the hustle and bustle of camp. Will’s presence is a comforting one, even though Nico can feel the turmoil leeching off of him. Strangely because of that, actually — sometimes Nico feels like he’s the only one who struggles out of the two of them. Will spends so much of his time smiling and joking and lecturing, hands on his hips, that Nico had almost forgotten that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, either. He’s just good at faking it.

“I’ll be watching, tomorrow.” He bites his lip. “And I won’t, like, bring pom-poms, or anything, but I’ll be cheering you on.”

Will grins tiredly. “Silently and in your head?”

“Uh-huh.”

His smile softens considerably, melting into something almost shy, before he turns back to face forward.

“Well, then, damn. I guess I’ll have to try.”

———

On the morning of the chariot race, Will acts like Nico is escorting him to his goddamn execution.

“It is a race that will last a maximum of twenty minutes,” Nico says with no small amount of exasperation, “including prep time.”

Will looks no less grim. “A twenty minutes that will never be returned to me.”

Nico rolls his eyes and decides to stop humouring him.

He drops him off at his chariot with a quick pat on the shoulder, jogging back to the stands. They’re full, today, as expected, with every camper and countless others cramped into the minimal space. Nico looks at the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, and is about to consider breaking his promise and fleeing back to his cabin before he sees a doodled-on hand stick in the air, waving wildly. He exhales in relief and heads over to sit in the spot Kayla and Austin have cleared between them.

“How miserable is he?” Kayla asks brightly, tapping her purple shoes. “He left before we woke up this morning. Assumedly to sprint around camp a few times like a feral cat.”

“Pretty miserable,” Nico answers. He reaches over to pat Austin’s head when he rests on his shoulder, knowing he’s nervous even if he tries not to show it. “A lot of it is self-induced, though. Like, yeah, Sherman is going to be a dick and it’s going to be stressful, but I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, this is among the least stressful things he’s ever been forced to deal with.”

“There was that one time he had to remove a brain tumour in the middle of the forest,” Austin muses. “I think that was probably pretty stressful for him.”

Nico opens his mouth. He closes it again.

“Demigod life is a nightmare,” he settles on eventually.

“Hear, hear,” both siblings mutter.

They lapse into silence as they turn back to the racetrack, evaluating the turnout.

Competition will be hefty.

Sherman has finally arrived, Ares horses in tow. The garish things look almost wrong next to the brightness off the flying Apollo chariot, but that may just be the tension between the team’s charioteers that’s so potent it seems to warp the air around them. Nico is vaguely surprised that they’re managing to stand so civilly next to each other, even if they could not be more visibly uncomfortable. Will, at least, tries for a smile, which drops immediately when Sherman mutters something too quiet to be picked up this far.

Nico sighs. This is going to be hard to watch.

There are about twenty other chariots lines up. Hermes, Hephaestus, and Aphrodite-Iris, like at practice, but Athena is competing too, as well as Nike, as per usual, and Tyche. In fact Nico, and by extension Hades, is one of the few cabins not participating — everyone else seems primed and ready for a chance of laurels and extra dessert. And, of course, settling personal rivalries via bloodshed, et cetera, et cetera.

The biggest competition, if Nico had to quantify it, will be Hephaestus, tricky as they were during practice; Athena, for obvious reasons; and Will and Sherman themselves will be their own worst enemy. He can’t tell if it would be better for them to fail out early to avoid racketing tension up further, or last close to the end to keep things at a healthy simmer.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. The second warning whistle goes off, and the chariots rush to the starting line — Will and Sherman at third position, Demeter to their left, Dionysus-Hypnos to their right. The stands go silent, the charioteers get in position, and with a sharp, shrill whistle, they’re off.

The first few seconds, as always, are chaotic.

In the ground with the settling dust are three separate chariots, including, surprisingly, Hermes, whose rigging backfired and sent their entire chariot up in smoke. They are luckily unharmed due to their unusually well-prepared fireproof armour, but neither Julia nor Connor seem too pleased about being out so soon.

The rest of the race continues on without them. Athena has a decent stretch of first place, but Nike is following fast. Behind them, barely a hair’s breadth of distance, is Will and Sherman, rocketing forward smoothly. Unlike Clarisse, Sherman does not care for giving Will any learning opportunities — despite the horses being Ares’, Will is on the reigns. Sherman is armed with his sword and his spear, slashing and jabbing at anyone who gets too close. Neither Ares or Apollo is big on tricks, not like some of the craftier cabins, but together they’re fast and strong and make a formidable opponent.

Or, well, they would. If they were working together, rather than two people simply being in the same chariot.

They cross into the second lap, Will guiding them across the innermost ring to move them up past Nike. They’re gaining on Athena, now, but that won’t be an easy task — challenging the camp’s wisest never is.

Kayla hisses through her teeth. “Shit.” She purses her lip at the trailing Nike chariot — they’re gaining, and they’re seething. Damien — at least Nico thinks it’s Damien, it’s hard to tell with the helmets — has an arsenal of throwing knives poised in his left hand, and as his teammate steers them steady, he takes aim. Nico has to resist the urge to shout a warning.

As the short knife sails towards the reigns wrapped around Will’s hands, though, aim ringing true, Will’s spine goes ramrod straight. Almost as if he can feel it. With an eighth of a second to spare, he shifts and jerks his hands out of the way, avoiding the knife and managing, somehow, to stay on track.

With a skill and ferocity that has Nico’s jaw brushing his toes, Will dodges all eight of the knives lobbed in his direction. In one memorable manoeuvre, he rips his left hand from the reigns, holding them in his teeth, and uses it to shove Sherman down behind the wall of the chariot right before a knife would have lodged itself in his uncovered cheek. Out of weapons, he steers their chariot right next to Nike, allowing Sherman to sever their reigns and send them rolling to a sad, victory-less stop.

Without pausing to look behind them, they race on.

Athena’s chariot has a lead, but their chariot is built for stability, not speed. They’ve accounted for every possible sabotage and built accordingly. They have not accounted for, however, stubbornness and sheer force of Will. The Ares-Apollo chariot gains on them, helmets glinting, skeletal horses gaining faster, faster, faster. Both Sherman and Malcom, Nico believes, have their spears drawn, ready, as the space between them gets smaller and smaller, to fight barbarically for first — for honour.

Nico doubts even Rachel, powers of prophecy fully restored, could predict what happens next.

Either too furious to accept a loss or simply deciding to throw the game, one of the Nike charioteers crawls out from their carriage, darting onto the live track. They scan the ground, looking for something. When they stand in the dead centre of the track, body perfectly tense, gripping something glinting in their hand, Nico gets it.

Austin gasps, nails digging into Nico’s arm. “Oh, no.”

Before anyone can say anything, they take aim. They measure once, twice, and then let the knife loose with deadly precision, knife cutting through the air with ease and hurdling with impossible power towards to two finalists chariots.

If the knife hits the Athena chariot, it will slice clean through the axle. Architectural wonder it may be, the chariot cannot withstand Celestial bronze at terminal velocity, and it will give, and the chariot will crumple. In an effort to lesson the chariot’s load, the Athena charioteers have largely forgone armour. Their fall will be painful and disastrous; as deadly as Clarisse’s, if not moreso. A hit to the Ares-Apollo chariot will be similarly as race-ending, but both Will and Sherman are in full armour. It will be bruising, but not deadly. They will lose, but they will survive.

All they need to do to win is shift, just slightly, so that the knife hits the Athena chariot.

Will, like with all the others before it, seems to feel this knife coming. Unlike the others, he glances backwards, looking at the knife, looking back at the Athena chariot. Sherman follows his gaze, and seems to realize what Will has calculated a split second after he does. He shouts something — presumably an order to move, to shift, to sabotage.

Will hesitates.

The knife hits the Ares-Apollo chariot, slicing through the left wheel.

It careens around, unbalanced, dragged into a heap by untethered horses.

The Athena chariot pulls forward to victory, the remaining functioning chariots quickly following.

The Ares-Apollo canon is left broken and humiliated only a few feet from victory, the almost-first-place.

———

As soon as they come off the track, things get messy. Both Will and Sherman are covered in dirt and grime, striped with grease from the broken wheels, bleeding sluggishly from various scraps. Sherman has his non-flailing hand clamped to an oozing wound on the side of his neck, and Will is limping.

“—and I cannot fucking believe you, Solace! All I asked for was effort!”

“Oh, forgive me,” Will says sarcastically, finally close enough to hear. “In the hustle and bustle of being shot at, I made a couple errors.”

“That gonna be your attitude in battle? ‘Oh, sorry, there was a monster chasing me so I lost all focus —’”

“Battles are not usually fought on a chariot going a hundred fucking miles per hour!”

“That’s no excuse! You need to be —”

“What, Sherman, fucking what? What indisputable flaw do I have, oh great one, that needs to be so desperately remedied?”

It’s startling when Will’s composure cracks. When he goes from bitey and sarcastic, eye-rolling from his usual distance, to right in Sherman’s face. It’s eerie to see him at his full height, no slouching, reminding anyone watching that yeah, actually, their laidback medic is six-two, strong, capable, in more ways than what they’re used to.

Sherman, in usual Ares kid fashion, doesn’t even flinch.

“Your reflexes, for starters,” he says coolly. “No matter what you do, Solace, you’re always one second too fucking late.”

A collective gasp ricochets through the gathered campers. The tension rackets up so rapidly that Nico coughs, lungs suddenly constricted. Will rears back so violently Nico is half-convinced Sherman actual punched him.

Sherman, for his part, seems to realise he’s crossed some kind of line. The cold look on his face twists into a scowl, uncomfortable and apologetic at once. “Look, Will, I just mean —”

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

Will’s quiet voice seems to echo through the entirety of the valley, cutting through laboured breathing of charioteers, pegasus neighing, even the crashing of the waves in the distant shore — everything goes silent.

Nico likes to think he knows Will pretty well. He knows what he sounds like when he’s giggly, watching his siblings argue about nothing; when he’s excitable, rambling about his newest obsession; when he can’t choose between amused and stern at whatever dumb thing Nico has gotten himself into. He knows what he sounds like when he’s exhausted, too, overworked and done with everything; when he’s annoyed, when he’s hurt and sad.

But he’s never heard Will sound so dangerous.

“Of all people.” His words are articulated, deliberate. The usual warmth of his eyes is gone. He’s completely still in a way he never is outside of surgery — no shaking in his perpetually trembling hands, no bounce to his curls, none of the constant energy that seems to constantly exude off him. Still, cold. Icy. “You do not get to talk to me about being one second too late.”

Sherman looks stricken. Guilt is written across each of his features, and for a second he steps back — as if afraid.

“Will, I —”

The son of Apollo turns without another word, striding over to the distant tree line and disappearing into the woods. No one chases after him.

No one even moves.

———

Predictably, the silence does not last long.

“You fucking idiot!” Clarisse explodes, the second Will is out of eyesight. She bats Chris’s hand away from her, and he, surprisingly, lets her go easily — his usually understanding face has hardened. She hobbles towards her brother, remarkably quick with her clunky cast, and starts truly tearing into him. “I asked you to do one fucking thing! One!”

Sherman quickly gets defensive under the scrutiny. “Well, you didn’t make it fucking easy! Just because he’s your protege doesn’t mean he’s my fucking problem —”

Nico doesn’t stick around to listen to their argument. He searches around the gathered crowd until he meets Kayla’s eyes, flicking his head towards the woods. She nods frantically. Knowing he’ll make sure they have privacy, he takes off, aiming for the same place Will went, barely slowing down once he enters the forest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Will?” he calls, well aware he’s not going to get an answer. “Where are you?”

While there’s definitely no response from Will, he damn near jumps out of his skin when a dryad melts from her tree, shuffling towards him.

“Blond boy?” she asks, leaning close so he can hear her whisper. “Tall? Crying?”

Nico swallows. Fuck. “Yeah.”

“Headed down southeast, ways past Zeus’ fist.“

“Thank you,” he says, hoping she understands how much he means it.

She nods, then disappears back into her tree.

Following her directions, Nico jogs down beaten paths, heading in the direction that he is vaguely sure is southeast and mostly praying that he’ll find Will eventually. He shouldn’t have that much of a head start, since Nico left maybe five minutes after he did, but who knows. Will’s fast, and sometimes this forest seems bigger than it really is. It’s easy to get lost.

He searches for what feels like hours, and might actually be hours; sky darkening as the sun disappears into the lake. The temperature drops significantly. Nico is hoping that he won’t be spending the night sleeping in the dirt when he hears sniffling.

Heart pounding, he freezes, focusing on the sound. It’s muffled, sobs choked-off and sound hidden behind cupped hands. The echo sounds strange, too; it’s close, that much is obvious, but Nico almost can’t tell if it’s coming from the left or the right. Truthfully, it doesn’t sound like either.

On impulse, he looks up. Almost invisible in the branches of a large oak tree is Will, stained clothes blending in with the scratchy bark, leaves covering the rest of him.

Except, perhaps fittingly, his bright, golden hair.

Worried that calling out to him might startle him right off the tree, Nico begins to climb. He’s not great at climbing — he doesn’t have a natural sense of what is and isn’t a good foothold — but oak trees are easy. Every half-step has a branch, and this tree is old enough that the branches are thick, sturdy. He’s twenty feet up before he even realizes, barely breaking a sweat.

He pauses a few feet shy of his target, straightening until he’s standing on an almost flat branch, arm looped tightly around the trunk.

“Will.”

Will startles. He looks around frantically, struggling in the dark, until his bloodshot eyes finally land on Nico. He bursts into more tears, shoulders shaking as he sobs.

