#I refuse to believe that his jacket is simply floating behind him with nothing holding it back PLEASE

[ikusam-art]

4 day left !!

[writings-of-an-introvert]

Quick fic I wrote about that resurrection theory for RE8. I hope we get to see at least Lady Dimitrescu again considering just how much hype she got.

AO3 is linked as well.

It is strange, experiencing a beginning, or rather a new one. To return from oblivion is not a feeling many people get to experience, yet Alcina feels herself pulled from the void in to consciousness. It begins with sound, she notices; the sound of a heart beating, weakly at first, and then it begins to make an effort beating harder until it is like the drums of war in her mind; slow, steady, thunderous. Then, a breath, like a whisper through a window nearly silent; then soon it is labored and heavy, as though the one who was breathing was exhausted, taxed beyond their means.

Then came the sensation of feeling. With this dawning, she realized it was her heart and her breath thundering and rushing. She could feel her chest moving, rising and falling, heavy. She felt heavy all over. Her eyes refused to open though she willed them; for a moment she nearly believed she had opened them but simply faced a living void of madness, inky blackness still before her. She felt the muscles in her face work themselves; her brows knit together tightly holding tension in her forehead, the muscles over her cheekbones squeezed themselves together making her nose scrunch and her eyes clench tightly, her lips pursed and drew themselves into a thin line, her jaw clenched and unclenched. This tensing and untensing of muscles continued down her body, her fingertips twitching lightly. But her eyes remained shut. Her hands and feet felt cold, yet she could feel a weight over her body, a blanket perhaps. She is laying down on... something. It feels firm, it is not familiar.

Alcina laid there, hearing her heart, her breath; feeling her chest rise and fall. She still cannot will her eyes to open, not even when she feels a hand on her shoulder and a voice speak to her.

“Now, now, my Lady. You’ve still very little strength. Rest,” the voice said. Without much else, she is swept into a black dreamless sleep. The feeling of anything outside her body gone, she feels like she is floating, weightless, and suspended in air, or water; she could not tell.

Her mind began to wake next, where once thoughts of only the present and her immediate stimuli were processing, now were thoughts of the past. Memories unlocked themselves and spilled forth in front of her mind’s eye. She saw her daughters, laughing and smiling and running. She saw them awaken for the first time, the glassy looks in their eyes as they seemed to stare right through her. She heard Bela’s voice, /Mama?/ As she said it for the first time, elation filled her, she remembers that joy in that simple moment. Then she saw the ashes on the ground; in the library, the kitchen, the armory. Her gloved fingers sifting over them gently. They were gone. Something twisted and snapped in her chest. She saw /him/, scampering through her home, the evidence of his sins dusting his worn jacket. Then she saw him in the crypt. A sharp pain from her side wracks through her body. She sees herself above him, flying down at him. /She was going to kill herself and take him with her./ A scream tore itself, raging, from her chest.

Alcina tried to lash out, but something restrained her on the bed. Her strength still sapped away from her but the creaking of the bindings and the whining of their bolts told her it was perhaps coming back. She pulled harder, the scream now a pained howl. /How could life be worth anything without her daughters?/ She kept her eyes screwed shut, she wanted desperately to be swept back into oblivion, into the void of nothing. She didn’t want to be alive without them. She could feel large hot tears race down her cheeks; her howls turned into wails. She wanted to beg, she willed anything coherent to come from her mouth, but she could only muster the painful wailing, her pain beyond words. She felt the hand on her shoulder again but this time a sharp jab in her bicep followed it. A cold sensation ran its way down her arm and she felt heavy again. Her wails now choked sobs, she collapsed onto the pillow. The voice gently cooed to her.

“Hush now, my Lady, save your strength, all will be well,” it said. It was familiar, grating. Her mouth was dry and her lips felt as though they had been cut and torn but she mustered everything to speak.

“M-my... daught-ters...” she rasped. Her throat felt like sandpaper, her lips and tongue sticking as she spoke.

“I know, my Lady, but you must rest,” it said, the hand still holding her shoulder as though she would try to sit up again. She choked and rasped a few more sobs as sleep overtook her once again, the sound of her heart and breath becoming all she could hear again. Images swirled in her mind, vague and hazy, they were memories. Some, her mind wouldn’t allow her to process, others she only recognized a feeling they brought to her. Then there was the smell. Familiar, delicious, tantalizing. She felt her chest rise quickly, letting her breathe in the scent deeply.

/Blood./

Alcina bolted upright, mouth wide open, hissing and snapping at the air, the nauseating hollow in her belly driving her mad. She felt that damned hand over her chest, holding her back. At this her eyes snapped open; the light of the world was simply too much too quickly. A white void met her vision, her eyes suddenly and sharply ached. She closed them immediately and shook her pounding head, letting out a growl of frustration.

“Ah, I feel I perhaps should have expected such a reaction. Welcome back Lady Dimitrescu.” Said the voice, now very familiar. She squinted one eye open, the white light faded to reveal a massive hazy shape. Her cracked lips curled further into a snarl.

“Tut, tut, my Lady. Come now, surely I’ve proven my loyalty.” said the voice of the Duke. Alcina’s vision cleared further to reveal the massive bulbous form of the Duke, who seemed to be navigating the room via a wheelchair. Alcina let the tension in her shoulders go as her vision continued to clear and adjust, she eyed the Duke wearily, face still twisted into a snarl.

“There,” he said, leaning over to grab a bowl from a small table beside him that Alcina couldn’t see. “Come, my dear, let’s have you eat.” He said cheerfully. Her face fell into a perturbed confusion as her arms pulled at the restraints around her wrists. The sound caught the Duke’s attention. “Ah, a safety precaution, I hope you understand. But soon they’ll not be a problem.” He said, continuing with that cheery tone. He brought the bowl before her. Alcina lurched forward, catching the restraints, her mouth opened wide again, reaching for the bowl now snatched away out of her reach, a hiss that sounded more like a growl streamed from her parched throat. “Now, my Lady, I understand your fervor, however, this behavior is quite unbecoming.” Said the Duke, sternly, though Alcina could see the smug expression on his face, he was enjoying this, “Please,” he continued, “Allow me."

Alcina straightened up, watching the Duke settle again in his chair and bring the bowl to her lips. He tilted the bowl gently allowing the blood to run over her lips. Her hands tried to dart up and take the bowl herself, but they caught on the restraints. Her arms shook as she tried to fight and pull against the bindings. She sucked hungrily at the rim of the bowl, loudly swallowing large mouthfuls of blood. The bowl was emptied within moments and Alcina gasped loud ragged breaths as the Duke set the bowl aside, he grabbed a cloth and dabbed at the sides of her mouth.

Alcina sat there, staring upwards through half-lidded eyes at the middle distance, feeling satisfied, still taking in deep ragged breaths. Finally, after what felt like hours, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“My daughters... were-” her voice was low and raspy, she tried not to pay attention to the way it wavered.

“You have just awoken, my dear. Please, lay back,” he said holding up a hand to silence her, she didn’t like being interrupted, but she did as she was instructed. She watched him dig for something in a pocket and pull out a small key. He leaned forward and unlocked the first of two cuffs holding her to the bed. He leaned back and moved to the other side of the bed to undo the other cuff. Once both her hands were free, she massaged her wrists where the leather chafed against her skin.

“If you are feeling up to it, my Lady, I can have a bath drawn,” he said. Despite the sustenance she had just received mere moments ago, her head swam at the very thought of standing. She could feel her knees tremble under the blanket.

“Not just yet, I think,” she said.

“Very well, continue your rest, I shall check on you again in the morning,” he said as he wheeled his way around the bed towards a door that stood ajar.

“Duke,” she called out, but he was faster than she anticipated and he disappeared through the door closing it behind him. Alcina sat back against the wall. Oh, what a sight she must be, no makeup, hair a mess, and wearing some plain threadbare nightgown. She felt her eyes stinging and her lip began to tremble. Her mind turned back to her daughters; only they had ever seen her without makeup, on days when she had not washed her hair, when she did not have the will to leave her bed. They’d come and curl up beside her, it was one of the rare occasions they didn’t bicker. She’d wrap them all up in her sheets and her blankets and hold them to her tightly, the next day she’d be up and have a full face of makeup on and her hair clean and curled before they awoke. Now, she was alone again. Alcina hugged her knees up to her chest and let her forehead rest against them letting her tears fall freely until she laid on her side and fell asleep once more.

Morning came far too quickly for Alcina’s liking. The Duke returned and had pulled the curtains away from the window, letting the grey light from an overcast sky flood the simple wooden room. Her eyes ached and she pulled the blanket over her head, burying her face in the pillow. He was humming some drole tune that grated against her ears. She rolled her eyes as she heard something shift beside her, figuring it was the Duke getting ready to pull back the blanket from her grasp, but he never did. Instead, he stopped, Alcina slowly drew the blanket back to look at him, he was staring at her with a gentle smile upon his features.

“What?” she snapped; her voice still hoarse from crying most of the previous night.

“I brought you a change of clothes, my Lady, something I think you’ll be far more comfortable in,” he said gesturing to a large bundle of clothes on the bedside table. She reached out and touched it. /Silk./ She tilted her head and picked up the garment, she recognized it immediately. She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, she pressed the white dress to her cheek. It was her favorite dress, comfortable yet elegant enough for her tastes. She turned to look at the Duke once more, opening her mouth to speak to him.

“I have drawn a bath just in the next room for you, my Lady, I think you’ll find the size accommodating,” he said over his shoulder in the doorway, “I encourage you to hurry, however, I have a request for your presence.”

Alcina stopped, who would want to speak with her? Surely, Ethan Winters succeeded in his mission, Mother Miranda must be dead. And to the rest of the world, so was Alcina Dimitrescu. Surely, there were no survivors in Ethan Winters’ wake. Perhaps she heard the Duke wrong, perhaps it was a jest. There was no one awaiting her return, surely. A cruel joke, to be sure, but perhaps she was meant to be the butt of every cruel joke, she had been so far.

She tentatively swung one leg after the other over the edge of the bed. Her feet met cold, polished wooden floors. She took a moment to ground herself, her legs still felt shaky but she pushed herself to stand, bracing against the wall. She grasped the dress and clean undergarments in one hand and leaned against the wall with the other as she made her way to the door to the bathroom. And to her surprise, as she ducked through the doorway, the Duke had been truthful. A giant claw foot ceramic tub sat in the cramped space, steam rising from it. Alcina breathed in the steam and could smell the soap and oils he used in the bath. She placed her dress and undergarments gently on the sink and slipped off the dreadful cotton nightgown she had been wearing.

The water felt divine as she sank in to her chin, she took a deep breath and dipped her head under the surface. She held her head under the water for as long as she could, listening to her heart as it beat in her chest. She came up out of the water with a small gasp, her eyes fluttering open. She found soap, shampoo, and conditioner and got to work scrubbing herself clean. She took her time lavishing in the hot water and scented oils, and when her fingers had begun to wrinkle, she pulled the plug from the bottom of the tub and let the water drain. She stood, dried herself, and wrapped her hair in the towel to let it soak the water from her hair. She walked back over to her clothes and carefully put them on. Once she was dressed, she found a small golden canister at the bottom of the sink, as though she had knocked it over and hadn’t noticed. She picked it up, it was a tube of lipstick, familiar in her fingers, she opened it.

Alcina let out another little gasp of surprise, it was her custom lipstick, from the castle. From home. Her eyes snapped up to the mirror and she quickly put the lipstick on. She pressed her lips together to ensure it was even, and then she smiled. Her smile quickly faded, there wasn’t much reason to smile anymore. She sighed heavily and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked different, while still tall and strong looking, her skin was no longer gray; pale still certainly, but there was color in her cheeks. She traced a finger delicately over her cheekbone. How long had it been since any natural color had graced her features? Surely, long before her daughters were ever a glimmer in her eye.

There was no curling iron, but there was a comb. She thought about trying to wrestle with her hair without the proper product in it. /Perhaps it won’t be so bad if it's still wet.../ She hummed a moment. /No, better to let it dry the way it is and try again when I have the proper supplies./ She unwrapped her hair from the towel and let it flow gently over her shoulders, perhaps she should at least braid it. So, she did, loosely and messy with pieces sticking out here and there, but at least it was away from her face.

Alcina knew she had taken quite a while, perhaps she had kept her “audience” waiting, but she was hardly sure there actually was one. She strode over to the door of her room to meet the Duke, she opened it and saw him waiting just on the other side, hand still in the air as though he were getting ready to knock.

“Ah, there you are, looking ravishing as always, my Lady,” he said. Alcina nodded.

“Thank you, Duke. However, under the circumstances, I am aware I do not look my best,” she said. He waved a hand at her.

“Nonsense, now, come along. There are some lovely individuals just longing to see you,” he said. Alcina looked down at him, brows knit together in confusion.

“Who exactly?” She asked.

“All in good time, my dear,” he said. Alcina scoffed and rolled her eyes in frustration. She hated secrets, but because of their agreement, Alcina couldn’t use her usual methods of forcing out secrets. She walked slowly beside the Duke, trying to keep pace with him and not walk too far ahead. The house they were in was large, but it was not her castle. Where exactly she was, she didn’t know, but at least she could walk comfortably upright here. She walked beside the Duke for what felt like quite a long time, but as they approached the first floor, Alcina could hear chatter. Something about the noise made her chest tighten. She lengthened her stride, walking ahead of the Duke, he did not seem to protest, and even if he did, she didn’t hear him. A laugh rang out and Alcina found herself nearly flying down the staircase, taking two at a time, her bare feet hit cold marble with a small smack. Her eyes widened; it couldn’t be... She could hear the voices distinctly now as she rounded towards the kitchen, but she still couldn’t see them, tears rolled down her bare face once more. /It wasn’t possible./ She called out to the voices.

“Bela!” Her desperation made her voice crack. The voices halted.

“Daniela!” Her voice broke as a sob escaped her. She could hear quick footsteps approaching.

“Cassandra!” She cried. She broke into a run towards the sound of the footsteps. Her dress tangled in her legs and was caught under her foot, both her feet were swept out from under her as she tried to round another corner. She hit the floor with a loud thud that seemed to shake the room. She was dazed for just a moment as the breath was knocked from her. She felt something fall on top of her, warm and soft. She looked up with blurry tear-filled eyes and saw a head of red hair burying itself under her chin, arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. There was a jolt of force from beside her as someone else clung to her, all of them shaking. She looked and saw a flash of dark brown hair settle over her shoulder. And finally, one last jostle and Alcina turned again and saw bright blonde hair covering shaking shoulders.