Alarmed, Nico crawls all the way up.

“Woah, Will, breathe, vita, breathe —”

He’s not sure what tree-sobbing etiquette is, but regular sobbing etiquette often involves some kind of comforting physical touch, so he goes with that. And Will, he knows, likes to be crowded, likes to be almost suffocated with the sights and touch and smells of other people, to remind him he’s not alone, even if he feels it. So Nico scoots as closely as he dares, legs wrapped around the branch, and slides one arm around Will’s back, one against his chest, and tugs him closely.

Will comes easily.

With a bit of manoeuvring, he’s tucked under Nico’s chin, shoulders hunched and shaking, enveloped entirely in Nico’s arms. He can feel a wet spot growing on his left sleeve, and honestly he should be at least a little bit disgusted, but he barely even notices. He’s too busy fighting the lump in his own throat, blinking back his own tears.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s curls. “Let it out, Will. You’re allowed.”

Will wails, a deep, choking, broken sound, and Nico loses the battle with his own tears. He’s never heard Will like this. He’s never heard anyone like this, except himself, in the echo of this same forest, years ago. It hurts like biting ice.

“It hurts, they’re gone, they’re gone, and I hate them, I hate them so much —” he heaves, dragging in breath like it cost him to say it, like part of his soul was dragged out of his vocal chords — “and I hate myself for hating them, I hate, they’re gone, I’m never —”

He dissolves into sobs, again, words breaking into nothing understandable, crying around the same repetitions over and over again. Nico hides his crumpling face in Will’s hair, wincing at every broken cry, every hitched breath, every moaned word. His heart feels like it’s breaking into a million fractals. He’s never felt so out of depth in his life.

“Let it out,” he whispers again, for a lack of anything else to say. “Let it out, sweetheart, let it out.”

For a long time, Nico had no one to hold him.

When he lost Bianca, he was by himself. And when he thought he had someone to guide him, someone to fix him, he was wrong — he was vulnerable and easy to manipulate. He had no one to hold him until he was too bitter and too closed off to let himself fall apart, anyway, and losing Bianca stayed somewhere rotten inside him, a bruise that never, ever stopped aching.

Until Will.

Last December he had cracked like an egg. He hadn’t meant to — it wasn’t even in the back of his mind — but he’d opened the door to Will’s smiling face on the morning, cold and sad as it was, and just started bawling. Some part of him, some deep, buried part, stomped it’s way from the prison Nico had kept it in and took the hell over, yanking open the floodgates, forcing him to expel every last drop of shadowy, strangling pain that had stayed inside him so long. He thought he was going to die. His entire body shook and jerked like a rowboat in a deep ocean storm, and it had been Will’s lighthouse, his endless, light eyes, his warm hands, his firm hold that had held him steady until he’d dragged himself out to the other side. It was and is the most painful thing he’d ever done in his life. And the most important.

He doesn’t think Will has had anyone to hold him, before, either. Not ‘til right this moment. Not Chiron, not his mother, and certainly not an older sibling. Will has been running on empty for as long as Nico has known him. Longer.

“Let it out,” Nico whispers again, and holds him tighter.

———

By the time either of them move again, it’s pale, early morning, and they’re damp from the dew and Will’s tears. Nico is as stiff as the tree he’s sitting on, but doesn’t dare say a word about it.

“I don’t want to go back,” Will croaks, the first either of them have spoken in hours.

Nico tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “Okay.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“We can stay a while.” Nico pulls away slightly, just enough so that he can cradle Will’s face in both hands, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. “I mean it, Will. As long as you need.”

“What if I’ll never have enough time?”

“Then I’ll stay with you until time runs out.” He presses a tentative, careful kiss to the centre of his freckled forehead; staying when Will shudders, leaning into it. Against his skin, he murmurs, “But you’ll have enough time, vita. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t want to be strong.”

“So don’t, I gotcha.” He presses another kiss slightly above the first, and another, resting again at the crown of his head. “But you can be.”

They stay like that until Nico’s face starts to go numb, and even then he doesn’t go far, shifting so his cheek lays on the top of Will’s skull. He ignores the slight tickle of his curls against his nose, focusing instead on the brand of his hands on his waist, the shakey but constant inhales, holds, exhales, again, again, again.

“Clarisse is my friend,” Will starts. “She was as important to me as — as Cass, before the war.”

Nico hums. “But she betrayed you.”

“All of us.”

“And you resent her for it, a little.”

Will nods. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s human, Will, Christ.” He moves them around so they’re both sitting facing each other, Nico’s eyes firmly meeting Will’s. “I will never fully forgive Percy for letting Bianca die. Never. It’s not fair to him, and I love him anyway, and I am choosing to move past it. But I will carry that burden. Am I disgusting for that?”

Will glances away. “No.”

“Will, you — look at me.”

He does.

“Clarisse actively chose her pride over her people. So did the rest of her cabin. She’s not fully responsible for that choice, and the blame, as always, lands on Kronos’ shoulders, but —” Nico laughs, a bitter, defeated sound. “Out of all of us, you lost the most. No one lost as many as Apollo. No one burned as many shrouds. You’re allowed to be hurt, allowed to be angry.”

“I forgave them,” Will admits. “I did it publicly and called off the stupid rivalry right after the war. It was the first thing I did as head counsellor.”

“Trying to do what Michael would have done?”

“Are you kidding me, he —” Will scoffs, swiping at the tears trickling down the corners of his eyes. “If Michael were alive, and he found out I forgave them after what happened to Lee, too Diana — he would have been furious. He would stop speaking to me. If I was trying to be like Michael, I might’ve refused them treatment.”

Nico tries to imagine that for a second — Will refusing anyone treatment. It makes something sour uncurl in his stomach, something unsettling.

“You would never refuse someone treatment. I didn’t even — I didn’t think you guys were allowed.”

Will shrugs. “There are no rules to our practice. I just never made refusal an option, and the kids are too young to know any different.”

‘The kids’ — as if Kayla and Austin aren’t as old or older than Will was when he was in charge, when he held the bashed pieces of his brother’s brain as it oozed out of his skull. As he sat, exhausted, hands shaking, next to Nico, and embroidered twelve shrouds. As if Yan and Gracie are his, rather than Apollo’s.

“You forgave them so your siblings wouldn’t grow up bitter,” Nico realises. “Oh, gods, Will.”

He shrugs again, picking at his nails. “For me too. Grudges aren’t healthy.” He tries for a teasing smile. “You’d know.”

“I would.” Nico tries to smile back. It’s easier than he thought it would be, although it fades back into something serious quickly. He reaches out, linking his hands with Will’s to stop him picking before he bleeds. “You can be selfish sometimes, you know.”

“Not in front of anyone.”

“You’re admitting it in front of me,” Nico points out.

Will hesitates. “That’s — different.”

“How?”

“You get it.” He looks down, voice quiet. “You get me. I can —” He meets Nico’s eyes again, a kind of helpless smile on his face. “I dunno. You’re safe. You’re okay with me, even when I’m ugly.”

“Even then,” Nico echoes quietly. He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Will’s ear again, even though none were loose. His fingertips linger, and the skin under his touch warms. “Especially then.”

“You can, too, you know, I lo —”

“I know.”

Will exhales in relief. “Good.”

He slumps forward until his forehead rests on the swell of Nico’s shoulder, breaths warming the air between them. Nico tries to match his rhythm — in, out, in, out. Hold. Out, in.

“Can we — hide here, for a little bit? Just a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico murmurs, squeezing his wrists. “I’ll hide you as long as you need.”

[emi-gelfling]

BobaDin seems to be something of a rarepair in the star wars fandom, but it's one of the most equal-playing fields for a couple in this franchise. Both experienced, dangerous fighters who follow codes of honor and are still recovering from deep personal losses? It's the mandalorian dream ship!

LINK TO SERIES:

[toyouhellohowareyou]

Well, well, well, is it short story time?

@whitewinterstar and I have put together a little birthday fic for @gia-d and @undertheopensky

Tumblr is once again not embedding links properly, so here you go~

Fortuity

“Legend, really, there’s probably like a bajillion Fours or something, we haven’t even met a yellow one yet, so what if there’s an attack Four that gets summoned by evil rituals?”

[hhimring]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Original Female Character(s), Noldor Characters (Tolkien) Additional Tags: TEW Day 6, Second Age of Arda (Tolkien), Clothing, Ost-in-Edhil (Tolkien), Gwaith-i-Mírdain (Tolkien), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD Summary:

Quiletirme's craft involves textiles, not smithing or jewels. For that reason, she had no closer or more personal encounters with Annatar in Ost-in-Edhil before the revelation of his betrayal. But she has friends among the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, one friend in particular, and so that betrayal affects her very personally, nevertheless.

[prismaticpichu]

Hope y’all are having a lovely weekend!!! 💖💖💖

(Now with a sprinkle of platonic AGSZ xDD)

~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64289641 ~ Wolf Spider

Summary: ...Life was so precious, so fragile.

[crimsonwolf715]

Dreams Are Always Sweeter

(Part one of Miraculous Tales) (This is an old one but I'm thinking of writing part two now, so I wanted to put it on here.)

{Summary: Adrien (Chat Noir) and Marinette (Ladybug) wake up not remembering the last year of their lives, but everything is not as it seems. The two are trapped by the powers of an Akuma. Can they escape this mental prison, or will they be stuck there forever?}

Adrien wakes up to his phone ringing. 

It says girlfriend, but Adrien knows he doesn’t have one of those. 

He answers and puts it up to his ear,” Hello?” 

“Hey, Adrien,” Marinette’s voice answers,” Sorry I couldn’t come over for dinner yesterday. The bakery was so busy and everything got so out of hand and I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Marinette,” Adrien says, successfully forgetting about the girlfriend part in 0.2 seconds. 

“Thank you for being so understanding,” Marinette replies,” but today is our one year anniversary, so what do you want to do?” 

Adrien remembers about the girlfriend part. 

“Umm… I don’t know. What do you want to do?” he answers, purposely not asking about the girlfriend part. 

“We could have a picnic after patrol,” Marinette suggests. 

“Patrol?” Adrien asks. 

“Yeah, just because it’s our one year anniversary doesn’t mean that Ladybug and Cat Noir can take the day off,” Marinette answers,” but I have to go. My mom’s yelling my name. I’ll see you in our usual spot at six, okay?” 

“Okay,” Adrien says, then Marinette hangs up. 

“Marinette is Ladybug?” Adrien asks aloud,” Marinette can’t be Ladybug. I’ve seen them both in the same place. Was that some kind of illusion? Why can’t I remember anything since Ladybug and I dealt with that Akuma attack? Has it seriously been a whole year? And I’m dating Ladybug?” 

Adrien flops down on his mattress and Plagg flies over. 

“What are you freaking out about?” Plagg asks,” Shouldn’t you be excited about today? What’s the crisis about?” 

“Plagg, what day is it?” Adrien asks. 

“Umm… How am I supposed to know? I never keep up with the dates, but isn’t today a big day for you two lovebirds?” Plagg replies. 

“Yeah, one year anniversary,” Adrien answers quietly. 

“Why aren’t you excited then?” Plagg asks,” Isn’t that a big deal for humans?” 

Adrien nods,” I… I’m just not feeling very well today. I probably just need to eat and lie down a little longer.” 

“Okay,” Plagg says,” Do you need me to do anything for you?” 

Adrien shakes his head,” I’ll be alright, Plagg. You should eat some cheese while I’m getting breakfast.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Plagg says, then flies towards the cheese cabinet. 

Adrien gets up and heads towards the kitchen. 

Marinette wakes up to her phone ringing. 

It says Adrien with hearts around it. 

“Hi, Adrien,” she says. 

“Hey, Mari,” Adrien says,” I was wondering if we’re still on for that study session later.” 

“Study session?” Marinette asks. 

“Yeah, we agreed that my English needed some work,” Adrien replies,” I got a B on my last test and let’s just say that my father isn’t happy.” 

“You… You want to study… with me?” Marinette stutters. 

“Yes,” Adrien answers,” Are you okay, Mari?” 

“Fine, I’m totally fine,” Marinette replies with a wave of her hand, even though Adrien can’t see it,” Same place?” 

“Yep, can’t wait to meet you at the bakery,” Adrien says, then hangs up. 

“I’m meeting with Adrien.” 

Marinette starts giggling excitedly. 

“I’m glad that you’re still in the lovey-dovey phase of your relationship, Marinette, but why were you stuttering again?” Tikki asks,” I thought we got over that a while ago.” 

“What are you talking about, Tikki?” Marinette asks, looking for Tikki and finding her on top of her jewlery box. 

“You’re celebrating your one year anniversary today, so with that math, you stopped stuttering eight months ago,” Tikki answers with her little arms folded,” So what’s going on today?” 

“Nothing,” Marinette replies, trying to come up with an excuse that’ll satisfy Tikki even though she’s never satisfied with anything but the truth,” I’m just a little jittery, because it’s the one year anniversary. Yeah, that’s it.” 

“Okay,” Tikki says, clearly not convinced. 

“I’m gonna get some breakfast and see if Mom needs help with anything.” 

Marinette rushes downstairs and almost runs into Sabine. 

“Hey, what’s the rush?” she asks,” Adrien isn’t coming over until later, right?” 

“That’s right,” Marinette answers,” I was just… I’m really hungry so I’m going to get food.” 

“Okay, honey,” Sabine says. 

Marinette runs into the kitchen and there are pictures of her and Adrien on the fridge, along with Adrien in photos of her and her family. She squeals and puts her head on the fridge. 

“Me and Adrien are together?” she wonders aloud,” What dream is this and can I never wake up?”  