“My sweet girls!” She cried. "Let me look at you, come here.” They all looked up and moved to sit in front of her, tears streaming down each face, each set of eyes red and puffy, all four of them gasping and sobbing, clinging to each other. Alcina grasped each woman’s face in her hands tightly and brought them to her face to kiss them all over and wipe their tears away. Once she had kissed each of them a million times and her mouth was sore from pressing it against her daughters’ faces, she pulled them in as tightly as she could and cried. It was like a dream, sitting there with them again and Alcina prayed that it wouldn’t end. She heard a sound behind her, her head whipped around to look, tightening her hold on her daughters as if they’d be whisked away again. It was the Duke, he simply smiled and nodded to her and turned to leave the room and let the women have their reunion.

Alcina turned back to look at her daughters once more, they all looked at her, eyes wide and red.

“We missed you, Mama,” said Bela sniffling. /Mama/, like music to her ears. Alcina placed a hand on her cheek.

“And I have missed you more than life itself, draga mea.” She said.

[polaroid15]

Febuwhump day 3 - Imprisonment

Hey everyone! Here’s day 3! This is one of my favourites, so I really hope you enjoy! <3 <3

Summary: 

“What do I need to do?” 

“It’s simple, really,” the man replies. He steps closer to Peter, gaze hardening. “Though I set up the board, the game is in your hands, Stark. Find the boy before it’s too late, and collect your prize.”

Another pause.

“How much time do I have?”

“Well, until he bleeds out.”

---Or, Peter is kidnapped by a crazy guy in a clown mask. Typical.---

Read this chapter and previous ones on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138196/chapters/71656323

---

   The room is freezing. 

   Waking up is horrible, the cold seeming to penetrate every cell in his body before his eyes even have their chance to open. When by some miracle they do, he’s met with a dark and unfamiliar room. A basement, by the looks of it, stripped down to its cement foundation. 

   It’s January, a very unfortunate time to be kidnapped and brought to an undeveloped basement, Peter thinks. Why his captor couldn’t have waited to kidnap him in a warmer month is beyond his delirious thought process, or why they hadn’t at least let him keep his jacket. Hell, they even took his shoes, which is beyond rude. Every time he breathes a thin vapor rises up to bite at his eyes. 

   Or maybe the sting is just tears. 

   He tries to move, to warm up his shaking body, but it’s practically impossible in his current situation, tied and gagged tightly in every possible way to a thick wooden chair. They must’ve pumped his veins with something to keep him docile, because no matter how much he squirms, he remains stuck. 

   He chokes on a breath behind the gag, panicked, and pulls harder. 

   But he can barely hold up his head, let alone break free. 

   Oh man. 

   Peter lays his head back against the chair and floats for a minute, trying to calm his heart. Tony will come for him. 

   He always does. 

   It’s uncomfortable and lonely, but Peter refuses to be scared. He bites hard on the gag between his teeth to keep them from chattering and stares at the closed door he faces, waiting for his attacker to show themself. 

   The waiting is the worst part, he decides, and shivers again. 

   He thinks of Tony again, wondering if the man knows about his absence as he wiggles his wrists around the tightly knotted rope keeping his hands trapped together behind him. It burns and aches but combats the cold, so he continues to struggle with as much vigor as his weakened body can handle. 

   His mind searches desperately for the explanation of his current predicament, the memory connecting him to this awful place, but it evades him like smoke. 

    A violent shiver rips through his body. He can feel it from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. God he hates winter. If someone didn’t come for him soon, he’d be nothing more than a Peter popsicle. 

   Before the imagery of the thought can really sink in, the door opens so suddenly that Peter’s shivering stops short for him to jump. Hot adrenaline courses through his veins and causes tears spring up into his eyes at the contrast of it all. The person who enters is tall and broad, their face obscured by a graphic clown mask. A new kind of shiver runs down Peter’s spine like an electrical current and he tips his chin up in defiance, growling unintelligible words at his kidnapper through the thick cloth pulled between his lips. 

   “Hello, Peter.” 

   There must be some form of speech disguiser built into the mask, because the voice that greets him is choppy and mechanical. It fills the empty space between them and Peter narrows his eyes into slits, forcing his heart to keep its normal tempo. 

   Don’t show that you’re scared. Don’t show that you’re scared-

   “I do hope you’re comfortable,” the man says, the silicon skin of the clown twisted up into a manic smile. “I can’t wait for the fun we’ll have.” 

   Peter mumbles into his gag again, feeling powerless without his voice. He twists his wrists again violently, the adrenaline giving him some strength, but it’s not nearly enough. 

   He’s trapped. 

   “Now, now, I know what you must be thinking. What is a boy like me doing in a place like this? Let me assure you, Mr. Parker, that this is no random circumstance. I have been watching you for quite some time.” 

   Even if Peter could talk, he’d be speechless. Fear rushes through him with the force of a tidal wave, stinging at his eyes and rising acid in his throat. The man tilts his crazed, masked head to the side as if in intrigue and lets out a high pitched mechanical laugh. Despite his stubborn resolve, Peter flinches. 

   “Tony Stark doesn’t have many people in his inner circle,” the man continues gleefully, “and I have come to find that you are one of them! A weak, defenseless teenager. The opportunity was simply too wonderful to pass up on!” 

   Not Spider-Man, then. 

   Good. 

   “Tell me, Peter. What will it take to bring our so-called superhero to his knees?” The man steps closer, smelling like cigarette smoke and leather. “How many fingers?” 

   Peter gasps into the gag as the man’s gloved hands curl around his throat, closing tight. “My, my Peter,” the man laughs, stroking his thumb across Peter’s jugular. “Your heart is beating fast. Are you afraid?” 

   Slowly, Peter shakes his head. The grip on his throat tightens and the man’s face swoops down towards him until they’re only inches apart. When he speaks again, it’s only a whisper. “I don’t believe you.” 

   With that, his captor releases his hold, shoving Peter’s head back violently. It takes every ounce of self control not to show his discomfort and he settles once more to glaring at the masked man with as much malice as he can muster. 

   “Shall we give your beloved hero a call?” 

   Uncaring for Peter’s response, the man pulls out a dull black flip phone from his pocket. He must have Tony’s number memorized because he types it in with ease. Peter wonders how he found it. 

   It rings three times, and even though his captor is standing a couple feet away, Peter hears Tony’s voice fill the receiver with perfect clarity. 

   “This is Stark.” 

   As if hardly believing his luck, the clown man raises an animated fist into the air and cackles out a high pitched laugh. It would’ve been funny in a different circumstance. When the laugh dies and the man collects himself, he brings the phone close to the mask where his lips are hidden behind, savouring every word. “Hello Stark.” 

   A long pause meets the greeting. Peter can picture Tony in his mind’s eye, weighing his options with a weary annoyance. Finally, his voice carries through the receiver. “Look, frankly I don't have the time for this. Either tell me what you want or find another billionaire to piss off.”

   “Very well.” The mechanical voice continues to grate under Peter’s skin, unnerving him to the bone. It’s almost worse than the cold. “I’ll keep it short and sweet. For if anyone is to know the true value of time, it’s me. And, of course, our darling mutual friend Peter.” 

   “Peter?” Even if Tony were trying to mask his surprise, it’s failing. Peter grinds his nails into the soft skin on his hand he can reach, feeling a vicious swipe of guilt run through him in icy fragments. “How do you-” 

   “Know him?” The man finishes. His crazed eyes turn to Peter from behind the mask, attaching to his frame with a repulsing intensity. “We’ve been able to spend a lot of quality time together, Peter and I. I see why you love him.”

   The next time Tony speaks, it's in anger. Peter flinches at the sound and tries to control his breathing. “If you lay one single hand on that boy I swear to God I’ll skin you alive.” 

   “Tut, tut. I would speak more kindly to me if I were you.” 

   A measured breath, the softening of tone. 

   “Fine. What do I need to do?” 

   “Simple, really,” the man replies. He steps closer to Peter, gaze hardening. “Though I set up the board, the game is in your hands, Stark. Find the boy before it’s too late, and collect your prize.” 

   Another pause. 

   “How much time do I have?” 

   “Until he bleeds out.” 

   Without further warning, the man pulls out a handgun, aims it at Peter, and pulls the trigger. At first, Peter thinks the man missed. Then, as the ringing echo of the shot fades from his ears, he feels the pain in one giant tidal wave of agony and screams. 

   Even with the gag, the sound is piercing. The man laughs robotically and claps his hands in quick succession. The shot had hit him in the top of his right thigh, the blood warm and slick as it gushes from the wound. He refuses to look at it, keeping his wobbly vision trained stubbornly at his attacker. 

   “Well this has been great fun, Stark, but sadly it’s time for me to go,” he says, returning his ear to the phone. “I would hurry if I were you.” 

   Before he leaves, the man walks up beside Peter once more, phone still connected and in hand. He strokes Peter’s hair, the plastic smile unfailing, and hooks his fingers around Peter’s gag. With a surprising gentleness, he pulls it loose, then settles the phone against Peter’s shoulder where he pins it there with his head. 

   “I hope he hears you take your last breath,” the man says. “Goodbye, Peter Parker.” 

   Peter’s chest is heaving. Before his captor leaves, he snakes his hand down to Peter’s thigh, fingers hovering over the rapidly bleeding wound. He pushes them down into the bullet hole and Peter screams again, ripping his throat raw. All he sees is white, and though his lucidity ebbs like the tide, he focuses everything on keeping the phone pressed against his shoulder. Static runs through the device, but if it forms any words, it's simply beyond his comprehension. 

   When his vision clears, the man in the clown mask is gone. 

   And he’s alone. 

   “Peter?”  

   Gasps turn into sobs. Peter can’t help it. 

   He’s finished with being strong. 

   “T-Tony. Tony!” 

   There’s a heavy exhale of pent up air on the other end of the line and Peter tries his hardest to focus on it, on anything to distract himself from the absolute burning torture in his leg. 

   “You’re- you’re okay kiddo. You’re going to be fine. I’m on my way to get you right now okay?”    

   “It- it hurts-” 

   “I know bud, I know. You’ve been so brave. I just need you to hang on a little longer.” 

   Peter throws his head back against his chair, blinking out stars as unwanted tears leak out of the corners of his eyes like hot wax. The ceiling spins harshly when he looks at it, so he closes his eyes and tries to keep his sobs from erupting. 

   “Parker!” 

   “Wha?” For a moment, Peter thinks he’s being saved. He lifts his head, careful to keep the phone in place. But when his eyes adjust to the spinning room, it’s empty. 

   “You checked out there for a minute,” Tony says. Again, Peter hears the fear lacing his mentor’s tone. It should make him feel scared, he thinks, but it doesn’t. Not really. 

   “S’ry.” 

   “It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m almost there, okay?” 

   “M’kay.” 

   “I’m not getting any reports for Karen,” Tony says, his voice more gentle than Peter’s ever heard it. “Are you in your suit bud?” 

   “No.” 

   “Can you reach the wound? Put pressure on it?”   

   More tears fall out of Peter’s eyes. He wishes they would stop. “N-no. My hands are- are tied.” 

   “Okay,” Tony says again, voice even. “Just hang on. Stay awake. Five minutes, I promise.” 

   “Mmm.” 

   “How was school today Pete?” Tony asks urgently. “Tell me all about it.” 

   Surprised, Peter tries to remember. If Tony’s asking, it must be important. Searching for the memories feels equivalent to walking through quicksand or punching through a brick wall. 

   “Peter?” 

   “Um. Had a chemistry test. Was good.” 

   “That’s great,” Tony says. “What else?” 

   The burning pain in Peter’s leg has faded significantly, replaced by a blissful numbness. He knows it’s bad but is too relieved to dwell on it, sinking into the reprieve with open arms. Distantly, he can hear his blood dripping against the floor, can feel it soaking into his socks. His head wobbles and barely catches the phone in time before it slips.

   It’s almost peaceful, he thinks. 

   “Ben was shot,” Peter says dizzily. “‘S how he died.” 

   Tony’s breaths are short and laboured in Peter’s ear. “Peter Benjamin Parker-” 

   “‘M not scared anymore.” 

   “I’m two minutes out. Stay awake. God please stay awake!” 

   Peter hums, and despite the clear instruction, feels his eyelids flutter. He wishes he could see Tony’s face once more, to tell him in person what he means to him, but the idea floats away from him like smoke. 

   “T-tony?” 

   “Yeah kid?” 

   “I-I-” but there’s no conclusion, no final words. With a sickening twist of vertigo, Peter feels the phone slide from its secure spot in the crook of his neck. It hits the cement, splashing up hot blood, and lays on its side. Peter watches it in detached surprise, feeling the last of his resolve crumbling. 

   Goodbye. 

   If Tony is still speaking through the device, Peter can no longer hear it, his senses muted and dull. He remembers how Ben’s eyes had looked right before he died, wonders if it’s how he looks now. 

   It’s his last thought before the darkness takes him. 

---

   Peter wakes up in someone’s arms. 

   At first, he thinks he’s reunited with his Uncle. Wherever he is, he’s safe and warm. He doesn’t feel any pain. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything at all, his existence a dramatic blur. 

  “Peter?” 

  He must’ve moved. The person holding him shifts to acknowledge his wakefulness, the voice soft and hopeful. 

   It’s not Ben, Peter realizes with some disappointment, though someone similar. Someone safe. 

   “Hey, hey. It’s okay, buddy. You’re okay now.” 

   He must be crying, because he feels calloused fingers wipe away moisture from his cheeks.

   It clicks. 

   “Tony?” 

   “Oh thank God.” 

   Yep, it’s Tony. 

   Peter smiles, understanding. 

   He can sleep peacefully now.

[cerezawrites]

Prompt 2: Aberrant

“It is preposterous!  Unnatural, even!” the drab-clad Elezen spat, his face turning red.  “That any power of darkness should bring good in this world - hardly an idea worth considering.  The Fury damn those who would turn to evil means!”  

“Calm down, Mattheiu” another Elezen, a woman of the High Houses by her bustle.  “We’ve known that the Exorcists have worked with unusual magicks.  Is it so hard to believe that there COULDN’T have been a relationship between them?  It would have predated the Church and all...”  

The two stood in the corner of a large hall, at the moment host to a massive party, such that even this outburst wouldn’t go noticed.  Cereza stood, ostensibly admiring a painting of one of the owner’s great-great-great-ad infinitum ancestors with a flute of sparkling cider in one gloved hand, but her attention was on the debate that had unfolded.  

The opening of Ishgard had many impacts upon the city, and the histories of magic, and their connections to lost civilizations in a past age, had caused a small but notable stir amongst the academics who understood the principles.  Such things weren’t major debates in other lands - there, the debates were more focused on the use of specific branches, rather than the overall origin - but here, yet another belief was being upturned.  

“The origins of the Exorcists’ magic is simple - it is the elements that surround us, granted by the Fury and the other gods.  No ancient black wizardry had a hand in inspiring that holy art.  It is an instrument of faith, nothing more.”  

And there was the opening.  

“If that is truly the case, why then did the Heretics have the same powers?  Why was Ars Almandel and its twin, Ars Notoria, almost condemned as a heretical text, if the magic it grants was not of the faith?”  THAT got the man’s attention, but Cereza stood, back to him, still studying the vaunted elder’s painting.  

“How dare you compare our arts to that of heretics!”  She could see his face turning redder still. 

“I’m not,” she said, finally glancing over her shoulder. “I’m asking a fundamental question of faith - from whence does evil come?  Only in this case, it’s a question more of, from whence does YOUR form of evil derive its power?  Certainly they could develop it from accursed sources, but if that were the case, why are the spells so similar?”  She finally turned and faced him.  “And moreover, if it were the case, why then does the Church have to train Inquisitors, if their faith would provide the power?”  

The crowd was starting to pay attention, but the man Cereza faced had eyes only for her, and not in a good way.  The other Elezen, the woman in the bustle, did find her point worth pouncing on.  “That is a good point… Natural magic is rare here in Ishgard, and only the priests and inquisitors and their ilk do wield it regularly.  Chirugeons also can get it through study… but you never just see the truly faithful summon fire or mend grievous wounds.”  

Cereza nodded.  “Beyond which, Ishgard’s once and once again allies use similar arts, and yet no accusation of heresy or witchcraft is levied against them - at least not in general, barring occasional foreign victims of the overzealous Inquisition.  Why, did Thordan the III not even commend a young magus some centuries back, making him an honorary knight of the realm?”  

“That’s enough, both of you!” the man shouted.  “The magicks of the church are holy blessings.  Your.. thaumaturgy and arcanamia are all hollow imitations of Fury-granted grace!  And were you Ishgardian, I’d challenge you to a duel!” 

Ah, about time.  Cereza motioned over a servant, and asked the girl to hold her drink, as she strutted up to the red-faced man, tugging off her right glove. “Well, well… If you are so eager…let’s not let my nationality limit us.  Duelling is common in other parts of Eorzea after all.  Ergo… I challenge YOU.”  With that, she slapped the red faced Elezen with her glove, and the crowd was silent.  For his part, Matthieu was shocked, but then his anger returned.  “Very well, then!”  He strode off, and had servants bring a blade and shield.  When he returned, he said, “Well then!  What weapon do you choose?”  

Cereza smiled as she replaced her glove and tapped the ground with her cane before throwing it into the air in a spiral.  She caught it and held it out like a sword - and in fact, it WAS, or perhaps had become, a sword, a dueling rapier to be exact.  She held it out in front of her, her left hand held behind her.  “I think my old reliable will work here.  A weapon of another time and place.”  The blade was intricately crafted in a near-Eastern style.  “But, one far more suited to this duel than you might think.  First blood then? Or best of some arbitrary number?”  

The man scoffed.  “Such a small blade, and you dare think you’d get even one hit, let alone three of five?  Besides, for your heresy, it should be death, but I’ll take yielding.”  

Cereza nodded her head with a smile.  “Oh good… some fun for once. Well then, en guard!”  

The floor had cleared, and the two circled it weapons poised.  Mattheiu struck towards her first, shield over his chest to limit the exposure of his thrust, and Cereza had to dodge to the side, swinging wildly and hitting only air.  He repeated the trick, and she dodged again -b ut it was closer this time.  And again, and this time he managed to knick her hand.  “Ha, a hit!”  He exclaimed.  He didn’t raise his arms to gloat, though, remembering the terms… but that wasn’t the opening she was looking for anyways.  

“Well then, I suppose I can’t afford to be sloppy anymore,” she said, as she focused on the blood on his blade.  She removed one glove and replaced with a black one, then cupped the end of her sword.  Her blade’s “pommel” separated, a gem glittering red, floating in her hand.  Mana flowed from the accelerator focus into the blade, and she kept her attention on that blood as she leapt forth, the magic guiding her.  The sudden leap pushed him back this time, and she made a stroke at him as he flailed, then another two slashes, and three more to finish it off.  Mattheiu fell back on the ground, his jacket ruined, and shouted, “I yield!  I yield!” before scrambling to get up and leave the party.  Cereza smiled and dismissed the blade, replacing it with her cane once more.  

The host, a member of House Hallienarte, came and bowed to her, as did the Elezen woman.  “My apologies for that,” the host said.  “Our guests should not have their honor questioned in this place of peace.”  

Cereza shook her head as she took her drink back from the servant who held it.  “Think nothing of it, Baron.  Your guest had too much to drink and was too forthcoming with his unsavory opinions.  I merely dealt with an insult in the way we should.  Thank you again for the invitation, however.”  She curtsied.  “I didn’t realize I had left such an impression on my last visit.” 

“The honor is mine,” the baron said with a bow.  “You’ve aided our house in many endeavors.  Recovering my cousin’s heirloom left a special impression, and she insisted I invite you.”  

“Well, I much appreciate it.”  She curtsied again, and the Baron left her alone with the woman.  “And you, mademoiselle.  I heard you debating our unfortunate acquaintance earlier.  I hope the duel hasn’t put a damper on your evening.”  

“Oh, perish the thought.  It was time he got thrashed for that.  But tell me, your sword… that wasn’t just swordplay, was it?  There was...something else at work.”  

“Indeed.  A blend of magicks, and a bit of preparation, helped to enhance the blade.  Combined with a small homing spell to track my blood and guide my leap forward, and it proved quite invaluable.  Alas, I think I spent the reserve mana in the blade’s accelerator for now.”  She shook her head.  “Ah… but my manners.  Lady Cereza Hoid, at your service.”  

The elezen offered her hand and curtsied, and Cereza took it and brought her forehead to it.  “Lady Maricelle Dzemael.  A pleasure to meet you.”  

The two spoke for a bit, before a server came and handed Maricelle a letter, offering a chamber for her to read it in.  There was something odd about the servant… but Cereza simply waited until Maricelle returned, sighing..  “Ah… It seems that Mattheiu has left for the evening and refuses to return… and he was my escort.”  She turned to Cereza.  “I hate to impose… but it is getting late.  Would you be able to walk back with me?  I trust the streets of Foundation, but…”

Cereza smiled.  “Of course.  I was actually heading that way myself.”  She finished her drink - the only one she’d had all night, and bid farewell to the host and a few others, before returning to Maricelle’s side.  “Please, unto the night.”  

The two strode out, and Maricelle said, “There is a shortcut back this way… come, follow.”  Cereza didn’t get a chance to protest before her charge fled down the darkened alleyway.  

“Well, so much for both worry and trusting the streets,” she muttered under her breath as she went in behind.  The alley was dark, only lights from the few house windows to illuminate the way, and the aether seemed to stir oddly.  

She caught a glimpse of Maricelle’s dress, and followed, only to keep a few steps behind each time.  The dress led down a maze of alleys, definitely not a shortcut.  “Maricelle?” Cereza called into the night.  

She heard the other lady call out, “This way, Cereza…”  But something in her voice was… wrong.  Cereza drew out her blade again, and approached more cautiously.  

Around the corner, she saw a terrible sight.  Maricelle floated inside a cloud, under the control of the servant who’d handed her the letter.  Damn, she thought, should have kept my eyes on him.  

“Ahahaha… easy enough to lure you in… a pity how simple it was, really.  But when I realized who you were… I couldn’t have you running around ruining my plans.”  

“A compulsion, then,” she said.  “Have the girl misunderstand the way home… probably a spell trapped in the letter.”  “Indeed,” the “servant” said.  “You were always a sucker for a pretty face and a damsel in distress.  You gave me the perfect opening… baiting her cousin into that duel.  But you can’t harm her now.”  

Cereza looked at her, trapped and unconscious in the miasma.  He looked at the girl and… smiled.  And the cloud - an extension of the Voidsent in the servant, seemed to shimmer nervously.  Didn’t know they could do that, she thought.  

“You think it was coincidence I was here, Achtrasi?” she said, calling it by one of its names - not its true name.  Not yet.  “I knew you’d made it into the city… tracking down the relic was easy enough.  The servant opened it instead of the Baron, though, so you had to make do.  I knew one way or another you’d be at that party… and you’d use the girl as bait.  You always liked hostages… ones that would inspire chivalry in your hunter.”  

The cloud rumbled.  “Well well… clever.  But it doesn’t matter.  You already used up your mana… what do you have that would help you save her without that?”  

Cereza’s smile widened.  “I DID say it was empty, didn’t I?  I could channel through it, but you wouldn’t give me that kind of time… but see, there’s a trick I’ve learned.  It IS empty… Well… except for one or two little spells I managed to catch...”

The creature’s cloud seemed to shimmer in uncertainty.  “Wha- What?  What the-”  

It didn’t finish its curse, as a pillar of white aether hit the cloud square on, not harming the girl inside but dissipating the trap she was in and letting her fall to the ground.  The servant stepped back and tried to run… until a ball of red light came immediately after, driving it into the wall.  

The servant stood up, but it was no longer truly that form.  Its true form bled through the body, broke through it, shedding the corpse and revealing a giant warrior, made of shadow and smoke, with two knives in its claws.  

Cereza regarded it, and put her sword away.  She instead reached into the aether once more and summoned out a tome, a blue-covered grimoire with gold embellishments.  

The scream intensified, and Cereza smiled.  “Ah, you recognize this grimoire, don’t you?  I’m not part of the church, admittedly… but that’s not a requirement.  The girl is right - the magic isn’t a gift of faith.  But credit where it’s due… they do have their exorcisms down pat”  She flipped it open to a page she’d bookmarked, and recited the spell within.  The words were prayers to the Fury, but though they were somewhat slanted to an Ishgardian interpretation, that wouldn’t make them any weaker - it wasn’t like summoning a Primal, where faith became aether to be channeled through prayer.  The spell was quite more the opposite in effect, really.  

“O Fury, Halone in the Heavens above, hear this call and bind this child of the Void, Achtrasi!”

The voidsent charged her, but as its blades came down to cleave her, chains of ice held them - and its body - leaving it paralyzed in place.  The words shaped her aether through the circles, and resonated with a spell of banishment.  “In the name of the Fury,” she called, careful not to shout lest she awaken anyone, “I command thee, demon.  Descend into the Seven Hells, and be banished from this land.  Hurt her children no more.  By her spear!”  

An aetherial lance drove into the head of the beast and through its torso, and it vanished into smoke, the dark energies that made up its power vanishing.  Cereza closed the book and banished it back into the aether - no sense getting caught with it BY one of the Inquisitors.  She could play the part of exorcist, but she wasn’t a part of the order, and being caught with that tome could spell trouble even now.  Instead, she drew her sword again, and went to the girl, channeling the white mana to cure her and help her recover.

Maricelle  opened her eyes.  “I… what… what was that?” she stammered as she regained consciousness.  “I remember… you… and a party… and then….

Cereza closed her eyes in relief.  “Voidsent,” she said when she opened them again.  “Demon.  Possessed that poor servant… and decided to use you as bait for me.”

Maricelle shook her head.  “The… the dark magics?  Was my defense… unjust?”  

“Hardly. Damned thing was summoned back in the Fifth era.  Your trust in the truth is valid.. This was just an evil spirit, not some divine punishment.  And.. possibly my fault.  It knew to use you as bait… I just knew it would, and planned accordingly.  But even so…”  

Maricelle stopped her before she could continue her apology, then sobbed and clung to Cereza.  Cereza held her, a bit awkwardly, but understandingly, knowing the fear from such things.  “You kept me safe… that’s all that matters.”  She eventually calmed down, and sniffled.  “Just… get me home.  Please?”  

Cereza smiled and nodded.  “Of course.  But… I think this way, this time,” she said.  