Adrien passes by Natalie as he walks into the kitchen. 

“How are you this morning, Adrien?” Natalie calls out. 

“Fine,” Adrien answers,” Just gonna get some breakfast then get ready to see Marinette this afternoon.” 

“Today is breakfast with your father,” Natalie says,” He just came down and is waiting for the food in the oven to be done.” 

“Really?” Adrien asks. 

“Yes,” Natalie answers,” He’s in his downstairs study if you want to ask him, but the two of you have been talking about this since the last one happened three days ago.” 

Gabriel walks into the dining area and smiles at Adrien. 

“Ready for breakfast?” he asks,” You were still asleep when I went to check on you earlier. Did you sleep well?” 

Adrien nods. 

Gabriel ruffles Adrien’s hair as he walks towards the kitchen. 

“The chef left us breakfast lasagna before heading out to shop for the rest of the week. Are you excited?” Gabriel asks,” You’ve been waiting to try this for a while.” 

Adrien nods, unsure how to respond to this sudden affection from his father. 

The oven timer goes off, so Gabriel goes to check on the food. 

“Are you feeling alright, Adrien?” Natalie asks, walking over and putting her wrist on his forehead. 

“I feel fine,” Adrien answers honestly. 

“You don’t feel warm,” Natalie says,” So I guess you’re alright. You just seem off today. Is it because today is such a big day?” She’s smiling at Adrien. 

Adrien finds himself smiling back and nodding,” I’m excited to go and see Mari.” 

Adrien’s brain stops working for a second. He didn’t tell it to say that, it just came out. 

“Breakfast is ready!” Gabriel shouts,” Come and get some, Adrien!” 

That snaps Adrien back to reality. He runs into the kitchen and gets breakfast. 

Gabriel engaged with him throughout breakfast, asking about how Marinette is and how school’s going with end of the year testing. As breakfast is ending, screaming can be heard. A giant monster storms past the mansion. 

“We haven’t had an Akuma attack in a year,” Natalie says. 

“Adrien, go upstairs to your room and stay there until I come to get you,” Gabriel demands. 

Adrien nods, then runs upstairs. 

“Plagg, we need to transform.” 

Plagg’s laying on the bed, snoozing. 

“Plagg!” 

Plagg picks his head up and asks,” What’s happening?” 

“Plagg, there’s a monster outside!” Adrien answers,” Claws out!”

Marinette dances around the kitchen while making breakfast. Her phone rings so she turns off the music she was dancing to and answers,” Hey, Alya.” 

“Hey, girl,” Alya says,” How are you?” 

“Great,” Marinette answers. 

“Wow, that excited about your one year anniversary?” Alya asks,” Nino almost forgot about ours, then took me to some restaurant and spent the next few hours watching movies. Simple, but I really loved it.” 

“I don’t know what he has planned,” Marinette says. 

“I thought you guys were gonna game,” Alya replies. 

“You never know,” Marinette reminds her. 

“True,” Alya says,” I’m happy for the two of you, I really am.” 

“Thanks,” Marinette replies,” I’m super excited for today.” 

Alya laughs,” I’m glad.” 

“What are your plans with Nino for today?” Marinette asks. 

“Nothing much,” Alya answers,” He has homework to finish, so I’m gonna sit beside him and make sure he does it.” 

Marinette laughs,” Sounds like a fun plan.” 

“I told him that if he gets it done before I have to leave, then we can watch a movie,” Alya replies,” So, that will be fun. I’ll probably just be on my phone the entire time he’s working.” 

“Happy late two year anniversary,” Marinette says,” I know I told you the other day, but I wanted to say it again.” 

“Thanks,” Alya replies,” You’re the best. See ya when I see ya, girl.” 

“See ya,” Marinette says. 

Alya hangs up and realization hits Marinette. She spoke without thinking. 

Marinette grabs some macaroons, then heads upstairs to where Tikki’s waiting. Marinette hands Tikki one of the macaroons and she takes it excitedly. 

Tikki starts eating it as Marinette heads to the chaise and lays down. She stares up at the ceiling, wondering what got into her at the end of her call with Alya. She spoke before her brain had time to process the sentence, which is unusual for talking to Alya. They usually have intelligent conversations. 

“Are you okay, Marinette?” Tikki asks,” You’re awfully quiet over there.” 

“Yeah, I’m alright, Tikki,” Marinette answers. 

There’s a crashing sound outside, so Marinette runs up to the roof to get a look at what’s going on. The monster that she and Chat Noir defeated before she went to sleep is rampaging past the bakery. 

“I thought we already dealt with this Akuma,” Marinette says, then climbs back down the ladder,” We have to stop it. Tikki, spots on!”  

Chat Noir jumps from rooftop to rooftop searching for the Akuma victim, his memories of the real world completely gone. Her monsters are everywhere, but they’re mostly just scaring people since they haven’t found him or Ladybug. 

“Hey, kitty.” 

Chat Noir turns to see the beautiful Ladybug leaning against a wall, waiting for him. 

“Do you know where the Akuma is, m’lady?” 

She shakes her head,” Hoping you knew. We haven’t had an Akuma attack in a while. We normally patrol to make sure the citizens know that they’re safe as long as we’re here.” 

“Well, should we destroy a couple monsters to see if they show up?” Chat Noir asks. 

“Couldn’t have thought of a better plan myself,” Ladybug replies. 

Chat Noir smiles and follows Ladybug down to street level. The duo smash several giant rock monsters to rubble and exactly as planned, the Akuma victim shows up. 

“Lucky Charm!” 

Chat Noir keeps them busy while Ladybug figures out a plan. 

“Kitty!” 

Chat Noir hops behind a car, then scurries around looking for her. She’s behind a building with a smile on her face. She kisses Chat Noir and he kisses her back. 

“Is now really the time?” he asks after she pulls away. 

She nods,” It is always a good time. Now, here’s the plan.” 

They destroy the Akuma and release it without Chat Noir having to use his Cataclysm. 

“Very nice work, m’lady,” Chat Noir compliments with a bow. 

She flicks the bell on his suit,” Thank you very much, Chat.” 

Chat Noir smiles brightly. 

“Now, we have somewhere to be,” Ladybug says. 

The two head into an alley and transform back, then kiss briefly. He wraps his arms around her and whispers,” You’re everything that I’ve ever wanted.” 

“Same to you,” she whispers back,” I love you so much.” 

“I love you more,” Adrien teases,” but I have to get back. Dad’s waiting for me. I’ll see you tonight though.” He flashes her a charming smile. 

“See you tonight, tough guy,” Marinette replies, then kisses his nose. 

He smiles, then transforms back. He heads back to the Agreste house and into his window.  

Ladybug swings around Paris looking for the Akumatized person, her memories of the real world gone. She slams into Chat Noir and they tumble onto the rooftop. 

“Hello, m’lady,” Chat Noir says,” It’s a fine day to have to fight this Akuma together.” 

Ladybug rolls her eyes,” Come on, kitty.” 

The two start jumping rooftops together. 

“Wanna hear my plans for later?” Chat asks. 

“Sure,” Ladybug answers. 

“I’m gonna be having lunch with my girlfriend and I’m giving her something she’s been wanting for a while,” Chat says. 

“That’s nice,” Ladybug replies,” I’m also having lunch later.” 

Chat laughs,” That’s what’s great about what we can share about our lives. We’re basically doing the same thing all the time.” 

Ladybug laughs,” Yeah, feels like it.” 

They stumble across the Akumatized person and the battle ensues. After winning, she rushes back home. She works on designs for a while. 

“Are you almost ready, Marinette?” Sabine shouts,” Adrien’s here!” 

“Of course! Just a minute!” Marinette answers, then starts running around getting ready. 

She always manages to lose track of time and needs to rush. 

What to wear? She wonders. Pink or blue?  

“Pink,” Tikki suggests. 

Marinette grabs the simple pink dress and pulls it on. After quickly fixing her hair, she walks down the stairs. Adrien’s waiting in a suit with the biggest smile on his face. 

“Ready to go?” Adrien asks. 

Marinette nods, then walks over to Adrien. 

They walk to the restaurant and a table’s ready for them at the gazebo outside. They sit down and Adrien hands her a box. 

“What is this?” Marinette asks. 

“Open it.” 

Marinette opens the box and it’s a beautiful, floor length red dress with black accents. 

“I saw you eyeing it in my father’s collection, so I had one made specifically for you,” Adrien says with a smile. 

“Thank you so much,” Marinette replies,” I love it a lot.” 

She hugs Adrien over the table and he hugs her back. She sits back down and they have a nice lunch talking about their friends and dates to go on in the future. 

Adrien brushes off his clothes, but realizes that he doesn’t see Plagg. 

“Where did you go?” Adrien asks. 

He starts looking around his room for Plagg. 

“Plagg?” Adrien calls out. 

“Who’s Plagg?” Gabriel asks. 

Adrien’s head jerks up. 

“One of my stuffed animals,” he answers. 

“Okay,” Gabriel replies,” Are you alright? I know those are scary.” 

Adrien nods,” I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Good,” Gabriel says,” You’re still planning on that date, right?” 

Adrien nods. 

“Stay safe and tell Marinette I say hello.” 

“I will.” 

Gabriel leaves and after a minute, Plagg pops in from the other side of his door. 

“There you are,” Plagg says. 

“Right where you left me,” Adrien reminds him, then grabs his phone so he can text Marinette. 

“We have to go,” Plagg says. 

“Where?” Adrien asks. 

“Back to the real world,” Plagg answers. 

“Now you’re not making sense,” Adrien replies, then texts Marinette a smiley face. 

“Adrien!” 

“What, Plagg?” Adrien asks,” You’re not making sense!” 

“This isn’t real!” Plagg shouts,” We need to get out of here and save Paris!” 

“This is real,” Adrien replies,” Stop messing around.” 

“We have to wake up, Adrien!” Plagg shouts. 

“I’m finally happy, Plagg!” he replies,” I’m dating Ladybug, which turned out to be the only competitor for my affection! Now I can have Ladybug for who she really is, Marinette.” 

“Isn’t it a bit too convenient for your taste?” Plagg asks,” Ladybug’s identity being the one other person that you love? Think, Adrien. You’re the smartest Chat Noir.” 

Adrien stops pacing and stares at Plagg. 

“You can’t be right,” He breathes,” Because if you’re right, I’m about to lose everything.” 

Plagg sighs,” I’m sorry, Adrien. I really am, but we have to go save Paris with the real Ladybug.” 

“I can’t go back to loving someone that won’t ever return the favor,” Adrien says,” I can’t go back to not knowing.” 

Tears are streaming down his face. 

“Adrien,” Plagg says softly, then lands on Adrien’s hand,” It’s alright. Go after Ladybug. If she returned your affection here, then there’s a chance that she’ll return it in the real world. Never give up on your dreams, but it is okay for your dreams to change. If you want to go after Marinette, go for it. I will support you no matter what.” 

“Did you eat some funky cheese?” Adrien asks, then sniffles. 

“I think so,” Plagg answers,” That was really out of character for me.” 

Adrien laughs, then starts wiping his tears away,” Thanks, Plagg.” 

“You’re welcome,” Plagg replies,” I deserve some quality cheese for this pep talk.” 

Adrien nods,” Let’s go save Paris, buddy.” 

Marinette and Adrien walk hand in hand back to the bakery. 

“Thank you again for the dress, Adrien,” Marinette says. 

“Anytime,” Adrien replies,” You can wear it to the benefit tomorrow so everyone can see how amazing you look in it.” 

The two kiss on the doorstep. Adrien’s phone rings, so the two laugh. 

Adrien looks at his phone, then says,” That’s my father. I’m gonna be late for a photoshoot, so I should go.” 

Marinette hugs him, which he returns. 

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow, Marinette.” 

“See you tomorrow, Adrien.” 

She walks into the bakery and her parents are waiting behind the counter. 

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. How long have you two been there?” Marinette asks. 

“Long enough,” Sabine answers,” How was your date and how’s Adrien?” 

“My date was great and Adrien is fine,” Marinette says,” He would have come in if he wasn’t gonna be late to a photo shoot. I’m gonna get changed and call Alya.” 

“Okay, we’ll be here,” Sabine reminds her,” Dinner’s at six.” 

“Okay,” Marinette says, then heads upstairs. 

Tikki’s searching Marinette’s room. 

“What are you looking for?” Marinette asks. 

“You,” Tikki answers,” Where have you been?” 

“On a date with Adrien,” Marinette answers,” I thought you were in my purse. When did you phase out?” 

“We have to get out of here and save Paris,” Tikki says. 

“What?” Marinette asks,” There’s nothing going on, Tikki.” 

“This isn’t what’s supposed to be happening,” Tikki says,” You haven’t gotten the courage to ask Adrien out. Not that I don’t think you’re capable of it.” 

“You sound crazy, Tikki.” 

“You have to wake up, Marinette!” Tikki says,” None of this is real!” 

“I’m dating Adrien and there’s less crime. Isn’t it better this way?” Marinette asks,” I want to be able to have what I want for once. I want to stay here with Adrien. Why is that so bad, Tikki?” 

“This isn’t real, Marinette,” Tikki answers,” If you stay here, you’ll never know if you can really have Adrien. And you’re leaving all of your friends to be destroyed along with what’s left of Paris. Your friends need you as much as you need them, so you have to wake up. You have to wake up so that you can save everybody and go get the real Adrien. This has given you the confidence to do that, hasn’t it?” 

Marinette nods. 

“Then let’s go get him once we save Paris. No detours and no turning back, lay it all on the line for him.” 

Marinette nods,” Let’s do it, Tikki. How do we get back?” 