[zwiezraczek]

Hello! 😃 it’s been a while jeje how are you? if you have the time can I please ask for prompts 2,14,23,24,30 she/her (u can choose her mutation if you’d like) with Warren🥺 a little angsty but with fluff at the end🥰 love your writing:) 😃

Youngblood [Blurb]

Note: Oh my I missed you so much! Well, ups and downs you now but we keep it going! I hope you’re doing good! Aaaah writing for Warren just ah 🥰 I hope you’ll like it, I probably got a little bit carried away haha ~ 💕

~~~

Darling just hold on, darling just hold on, darling just hold on. Your mind went back and forth as this sentence filled your brain and with your eyes closed you couldn't focus on anything else but this voice. Darling just hold on. This was the last sentence you heard before they took you away from him, from the boy that stayed with you when no one else would, and all the world became a darker place without these green eyes and beautiful smile. Sometimes, at night, you remembered it so vividly you had the impression to see it – but it was only some torch throwing its light at you in order to wake you up.

But today was the day, the day you were sold, again. Nobody could really handle a mind-master, the kind of master that could wipe out everyone's memories, but their. And that what hurt you the most, because you could erase the worst memory a person ever had, an evidence, a clue or something as futile as a person's existence, but you couldn't erase the moment you got teared away from your parents at a young age – just at the moment they had discovered your mother was one of the mutants, and great chances were that you were one too – or this fair-headed boy you still remembered, him and the nest they made him. Him and his mysterious mutation he refused to share, as much as you refused to share yours. But living with him was a little piece of heaven, a piece they took away too from your cold bloody hands. And today you had to face another change, another owner, another person wanting your powers for something greater, something you never wanted.

You didn't cry, you had no tears left. You had given too much ,they had taken too much from you, they wouldn't have your tears too. The small space you were granted during this journey was everything you had, the small blanket and the pullover that covered your upper body along with a pair of baggy jeans. You felt dirty, almost as usual. You felt anger too, not for the first time, but you had to be patient, to smile and to give them what they wanted. Someone said that where you were going was a freak circus, a place where all the mutants owned by this mysterious person were held together, almost fighting to death, without any chance of coming back. Good for you. Your powers didn't allow you to stop suffering? Fine, you would die from someone's hand, would do the trick. And then, the door of the cage was opened by a large figure, a phoenix you thought. But a black one, looking at you with his sharp eyes as you were curled up in the corner of the space you had for this – too – long journey. From where you were, you could see a smirk and hear a little puff as the man patted the walls of this space.

“Nice travel, isn’t it,” he asked with a sarcastic tone. He was mocking you, and you knew it.

“Everything is great, everything is fucking great,” you hissed and he laughed.

“Wow, the eraser's got a sharp mouth, they didn't tell me that when I accepted this job,” you frowned as he entered the space you were held captive. Advanced towards you and knelt, looking right into your eyes. He had green eyes and a black leather jacket on. “Now, you're going to get up and get your magic done, darling, because we're not playing here.” You opened your eyes widely for a mere moment.

“Man, I have other things to do right now, so can you like, hurry,” the man outside shouted and the winged man simply nodded.

“We're leaving,” he said an dragged you out of the box – now you could see it was a box.

And you saw the most magnificent thing in your life, his wings. The feathers looking softer than a hundred clouds, shining in this dark weather. Your eyes were tired, but everything you saw was worth it. Maybe it was the last piece of heaven you would get; so when he picked you up and began to fly – past the few moments of fear – you passed out in his arms.

You woke up. In a room. A nice room. A pretty place, with some food on the nightstand next to you. You were dead, right? You were absolutely dead, but dead didn't mean that you couldn't enjoy the food that was brought to you. And as you began to eat, you heard the door crack and looked up, almost like an animal, to see a dim lady standing in a red gown looking at you with glistening eyes, and a serious face. You stopped everything you were doing, and stared at her, hesitantly as she floated into the room.

“Who are you,” you dared to ask as she landed on the sheets of the bed you were sleeping in.

“But do you know who you are,” she asked you back with a faint smile that left you agape. “You don't, you only remember bits, and bits aren't enough, am I right?”

You remembered way more than bits, you remembered every suffering you endured and every memory you had erased. The screams, the cries, the fights and the deaths. The blood you saw on different hands, the guilt on some face.

“I remember more than bits,” you replied. “I know it all, but what do you want me to erase? I'll erase it for you, I'll do it.”

“Oh, I don't need you to erase memories, I need you to bring them back,” she specified.

“But I can't.”

“I know you will, someone's waiting for his memories to be back, and I believe that a mind-master can make her way through the maze of erased thoughts, am I right?”

“I can try,” you finally whispered, intimidated by her voice and aura, the carmine gown reminding you of everything. The blood, the pain. The whole.

“It is all I needed to know,” the lady said and got up with a warm smile. “Eat darling, then someone will come and take you to the bathroom and give you some fresh clothes.”

She left as soon as her last words were told, leaving you alone, here, by yourself thinking if this place was real. Where were the fights? Blood? Pain? Death? Nothing there was real.

You were sitting in the small room, by yourself for this very moment. You were waiting for the person wanting his – apparently it was a man – memories back. You knew you couldn't grant them, you couldn't promise him that all he had forgotten would be back, no matter how hard you tried because you knew destruction of the mind. Every piece of thought you could break it, disassemble it bits by bits until it became dust. You never bothered about the state you left theses memories in, neither how could someone do something out of these. But apparently, you had to do something with the broken bits of this man's past.

You closed your eyes for a moment, thinking about what was happening to you and how badly you wanted all of this to stop, even if it was the best you were treated for years. Someone opened the door, your eyes immediately landing on him. The blond man with gracious wings was standing in front of you, looking at you from above as you just wanted to roll your eyes. You remembered his harsh words and above all his sarcastic tone while he picked you up. And right behind him was the woman, with her hands over his shoulders, and as he stood she stroked his feathers from time to time, as if he was a pet of hers.

“See my little Angel, she'll bring your memories back, and you'll be able to know who you are my dear,” she whispered and you saw the man's jaw become tense. “Here's Warren,” she presented him to you, “he brought you here and now you owe him this little therapy my darling.”

“I'll do my best,” you replied and the woman let the said Warren come closer to you, dragging loudly a chair behind him as she watched him lustily come towards you, before closing the door as he looked back at her.

“She heard about your abilities, you're the only mind-master available, so you better do your job,” he sharply said as you looked right into his green eyes.

“I'm good at destroying memories, not patching them,” you said before asking for his hand by putting yours in front of him. It was your way of entering one's mind, ad you wished at this very moment that you would managed to do it in another way.

“Well, you're a little late and I'm already torn to pieces,darling, you'll have nothing to destroy in there,” he sarcastically replied as he put his hand in yours.

“Close your eyes,” you said without missing a beat and not paying attention to what he said, trying to focus as much as you could.

His mind was thick and made of an opaque material, all was dusty around. He wasn't lying: there was nothing to tear as everything seemed damaged and the only light you could actually find in this place was around the woman that decided to shelter you to help him. However, the light was red and the atmosphere screamed danger and everything linked to it. Whenever you tried to approach the small altar that was made of her, the only place that seemed to remain intact, you felt his hand squeeze yours a little more. You felt that it wasn't your place to be, and that you had to focus on everything behind her sanctuary, everything that concerned him before all of this had happened.

As you walked on broken glass, you saw mirrors reflecting bloody arenas, screaming people, chanting “Archangel! Archangel!” endlessly as an immense black shadow passed right in front of your eyes. It was him, Warren with a cocky smile on his face, a smile that was framing the cracked mirror. Pain. You couldn't touch it, as you knew the place was already broken, painful and the only thing you could do was erase all of this, but here, nothing was broken to the point of not being able to see it. You walked towards a dead end, or a “keep out” area, and behind the signs you saw dust, papers, and mirrors, each small piece carried a little flame in it, something that needed time to be put together again. A long work, a work you had to be ready to do.

Before you could cross the place, his hand left yours and he opened his eyes, drops of sweat on his face. You hit the right spot.

As days and weeks passed by, you discovered that she had other mutants too – you couldn't resist but look inside the altar in Warren's mind – all of them treated in different ways, but more like humans than in all the places all of them had been. Warren's mind had less and less secrets for you, and even though you had a rocky start, you began to understand him way better through his sad memories, and the pieces of the destroyed ones. What you figured out was that nobody had destroyed his memories, well, nobody but him. His own min, in order to protect itself destroyed what held him back once in order to survive in this world. You couldn't blame him, you only wished that your mind did it too.

In exchange of your incursions into his mind, Warren asked you to share your past with him – because if you had the privilege to see what was going on inside his head, he wanted to have the privilege to know what was going on inside of yours. So, without too many second-thoughts, you shared some things with him; and the more you dug into his memories, patching slowly what you found, the more you opened up. As if these memories were connected to you, as if a strange and unknown link was connecting both of you. And even if Mrs. Daniell disliked it – you learned the hard way how much she loved Warren, and how he was everything to her, and how much he hated it – you grew closer to him with every session. And by closer you meant spending time with him, sitting in the gardens pretending to be patching his memories whereas you were talking about he managed to remember and what you remembered in your own past. It was therapeutic, it made you feel like when you were little, with this green-eyed boy while you were held captive. It was everything you missed.

And one day, after a few months, after thinking that you found another soulmate, you found out that his whole mind has been cleaned out, all the memories rearranged, and the keep out signs almost gone. Everything was up to him now, him and his green eyes. When you told him the good news, he began to shake, as if the truth might hurt him worse than the absolute oblivion.

“I don't... I don't know how to make it stop,” he whispered and you never saw him look so fragile. You took his hand, rubbed your thumb against the back of his hand while holding it.

“I'm here if needed, I can erase anything you'd like Warren, and you know that.”

“I don't want to waste your work you... You made your mutation evolve, you don't know how important what you did is and I don't want to destroy it,” he whispered and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath then. “I think I'm ready for an introspection.”

He disappeared for a moment, his eyes peacefully closed as you held his hand, anxious. Whatever he was about to discover, you wished it wouldn't break him. You were ready to erase anything, the hard work you put into it, for his well being. Because he was important to you, just like the boy when you were younger, the one whose mutation was invisible to your eye at the time, the one you lost and you couldn't let that happen again.

He opened his eyes, let your hand go, gasped loudly, and immediately after tried to catch his breath. His eyes looked vividly green, and his feathers looked sharper than they did before. You felt everything, you felt the fear and exhaustion, you saw confusion and rage in his eyes. But the moment he looked at you, everything softened as if the world became a better place.

“It was you,” he said and caught your hand between his palms and looked at you as if you were the most important thing in his world.

“Me?”

“Darling just hold on,” he said with a smile and you understood. You saw your world grow lighter, and a smile appeared on your face.

“You were hiding... Wings,” you managed to say out of the happy confusion.

“And you your mind,” he replied and kissed the back of your hand. “I'm never letting her separate us, never again.”

“Her?”

“Mrs. Daniell. We're leaving tonight y/n, I don't fucking care, we won't stay here anymore. She won't take me away from you, not again.”

Your heart felt full, and your smile grew wider. Your two soulmates were one.

[thenightling]

Dreams to Dream: Chapter 3

Bet you thought I gave up on this, didn’t you?  Well, I wrote a bit more for a half hour today.  :-P

Chapter may be fleshed out with more detail later.

Dreams to Dream:  Chapter 3.

Disclaimer:  Sandman belongs to Neil Gaiman and DC comics.  

    3

           Darkness.   Darkness and the plunging sensation of falling.   Spiraling, spinning.   Lucien was screaming.  Matthew was fighting the powerful current with desperate and frantic flapping.  

 “MY LORD!”  With one hand Lucien was trying to hold his spectacles on.  With the other he reached out desperately for Morpheus, whom he couldn’t actually see in the maddening whirl of dark haze as he tumbled through the abyss.  Lucien felt a sudden tug on the back of his jacket.  Someone had him.   Morpheus had him in a grip much stronger than Lucien may have expected considering Morpheus’ recent signs of weakness.

Matthew let out a surprised cry as he was caught in a pale, bony grasp.    

           They were descending now, more slowly.  Gracefully.   The trio landed on a platform floating in an oddly colored void.  Around them was a vastness of a cloudy nebula that was somehow devoid of distant stars.

Morpheus released his two companions.    Lucien dusted himself off and straightened his spectacles.  He attempted to restore his usual appearance of being prim and proper.   Matthew fluttered to get a higher angle and look around the strange nothingness that surrounded them.

“My Lord, what IS this place?” Lucien asked.

“This is a place outside of known reality. A place to commune.”

“Commune with who?”  Matthew asked with a wary and cautious tone.

Morpheus chose against directly answering but instead reached out a pointed finger and started to draw in the air.  A simple symbol- a pentangle of sorts. A simple five pointed star. Where his finger touched at empty air a golden aura of light lingered behind and soon the symbol took form.  The star floated in the air as if suspended by an invisible wire.  

“What’s that?” Matthew asked as he flapped down to settle a perch on his old boss’s shoulder.  It was familiar and good, as if no time had passed between them at all, no time lost that they could have and should have shared- now on this strange adventure.   And Matthew wondered- would Morpheus go back to being dead after this?  Like really dead?  Would he be gone again, inaccessible to them?   For the first time in the entirety of his life as a raven Matthew wished he had arms to physically grab him and maybe give him a good shake to knock some sense into him.   He dreaded the end of the adventure that he knew was bound to come.

“It’s a star.”  Morpheus said simply.

“I can see that.  I mean… Why are you drawing it?”

“It is a very old sigil.”

Matthew and Lucien understood this.   Sigils were symbols of magick and power. Each of the family of Endless had a sigil. Death’s was her ankh.  Destiny’s was his great, chained book.  Desire’s sigil was a heart.  Despair’s sigil was a hooked ring.  Delirium’s was a strange splattering of rainbow color that maybe once vaguely resembled a flower.

“Whose sigil is that?” Matthew asked.      

“Mine.”

“Yours?” Matthew asked and then Matthew and Lucien exchanged looks.