“Leave that to me,” Tikki says. 

Adrien wakes up in his bed. 

“Plagg?” he asks as he opens his eyes. 

Plagg’s sitting on his chest. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, champ.” 

Tears sting Adrien’s eyes, but he blinks them away,” We have to save Paris. Let’s go, Plagg. Claws out.”    

Marinette wakes up and sits up, looking around. 

Tikki flies over and asks,” Are you okay, Marinette?” 

Even though she feels sad about what she left, she nods. She’ll get everything back. 

“Let’s save Paris and then get Adrien,” she says,” Tikki, spots on.”     

 

Chat Noir runs into Ladybug while searching for the Akuma victim. 

“M’lady,” Chat Noir says with a bow. 

“Hi, kitty,” Ladybug says, without her usual smile,” Do you know where the Akuma is?” 

He shakes his head,” We’ll just have to find them.” 

Chat Noir notices that Ladybug looks more determined than normal. 

What’s going on in her mind? He wonders. I can always ask once this is over.  

The two search around Paris until they find a cloaked figure holding a staff floating through the air, stopping at houses close to the Effiel Tower. 

“Stop right there,” Chat Noir says loudly,” You picked the wrong night to pick on Paris! Actually, any night is a bad night.” 

The figure turns and laughs,” So you come to me?” She shoots a beam at them and Chat Noir blocks it with his staff, protecting his lady. 

“Thanks, Chat,” Ladybug says, pulling out her yo-yo. 

“Anytime, m’lady,” Chat Noir replies. 

The two fight the Akumatized person for a while, neither side getting the upper hand. 

“You think when this is over we can talk for a while?” Chat Noir asks,” Maybe go see a movie?” 

“We’ve talked about this, Chat,” Ladybug replies,” I have somebody else.” 

Chat deflates,” Yeah, I know. Forget it.” 

Chat Noir notices Ladybug’s eyes on him, so he flashes her a winning smile he didn’t feel at all. 

“It’s all good,” he reassures her,” Let’s beat this so we can get a good night’s sleep.” 

Ladybug nods,” Lucky Charm!” 

What looks like a giant cookie drops into her extended hands. 

“A cookie?” she asks,” What can I do with this? Chat, give me some time!” 

Chat smacks the cloaked figure into the Effiel Tower with surprising accuracy. 

She looks around and the plan formulates in her mind. The two are getting closer and closer to her and further away from where she wants them to be. 

“Chat!” He jumps over and asks,” Yes, m’lady?” 

“I need you to lead them back towards the Effiel Tower,” Ladybug says,” then use your belt to grab a hold of their ankle.” 

Chat nods, then runs over and starts throwing things at the cloaked figure so they head back towards the Effiel Tower. 

She runs over so she’s within throwing range. Ladybug watches Chat wrap his belt around their ankle and tighten it. She throws the giant cookie at them and it hits them right in the face. 

They drop their staff. 

“Cataclsym!” Chat destroys the staff and the Akuma flies out. 

“No more evildoing for you, little Akuma,” she says, swinging her yo-yo around,” Time to de-evilise!” 

She catches the Akuma in her yo-yo. She releases the butterfly,” Bye, bye little butterfly.” 

Chat jumps down from the rooftop and says,” I gotta get back, clock’s ticking.” 

Ladybug holds out her fist, but he turns and uses his staff to get back on the rooftop. 

“What’s got his tail in a knot?” she asks,” Well, I gotta get back home anyway.”

“Claws in.” 

Plagg floats next to Adrien and after a whole minute of silence, he says,” I’m sorry, Adrien.” 

A sob that wracks Adrien’s body escapes him and he drops to his knees, tears streaming down his face. 

“I had it all,” he sobs,” and she can’t even be bothered now. Why do I get tortured like this?” 

Plagg gently licks Adrien’s face,” It’s alright, champ. We’ll find a way to get through this.” 

After several minutes of crying and the occasional lick to the face, Adrien takes several deep breaths to stop the sobbing. The tears are still trickling down his face, but his breathing has evened out and he doesn’t seem distressed. After another minute of silence, the tears stop and he gets to his feet. 

“I’ll get over her,” Adrien says softly,” I really want to give it a try with Marinette once I feel better.” 

“Atta boy,” Plagg encourages,” I’m all for it.” 

“I just don’t want to hurt her. She isn’t the one that hurt me.” 

“Take your time,” Plagg replies,” You deserve to be happy.” 

Adrien shrugs. 

“Let’s get some rest before school, Plagg,” he says, then climbs into bed without caring to change into pajamas. 

Marinette walks into school and is greeted by Alya running over with Nino. 

“Have you heard?” she asks. 

Marinette shakes her head,” What’s up, Alya?” 

“Adrien invited all of us to one of his photoshoots in the park,” Alya answers,” This is your chance, girl.” 

Marinette nods, determination etched onto her features,” I’m gonna do it this time.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Alya encourages. 

Marinette checks her watch and realizes that they’re gonna be late for class. 

“We have to go,” she says. 

“You guys go ahead,” Nino replies,” I’m gonna wait on Adrien.” 

Nino comes in right as class is starting. 

Adrien doesn’t show up until after the first period. He hands a note to Miss Bustier, then sits down next to Nino. 

“Are you okay, Adrien?” Nino asks. 

Adrien nods. 

At lunch, Marinette approaches Adrien. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” she asks. 

Adrien nods, but he looks visibly sad,” I’ll be alright. Thanks, Mari.” 

Marinette blushes, then nods. “Want someone to sit with?” 

After a moment of thought, he nods. 

Marinette sits down and starts eating her lunch. 

“Want a macaroon?” she asks. 

“Sure.” 

She offers him one and he takes it, smiling for the first time. “Thank you so much, Marinette.” 

She meets his eyes and while he still looks sad, there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes. 

“Anytime,” she promises.

[baronessblixen]

And We Go On

Day 4 for the Eight Nights of Mulder: endurance and my prompt for the 24 Days of X-Mas Files Challenge: bad Christmas puns

Summary: On the car ride after they said goodbye to Emily, Mulder tries his best to ease some of Scully's pain. (emotional hurt/comfort with some humor thrown in; wc: 1,134)

Tagging @today-in-fic @eightnightsofmulder

They're wrapped in a coat of silence as they step outside the church, their steps in perfect sync. What is there to say, anyway? What do you say to someone who's just said goodbye to the child she didn't know she had? Mulder opens the car door for Scully and lingers there until she has put her seatbelt on.

A few yards away, Scully's family is still smiling and fawning over baby Matthew, and he hopes he's blocking Scully's view. After laying her own daughter to rest, she doesn't need to see this. If he could take her pain away, he would in a heartbeat. All he can do, however, is be here for her, and follow her lead.

Inside the car, there's neither enough space, nor air. When the silence threatens to crush them, Mulder turns on the radio. Soft melodies fill the car, and he fears he's only making things worse.

"Can we drive a while?" Her question cuts through the tension and stuns him. He clears his throat before he says, "Of course." Scully hardly ever asks for anything, and he's prepared to give her everything. He'd drive her to the end of the world if that's what she wanted.

"I'm just not ready to face everything yet." A crack in her voice and her armor.

"It's okay. We can drive all day."

"My family would worry."

"Eh, just tell them it's my fault." It feels like it, too. He'll do his penance. In front of a God he doesn't believe in, if he has to. Anything for her. He glances over at Scully, shocked at how ashen her face is and how devoid of life. Only weeks ago, the color returned to her cheeks. After she beat her cancer, he thought this was it. He thought they were in the clear. But there's always something else waiting for them, trying to take them down.

Years ago, Scully told him how much she loved Christmas. They were younger then, their friendship new and untarnished. She told him about Scully family traditions and that no matter what, they always laughed. Back then he didn't know the Scullys, had yet to meet Mrs. Scully, Melissa, and Bill Jr. When he pictured them, it was always with crinkled laugh lines around their eyes and a smile on their lips. The same one Scully wore when she mentioned her family.

Today, there is no laughter, no joy. And he can't bear it. She deserves more. She deserves a Christmas where she can smile, laugh, and just be herself.

"Hey, Scully?" He decides not to think too much about it. Just do whatever it takes. No matter how ridiculous he's going to look or sound." Let's taco about Christmas." It's a bad pun, but it's the first one that comes to his mind.

"What?" Her voice sounds weak. If he wants to make her laugh, or even smile, he has to up his game.

"I'm pine-ing for you this Christmas?" he tries.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her eyebrows knit in concern. At least he's distracting her from her pain.

"I'm up to snow good."

"You're..." he feels her eyes on him, and since there's not much traffic, he turns to look at her. Her expression is neutral, but he thinks she's thawing. He can't ease her agony; only time can do that. No one can stop him from trying, though. He will make her smile today, come what may.

"I've got high elf-esteem."

"You're insane." And he hears it. Soft, almost shy, but decidedly there: a giggle. A real, honest cackle. He grins, glancing at her. Tears shimmer in her eyes, and he reaches over the console to grab her hand.

"There's no gift like the present." Scully chortles and his heart soars. "I have something for you, by the way. I must admit I stole it from your brother's house, but I think it was a brilliant idea. Are you hungry at all? I'm a bit hungry. Reach into my coat pocket."

"This is not a trick, is it?"

"What? No." Her eyes on him, she sticks her hand into his pocket and fishes out two candy canes.

"Stole it last night and look, these candy canes are in mint condition."

"I'm not hungry."

"You don't need to be hungry for a candy cane, Scully." The plastic crackles as Scully unwraps the candy. Soft peppermint aroma fills the car. She's just holding the candy cane as if unsure what to do next.

"Want me to lick it?" He realizes the implications of what he just said a moment too late. Their eyes meet and then, miraculously, they're roaring with laughter, tears streaming down their faces. Mulder stops the car at the side of the road, needing a moment. Their laughter dies down slowly, a few chuckles falling out of their mouths here and there.

"Want to share?" Mulder asks after a moment.

"Snow be it," Scully replies, the corner of her mouth twitching. She breaks the candy cane in two, handing one half to Mulder. He's almost too mesmerized to notice it. Scully takes her half and bites off a large chunk, chewing slowly.

"I know what you're doing," she says. "And I appreciate it. Thank you." She puts her hand over his on his thigh. Her face is close to his and she smells sweet and fresh, like the candy cane. "I- I needed a moment of, um. I just needed a moment."

"I can come up with another thousand bad puns," he says earnestly.

"You never give up, do you?" Her smile is shaky.

"Only if absolutely forced to." She nods, quickly wiping away a few tears.

"I think I'm ready to go to my brother's house now."

"Are you sure? We can keep going. Hell, say the word and I'll drive us home."

"I know you would." She squeezes his hand. "I don't want to ask but..."

"You can ask for anything, Scully. Anything at all."

"Will you stay with me a while?"

"No one can stop me. Well, your brother could, but I won't let him. And if you need-"

"I know, Mulder. I know. Now tell me another one. I can see it in your eyes. You want to make another joke." Her smile may be colored in sadness, but it's still a smile, and he helped put it there. He starts the car again, Scully's hand falling from his and onto his thigh.

"What did one ornament say to another?" Mulder asks, trying to hide his delight. He pauses for effect until he can't hold it in any longer. "I like hanging with you." He hears a soft chuckle and it sounds glorious to his ears. It will take a while, but in the end, she'll be okay.

[yohohonabottle]

Clown's reminiscing & Bear's 'sin' (that outed half of the guests' present.)

The song that inspired it, lyrics got altered to match better.

TW: Description of mild game-cannon violence, mentions of death threat & implied/referenced suicidal tendencies.

Everyone was gathered in the Mystical house, the Magister Merlin having sent the invites and thrown this grand party. ...Everyone, but a certain wandering spirit. And tonight, on this wintery celebration evening, she held up a friendly Century Quest & Card duel competition- The prize being something simple. A patch.

Everyone knew that should the Incarnated spirit have been present, and took part--He would've won. Not even trying, just having fun and enjoying the friendly-fire rounds or 'spars' with people.. Regardless of who's who and what, stranger, enemy, friend or more. In the end, Thoran somehow won. And the Graveborns, aside from Earl Ludovic, didn't care about this small detail. Nor did the Hypogeans, other Maulers who managed to make it here. Half the guests didn't really care, half were not too approving of how...selective the party and competition feels. And the other half were only bit puzzled as to why the 'Magister' wasn't invited but figured he's probably busy or chose to be by himself tonight. Watching the Bantus king smugly claim the Ironjaw patch, Soren frowns. This just isn't right. Getting up from his seat at the table, his steps thump on the lounge's wooden floor. The memories of old adventures hold a burning, putrid sting-- A scalding, acid-like and drowning guilt still haunting his conscious and conscience to this day. It'll plague him 'til the end of his days. Rightly so.

—"Merlin, nothing personal but Pirin Hestios should've won the patch tonight." Sweeping a disdainful eye over the faces of the two nobles, king and pirate, the warrior's gloomy glare turns to Merlin. "And you people are crazy for not realizing that." Hodgkin scoffs with an amused snort from his seat at another table in the tavern.

"Why would we give that Rat the Patch, eh? So he could use it as a blanket?" Valen, Lorsan, Alsa and Eironn wince. Sinbad and Lyca scowl. Sonja and Lucca keep their mouth shut, but the edge of varying discontent tinging their masks of stoically dutiful neutrality is enough clue. Soren's ears pin back in annoyance as hearty laughter booms from some of the guests, Merlin included.