Matthew attempted to broach the subject delicately as if dying and current existence had left Morpheus addled somehow.  “Uh… Your sigil is your battle helm.  Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, Matthew.  I remember. But before the helm there was another sigil.  Before I created the helm my sigil was a star.  And He knows it.  He knows I am the only one who would use it now.  He will come to me.”

 They stood in silence for several, awkward seconds.  And just before Matthew could state that nothing was happening something did happen.   A glowing vortex opened in front of them, golden in color and bright as the sun. And a figure emerged from this light, as pale as Morpheus but in a white roman toga that draped down to his feet from his midsection.  A sash, also of white, was across his shoulder. And around his neck hung a pendant of bright green emerald. It glowed with power.

“Hello Dream.”  Morpheus said without the slightest hint of recognized irony.

“Hello Morpheus.” Daniel replied in the same tone.  The tiny star-like pupil in Daniel’s eye flared and the mirror that was Morpheus gave a bitter smile as the two walked toward each other.  With Morpheus’ dark hair and dark clothes, and Daniel’s white hair and white clothes, the two seemed to be opposite halves of a yin yang moving in toward each other.   Two pieces of a puzzle finally connected and whole.   It was… weirdly beautiful to the raven but he would never say it.

There was some unspoken communication between Morpheus and Daniel, some silent communication that Lucien and Matthew could not see or hear.  It passed silently between the two as an exchange of knowledge and memory.   And when the silent exposition had ended Morpheus spoke out loud.

 “I see.” Morpheus said as most of his questions were now more or less answered.  “The girl?  Ivy?” Morpheus asked as if the question conveyed a great deal more than it seemed.

“She is safe.”  Daniel replied.  “I have her.”

Morpheus nodded.  “I underestimated your humanness.  For that I am sorry.”

Daniel shook his head.  “That which was human was burnt away long ago.  I am no more human than you.”

For a moment it looked like Morpheus was about to protest but Matthew gave a croaking caw to get their attention, his wings flapping.  “You’re both more human than you’d want to admit!  So shut up and let’s postpone the pissing contest. We’ve got The Dreaming to save!”

“Quiet, Matthew.”  Morpheus commanded.

“Don’t talk to him that way.” Daniel said.

“Yeah, you’re not the boss anymore.  Don’t talk to me that way.”

“Matthew, quiet.”  Daniel said.

 And Matthew gave them both a look.  He then turned his head toward Lucien.  “It’s like he’s in stereo.”

 Lucien wiped a tear at seeing Daniel.  He was sniffling, trying not to sob.  He was trembling from all he had recently experienced.  From the A.I. that took over the dreaming, to the digitization of the library.  To his exhaustion at trying to keep The Dreaming running without his king for a second (and somehow more trying) time.

“My lord, what are we doing to do?”

Daniel gave Lucien a warm and sad look, “There is nothing I can do.  I am-…“

Before Daniel could finish what he was saying, Morpheus was walking behind him. He seemed to be circling Daniel like a vulture encircling prey.   He placed a hand on Daniel’s back.  “This…”   His hand rested on the dream catcher tattoo, a geas spell that bound him.  “This petty hedgemagicking?   This is what has crippled you?”

“I am not crippled.”  Daniel said indignantly.

Morpheus gave a tiny, strained smile. “Am I always so-?”

Matthew interrupted “Stubborn?  Usually refusing help?  Cocky? Acting like your shit don’t stink?”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘Incorrigible,’ Matthew.” Lucien said as he adjusted his spectacles, no longer quite sounding as if he was on the verge of a break down.

“Yeah, that.  Uh…You are.” Matthew answered Morpheus.

“Ah. I see.  Fascinating.”  Morpheus said with actual consideration as he rested his fingertips on the dream catcher.   He grimaced, trying to mask that the magick was hurting him.  “This… This will not do.    But Dream Catchers were never designed to prevent or stop dreams.  Only Nightmares.   And you are the master of both. Or… Are you?”  

Daniel blinked. “You know how to remove it, don’t you?”

Morpheus sighed “At great sacrifice to myself, yes…”

“How so?”

“I can pull you through it, your very essence but the darker part of you.  The part that governs Nightmares… That will be ripped from you.   It will be painful.  And you will lose much of yourself.”

“Where will that part of me go?”

“…Where it once was…”

Daniel nodded solemnly and turned to face Morpheus.   He stared at him for a very long moment and understanding the sacrifice he was making, the freedom he was giving up to save him- to save his kingdom- the balance he meant to preserve, he took Morpheus’ hand, his fingers intertwining with his.   And he breathed the words, “Thank you.”

Morpheus was briefly surprised by the sudden grasp of his hand, their fingers instinctively twisting together. Again Morpheus nodded sadly.

 The two figures, one light, one dark, were rotating in the void, and speaking, now separate from the two dream creatures.  They were away from both Matthew and Lucien.  

 “This will hurt.” One of the two similar figures said.

“I know.” confirmed the other as the light and dark figures moved in circular formations like a slow waltz.

“It will be like being born again.” Said one solemnly.

“It will be like dying again.” The other replied apologetically.

“And when it is over…” said one.  

“When it is over things will never be the same again.” Said the other.  But it was hard to tell which was speaking.  

           Matthew and Lucien were now on a platform of displaced terrafirma though Matthew did not remember leaving Morpheus’ shoulder.  He was fluttering in the air (or was it air?).  “What’s happening?  What are they doing?”

           “I… I don’t know.”  Lucien said with puzzled worry.        

          There was darkness and then a great explosion of light.   Someone was screaming.   Both were screaming.   An agonized cry, like a man dying, or a baby being born, or both.   It was deafening and heartbreaking and all around Lucien and Matthew they could feel the rush of a tremendous energy.    They knew they were witnessing something profound but they could not quite tell what it was.

             After what seemed like a small eternity it was over.  In a strange crater lay two naked beings.   A burnt dream catcher made of wire, and a wooden frame, and beads, and feathers, with Hebrew letters Matthew could not read lay on the ground.  It was as if the hideous geas of a tattoo had been ripped from Daniel’s back and made manifest into a tactile object.  But in reality Daniel had been torn through the pentacle and the tangible object was merely all that remained of it now.   It looked like someone had tried to shove a fire cracker (or a small star) through it.   The mark on Daniel’s back was gone, but the flesh of his back was raw, pink and slowly healing back to bone-white.

             Morpheus lay on the ground, curled in a fetal position as he laid been once before when summoned to the cellar of a human occultist, Roderick Burgess.  He lay there with his eyes clenched shut. He seemed to be in a great deal of pain.   Clutched in one hand was a pendant.  A brand new, glowing amulet, a jewel hanging from a chain.  Ruby?  Perhaps garnet?   A bright red new dream stone made from the torn piece of Daniel’s essence.   He could feel the power of the dreamstone passing into himself, coursing through him.   He couldn’t throw it away now.   It had been the only way to save them- to save his world.   There has to be balance.  There must be two.  Two sides to the coin.  Light, and darkness.   And he, as he had always loved his Nightmares, had accepted the darkness that could not survive the journey through the magick of the dream catcher. He placed the pendant over his head and let the stone’s weight hang against his chest.  This was somehow very familiar.  

             Oh, certainly there was a way to give it back to Daniel now.  If he thought about it for a few minutes he might have.   But sometimes things happen for a reason.  Sometimes sacrifices must be made.  And sometimes…  There must be balance.

            Lucien had somehow made it from his safe, floating shelf, to the crater on the other floating ground.   “Morpheus?” He asked.  

           Oh, poor Lucien.  He hadn’t remembered to not call him “My Lord” that whole time and now he finally had remembered to disregard the formality.  And now he was to be corrected again.

           Morpheus slowly, shakily stood up, not too modest about his current nudity. “Is that any way to address your king, Lucien?” he asked softly.  But though his voice was soft there was power there, familiar power. And Lucien felt him there, felt him and the other Dream- both in his mind.

           “Ugh.  Kings.” Groaned the other similar voice, correcting him.  

Lucien hurried over to help the white haired one to his feet.

           Matthew flew over to Morpheus. He could feel the restored connection too.  “What have you done?”

           “Isn’t it obvious, Matthew?  There needs to be balance. That Dream Catcher would have destroyed a great deal of his essence if there was no one else to claim it.   “We are now both Dream of The Endless.”

             “My Lord!”  Lucien exclaimed, while supporting the weakened, white haired Dream.

             “Yes.” Both answered, as if it was a question.

[crowleymalone]

Night Music

Martha heard the soft music drift through the air. She'd heard the song before but she couldn't place where and it always reminded her of a sad lullaby.

Following her ears she was unsurprised to find the sound coming from the control room.

She was about to speak when she saw the Doctor staring at the monitor, arms folded across his chest and wearing an expression she'd seen fleetingly a couple of times before.

XxXxX

He sighed as the song played over and over.

'Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper I love you,

Birds singing in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me.'

The melancholy melody did nothing to cheer his mood and the TARDIS refused to play anything else. Eventually he'd given up trying to ignore her and went to the monitor, seeing what she was up to. It was then he felt his hearts lurch.

'Say nighty-night and kiss me, just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me,

While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me.'

The TARDIS was playing a home movie of sorts. All his memories of Rose playing on the grainy monitor. Her smile lighting up the screen, her golden hair blowing all around as she laughed up at him.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to starve off the consuming coldness that was creeping over him and swallowing the painful lump that was forming. He wanted to look away, wanted to stop seeing these things because they hurt too much but he couldn't. Rose wasn't with him anymore and he'd take any hint of a shadow that he could.

‘Stars fading but I linger on dear, still craving your kiss,

I'm longing to linger 'til dawn dear, just saying this.

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you, sweet dreams that leave your worries behind you,

But in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.'

XxXxX

Martha watched from the shadows fascinated. She'd never seen the Doctor so open about anything. She shifted her position trying to se the monitor but she was too far away. She did however; see the tear that rolled down his cheek before he furiously wiped it away. Her chest tightened. He'd only mentioned Rose once or twice but she obviously crossed his mind many times because he got a far away look and a sadness seemed to seep in at the corner of his eyes at things people would say.She had seen it happen just a few hours ago. Tallulah had accepted Laszlo as he was and Martha had said about there being a someone for everyone. The instant she'd said it she knew she'd said something wrong, as the Doctor looked back to the city with the same heartbreaking look he had the few times he'd briefly mentioned Rose.

XxXxX

He found himself swaying from side to side and closed his eyes when he saw her mascara-streaked face surrounded by a dull, grey unwelcoming beach. He tried to picture her in his arms, swaying with him in time to the music, smiling up at him with that smile that warmed him all over, the one that made him realise how much he loved her.

Regret spread through him like a hot poker, he never got to tell her that. She'd told him she loved him and he never got to tell her, she'd never know how much he loved her.

The Doctor wondered what she was doing now, who she was smiling up at now and he felt dampness fill his eyes. Rubbing his eyes, he looked back at the monitor and couldn't help but laugh at the image of her in her pink 50's skirt.

XxXxX

Rose had obviously been someone incredibly important to the Doctor and Martha wished she knew more about her but she was afraid to ask. She just hoped the Doctor would eventually be able to move on. If she didn't know better she'd say that he loved Rose. Of course when she really thought about it she didn't know better. She hardly knew him at all. He avoided questions about himself except for that one time on new earth where she'd refused to move until he spoke to her. His face had softened talking about his home, just for a moment his defences crumbled and she saw the real him. It made her realise that he was acting most of the time. What you saw wasn't who he really was, there was so much more to him than she'd ever know, but she hoped one day she would know more. XxXxX

'Stars fading but I linger on dear, still craving your kiss,

I'm longing to linger 'til dawn dear, just saying this.

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you, sweet dreams that leave your worries far behind you,

But in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.'

As the song drew to a close, for what he hoped was the last time the last image was of Rose at Christmas, beaming at him as he walked through the front door in his new brown suit.

"I miss her too." He told his ship, giving the panel a comforting stroke, his voice cracking.

XxXxX

Martha decided to leave the Doctor dancing with his invisible partner, knowing that if she stayed to long he'd see her.

Walking down the corridor she paused at the door next to the Doctor's room. She'd seen him slip through that door many times at night time. He rarely spent any time in the room he'd pointed out as his and he'd blocked it from view when she'd moved in, telling her it was just storage.

Looking back down the corridor she dared herself to turn the handle and see just what was behind the door.

Curiosity won out and she opened the door, half expecting to find a room full of junk that was meaningless to anyone but him, alien things that she could never fathom what they were for. Instead, her hand few to her mouth, stifling a cry as she took in the surroundings.

The room was full of belongings all right, a girl's belongings. Martha took a step inside and closed the door behind her. Looking around she saw posters papering most of the walls. One wall however was covered with photos, a blond girl with various people. A tall handsome man, blue eyes, brown hair wearing a flight jacket. Another slightly balding man in a beaten leather jacket who also had blue eyes was grinning back with an impossibly big grin, his arm flung around the girl's shoulders.

Then she spotted the Doctor. He looked impossibly happy sat at a dinner table with the blond girl and two others, all wearing silly Christmas hats. The older woman in the photo looked like she could be the girl's mother, who the black boy was Martha had no clue.

"What are you doing in here?" The Doctor's voice made her jump.

"I was….I'm sorry I just…."

"This is Rose's room." He said wistfully, stepping over the threshold.

He didn't look angry or sound it, he looked a little sad, that was nothing new but there was a twinkle in his eye as his gaze swept the room.

"Rose?" Martha looked back at the photo wall. "Is this her?"

The Doctor walked up behind her. "Yes. That's my Rose." His hand extended over her shoulder pointing at one of the pictures. "That's her mother Jackie, hell of a woman although a little too ready with a slap for my liking. That's her….don't really know I suppose he's her friend, Mickey. That is Captain Jack Harkness."

"Who's that?" She pointed to the man in the leather jacket.

"That's me, can't you tell?"

"In what universe?"

"This one. It's a long story, hopefully one you'll never be witness to but to put it simply, if I'm fatally wounded I'll change my face. It's called regeneration."

Martha nodded as silence fell. She looked up at the Doctor as he plucked a photo from the wall. "What happened to her?" She asked finally.

"She's gone. That's all."

"Without her stuff? It looks like her entire life is here."

"It is, pretty much. This is Rose Tyler's life."

"So?"

"Not today Martha. One day, but not today." He said wearily as his eyes glazed slightly.

She nodded, not pressing him any further. This wasn't like New Earth; this wasn't a conversation she could force from him. This was his heartbreak and he wasn't ready to tell her about any of it. She doubted he would ever tell her what happened.

"Just one thing. Did she die?"

"No. No she's very much alive." A watery smile spread across his face. "She's living her life with her family and Mickey. She's fine."

"But I don't understand."

"Martha please; not now."

"Okay, I'm sorry." She mentally kicked herself, she'd promised herself she wouldn't push him tonight, especially after what she'd witnessed in the control room and here she was doing just that. "Well, I suppose I should get off to bed. G'night Doctor."

"Goodnight."

With one last glance over her shoulder she left the room, closing the door behind her.

The Doctor flopped heavily on the bed, still clutching the photo of him and Rose. Laying back he held it against his chest and closed his eyes trying to picture the pair of them together, in happy times. It was harder to do these days as most of his thoughts were haunted by the pain he saw on her face the last time he saw her.

Curling up on her bed the Doctor let himself relax and fall asleep.

'Doctor?'

'Hello' he grinned. He looked just as he always did. His brown suit rumpled and his hair misbehaving. 'You look beautiful'.

Looking down Rose saw her dress. A simple black dress that floated around her, silver sparkled across it like star dust.

They were in her room on the TARDIS, all her things scattered around them.

'What's happening?'

He took one of her hands in his and wrapped his other round her waist.

'Well Rose, I believe it's called dancing.' He told her with a chuckle as he started to sway to the music.

'But how?'

'Ah, that I don't know. But to be honest I don't care because it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that we're here and there's something you need to know.'

'What's that?' she smiled up at him.

'I love you Rose Tyler, have done form the minute you saved my life.'

'Which time?' She asked cheekily.

'The first time, the moment you trusted me when I told you to run in that cellar.'

His lips brushed hers lightly and she sighed.

'Is that what you were going to say on that beach?'

'Might be.' He winked.

'Well I suppose I should say it again. I love you.' She pressed a light kiss to his lips this time but it soon deepened as the need to hold and feel each other grew.

'You're going to be late for work.' He murmured

'What?'

'Come on Rose, up you get. At least it's Friday.'

Rose's eye's flickered open as light poured into her room. She groaned as she realised it was all a dream. Sighing she got up and headed to the bathroom.

"Rose what on earth are you wearing?" Jackie called.

Looking down Rose frowned before she started to giggle. "I went dancing last night." She grinned, disappearing out the door, singing to herself.

'Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper I love you,

Birds singing in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me.'

'Say nighty-night and kiss me, just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me,

While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me.'

'Stars fading but I linger on dear, still craving your kiss,

I'm longing to linger 'til dawn dear, just saying this.

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you,

Sweet dreams that leave your worries behind you,

But in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.'

'Stars fading but I linger on dear, still craving your kiss,

I'm longing to linger 'til dawn dear, just saying this.

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you, sweet dreams that leave your worries far behind you,

But in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.'

[midnightprelude]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @faerieavalon, thanks friend. Tagging forward to @thesaltyhealer, @johaeryslavellan, @lethendralis-paints, and @tryvyalsynnes if you’re interested.

I’ve got a bunch of random crap that may or may not turn into anything (probably not). Here you go, random crap. I haven’t been feeling great lately, but it’s good to know that I’m still writing. A lot. It’s random shit, but it’s still writing, so that’s something I guess.

One. 

Unfortunately, now I must find a new meaning for myself without you or a calamity to guide me. I no longer know who I am, amatus. I cannot go back to who I was before we met; you have changed me in so many wonderful ways. I am free to trust, to stand proud against my father, to fight for justice, to admit I was wrong, to learn from my mistakes. Knowing you, loving you, has made me stronger than I ever could have been alone. However, I still feel as though I am not yet the man I must become. My country needs a miracle. That the entire mess was the doing of my people, ancient and otherwise, was a blow.

Two.

“No,” she laughed, brushing a curl off her nose. “I should think not. We have plans tonight, Dorian. You’ll never guess who I just ran into!”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Unless it’s someone who will grade these papers for me and write a couple of grants, I’m afraid the only plans I have for the evening are take-out and a date with this pen.” He twirled the ballpoint between his fingers.

Three. 

Anders was smiling. Dorian couldn’t help himself; he bent over, kissing him, both men sighing with pleasure. Avoiding thoughts of the future had become their solace; they had both decided simultaneously and wordlessly that they would squeeze every moment of happiness out of the present before their lives fell to pieces.

Four. 

Her brow furrowed, searching for a memory that wasn’t tinged with sadness. “In truth, the things that hold the most weight in my mind are those that caused me the most grief. The contented ones were all shoved away. I had thought it better to believe that only sorrow existed, more fuel to add to the flames. It allowed me to function. The juxtaposition of what was with what could have been… It always hurt too much.”

Five.

They were supposed to be learning about the history of the Circles, but Anders had fallen asleep again. He hadn’t been resting properly at night since the Templars had brought him back, carted him in front of Irving and Gregiore; his lessons were the only place he could sleep these days. There were plenty of people about, the rooms were well-lit, and the enchanters droned endlessly. In essence, classes were the perfect draught; they set Anders right to sleep without fail.

Six. 

Fog descends over the dusty city as the small man behind the desk rolls a cigar. Red hair, red jacket, red chair. The shade stands out against the general darkness of the room; it feels like all the other colors had simply given up and walked out leaving only vibrant reds and dull grays.

The man pulls a lighter from his breast pocket, and the red flame casts his face in shadow, just for a moment. The end of his cigar catches alight and he sighs, leaning back. He offers a drag to the person facing him, but their refusal suits him just fine.

“It’s been a long time since anyone has had much in the way of hope around here. Kirkwall is a pit, it’s true, but sometimes you just find a whole and think to yourself, well, if I die here, at least nobody’ll have to start digging.

“The name’s Tethras. I’m something of a storyteller, those these days nobody is much in the mood for stories. But I’d like to think that once we stop telling them, that’s when life has ground us all down into such tiny pieces that there’s nothing left to salvage. Floating through the air like motes of dust.

“So, I’ll keep talking, as long as you’re listening, friend. I’m just a bit player in this story, but I know enough to tell you that it’s one worth sticking around for. Gets better with every telling.”

[bangtanstanst]

Valentine’s | 5: Epilogue

part one • part two • part three • part four • part five

When you spend your Valentine's with a relative stranger, you think it's nothing more than just plain old fun. Your friends, however, seem to think differently – and there might be a small part of you that agrees.

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: college!au, fluff

warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption

word count: 2.5k

a/n: ahhhhhhh here it finally is!! The last part to the Valentine’s series :’) Before we get into it, I just wanted to thank everyone for the incredible response I’ve received on this so far, I’m always so happy to see that you guys like what I write :D Thanks for sticking with me throughout this, I’m so grateful to have you guys as my readers♥♥♥ It really feels bittersweet, uploading this; I’ve really loved writing this series and these characters :’) Anyways, I’ll stop ranting now – I hope you enjoy this last part!

›› tag list: @nambewb @namiiy @bts-lys @manimercury and @moonojoon ‹‹

masterlist

“And, well, to make a long story short…” Taehyung pauses for dramatic effect, sending you a grin as you walk along the corridor of your dorm building. It’s late Friday night, so the hallway is unsurprisingly active. Several doors are propped open and chatter floats from the apartment-style dorms into the hallway, music echoing off the walls and floor. People move from one dorm to the next, visiting friends to rant about the newest paper to be written, the tons of readings waiting to be done. Others have decided to ignore that for the time being, carrying heaps of laundry in their arms, heading towards the elevators in small groups.

“Jungkook fell out the window again.”

“What?” you exclaim, turning to look at him in disbelief without disconnecting your hand from his. “No way – the same one?”

Taehyung snickers at your surprise, nodding with a bright, boxy smile on his face. “Right through the crime scene tape.”

“Jesus Christ, how is that boy still walking on two legs?” you mutter with a shake of your head, digging around in your back pocket and fishing out your keys.

Simply laughing, Taehyung shrugs as you come to a stop at your door. “Hell if I know, I just relay the stories to you.”

You chuckle, pointing at him with your dorm key. “See, maybe that’s why he keeps doing this stuff. He just wants fame.”

Taehyung snorts, leaning against the wall as you fumble to unlock the door. “Believe me, it’s all accidental,” he replies as the door swings open.

You can hear the sounds of a movie soundtrack coming from the TV as you stuff your keys back into your pocket, and you figure May has decided to have a movie night by herself like she said she would. You don’t give it much thought, though, especially when Taehyung comes in for a back-hug to shuffle inside with you, chin leaning on your shoulder. His hair brushes the skin of your neck and you shiver, a smile teasing over your lips.

“Plus, you can’t deny you love hearing about– oh my god.”

His arms are suddenly gone, leaving you to step inside on your own. With a surprised laugh and raised eyebrows, you glance over your shoulder to see Taehyung standing frozen in the doorway, his wide eyes focused on something in the small living room. A bright, happy smile is tugging at his parted lips, however, which makes you even more confused – but when you turn your head to look into the same direction, all your questions fly right out the window and you gasp, having to hold back a squeal.

“Hi, guys,” May returns, sounding as casual as she can. She keeps her eyes on you, pointedly not looking at the figure sitting right next to her. Her flushed cheeks betray her, though, and your grin widens.

“May,” you reply with a formal nod, barely staying composed. “Yoongi.”

Yoongi nods right back, his cheeks only slightly less red than May’s. “What’s up?”

Taehyung snickers and you blindly swing your hand behind you, hitting his side, though it doesn’t seem to silence him quite as much as you’d hoped.

“Nothing much,” you reply, slipping off your coat without taking your eyes off of the two in front of you – the couple you’ve spent so long on trying to get together after that one-off makeout session at the frat party. “You?”

They exchange glances, pasting on the fakest smiles you’ve ever seen and shrugging. “Just watching a movie,” May replies. “Avoiding studying, you know how it is.”

You glance at the TV, crossing your arms while Taehyung finally closes the door with a soft click. “Oh, yeah?” you inquire, one eyebrow raised. You realise you walked in on them before something actually happened, but you might as well try to get them to confess to something, anything. You refuse to admit mission Yay was a failure, dammit. “What kinda movie?”

Both May and Yoongi’s heads whirl around to look at the TV, though unfortunately for them, the credits are rolling and the text doesn’t give them much. “Uh… j-just a… romcom?”

“Yes, exactly,” Yoongi agrees with a firm nod, confidently looking back at you and Taehyung – as if you don’t know what’s really going on here.

“Oh? Which one?” you ask innocently, walking over to them and plopping down on the couch they’re not occupying. Leaning against the backrest, you cross your legs and fold your hands in your lap, staring at them with a raised eyebrow – you can barely hold back the laugh you feel bubbling up when they stare right back, their cheeks flushing almost simultaneously.

Taehyung soon follows you to the couch corner, though he swipes the remote off of the coffee table before he can be stopped and points it at the TV, pausing the movie so he can read the title – “Ah, of course. The famed romcom that is Batman: The Dark Knight.”

You snicker into your hand, watching as both May and Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed and they shake their heads, disappointed.

“It was just- we were-” May pauses in hesitation, eyes popping open as she tries to think of her next ‘explanation’.

“Talking,” Yoongi quickly fills in.

May nods frantically, pointing at the man next to her. “Exactly. Two friends, talking.”

You just grin at her as Taehyung sits down next to you, settling against the armrest and letting you lean your back against his chest instead of the couch. “Right, of course,” you say with a nod and for a second, you see relief in their eyes – until you speak up again. “The language of loooo-”

“Okay!” May jumps up, clapping her hands for good measure. “It’s late. Movie’s over. Bedtime has arrived. Time to go, Min!”

Yoongi simply nods, shooting up from the couch and scurrying over to the front door. You watch the two of them with a small smile, tilting your head as they start to talk, voices low and hushed. “Oh, how the tables have tabled,” you remark as Taehyung puts his arms around you, allowing you to pick up his hand and play with his fingers.

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, though you feel his chin brush your hair as he nods. May is saying something to Yoongi, once again too lowly for you or Taehyung to eavesdrop, though it makes him laugh.

“I think we mistimed our entrance again, though,” Taehyung whispers, breath fanning into your hair. You pout, nodding, knowing that something might really have happened between the two of them – finally – if you’d walked in just a few minutes later. “I told you we should’ve gotten that fourth plate of chicken wings.”

You snort, lightly elbowing his side, though he just laughs. “I’m starting to think we should reconsider locking them in a room, just to speed the process up a bit.”

“They were locked in a room, we just barged in on them like idiots before they could actually get it on,” Taehyung shoots back. You can hear the amused smile through his words and you can’t help but chuckle, shaking your head.

“You’re really going all-in on those extra chicken wings, aren’t you?” you remark, watching as Yoongi shrugs on his jacket and he and May start taking incredibly slow steps towards the entrance.

Taehyung huffs into your hair. “Come on, how can you ever have enough of those chicken wings?”

You let out a longing sigh, nodding slowly as you lean further into him. “Good point,” you mutter in reply, dreamily smacking your lips. “We’ll have an early lunch next time, to prepare.”

Taehyung cheers softly, arms tightening around your torso to wiggle you back and forth in some weird kind of victory dance. It makes you laugh and you’re shaking your head in mock-disappointment, though you go along with it anyway.

“We should –” You fall silent, laughter dying out and your movements stilling when the door opens, forcing both May and Yoongi to jump back and allow for whoever’s entering to actually walk inside.

“What do we have here?” April remarks, eyebrows raised as she looks between May and Yoongi, now standing two feet apart.

“Movie night,” May replies, so fast that April seems taken aback. “But it’s over now.”

Yoongi simply nods as Namjoon enters right behind April, his hand intertwined with hers. “What she said.”

You snort, managing to suppress a full burst of laughter. In reply, May simply sends you a glare over her shoulder, slipping past her friends to hold the door open for Yoongi and bid him goodbye. April and Namjoon, however, raise their eyebrows at you, taking a few steps towards you and leaning forward in silent inquiry.

You can only shrug apologetically and the two seem disappointed at your answer, sighing – just as May and Yoongi both walk outside.

The four of you exchange surprised looks as you jump up from the couch, eyes wide.

“Did they just… ?”

“I think they did.”

“Should we –”

“Duh!”

You dash towards the front door, coming to an abrupt stop next to April and Namjoon, who haven’t even gotten the chance to take off their coats yet. Taehyung joins you a moment later, and the four of you put your ears to the door, eyes fluttering closed as you attempt to listen to what’s happening in the hallway – but the voices are muffled, and any and all words you could hypothetically understand are pretty much overpowered by the music coming from a different dorm.