"That's the reaction I thought I'd get." A flicker of an idea lights up Lorsan's eyes at recalling a silly 'exercise' Pirin once did with Eironn. The aim was to help the Stormsword express better his emotions, or at least get more comfortable with them regardless of their nature. And also lift his spirit, by lifting some of the 'doom and gloom' with putting them through song. A method that the Burning star took to the desert and applied with the young Mauler. Absurd as it seems, felt and likely also is, to a degree, it did help. Taking out his lute, the bard easily comes up with a melody, and strums on the strings with a deft hand.

"Everyone in this room has been associated with Pirin, Either through adventure, the tavern or various odd jobs he does around for free or at most a silver." -The teen's voice is gruff as a buzzard's and gravelly with a small rasp, but darn it he kept pushing on. A few eyebrows were raised in question, some smiled and some rolled their eyes or scoffed. The hare kept on plucking the strings, setting the melody. "And I'm guessing most of you have either laughed in Pirin's face Or ruthlessly made fun of his eyebrows or body, or voice, or temper or shortness when he wasn't looking-" Merlin narrowly flinches, Rhys pulls a face at getting called out, Chippy & Hammie look down guiltily, Sinbad winces and Lenya pretends to play dumb. Lyca throws the catwoman a disbelieving look that quickly flips to sour.

Cecia and Salazer inwardly bristle for a second but show no reaction... Because both know they've done it. Just as Sir Lucius looks away in guilty shame along with Atalanta, Kafra, and Satrana. Hodgkin knew he'd done all of the above and harbors not a drop of remorse or care. Lorsan winces as he carries on playing the guitar, remembering that one time he'd grimaced at the man's 'Graveborn' appearance and cringed at his voice.

Seated at one of the tables with his wife, Niru calmly sweeps his eyes over the other patrons' faces. Notes the reactions. Plenty of guilty fellows tonight, it seems.

Valen tries not to grimace, the memory of how he'd pointed out his love's peculiar eyebrows-- Back when they truly met for the very first time. It wasn't out of mockery and malice...but the fact he'd teased him about it still stands.

"But the next time you'd see him, he'd still go out of his way to smile And wave at you and ask you about your mother's operation or something like that. Because he unlike us actually cares about someone other than himself--" Berial's laughter and gleeful grin dies down, memories resurfacing unwanted.

--------------——-=== - -- --——--- -- - ===-———-------------

For the very first time, the diabolical jester had found himself in a pinch after pranking the Magister--Nothing actually lethal mind you. Same reason as to why his pranks on her stand-in and the people of Esperia, too aren't actually aiming to kill. A nasty scare here, heaping misfortunes and or nightmares there, or something completely goofy sans the cruelty and evil.

Dumping a bucket of period blood, tree-sap and rotten seaweed (Because that's what came to his mind as funny) he'd conjured up, the nasty little fiend then cackled merrily. Oh the Magister's horrified yell of being startled and the disgusted grimace she had pulled were priceless. The two pip-squeaks cries of alarm, the horror on their chubby gorged cheeks and frantic fussing--It made it five times funnier! Well the Arch-mage's wrath that followed right after in retaliation wasn't fun. Bloody Mary proceeded to 'prank' back with a mean bite--Casting a spell to not only nail his body with Dura's oh so holly sword...But instead of sealing him and finishing the deal, Merlin worked on purifying and extracting magic straight out his core.

How it burnt, how it burnt! It was like being boiled, grilled and burned alive all in one! "It was just a prank! What're you draining me for?! I didn't even try to hurt you this time! At all! OW-!" --He'd wailed, almost beginning to regret his prank. And suddenly Pirin's 'curse' was a far, far more pleasant experience to go through again.

Being a nobody and feeling phantasmal-ly powerless in a nightmare is much more favorable, better, than actually being truly dead. Hell! Being turned to stone, or a mortal and chucked at the Order would work too! Just not total, real death and erasure of existing!

...And then the nail was removed, a compassionate Blazing star having warily approached after Merlin has long left. Hollowed eyes with diminished glow feebly lift to gaze at his 'nemesis.' That day, Berial honestly expected to be finished off, be met with more ire. Certainly wouldn't have blamed the man for it, considering the time his pranks on him crossed the line and also the troubles he'd caused, being a perfect doppelgänger.

But no. No torment or wrath came. The spirit squandered the chance to kill him off for good instead. Weaving a small spell, pulling at the threads of neutral-aligned and free-flowing magic; tainting it with dark emotions, intents lingering from a past life's grief-borne bloodlust, memories vicious-- The tar-like oozing flame orb was held out to him. Squinting up at the lost descendant with nothing but immense confusion, the slowly-withering Hypogean stares for a long moment. There are no expectations in those mirror-like eyes, nor hope for reward, no desire for favors and deals.

".....Why?" Why're you helping me? Why aren't you hurting or trying to finish me off for good? The answer the 'idiot', or maybe Pirin really was an idiot, gave in turn to his weak rasp, was even more baffling. But the serene sincerity of simple conviction was unmistakable. Like a slap.

—"Only good can't exist, not without its counterpart. You have your own place in the scheme, though hard to grasp by many." The jester scoffs, forcing on a pitiful attempt to grin like usual..but it crumbles to dust. While trying and failing to make sense of this strange, funny, 'naïve' blockhead.

—"Not what I asked. What? You want a deal? Power, glory, endless gold, adoration? Name your wish, and I'll grant it.~" The refute was like a cold slash of a blade.

—"Just take it. If you insist on doing me a favor," His discarded top-hat is picked up from the ground, the orb placed bit harshly into his palms. Dusting the hat off, the gloved hand places it back onto the inky head, the demon blinking down at the ball of potent abyss. Then blinks up, a sense of....something stirring somewhere in his black core. Respect, partially begrudging from last time.. and also sincere.

"then a simple 'thank you' will do. Or a smile, if that's too pricey." On eye-level, that ember of kindness coloring the magister's light smile as it does his eyes. Too pricey?? Excuse you???

"Thank you."

For once, the clown's grin isn't malign nor sneering. Gobbling up the orb without needing to be told twice, instantly returning to his normal lively self. It was delicious! No longer on Death's door, sockets and wide grin now back to their vibrant glow and ashen features wrought with life once more-- But he makes no move to attack. Or prank.

How can you be so genuinely selfless like a saint?

—"Seriously though—Why did you help me? You could've left me to die and everyone would thank you for it, you know?" I'm a Hypogean, the literal embodiment of evil. You know my track-record. You could get hurt. I could kill you at any moment, and those you hold dearly. I know. —"I don't want anyone to suffer in the ways I have." Not anymore. I did, once, took the lives of many in my blind rage. Brutally so, without remorse or guilt, drawing and dragging out their agony-- The instigators, the perpetrators, the accomplices...and along with them, the innocent, too, got in the line of slaughter. In my grief, revenge, I couldn't, didn't, distinguish nor cared to. I wanted nothing more, but to make the world suffer -Pay for it. I was no better, than those that called and inflicted the genocide of my kin. Not the first time I've been a sadistic monster either-- Same rage and pettiness, same cause of it, just a different world. (In a different lifecycle two prior.)

I'm still paying the price myself. (For my own senseless evils.)

----------———-—=== -- --——--- -- ===—-———------------ "The reason I bring this up to you Is because I... was the worst offender, of all." --Lorsan masterfully glides a hand over the strings. What he hears next, stirs up confused anger and shocked disbelief, the way the teenager outs himself. His mistreatment towards the vampire they'd come to call a 'nightingale', 'little finch' or 'lark'. It was in the early days of his adventures with the Magister, yes, but still doesn't make it okay!

"My life was simply going nowhere, Then a tiny, little man, rushed to my side. He should've gotten a big thank you, Instead he got a quicksand-dunking ride."

Some of the Graveborns laugh, pleased at the revelation. With the mental imagery of their pesky, meddling, enemy's abuse in the past.

Ludovic's hold on the branch of delicate flowers ever so subtly tightens for a second. Subdued, reserve and strongly disapproving anger flashing in the young boy's melancholic eyes. Like last time, when Merlin had beat up the felled star, beautiful white lilies were left on Pirin's nightstand.

The only thing to soothe away his pains of heart and mind, the nightmares, besides his Jolly sailor and loyal Knight.

Tonight, the 'Magister' would likely find himself another branch of those lovely blooms. Or in a patch of them. An eternal sufferer, in a way... and also a mere sincere gift from a friend. A gesture of kindness to keep the warm, kind bleeding heart from growing cold. A quiet way to say, remind the man there's someone(s) out there, who care.

"I was such a shithead. But he never quit on me, 'Til I told him he was useless,...and should go take his own life.." Shock flashes in the young lord's stern, saddened, pale green irises- Shaking out the melancholy and composure. Covering his mouth with a hand, other hand gripping the flowers even tighter.

The immense, crushing shame and guilt in the Mauler's voice aren't lost on him, ringing clearly in his voice with deep remorse. But the spark of fiery fury that flares in the young noble's dead heart is there. Lorsan very narrowly stops playing his guitar, jaw drop on the ground. Valen's eyebrows shoot to his hairline, Sinbad's face darkens and Lyca gapes at the warrior, just as his sister does.

How did Pirin not lash out...? Beat the ever-loving lights out of this punk? ...Why did he take the blows? Berial remains draped on his seat at his own table, already knowing what happened next. The sweet little thing held himself back from pummeling the whelp, knowing all too well what his own anger looks like. And didn't wish to inflict it. Instead he simply smiled instead, hurt, but smiled anyway. Forgave Bear-boy for the wrongdoings, and moved on like nothing happened. 'I don't want anyone to suffer' (In the ways I have.)

"I snapped at Soren more severely, once. After he crossed a line. I haven't gotten so angry, in a long while.. Not like this. Couldn't hold back-- In a blink he was on the ground, and I just...kept clawing and punching at him like a straw dummy, anywhere I could strike." --A pained 'Magister' laments devastated, fur sprouted along his neck and arms. And the Joker quietly listened to Batman's confession of 'sin', slight against the young former Grimmaw orphan he'd recently become foster father to. How he'd pelted the fighter with a flurry of vicious strikes, giving the brat two nice black-eyes, a crooked nose, nicked ears and plenty of nasty bruises.. and a dislocated shoulder from almost twisting his furry arm.

Blinded by anger. Just like in his old days.

"...I could've taken his life, only barely managed to stop myself. Had to force myself to flee, go to my dorm at the Mystical House and turn it to an arena, let my anger there. Better than him or anyone else getting the brunt of it." --The distraught spirit uttered in a shaky rasp, almost a choked quiet sob. Horrified with himself.

"I almost killed him, Berial! I-" How did a prank of dropping a bucket of blood-looking juice lead to this moment? The Hypogean had no clue, but kept his mouth shut. For once in his entire life. I'm a monster. I really am like the Temple says-- So he'd placed an inky hand firmly on the boney shoulder, stopping the train right there.

"No." Stop with that nonsense. What monster cares, and so much? Runs away before it could do harm? None, that's what. How in the Abyss did we become frenemies? No idea. Can't complain, keeps things interesting with these twists. 'Sides, even villains got downtime, no?

That day, the performer put up a show--Simple and comically flashy, without horrors, mockery or gore. ...Okay fine, he snuck in a literal eye in one of the tricks as a punchline and pulled out dead doves out his hat then revived them, and made the birds disintegrate into regular confetti. Just to cheer this one 'idiot' of a 'magister'. Hypogeans can't feel actual love you see, or care in the typical constraints of mortal understanding and their rigid, dull morality lofty ideals.

More like... Favor. Have interest in someone or something, and in turn keep it safe. Can't have that person or thing go 'poof' in any way, can we now? It wouldn't do. In a way, to a degree, it can be called 'care'. ----------———-—=== -- --——--- -- ===—-———------------ Somehow pulled into the spirit of confessing 'sins' in song, Sir Lucius takes the turn to sing next. Outing himself, right as Soren sits down back in his seat, ears drooping in remorseful shame.

"Once when we were watching Sunday spectacle in the Gala square, A fuzzy movement was all that we could see." The image comes back, a gloomy day in Holistone and how Father David sent for Pirin. The ghostly-pale man had earned himself the reputation of being a reliable hand, outside of his duty as Merlin. That Father knew, and the music was playing, a spectacle in Dura's name to honor her, the Archons and Heroes of the Immortal war.

A way to draw youth back to morality and tradition, to spread the good will and sacred words. And perhaps also incite interest in them for the Temple, for the Divine and for Faith. The lights had abruptly given out and needed to be fixed, newly-acquired technology from Alkali. Poor man, a diligent jack of all trades, worked on fixing the blasted stage lights in the background whilst the show continued.

"Pirin came over with a toolkit-- And spent the spectacle on top of the theater grids.. And when the lightning struck him, He let out a wicked loud yell. .

But we just turned up the volume, And ignored, covered up the burning smell-- we should all rot in hell!" It was horrible, going up to the rafters after the performance... only to find a charred body, miraculously alive. But unconscious. That day he'd grabbed the man, and tore through town-- ran straight to the doctor's office, cutting the queue of patients and frantically explained the situation through prayers and pleads for help.

After that he'd taken the 'mercenary' to Valen's home with all the medicaments needed (that Lucius bought with his own money) in tow. Valen looked scared and distraught at the sight, then gave an angry earful "What were you and the Temple thinking?!" "The weather was clear today, until the projectors gave out near the spectacle's end...Father called for Pirin to repair them.." "What?! Ohh greeat, go tell Father to be more mindful- And carefully check the weather forecast when planning events! You've put not only Pirin's but also the citizens' safety at risk! People could've gotten seriously hurt!" Covering his face with an armored hand and bowing his head, Lucius closes his eyes, mumbling under his breath. "Dura above, please forgive our sins..." The blond Templar knight's eyes blink open, head snapping up when Archon Talene softly rises from her seat, hand on her heart. And divine features pinched into a guilty, ashamed look.

"I went to high Pantheon with Pirin, in a previous cycle of his.... As a joke I told him to meet me at the banquet, needing a cavalier.. When he got there I said, ''I can't believe you thought I was serious.''"

Dionel and the Hypogeans look up at the firebird, Harak with a mouthful of fish and chicken, blinking up in confused surprise. Some of the bones stick out his maw; Berial blinks, then grins half in sneering amusement at one of those pomps having dirty laundry (not surprising, ask Dionel but the perpetually drunk sloth won't tell you. And suavely divert your attention elsewhere, like pulling a rug right from under your feet oh so smoothly). Phraesto and Reinier couldn't care less. Scarlita stays silent as usual, hands rested atop the handle of her battle-axe, remembering the scene all too well.

"So he ran home crying because of my deceit and slow-danced with his mom." Worst part is the Blazing star only agreed to begin with, was not because he had romantic feelings towards Talene--But because the child simply wanted to help. Along with bearing curiosity as to what the gods' victory feast and celebratory ceremony is like.

The Dusklord's young familiar had been transferred over to Talene after the war-god met his end. Just as the god of the waves relinquished his own familiar to Misarte shortly prior to dying himself-- *rrEEeep-lu lu lu lu* Hestopeous (Jaallanne - Diinqan -Hestios), the mother, child of a family in the Eclipse lineage. Upon being given to Misarte, she took on the name Larra in place of Jaallanne.

And the boy's father, whom the god of war chose as his familiar first (before taking fancy to Pirin and taking the child under his wing as 'familiar in training')-- *Thwack-Clanck* Hestopeous, child of a Crimsonfang bloodline family (Ekchauh - Hunahpu-Hestios) was given to Dulingr.

"What a crushing blow to Pirin. Bet you wish you could take it back." -The rowdy hustler joins the song, chastising and accusing himself of the exact same, as much as he's discontent with Talene's antics.

"How could you all be so mean to Pirin? Sound to me like you're all on crack!" -Rhys crows from another nearby table, leaning back on his terrabird. Doesn't have the smallest clue what all these 'confessions' are about or why people are doing it in song out of the blue, but still pipes up anyways. Harak blissfully goes back to wolfing down his own large portion of yummy food, keeping a curious ear on his surroundings.

It was strange to him, why the mage kept switching scents.

Sweet, very sugary and fruity, almond-like one moment-- Then this funny weak earthy and floral scent with different trees in there. And the attitude jumped back and forth too! It was only when two Merlins stood side by side (he was caught in the bottle he'd smashed in his feasting), that the strange smell and personality-flip finally made sense. It's TWO mages, one of cold and one of fruity!

And then he'd been woken up, recruited and placed onto a team. All but dropped in the cold Merlin's hands by the sugary one. With a harness and a leash-- Sugary mage's idea. ("Merlin, what am I supposed to do with him..?"

"Eh I dunno, train Harak to behave or something.?"

"....Merlin, this is a shark we're talking about. Not a dog or a dolphin." "Well actually, sharks can be trained! I red it in a book on aquatic life yesterday!" "Merlin!" D:<<) Cold Merlin--Pirin-- Was very annoyed. Then turned to glare at Harak, like he was the problem!

"You. You better behave yourself, ya hear?" -Hissed with narrowed eyes, jabbing a clawed finger at his chest. Disgruntled. "Or so help me, I will kick your fish ass AND Merlin's, I don't care how strong you are!" Harak only blinked down at angry mage, confused and amused. And that's how Harak was kept on the team! Annoyed Merlin is nice though, tosses tasty fish to Harak.. (And Harak behaves nicely, a good boy to get yummy food. Annoyed Merlin's dreams taste nasty though, reeealllly bitter and rotten, and like octopus ink! And stink of smoke! Nasty dreams!)

"Tonight Pirin was counting on this team, To show that we care,

But the first time he really needed us, we weren't there." - The shark Hypogean looks up at the blue-dressed girl with white short hair. Tilting his head, still puzzled what this song is about and what it's got to do with the Annoyed Merlin. By now the two Graveborn nobles have left.

"It is just not fair." -Dulingr at last joins the song, adding to the music- Dionel takes the turn to sing next. Comes up with a very absurd chorus, the other more singing-inclined guests both sober and drunk join in too. Valen and Ludovic quietly get up from their seats after exchanging a look, silently agreeing to go see the missing guest. Not before catching Rhys crow "I wonder if that guy ever wiped his ass with the wrong hand", throwing Hodgkin a grin. Some cringe--Valen included, the young earl wincing internally both at the vulgar language and question itself. Others laugh. The ''Strongest captain in the world ever'' glares at the red-head Mauler with a scandalized and seething snarl, eyebrows set into a very deep frown. What stupid question is this?!?

"OI! Watch it Furball! I'll turn you into a damn coat!" (yes) Harak laughs as well, his croaking raspy laugh echoing all around the lounge. ...And then his eye catch on the two figures sauntering to the exit, fish dangling out of his mouth that he just stuffed in. Where is Cold Merlin's mate going?

Getting up, snatching handful of tasty meat from the plate (which was Lorsan's because he had already scarfed his own food. Also Bunny man hasn't touched the food. So Harak took it, bunnies don't eat tasty meat anyway.), the spiny shark Hypogean slinks after the two. His tail grabs a nearby jar with a heart (Niru's collection, the doctor's attention away) along the way. ----------———-—=== - -- --——--- - -- - ===—-———------------

.

.

. No hair or hide of the fake, faction chameleon. Where could he have possibly gone? Not in town at any rate, nor Ryeham. Looking around with a scowl tainting his boyishly dazzling face, Valen exhales a dejected sigh. At this point, the Mystical House is a permanent no-go when searching for the ghost. And why wouldn't it be?

I wouldn't go there or be near Merlin unless necessary. Even then I wouldn't stick around, or anything related to the Magister. It's really a shame she spiraled so terribly, got lost in 'madness'. Does Hogan know? The general will be...devastated, if he were to learn Merlin no longer cares about anything, anyone, other than himself. Him included. The grass crunches softly under their feet, the silence interrupted by the sounds of that Hyposhark gnawing on ribs.

Is this why the Magister summoned Pirin and placed the journey onto his shoulders to bear? Because he's from the Eclipse, a lineage of clear-cut rationality and clarity of mind? The Pallid covenants were known as the most mildly tempered and diplomatic of the bloodlines.

Arbiters and ambassadors, as well as mediators and overseers. Of all colonies, it's them that can swiftly pierce through the haze of deceit, illusion and temptation--Find the raw truth, and reflect it. Unbiased. With these attributes and his longevity, perhaps the night nymph is rather difficult to fall prey for ''The Kings' madness''....

—"Harak?" Clear blue eyes inquisitively settle onto his form. "Can you find Pirin, lead us to him? We've been walking for two hours now and no sight of him yet." It's a gamble, but-

—"Mate worried for Angry Merlin.?" What...? I mean, not that he's wrong, just... Oh nevermind. Good gods, this shark-thing stinks like dead fish and oil!

—"Yes. ...Brown-haired Merlin was very mean to ''Angry Merlin'' last time, hurt him very badly. Still is being mean to him. So ''Angry Merlin'' chooses to stay far away from the brown-haired mage." Chewing on the chicken bones to scrape off the flesh, confusion and displeasure colors the shark's face. A low, unhappy growl rumbling from the Hypogean's chest, eyes narrowing. Letting go of the bone with a 'click' of sharp, pointy teeth.

—"Why very mean?" —"Because jealous Pirin has many people who care and proudly declare his name while he doesn't." A huff. The team ''guard shark-dog'' seeing it as stupid. Which it is. "I can't see him at all, or hear him.. Help us find him. Please?" Another rumbling noise ripples in the shark's throat, not exactly a growl, more of a hum. As if that wee little brain is working to process and piece together things, crunching pensively on the bones caught in his maw.

Sniffing the air, the Hypogean abruptly darts ahead. —"Come! Found Angry Merlin!" Valen needed not be told twice, darting after the hulking form with the young master close behind. This thing's fast! Really fast and nimble! Eventually their path leads to the ruins far past the Altar, past the hut on the riverbank, through the Dark Forest's canopy and....to the foot of the Vaduso Mountains far away from the Wilders villages and settlements.

No civilization. Only this cold, snowy lone and silent mountain. Looking up and sniffing the air, Harak shivers as the cold bites into his hardened skin, head up. And clicks his teeth, making a small noise of mild discomfort, breath coming in a misty puff. But still refuses to back away or leave and flee, lifting a hand--Points to the clouds with a clawed finger.

—"There. Your mate up there....Cold." Squinting up at the fog of clouds swirled around the summit, the knight tries to find his love. Nothing, even with following the direction the fiend is pointing in. The Graveborn noble gazes up at the clouds, frigid winds tussling his hair as well as the knight's. ''Sometimes... people tire me vastly, mostly Merlin and his hamsters. I prefer to hide away, calm down in peace'.'

—"I can't see him... Can you?" —"No. Only smell. Mate is circling." No chance he hasn't heard us. A night nymph's hearing is scarily keen, puts Bryon's to shame. So sharp, that they can hear your every heartbeat, every breath, the flow of blood in your veins, the vibrations of your voice.

Stepping back, Valen draws in a deep breath. Holds it for a second, then lets it out in a long-drawn out, sharp and shrill whistle. The echo answering back as though taunting. Nothing. Another whistle, interspersing it with shorter, lower ones. A 'song'.

''Night nymphs rely heavily on voice and hearing, thus singing and voice becoming prominent in their forming culture. When courting, the suitor 'sings', flexing a wide variety of vocals and tones--Whistles, thrills, chirps, sonar calls and tweets along with clicks. Varying in pitch, tone, frequency and duration. May sometimes include human vocal mimicry, covering both the male and female ranges.' (Although that is most common in Nephylims than vampires.) Through song, one's voice, a bonding or already bonded pair can also locate each other. Each song is unique to each pair.''

One last whistle, low-pitched and drawn out, ending with a mid-drawn out, soft click and a short thrill at the end. Very much akin to a songbird's melody. A name in that sonorous language, foreign to man. And now if you don't at least answer, I'll look like a lunatic. Or like a foo--A shrill, mildly agitated whistling cry calls back with a thrill paired with short clicks of 'clack-clack-clack', or 'k-k-k-k'.

A figure pierces through the haze, swifter than an arrow fired. A long-tailed bat, wings folded at the sides, fur pristinely pale as the snow itself. With a quiet 'thump', the long tailed creature lands before the three of them, the long fur around his neck swayed by the blizzard winds.

For first time, Valen finds his breath entirely stolen away. Majestic. No other word can describe the being standing before his eyes. In this form, Pirin barely reaches to his chest-line, yet still no less mighty. And gorgeous, the regal look to him still not gone.

Suddenly the biting chill doesn't matter, a patch of white lilies blooming under his feet. Carefully approaching, the Solitaire feels his lips upturn into an enamored, awed smile, falling on one knee. Hands lifting, cupping the bat's face.

—"Just as ethereal as in human form.. Here I was, thinking you couldn't get any more regal and majestic. A dragon, in your own way." One of his hands moves over the fur tufts on the critter's cheekbones, gliding over one long ear and lightly scratching behind it; moves down to smooth down the thick, silky collar at the neck. A little coarse and tangled, but soft as cotton candy and finest silk regardless. A low, quiet purr reverberating from the spirit's throat--relaxing, content. Leaning into his touch, eyes closing tiredly.

"...Why did you run so far away, dove?" A huff, a click and a very short low-pitched thrill.

—" 'Needed to return home.' " -The brunet stiffens for a short moment, startled by Ludovic's soft voice. Almost forgot the Earl is still here. Glancing up at the boy, a look of mild surprise sets on Valen's visage, still running a gentle palm through Pirin's fur absently.

—"You can decipher what he's saying?" —"Yes, albeit not quite as precise as Magister Merlin. I fear that my knowledge regarding the Night nymphs' language is.. slightly subpar. I used to have a tome describing their customs and behavior in-depth, however it unfortunately got lost."

—"Far better than mine at any rate. I only know that voice is very important to them, along with weaving and blood. Just made-up the 'song' when calling him."

—"I could attempt to find my tome and lend it to you, if you wish Sir Valen?" The ghost of a happy smile plays on the aristocrat's ashen features. Observing the two of them, peering at Pirin with subdued wonder and humble curiosity. The swordsman's purple eyes light up.

—"Really? Thank you, my lord! ...I mean, if it wouldn't be troublesome. It would mean a lot to me, being able to better understand Pirin." —"It shall be of no trouble to me, rest assured. I shall bring the book to you, once I find it. Furthermore....You may keep the tome. I no longer have use for it. It appears that it shall find better use in your possession rather than gather dust." —"..My lord-" But it seems Earl Ludovic has already made up his mind. "We should return to Golden Wheatshire, probably. Harak already left to go back to the Dream Isles." A jar with a heart inside sits on the ground where the Hypogean once stood. Picking up the bat and letting him perch onto his shoulders, curl around his neck like a scarf, the solder rises up to his feet. And the two make their way back to the closest waystone, to teleport back home. Valen's cheery voice fills the quiet along the way, telling stories of past adventures, the young Earl listening intently. Already, many ideas, scenes take shape into his mind's eye-- Of swaying wheat fields and a heroic trio fighting off elementals, a night nymph leaping into the flames to save a family from debris and suffocation; Of a hare Wilder and his friends, their dense rainforest... Of ruins and a battle against a raging, looming golem.