“Come the fuck on, guys, we’ve waited long enough,” April mutters, letting out a sigh as May’s laughter echoes through the corridor.

“They’re not gonna do anything out there, too many eyes,” you return, shaking your head in disappointment and removing your ear from the door to stand up straight again. “Tonight’s not the night, guys.”

Taehyung looks at you with a regretful frown, ear still glued to the door. “We definitely fucked this up, didn’t we?”

You nod slowly, opening your mouth to agree, but April’s intense glare shuts you up. “You interrupted them? Again?”

“In our defence, it wasn’t like there was a sock on the doorknob or something,” you return, holding up your hands. “We would’ve stayed the hell out, had we known those two were in there.”

“Plus,” Taehyung adds, looking over at April. “You guys messed up last time, so I think we’re– ah, Jesus!” He, April, and Namjoon are suddenly hit in the head by an opening door and they jump back, groaning. You burst out in laughter, receiving only glares in reply while May slips past you to start clearing up some of the trash she and Yoongi made.

“Come on, first you don’t wanna get more chicken wings and now you’re laughing at my pain and suffering?” Taehyung huffs in disbelief, rubbing his ear. April and Namjoon are doing the same next to him, retreating into the kitchen.

You just grin at him, shrugging. “Told you tonight wasn’t gonna be the night.”

“There is no ‘the night’ to speak of here,” May protests, carrying a half-empty bag of chips back to the kitchen, though April snatches it out of her hand before she can put it away. “Yoongi and I are just friends and that is all, thank you very much.”

“Ha! Don’t make me laugh,” April comments, smugly stuffing some chips in her mouth. Taehyung brushes past you, sending you the biggest pout you’ve ever seen, and you pout right back, following him to the couch. “You don’t think we can see those red cheeks of yours, huh?”

“Honestly, I’ve seen the way he talks to you and believe me, that is not how he talks to ‘just a friend’,” Namjoon adds, opening his mouth so April can feed him some snacks. You stop next to the couch Taehyung has settled on, where he’s still holding up a façade of annoyance, crossing his arms – though his lips are already twitching, starting to curl upwards. “If it’s certainty you want, I can just go up and ask him.”

“No!” May replies immediately. When you take a step closer to Taehyung and hold out your hand, smiling hopefully at him, a smile starts to break through. “Why are you even– no!”

“Come on, Five, admit it,” April insists. “You like the guy. You wanna make out with him again, and then talk and hang out, and then make out some more.”

“Yeah, Five!” you say, laughing when Taehyung suddenly smiles brightly, quite literally throwing his arms open to you. He grabs your hand and tugs you down to the couch, pulling you into him as you mutter a ‘hey!’ in protest, though you don’t really resist. “Just take that first step,” you tell her, leaning your back on Taehyung’s chest, your legs resting in between his, his arms snaking around your torso once more.

May snorts and shakes her head at you. “Says you.”

You just shrug and smile. “Hey, at least I got over it in, like, a week,” you shoot back, holding up your hand for Taehyung to high five.

He firmly slaps it. “Damn right she did,” he beams, dropping his hand back onto your stomach.

May huffs and rolls her eyes, grabbing the bag of chips out of April’s hands. “That was different. You weren’t friends,” she protests, taking a handful of chips and eating them all at once.

“Even better that you are!” you shoot back. “Means you can just tell him that it’s a joke if he doesn’t feel the same.”

With another bitter laugh, May shakes her head once more, handing the chips back to April. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“I’ll give them another week and a half,” Taehyung stage-whispers into your ear.

You snicker, ignoring the warning glare May sends you as she puts some dirty glasses into the sink. “Five bucks on two weeks.”

“No, guys, we have that party next week, remember?” April calls from across the room, shaking her head seriously. “Ten bucks something happens then.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Define ‘something’.”

April just smirks mischievously, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I’d say –”

“Anyways!” May exclaims, adding a single clap to her words. It’s enough to interrupt April, and May snatches the bag of chips out of her hands once more, settling on the couch she occupied with Yoongi just before. “What did you guys do tonight?” she asks pointedly, her voice unnaturally high-pitched. “How was the food? How was the atmosphere? Who won tonight’s staring contest? Tell me everything!”

While it is by no means a smooth transition, you all decide to let it go for now. The conversation soon moves on to chicken wings and drinking games, though you can’t stop smiling knowingly at your friend. You know that look in her eyes, you know the blush on her cheeks – you went through it all yourself, for god’s sake. And if there’s one thing you learned from it, it’s that she’ll get to ‘the night’ soon enough, with or without your… ‘help’.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you won’t stop trying. You’re having way too much fun for that.

previous

a/n: thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked it!! Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of this part and of the series, I’d love to hear from you♥ I hope you have a great day/night wherever you are :))

masterlist

[eirianerisdar]

Red-Blue, Red-Black

Summary: Spider-Man into the Spider-verse. With great power came great responsibility, yes - but from great responsibility, grew love. Nobody loved New York more than Spider-Man, and nobody loved Spider-Man more than New York, no matter what spiders follow.

Spoilers for the movie. Written in snapshots from multiple perspectives.

I put this under a read more, but it might not be working on tumblr mobile.

>It was supposed to be just like any other early-morning start.

Despite the rumoured dimension-warping event that shook New York to its core barely a few hours ago (there was a light pole somewhere that now looked more like a Christmas tree) Henry got up at his usual time. Slipped on his uniform, went down to the refuse station. Said hello to the other guys coming in, grabbed his keys, started up his garbage truck.

A 4 a.m. start, six days a week, as he had been doing for forty years. He couldn’t afford not to. He had a grandchild on the way, unplanned. His daughter was going to need all the help she could get.

Frost had grown on the streets even in the three hours since they had warped and reverberated back to normal again. Henry took his time, started his usual route down along 12th avenue, the Hudson a dark shimmer between the riverside buildings. His first stop was an industrial warehouse right on the edge of the Hudson; the usual security guard that waved him to the riverside warehouse proper didn’t come out of his little hut to greet him, so Henry, grumbling a little, got out of the truck and jogged along the wharf towards the gate.

And then he saw it.

The body was floating face-down in the Hudson, a shock of blond hair bobbing in the slick water where the garbage truck headlights lanced into the murk.

But that wasn’t what made Henry gasp in a breath of winter air so cold it seemed to strike all the air out of him instead.

It was that red spider insignia, a sanguine image surrounded by blue - like the body in the river, this cold winter morning before sunrise.

The spider that was hope, for so many New Yorkers - had been for over ten years.

Before he was aware of what he was doing, Henry had shed his coat and dove in.

He wasn’t a good swimmer, and he knew it - his mother had always said the family’s swimming genes were all inherited by his brother. But Henry cut through the freezing water with desperation in his lungs - grabbed the body by one arm, dragged it through the seeping cold towards the stairs leading up to the wharf, water stinging his eyes.

A flashlight, far above.

The security guard.

“Hey, man, what’re you-”

Henry heaved the body up the stairs by its armpits, his own arms strong and steady through years of hefting heavy garbage bags - and it was only when the body was up on the wharf, with the harsh white lights of the truck illuminating the broken bones and the bruises and the too-pale features of a the man with the torn spider on his shattered chest, did Henry begin to shake.

“Oh.” the security guard was saying behind him. The flashlight had fallen to the ground - the crack of plastic on concrete horribly like a snap of breaking bone. “Oh. Oh no. Please, no.”

Spider-Man’s eyes were still open, blue as the colour of a New York summer sky - an endless open arch that New Yorkers would look up to, smiling, whenever they heard the swish-snap of webbing and an exhilarated whoop above.

He’s so young, Henry thought, numbly, as snow began to fall in earnest - feather-light touches against the bruised cheekbone of the young man on the wharf. My daughter isn’t much younger.

Henry was shuddering badly, now - the security guard was holding out Henry’s earlier-shed coat at him, telling him to warm up before he froze - and Henry took it, stared down at its high-visiblity stripes in his brown-skinned hands, then back at the young man’s face.

Spider-Man’s face.

The spider-suit was torn, rent in places where blood had no time to flow.

Henry was gratified to know it must at least have been quick.

He reached over with a shaking hand, closed Spider-man’s eyes - shutting away the blue irises forever.

The coat Henry placed over him like a shroud - the only shroud Henry could afford, a high-visibility jacket with the letters DSNY on the back.

“Yeah, send- send someone quick. Spider-man’s...Spider-Man’s dead.”

The security guard lowered his mobile, and Henry looked up.

They shared a single stare that encapsulated all the words that surrounded their mutual understanding.

The security guard nodded once, shed the jacket off his own back and wrapped it around Henry’s shoulders.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” Henry gasped, the transferred warmth hitting him like a blow - a blow that thawed the shock in his chest and moisture to his eyes, melting away the cold river water with warm, salty tears.

The security guard shook his head, one arm still slung across Henry’s shoulders.

They stood like that - two half-strangers bonded with surprised grief, staring down at the covered body of their city’s hero - until the police came with their flashing lights, and the body on the wharf was once more and for the last time illuminated in red and blue.

>MJ had known before the knock on the door.

Peter had a vitals tracker in his suit that fed right into his workshop below the shed in May’s backyard. When the screen displaying his vitals had suddenly snapped to SIGNAL LOST May had called MJ immediately.

MJ had held on to the hope that the vitals tracker had simply been destroyed in some particularly rough fighting. It was the only possibility she could accept.

But hours passed, and Peter didn’t call.

Her Peter always called the first chance he got, if the vitals tracker was shot. It was a promise he had made to her years ago.

And so when it was the doorbell that rang instead of her phone, MJ stood up - she was fully dressed, and had been the entire night - grabbed her coat, and opened the door.

The Police Commissioner stood on her doorstep.

His hat was in his hands.

It was this fact, and that he was looking at her with such heartfelt respect in his eyes - that MJ knew for certain.

“He’s gone, isn’t he,” she said. There was nothing in her voice at all. It shocked her. She had wondered in the past hours what would happen if the worst came to pass - how her own body would react.

It appeared her body had decided not to react at all. Perhaps to do so would be her utter ending.

“I’m afraid so, ma’am,” the Commissioner said. His eyes were shiny in the faint light of sunrise, a film of moisture held back by years of experience. “I’m so sorry.”

MJ swallowed. “Do I- do I need to-”

The Commissioner nodded. “I’m sorry.” He took a breath. “We have a car that can take you to the morgue. Do you need a little time? Is there anyone else you need with you?”

“I-” MJ began. Stopped. Her vision was darkening at the corners. Something like horror was slowly clawing its way up her throat. I need my husband, she wanted to say. My husband is supposed to be with me- Peter-

Eye-blink. Automatic motions.

Her coat was on and her keys in her hand the next moment, and the Commisoner’s steady hand on her arm as he helped her down the stairs to the street.

Did she need to be helped?

Were those her knees that were shaking?

“Mrs. Parker,” the doorman said. “I’m so sorry.”

MJ jarred. Looked up.

Beyond the frosted panes of the apartment building doors, it was snowing.

Christmas lights, on the opposite side of the road.

Her - their, hers and peter’s both - doorman was crying as he opened the door for her.

Mrs Parker.

The car door closed beside her, and MJ took a breath.

Then all too soon the car stopped and the morgue doors opened and the attendant led her inside and she saw the shape under the white sheet and the man said “Take all the time you need,” and folded back the sheet and-

-MJ ceased to exist.

Her Peter. Peter Parker. Her husband.

She might have screamed, if the sobs didn’t come first.

She cradled Peter’s head and wept over the bruises and the broken bones and the cold, cold touch of his skin, her face buried in his hair, until the doors opened behind her and a warm, wrinkled hand wrapped around her shoulder.

May didn’t say anything - just gathered MJ in one arm while her free hand ran through her nephew’s hair.

They wept together over the nephew and husband they had both loved, until even the tears ran dry.

>New York stopped.

People halted mid-step on their morning commute to work, coffee splashing across pavements and staining the stones. Times Square came to a standstill, every screen plastered with the same, horrible news.

It was Peter Parker, the people said.

Peter Parker, from Queens.

Our friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man; our hero.

New York mourned.

The days that followed were strange imitations of Before.

People went to work. People ate, people walked, cars still moved and traffic still jammed. But the skies were empty; the last pieces of remaining webbing had dissolved off the buildings days ago, and though people stopped and looked up, there was never that familiar figure swinging through the skyscrapers along the boulevards and avenues of the city.

People still did the things they did before. It was just...subdued.

May had to ask for help from the Police to stop well-wishers from turning up at her door anymore.

MJ did the same.

Then, the crime rate started to climb - slowly at first as though the criminal underworld was testing the waters, and then climbing rapidly as it became obvious Spider-Man was no longer a threat.

So when the first reports of spider-people came, mere days after Peter Parker’s funeral, nobody quite believed it - until suddenly, a shaky mobile-taken video surfaced from somewhere in Queens - a trench-coated spider-man in black grappling with a human scorpion, a robot and a pig decked out in webbed red and blue, a graceful, hooded spider-girl who slipped between these three like a lethal dancer - and a (slightly pudgy-waisted) spider-man that moved so much like New York’s beloved Peter Parker that a hundred conspiracy theories popped up on social media in the same number of seconds.

And with them, a gangly-footed young Spider-Man (spider-child?) in what looked like store bought gear and high-tops.

New York saw. New York waited. And New York hoped.

Then the next night, downtown, a black-and-red suited form leapt out of the sky, accompanied by a laugh of sheer exhilaration.

It was not the same laugh, not the same form. This new Spider-Man had a the fresh-faced air of youth, and swung with the eager excitement of a first flight. There was something in the slight edge of mingled fear and exhilaration in those close-called movements that spoke of one yet untrained.

But it was enough - there, that slight red-black form was a new generation.

People screamed, first out of shock then out of delight. It did not erase Peter Parker from their hearts - Peter Parker was their first Spider-man, and there was none that could replace him - but Spider-man was back.

So even when New York warped again, worse this time, a hundred times worse than the last - people did their jobs. Helped those more in need to get to safety, protected those who could not protect themselves.

It was what Peter Parker would have done, Spider-Man or not.

And when new Spider-Man climbed out of the hole that was apparently once a secret inter-dimensional laboratory - people began to cheer.

Then Spider-man leapt into the sky and the thwip of web-shooters sounded again - and people cheered louder; a wave of joy that exploded outwards from an epicentre, like the force-wave from the exploding lab just minutes previous.

This Spider-Man sounded different, yes - an immature tilt to his voice that suggested he wasn’t quite done becoming an adult yet - but he was Spider-man.

And he loved New York, as was plain to see.

New York saw this, and, collectively, decided he was theirs, too.

This was Spider-Man. And New York would love him and protect him with all its heart - even more so, for his predecessor.