Much to paint, and all the time to perfectly replicate the experiences.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 143

He has no idea where he is, nor where he was, nor where he was headed. He has no idea who he is, who he was, or what he's done. He doesn't know of friends, of family, of enemies. All he knows is that he has a horse, and he has two swords, and when he looks in the reflection, he doesn't look human. He wonders at first if he was perhaps cursed. And then one day he makes fire come out of his hands on accident. Perhaps not a curse, then. He tries to recall creatures with the power to harness flame. Maybe he was a hybrid. A tryst between some fire-flinging beast and some either very brave or very stupid human. Days later, his cloak's hood up and covering his face, he stumbles into a town. Maybe he can at least learn where the hell he is. A person standing outside a building catches his eye. He doesn't quite know why. There were plenty of other people... But something about this man just... Was different. He approaches the person, and sees that the man, dressed colorfully, is currently pinning up a paper. "DEAR FRIEND PRESUMED MISSING Jaskier The Bard housed in the Triple Eye Inn will pay handsomely for any and all news on the health and whereabouts of The White Wolf" "...You lost your dog?" He asks the colorful man. "Hm? N- No. He's a Witcher." "What's a witcher?" "...My good sir, you know not of witchers? I can remedy that if you catch the performance I'm doing after I put up the rest of these. I've only a couple left." "I don't understand." "...Witchers are monsterhunters. Heroes. Though of course, not everyone sees it the same way." "...And that's why he's missing?" "I... I doubt he's truly missing... I suspect he's sooner got himself in a small pickle and got held back a few towns and is just.. A tad late to meeting up with me, is all. You don't remember seeing him in your travels, by chance?" "I don't remember anything." The colorful man gawks for a moment. Hm. Perhaps that wasn't the best way to answer. "You don't.. Pardon?" "I don't remember anything. I woke up in the middle of the woods with a horse and two swords and that's all I've got." "A horse and two sw- Geralt?" "Who?" And the colorful man RIPS his cloak off. He blinks in surprise. The colorful man blinks back. "Geralt.." "...I'm... Geralt?" "Yes! Yes, you're Geralt, you fool! Help me take down these papers, and then WE are seeing Yennefer about this memory issue of yours." "Who's Yennefer?" "Why couldn't you have just been late?"

[mediumgayitalian]

prev chapter

———

A shrieking ring pierces the air, and Nico damn near ascends, he jumps so goddamn high.

"What the fuck," Will hisses, panting. 

The ring sounds again, louder, this time, and through his disheveled, half-conscious flinching, Nico recognizes it as the vibrating plastic phone right next to his eardrums.

"What kind of fucking hotel," Will mutters, rolling back over and pulling a pillow over his head. "Leave it!"

Nico stares. Something twinges in the dead center of his chest. Slowly, all on its own, his hand reaches out and wraps around the handle, pulling the receiver to his ear. He doesn't bother with hello.

Will's pillow lowers.

“You know,” drawls the voice on the phone, “runaways pack their things.” A pause, a yawn. “Fugitives do not.”

Nico swallows and says nothing. The pause stretches, until it becomes a silence, until it becomes a line, drawn from him to the Keys, woven threads pulling just before they snap.

“Imagine my surprise when I ring the cellular phone your mother so graciously bought you —”

The words shove their way out of his roughened throat on reflex.

“My mother is dead.”

Will, kneeling on the rumpled sheets, startles, eyes wide — his Italian may be bad, but he has read enough medical textbooks and paid enough attention in Spanish to recognize Mamma and morta.

Hades continues unbothered.

“— and the buzzing leads me right to your bedroom. Which is a mess, I should remind you. I expect it clean by Friday or I’ll hire someone to clean it and do not care what they keep.”

Friday. Nico doesn’t even know what day it is, frankly. Wednesday? Maybe? They left on a Monday, he thinks. He sees Will mouth out ven-er-di, nose scrunched up as he tries to place the world. The ghost of a smile flashes on Nico’s face, despite his straight back, despite his clammy hands; Will could live in Venice for twenty years and still not get it. Italian eludes him. It’s the Texan, Nico is pretty sure. His mouth cannot for the life of him retain the sounds.

There’s a flinty sound from the other end of the phone, a crinkle, and then a long, smooth breath. Nico’s nose twitches and he coughs slightly, glancing down at the holes in the receiver’s plastic, half-expecting smoke to pour through.

“I’ll be too busy Saturday morning, but meet me in my study after noon when you return. I need to give you the papers for your new card, some stronzello stole yours and is buying things up in Georgia.”

Nico goes very, very, still. His breath goes stale and hard in his lungs, and his blood turns to concrete.

“Father,” he says, very carefully.

“I cancelled your old one but you really must be more careful, Nicolò. I was not so brazen and thoughtless at your age; I am successful now. Consider.”

The line clicks, and the stretched out whine of its deadness echoes in the twilit hotel room. Nico hears it run in parallel to the rushing of his ears, to the uptick in Will's breathing.

"Nico?" he whispers, quiet, urgent. "Nico, what's going on?"

Quickly Nico glances at the dusty alarm clock, balanced dangerously on the bedside table between them. 5:12 blinks, blinks, blinks; 5:13. He glances out at the window. 

Four hours. Sweat dries along his temples, next to the bruises under his eyes. 

"Will," he says, or hears himself say. He feels the shape of the word, for maybe the first time, really feels the weight of the w and the drag of the vowel. He breathes, quick and shallow. 

When he looks over, he finds Will already staring, blue eyes light with the brightening sky and wider than the heavens.

"We gotta go," he murmurs. He breathes in again, inhale, inhale, shaking himself at the final click of the echoing phone, the deafening silence. He pushes off from the stiff hotel mattress and stumbles to his discarded sneakers, half-hearing Will's whispered, jumbled questions. 

"My father," Nico answers, finally, mouth dry. "He -- my credit card. Our funds."

Will gets it, he thinks, before he finishes, before he says it. He inhales sharply, quick and silent, and stands without a word, sliding his flip-flops on and grabbing the keys. 

"Hey," he says. Nico jumps at the sudden heat of his wide hand, curled around his clammy one. He glances up and freezes at the warmth of his smile, the gentle scrunch of his nose. Will squeezes their hands. "Let's move fast. There's -- it's a chain hotel, there'll be a fire exit we can duck outta somewhere. We'll take the stairs."

He stares at the door, waiting and breathing, willing the air to come all the way in and go all the way out, feeling the jerk of their hands every time Will grabs something, loading bags and maps and a sleeve of Ritz crackers on his long arms. One more jerk and this time Will is pulling, dragging him gently through the barely-open door and inching it closed behind them.

"C'mon."

Will has never been coordinated. Not in the myriad of sports tryouts he dragged them both to every season, not dashing across the giant dead 2 a.m. roads across the ice cream parlor, cackling, not dragging himself upright, face burning, across the commencement stage to hollers and jeering, not damn near falling two stories down a flower lattice. But he is quick down the carpeted, liminal hallways, lightfooted across doorways and hand gentle small of Nico's back, nudging him through heavy emergency doors. 

He trips down the stairs though, once. Over his damned flip-flop.

"Shut the fuck up," Will hisses, face flaming hot enough Nico could count each freckle clear as stars in the night sky. "Shut up, do you want to get us caught --"

He doesn't, but he can't stop, crouched over cracking concrete and gasping into his hands until tears drip down his face, until the pass of air through his mouth is completely soundless.

"Nico, dude, the breakdown has to wait to the car, okay, you gotta pull it together. Choke it back. Get up. Oh my God."

"Every time," he wheezes.

"I am going to leave you behind --"

But he doesn't, because he wouldn't, and eventually Nico gets ahold of himself or at least mostly and manages to limit himself to a giggle and half the next time Will trips. It's over the doorway, anyway, so Will can roll his eyes and shove Nico through, herding him into the night and running until he's giggling, too, until the barely-rising sun and frigid morning air gets to them both and they're bent over in the stupid fucking empty parking lot, and it's not funny, it's not, and if they're caught they're so fucked, because Nico didn't check the card reader all that closely but he knows that hotel chains starting with H, despite the dankness of this specific location, are not particularly cheap, and neither of them are technically independently wealthy nor incredibly adept at weaseling their way out of trouble. 

"Okay, fuck, oh my God, just -- get in." Will stands first, still holding his stomach, tossing their shit into the (still open, oops) back and swiping a hand down his face to force away the smile. "Okay, Jesus, fuck." He untwists their fingers and reaches for the passenger door, holding it open, and it takes Nico a half-second too long to realise he is waiting. 

"My car my drive," he blurts, stumbling backwards. 

"Wha --" Will starts but Nico darts forward and snatches the keys and crawls straight over the gearshift, settling against the seat, missing the ignition three times before sliding it in.

Will straightens to his full height. He cross his arms across his chest, and when Nico makes himself look over he is scowling. 

"No."

"My car," Nico repeats. "I'm driving."

"In a few hours, sure."

"Will," he says, exasperated. A light catches their attention -- a window labelled 'OFFICE' brightens, a shadow passing along it. "Fuck. Get in the car."

Will hesitates. Then sliding front doors open and a uniformed figure steps out, and Will jumps forward, slamming the door shut; "Oh, fuck, go go go --" and Nico stands on the gas, yanking the gear shift as hard as it will be yanked and tearing out of the parking lot, engine revving above shouts for them to stop.

Nico holds his breath along the roaring highway, waiting for Will to fall asleep.

He doesn't.

The needle slowly dips past quarter tank, then damn near drops to zero the second it passes an eighth tank, because the fuel gauge is a piece of shit no matter how many times Nico has replaced it in the last two years. He waits for the prim direction next to him, telling him which exit to take, but nothing comes. He hits the turn signal and coasts down the first one he sees, watching Will out of the corner of his eye. He looks resolutely ahead, straight through the windshield, eyes sharp and mouth pulled into a thin line. 

He pulls his credit card out on reflex, climbing out of his car. He doesn't realise until he's already at the counter with the card reader in his hands, cashier tapping her long nails on the edge of the register with increasing irritation. 

"Oh, fuck," he mumbles, "I can't --"

The bell rings at the door. Nico and the cashier both turn around to face it, and Will walks up to the register, handing over a few bills. 

"60 on register seven," he says lightly. "And, uh --" he reaches over, grabbing two spotty bananas and a couple of hot rods. "These too, please."

The cashier rings him up quickly, yawning, nodding out the window when the payment goes through. Will leaves without another word, walking over to the Jeep and climbing into the passanger seat, arms cross, eyes trained to the side.

"Yeesh," comments the girl. "You're in trouble."

Nico scowls. "Am fucking not."

He stomps out the store, knowing he is.

He takes his time pumping the gas, which he has done maybe never, really shaking the pump and ensuring every drop of the expensive bullshit drizzles into his stupid tank, pressing the cancel button a couple times when he's done, even though he's already paid. He really twists the gas lid back on. It would suck if it popped open on the highway or something. 

"If you don't get your ass in this car in the next five seconds, I'm gonna whoop your ass."

Nico exhales heavily, swinging into the driver's seat and turning the key. It is not in the ignition. Consequently, Will is facing him, keyring tight on his finger, pinky tapping on his bicep. He feels, a little bit, like he is in the principal's office. His stomach flips, something hot churning in his guts. He shifts in his seat. 

"You couldn't beat me up if you tried," he retorts.

Will does not dignify that with an answer, because it is true. His fingernail reflects the sun a little bit, tap, tap, tap.

"Nico," he says, or warns. 

Nico scowls. "Don't talk to me like you're my mom."

"I'm not -- trying to!" He throws his hands up and damn near tosses the keys with it, finally, finally cracking, face heating, shoulders snapping. "I'm just -- I'm frustrated, Neeks! And I'm nervous! We just -- we committed fraud, technically, okay, and I've never done that before, and also I don't think I'd do very well in jail. I'm kind of picky and I think I would die in a shiv fight. I would just -- God, I'd get stabbed, wouldn't I. First day in. Rest in fucking peace."

"That's what you're stressing about," Nico says, fighting back his smirk and failing. "You're -- stressing about shivs."

"I don't know how to make a shiv, di Angelo! I tried to follow the YouTube tutorial and failed!"

"You're not serious, Solace!"

Will's shoulders droop. "I am, a little bit. I don't know. I'm all over the place." He screws up his mouth, glancing over. "And I've had a full night's sleep."

Nico winces. "Look."

Will waits.

Nico says nothing.

"Look?" Will hedges, leaning against the window. He reaches behind the seat and grabs a banana, flipping it upside down and peeling it from the bottom.

Huh. He, uh. He really would get shived immediately, wouldn't he.

"Look what?"

Nico sighs.

"I don't need all that much sleep, Will."

"False. You do not have Short Sleeper Syndrome, you were late every single day for homeroom for four straight years."

Nico opens his mouth. Will raises an eyebrow. He closes it.

"Touche," he manages, finally. Will nods haughtily and takes a bite of his banana, carefully avoiding the bruised bits. "I just -- you don't even like driving, Will. I do."

"You were freaking," Will points out. "I would say anxiety attack but you're gonna get all scowly and defensive if I do, so I won't. You were just coincidentally hyperventilating and sweating and shaking et cetera."

"Only nerds say et cetera."

"Oh, look, there's the defensive mocking. Right on schedule."

"No, I'm just -- I'm just." Nico drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "I don't like you driving my car."

"I am not that bad, Nico."

He can hear the hurt in Will's voice and winces, rushing to double back.

"I don't mean it like that. I just mean that I." He takes a deep, rattling breath. "If something happens, I want it to be my fault."

"..Oh."

For a hot minute there is nothing. There is the wind rustling through the open windows, and the sound of their breathing. There is the rush of the highway a mile away. There is the click and quiet calamity of the gas station. There is the sound of someone trying to very quietly chew a banana.

Nico looks over, unbelieving. Will very slowly peels the second banana.

"Are you serious."

"I'm -- hungry!"

"Can you not for two sec -- is that my fucking banana."

"Um, none of this breakfast is yours, on account of the fact that I bought it."

"You? Fucking hound?? Give me a fucking banana??"

"No! Get your own!"

"Give me the fucking --"

He lunges, and Will shrieks, and he is longer and taller but he has the combat instincts of a pretzel stick and just kind of flops his free hand in Nico's direction, which is easily dodged, and when Will keeps squirming Nico scowls, pinning him against the window so his elbows are pressed against his chest by both of Nico's hands and his mouth is free to lunge forward and snap up the fruit. Nico chomps down, snapping half of it up and chewing victoriously.

"Ha," he brags, garbled. "You would die in prison, you selfish dope."

He tears off the rest of the banana and looks over, smirking, and as he chews he feels the rapid rise and fall of Will's chest, and the jackrabbit pace of his heart, and his very, very wide blue, blue, blue eyes.

Nico throws himself back at the speed of light and sound.

"So!" he shouts, voice cracking. "So, there, and give me the second hot rod too. Fucker."

Wills hands it over without looking. Nico tears it open, freezing right before he bites it and ripping a piece off instead, eating that. Will's hotrod remains in his lap. 

Or -- the fucking. The meat stick. 

The processed pole of plastic-wrapped pork. 

Jesus.

The thin snacking sausage. 

The. The fucking. The elongated beef jerky. 

Nico throws the rest of his snack out the window. Will follows suit, aiming for the trash can, missing, opening the door, walking over to the fallen -- snack, picking it up, walking to the trash can, throwing it out, and standing there facing the wall of the convenience store for several minutes. 

When he finally returns, sliding into the passenger, they both stare straight ahead, arms to their sides.

"Alright," Nico says, clearing his throat. He shifts. "We gotta -- plan."

"Right."

Neither of them moves.

"You know you can't, like...stay here," calls a voice, head popping out of the convenience store doors. "It's a gas station. You're meant to leave."

"Sorry," Will frets, ears burning again. "We're, um, we're just finishing up."

The cashier raises her eyebrows. Nico turns his eyes up to the heavens and prays for death.

"Okay, she's gone, look at me."

Nico turns his head to the side and Will is red again, around the ears and splashed over his cheekbones, and Nico's own cheeks are still pretty hot but he smiles, anyway, he can't help it; there is the little furrow of determination in Will's brow and his eyes narrow every so carefully and Nico is reminded of every midterm, every exam season, every forced library study session and pinching fingers every time he complained. Some of the weird, thick air between them drains away. 

"This is the plan, okay? We got -- 300 or so miles on this tank. I know where we are. And I, uh, I know a place." Will swallows and keeps his eyes trained on the gear shift, ignoring Nico's tilted head. "So what you're gonna do is switch with me. And I know --" he holds up a hand to Nico's protests -- "I get it. I think." He looks up, finally, meeting Nico's eyes. The determination in his face softens into something much sweeter, something gentle and prodding all the same. "I know it sucks," he says softly. "To -- think of her." He reaches over and brushes his fingers, barely, over Nico's tight knuckles. "To blame yourself, believe me."

His hands don't linger for long. The heat of them does, thought, and Nico loosens his hands, exhaling, feeling it. 

"Just a few hours," he says, finally. "Okay? And -- I can't promise I'll sleep."

"That's cool." Will smiles. "For what it's worth, I'll be careful. Okay? I'll drive slow and in the right lane and everything."

"I know, you grandma." Nico opens the door, heading around to the passenger seat. "I trust you."

———

next chapter

[gracefulsouffle]

...Belos?

What's that? Not an entire month between chapters? Huh, weird.

New Chapter Excerpt below the cut! (Please give me lots of love and comments please. My life is making me sad and I needed it)

Excerpt:

Wake up before the sun rises, shake off the nightmares, then train. 

He’s free. 

Train until his body gives out or Flapjack starts yelling at him. Rest and recover, clean himself up and prepare a serving of rations for breakfast. They’re bland and tasteless.

This is freedom. 

Perform the needed chores- clean the dishes, take inventory of the remaining supplies, and wash his clothes if required.

He has to do this… No. He chooses to do this. Because he has the freedom to choose.

And he chooses the exact same thing. Every morning, rinse and repeat. Again and again.

His choice. 

After he's finished his morning routine he researches.

And researches.

And researches.

He’s… 

So tired.

This morning's nightmare was a different flavour of horrible. Instead of Belos, instead of chains, he dreamt of death and boiling seawater.

He dreamt of the mer-person's final moments, but the complete opposite of how it happened in reality.

In Hunter's nightmare, it's his own gloved hands gripping tight onto their throat. He's submerged in the tank with the mer-person, boiling, boiling, boiling, as he squeezes tighter and tighter staring into their eyes.

Except their eyes aren't yellow-teal with a horizontal pupil like a mer-person's should be.

They're magenta. Magenta like-

"End me like my others"

He squeezes and boils and stares into too-familiar eyes before waking up hot and shivering, soaked in a fevered sweat knowing in his heart that it's going to be one of those weeks.

[ikilledyvette]

Definitely not distracting myself from Election Day anxiety! Despite the first sentence of this fic, this is a standalone for now. I've got a whole multi-chap story in my head, but IDK when or if I'm gonna get to it. If you'd like to be tagged on the off-chance I do write more, just let me know!

Eddie is the first one to get stuck in a time loop and predictably takes the longest to accept that, no, he doesn’t have a brain tumor, and no, he isn’t going crazy, and yes, this is really happening to him. Once Eddie finally acknowledges this, he becomes convinced that fixing things with Christopher will break the cycle. It doesn’t. 

Eddie, well. He maybe has a very small emotional breakdown then because he’s long since lost track of how long he’s been trapped here, and finally, finally he managed to get his son back; finally, he was actually happy, and then—

It’s Tuesday again, and Chris is gone, and Eddie is all alone.

So yeah, maybe Eddie has a very minor breakdown where he just sorta ... lies down on the station floor and listlessly tells everyone there’s no point in getting up, no point in doing anything; he’s just going to stay here until it isn’t Tuesday anymore, which won’t actually happen because it’s always Tuesday; it’ll never stop being Tuesday, and is it possible he died, and this is literal Hell? This really feels like it might be literal Hell. At which point, Chimney and Hen lift him up on a gurney and drive him to the hospital, and Eddie is admitted overnight and then wakes up the next day in his own bed, alone again. It’s Tuesday.

Well. No point wasting more time feeling sorry for himself. That’s not how Eddie was raised, so he gets back to work on breaking the loop, this time (reluctantly) telling people in order to get their advice. He tells Buck first (because he always goes to Buck first), and Buck believes him because, well. He’s Buck. (Maybe YOU’RE in a coma dream this time, Buck inevitably says each and every time they have this conversation.) Eddie also goes to Chimney (because he must have some idea right, all those movies), and Chimney pretends not to believe Eddie but obviously does; at least, he does once Eddie predicts the next six things that happen. (Thus begins the 118 Time Loop Movie Nights. Eddie’s pretty sure he’s now seen every single time loop movie and television episode that was ever made. His favorite is Edge of Tomorrow.) And Eddie inevitably goes to Bobby, too (because Cap always gives good advice, even if Eddie can’t always follow it), and Bobby clearly doesn’t quite believe him, but humors Eddie anyway. (Also, if Eddie asks early enough, he can get Bobby to change the menu. Eddie is so sick of pancakes. Eddie will never eat a pancake again.)

He never bothers trying to convince Tommy or Hen about the time loop because Tommy only goes along with weird shit when Buck is involved (Eddie gave Tommy so much shit for dressing up for that mummy funeral), and it’s just too hard to imagine Hen “this time he only got stabbed” Wilson humoring anyone. Honestly, Eddie respects her for that.

He goes back to church. (It doesn’t help.) He screams at his parents. (It doesn’t help—not with the time loop, anyway, but on a spiritual level, it’s pretty great.) He shaves off his mustache, not because he thinks it’ll work, but because Buck, Chimney, and Bobby each independently suggest that it might. (It doesn’t, and Eddie scowls for the remainder of the day because everyone at the station keeps coming up to him and saying things like, “Finally came to your senses, huh, Diaz?” or “oh, thank God,” or “YES! Pay up, bitches, I WON!”)

Eddie stumbles into the actual solution entirely by accident. Three days after the Mustache Solution fails—and maybe, maybe in the middle of a second emotional breakdown—Eddie, refusing to get up out of bed, calls 911, and says, “Well, turns out I’m still stuck in this time loop. Any advice?”

Maddie takes the call, and while she clearly thinks Eddie is either having some kind of psychological meltdown (possibly true) or has a terrible head injury (not true, unfortunately), she’s also ... nice, offering good-natured commiseration about the time loop in between more professional questions like “are you bleeding” or “is there anyone else around, Eddie?” She sounds worried but also calm, like this isn’t even in her Top 10 Weirdest 911 Calls, and for some reason, he finds that oddly soothing.

Eddie ends up in the hospital again, but the next day when everything resets, he asks Maddie to lunch, saying yeah, it’s kind of out of the blue, but isn’t it weird how little time they’ve actually spent together over the past seven years? Maddie agrees, and lunch goes great. They have a surprising amount in common: Buck, obviously, but also complicated relationships with their parents, and struggles with depression, and a history of leaving newborn children behind and lying to themselves that it’s for the best. So. Not all positive stuff, exactly, but it’s kinda good to have someone else to talk to about it. And they chat about lighter stuff, too. Maddie says she’ll try one of his telenovelas if he tries one of her k-dramas. He formally accepts with a handshake, and she laughs and says, “Deal.”

Eddie goes to bed that Tuesday, thinking I needed this break, and hopes to hang out with Maddie again someday if he ever returns to his own timeline. And then he wakes up, and it’s—Wednesday? And Eddie doesn’t know what the hell to do with that. 

He’s not ... could he ... could he be secretly in love with Maddie? 

Eddie barely gets through the thought before making a face and immediately shaking his head. No, Maddie’s pretty, and she's nice, and he can see why both Buck and Chimney adore her—but he doesn’t love her, and she definitely doesn’t love him, and getting tacos together doesn’t exactly feel like the kind of Important Life Lesson that all of Chimney’s movies taught him to expect. Eddie considers having a third mini breakdown about it, but it’s Wednesday now, so unfortunately, there will be actual consequences for that.

Instead, Eddie goes back to work and just ... continues on with his life. He doesn’t tell anyone about the time loop, obviously, because no one but Buck would believe him, and even if they did believe him, they’d just tease Eddie that his Important Life Lesson was to make a friend. (Eddie has friends! Ones outside the 118, even! He has Tommy! And ... and other people! Okay, Eddie used to have a lot more friends, but lately, he’s just ... he’s been so busy with work. He’s picking up all the overtime he can because otherwise he’s home alone in an empty house, looking at old pictures and collapsing in his son’s bed and crying where no one can see him—but it’s fine. He’s fine.)

Okay, maybe he hasn’t been fine. But other than Eddie’s new aversion to pancakes and a neurotic need to check the date roughly twenty times a day, he’s actually doing pretty great now. For one thing, he and Maddie keep getting lunches and swapping TV shows. (Chimney and Buck squint at them, suspicious of this newfound alliance.) And most importantly, Eddie hasn’t forgotten what he learned about finally reconnecting with his son. (The short version: honest communication and lots and lots of therapy.) Three weeks after the time loop ends, Christopher finally comes home on two conditions: Eddie keeps going to therapy and also finally shaves the mustache.

Eddie does both.

[cochineal-leviat]

"Taranza blossoms into his role as one of the castle gardeners. But, he is still uneasy around Kirby and the rest of King Dedede's family - preferring to stay away from the persistent goddess killer. Unfortunately for him, his employer has an ace up his fluffy sleeve."

Heyo! Sorry, it took so long for this chapter to come out. It got so long, and when I finally finished the draft, I got to 14k, which is a lot to edit through. (and well, life getting in the way, you know, the usual) This chapter kicked my ass, and for it have this doodle I made. Please enjoy, cuz I'm going to bed. Have some sad man spider.

[nuatthebeach]

prompt: "i have a special bond with you"

AO3 link above from my au in-every-universe fic "come walk for miles"

At the heart-jittering sound of her iron catching on the infamous (eye-roll) Spider-Man suit, Ginny yanks the cloth away from the board and breathes a sigh of relief when nothing comes up too damaged. "Fuck," she mutters under her breath. Leave it to her to almost fail at the one job she was assigned.

Though she finds it hard to believe that the masked man himself would be concerned about an iron burn when he's out bloodying up the place. The image of Dr. Curt Connors pausing in his terrorization to lecture Spider-Man about safe wrinkle removal triggers a snort from Ginny, and she almost burns the damn thing again.

Two light footsteps whisper against her porch floor, almost inscrutable. It's a good thing Ginny knows them by heart now.

"Do you have it?"

Ginny rolls her eyes, not bothering to turn around. "Morning to you too."

She hears a rustle from behind her and imagines he's shrugging. "Are your parents home?"

"Why? Are you worried that I finally decided to blow your cover?" Her brows furrow in concentration. If she can just get this sleeve to be stable, for once, maybe she can properly attach the tube–

"That would imply you knew it to begin with," he points out.

click here to keep reading.