>When MJ got home from the function, she sat down in the dark living room - she didn’t quite want to face the empty bedroom yet, as she did every night she returned and found the apartment empty - and thought.

She thought of the waiter.

The more she remembered, the more she was quite sure that he hadn’t been a waiter at all - that awkward, dorky movement of the shoulders, the slight slouch and scratch at the back of his neck - that was her Peter, through and through.

But he had sounded so much older. And so much more tired, and sorry, and grieving.

Then the phone rang, and MJ picked up.

It was May, with instructions to turn on the TV; and with other news to tell, besides.

And MJ began to smile.

>Henry took a day off work for the first time in almost ten years to be present at the birth of his grandson.

He was beautiful - had Henry’s late wife’s nose, which their daughter also shared.

“Have you thought of a name?” the nurse said, through the beeping of the instruments and the quiet, happy tears of Henry and his daughter.

“Go on, dad,” his daughter said. “You always had a flair for bad poetry.”

Henry laughed, breath hitching. “That I did.”

He looked at the form in the nurse’s hand, then back at the beautiful baby boy in his daughter’s arms.

Then through the newly-opened hospital drapes and out the window - where the tell-tale silver of webs still hung. Spider-Man must have swung past barely an hour previous.

“Um,” he said, swallowing against a bout of fresh tears. “I’m sure this has been a popular choice these past few weeks, but I thought- I’ve always thought Peter was a good name.”

The nurse smiled at him. She didn’t mention the dozens of newly-born Peters all across the city. This was this family’s joy.

“I like it,” Henry’s daughter smiled.

“Hello, Peter,” Henry said, leaning over her daughter’s bedside. “Welcome to the world.”

Outside, there was a flash of sable and crimson, into the azure sky.

END

Thanks for reading, guys! I’ll be cross posting this to FFN, and links to that and my masterlist will be in replies below, since tumblr doesn’t like links now. <3

[mitchsmarners]

BLOOD IN THE WATER

summary: “I think we’re all going to have do some pretty terrible things,” Eddie said quietly. His hand came to wrap in Richie’s shirt, trying to burn out the violent grip of his father’s from earlier. “None of us have a choice in anything anymore. Whatever happened at Greta’s tonight-“ Eddie’s voice broke and he felt Richie press a kiss into his hair. “There isn’t a good and a bad anymore. There’s just die or don’t.”

[or: after the gruesome murder of his younger brother, Bill Denbrough is determined to bring about the end of the string of crimes in Derry no matter the cost. As stories unwind and fall apart, there’s only more questions as everybody’s lives hang in the balance.]

chapter count: 13/21

chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence, mentions of past rape, mentions of past character death, implications of sexual situations

Taglist: @honkhonkrichard @hufflepuffkaspbrak @emmieliabedelia @reddie-for-anything @wowdidiask @reddiesetrichie @beepbeepbitchard @lemonandeandrice  @mirandosky @vanilluna @mqlvaa @fivxharmony

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Read Full Story on AO3] [Playlist]

Richie was wiping blood from his mouth as Patty lead him out of the elusive back room of the Deep Float. The moment they had arrived at the bar, Eddie had been separated from Richie, left to sit along side Beverly and Stan while the Devils all had a meeting in the back room. Stan had told him in a cold tone that it was Wentworth’s meeting office and both he and Beverly had refused to meet his eye. As though he were the one who’d been hauled into the sheriff’s station in questioning of kidnapping and murder.

Patricia Blum was a specimen of great interest for Eddie. She looked rather like a young child standing next to Richie, she herself barely gazing five feet tall with her hair pushed to the sides of her head in two ponytails. There was an hint of innocence in that air around her, with her Devils jacket looking two sizes too large for her small figure, but the blood red lipstick on her lips seemed to drip with poison. Patty’s father was currently serving two life sentences up at the Shank, and her mother may be a bit of a black widow if any of the whispers around Derry were to be believed.

Eddie had once believed the whispers about Derry without even a consideration of questioning them. Best friends with the mayor’s son and a girl who had cheerleading and prom queen ingrained in her blood, Eddie had always known his place. But now, the mayor’s son was faces murder charges and the prom queen was dead before she could be crowned, and feeling himself falling rapidly in love with the son of a monster, Eddie felt as though every whisper in Derry were equally lies and the truth.  

Richie and Patty took their seats, Richie’s hands clasped together tightly. Eddie’s whole soul yearned to reach out and grasp them, hold Richie and make him forget about whatever just happened with his father, but deep in his soul he knew that this was hardly the place. That the bad things were only just about to begin.  

Wentworth and Maggie stepped out the room, Patrick Hockstetter just behind them with that terrifying grin. Richie’s parents didn’t look at each other, simply walking to the front of the large room. As he passed, Wentworth tossed a Devils jacket in Richie’s direction, whacking the boy in the face with it. Richie didn’t make a sound, but Eddie could see the way his eyes watered as more blood began to drip from the bust his bottom lip. Eddie reached out and squeezed Richie’s wrist. Richie set him a soft smile before pulling away to shrug the jacket around himself. Patty wrapped an hand as much around Richie’s wrist as she could and rested her head against his shoulder.

Maggie stood tall in the front of the crowd, maybe not a physically large person, but a strong enough persona to overshadow her husband and son within the room. Her face was pinched in obvious distaste as her eyes fell to where Stanley and Beverly were seated just beside Eddie himself. “Mr Uris, we respect your family’s decision to remain sideless in this town,” Maggie began. “Perhaps a foolish decision, and one we do not find you have held true to, but you wear no jacket and we must acknowledge we have no true right to your loyalty. Whatever platonic obligations you have to my son, will remain between yourself and Richard.”

Stan glanced towards Richie in the corner of his eye, Richie giving him a small dry smile before turning his attention back towards his mother as she continued. “But you… Beverly Marsh…” There was deep anger in Maggie’s voice, emotion seeping out beyond her well-trained control. “You have been one of us since you could walk, we had a child sized jacket custom-made for you at the age of five. We allowed you into our house, raised as though you were our own, let you in on decisions that only blood born leaders should have been allowed an opinion on. This is treason and betrayal in the highest extent. You know what you face if found guilty. You may approach.”

To her benefit, Beverly Marsh did not flinch, do not blink, do not show even the smallest hint of weakness. Maggie Tozier wasn’t even directing those words of distaste and rage at him and Eddie felt he was going to throw up from nerves. Stan and Patty’s eyes were both glued bitterly to the ground, while Richie was looking at his mother with his lip curled up just slightly in disgust.

Beverly’s Devil jacket was draped across her lap, the first time Eddie had seen her without in on in nearly all of his memory. There may have been a few fuzzy moments from early youth before Alvin Marsh’s death, but they were all but completely faded now. She gathered the jacket in her arms as she moved to the front of the room, handing it off the waiting hands of Patrick Hockstetter. Wentworth shoved her slightly down into a wooden chair, forcing her hands around the back and tying her wrists together with what looked like an old fayed piece of rope.

Eddie looked towards Richie, mouth opening slightly in horror. Richie gaze didn’t moved away from the scene before them, and Eddie suddenly remembered the words Richie had given him on their way here. It’s not going to be pretty, Eds. Nothing like this has ever happened before, that I can remember. I just… you may never see me the same way again, after this. This is going to be the fire I warned you about.

“Beverly Marsh,” Wentworth began speaking then, dragging Eddie’s eyes away from the side of Richie’s face. “You stand accused of taking part of the organization of kidnapping and murder of our daughter, Jane Tozier. You may take this time to explain your side of these events.”

“I…” Beverly swallowed hard, a moment of fear dancing across her usually stoic expression.  “Everybody here knows that I killed my father. That he was both sexually and physically abusive to me most of my life, and one day when I was eleven things escalated and I hit him over the head with the lid to the back of our toilet, and that he died. You’ve all been so supportive of me since then, especially Went and Maggie, but there’s something about that nobody knows. Somebody else was there that day, somebody who helped me get away with it long before Went and Maggie were involved or anybody even knew my father was dead.”

There was deep silence throughout the room, Maggie raising one brow while Wentworth apparent as though they might be only seconds away from foaming at the mouth. “Before I called Mr Tozier and got him to call Sheriff Bowers and take control of the situation, I called… I called Stan. He came over and helped me gather up all the evidence of the assaults my father used to force on me and hide them. I knew that if the Sheriff saw any of those pictures or ruined things, that there was no way he wouldn’t be able to convince a jury of the truth. Even at eleven, I knew I had to get rid of everything. So, Stan helped me get it all and I buried in the backyard of Neibolt. The night Janie was murdered, I went back to get it and I burned everything in it. That’s why Stan was there with me.”

Eddie heard Richie let out a deep exhale of shaky breath, hands reaching up to rub at his cheeks. He could notice Stan trying to catch Richie’s eyes, but Richie was stubborningly avoiding Stan’s gaze as much as he was Eddie’s. In this moment, Richie Tozier seemed to have eyes only for his mother.

“I did not ask you to defend Mr Uris’ reputation, Marsh,” Wentworth said heavily. “I asked you to explain yourself, and it would appear you are unable to so.”

“I just…” Beverly shook her head. “I wanted you to know that Stan had nothing to do with it.”

“So you admit that you did?” Maggie cut in, words sharp as a knife and dripping with venom. Eddie’s heart leapt into his throat and he could feel as stiff Richie was beside him. Stan’s leg was jittering quickly and he was fiddling with his knuckles, Patty’s eyes were wide and glued to the Toziers while Patrick was watching it all unfold, grinning like maniac and clutching Beverly’s jacket.

“I…” Beverly said, voice cracking roughly. “I didn’t…” Beverly’s incoherent train of thought was cut off by the sickening crack of the back of Wentworth’s hand racking against her cheek. Beverly’s head jerked wildly to the side, the girl letting out a single surprised shout.

She was silent when the second slap landed. Eddie pressed his hand against his mouth to hold back his own sounds of horror, noting how Stan squeezed his eyes shut harshly and Patty had turned to press her face into Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s eyes barely wavered but Eddie noted the way his bottom lip was trembling just seconds before he pushed himself onto his feet.

Richie’s hand grabbed onto the back of Wentworth’s jacket and he tugged on his father enough that Wentworth stumbled. Maggie’s eyes went momentarily wide before she bit down on her bottom lip, eyes gleaming with something viciously victorious. She wrapped her arms around herself and Wentworth shoved his son away from him.

Richie stepped right back up, face sheet white but eyes burning. “That’s e-fucking-nough.”

“Don’t you fucking talk to me-“ Wentworth hand reached out to grip at Richie’s throat, Eddie noting the moment of fear dripping into Richie’s eyes before Maggie was clearing her throat. Every eye in the building turned to her, seeing her dancing eyes and the smirk settled on her face.

“You heard him,” Maggie said lightly, voice high and perfect like a song-bird. “Sit down.”

There was a long, tense moment where Wentworth’s hand didn’t leave Richie’s throat and Richie’s eyes didn’t leave his father’s face. Wentworth finally shoved Richie away, the boy stumbling but managing to keep his footing. Instead of taking a seat amongst the dozens of people in the room, Wentworth stomped from the room and slammed himself into his office.

Richie’s fingers were twitching as though he wanted to rub at his throat but refused to show the weakness. Instead he held his hand out, Patty rushing to her feet and handing him a knife she tugged from the pocket of her jeans. Richie made quick work of cutting Beverly’s wrist free from her bindings and pushing her towards Patty’s waiting arms. Richie turned to his mother with blazing eyes.

“Make your call, Richard.” Maggie told him coldly. “You stepped up, this is your decision now. Don’t make the wrong one.”

There was an obvious hesitation on Richie’s face, a stiffness in his shoulders before he cleared his throat. “There’s a real killer out there, who’s’ trying to make us look guilty. That should be our concern right now, we can’t be beating the shit out of each other.”

Maggie raised her brow, nodding towards Beverly. “And how do you know that the killer isn’t standing right there?”

Richie looked over his shoulder to Beverly, who was rubbing at her rope burned wrists while Patty rubbed at her rapidly swelling cheek. He sighed. “I just know.”

“So, you’re vouching for her innocent then?” Maggie asked him. “Your name for her name?”

Stan jerked to attention, face showing more emotion than Eddie thinks he’d ever seen from the boy. Beverly and Patty both turned to Richie, faces going pale. Richie clenched his jaw and tightened his hands into fists. “Richie…” Stan started but his eyes found Beverly and he trailed off.

“Yes.” Richie said firmly, though the insincerity showed in his eyes. “I vouch for her, okay? Are we done here?”

“We’re done here.” Maggie agreed, walking past her son without another word. Patrick followed behind, grinning at Beverly as he dropped her jacket at her feet. As quickly as the Devils had assembled, they broke apart and moved back to their own activities. Stan stood up, walking swiftly towards his friends and Eddie scampered after him.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Richie.” Stanley said as he approached, Eddie struggling to keep up with Stan’s frantic pace even just the few steps it took to reach them. Eddie skidded to a stop and looking at the solemn faces around him.

“It won’t be a problem unless Bev killed my sister,” Richie said, voice empty. Eddie wanted to reach for him, but settled for scratching at his own thigh as he stood otherwise completely still. Patty had stepped up to Stan and pressed herself into his side.

“You don’t vouch for people unless you’re completely sure that they’re innocent, you …. you…” Stan pursed his lips, looking almost as though he were moments away from succumbing to tears. “You know what happens if you’re wrong.”

“I want to say that I won’t be wrong,” Richie said coldly, sliding the jacket from his shoulders and tossed it almost aggressively at Stanley’s chest. “But it would seem I’ve never known either of you at all, have I? With the charade you’re pulling off, you’re the one who deserves this jacket.”

With that, Richie was pushing past and out of the smelly bar. Eddie was ready to chase after him, but felt a sick anxiety in his stomach that he couldn’t ignore. “What… what happens if he’s wrong?”

Beverly and Stan ignored him but Patty made a small, sad noise. “If he’s wrong, and Maggie finds out… then Beverly’s punishment will become both of their punishment.”

“So what?” Eddie squeaked, heart hammering angrily. “She’ll kill them both?”

The tense, ringing silence and the way nobody would meet Eddie’s gaze told him all he needed to know.

–

Eddie hadn’t been able to catch up to Richie once he left the Deep Float, and nearly broke down into happy tears when he let himself into his father’s apartment and found Richie sitting on the coffee table with Frank attempting to help the swelling of Richie’s bottom lip.

“Oh my God, Richie,” Eddie rushed over, cupping Richie’s jaw and pulling it away from his father’s touch. There was a rashy-looking red mark on Richie’s neck where his father had grabbed him. Eddie let out a small sound and pressed their foreheads together. “Richie, holy fuck, oh my God. That was crazy, holy shit.”

Richie grinned sheepishly at him. “It was a little stupid, though, wasn’t it?”

“Fuck, it was like… chaotically stupid,” Eddie let out a soft, nervous laugh. “But it was also kind of badass like I don’t think you’ve ever looked hotter than when you grabbed your dad like that, fuck.”

Richie burst out laughing, though it seemed to pull at his lip. Frank made a concerned noise and shooed Eddie back, smiling slightly. “I think we should chalk it up to something stupid and brave. You probably shouldn’t have vouched for that Marsh girl you think you could be guilty… but I’m sure you know that.”

Richie raised his brow and chuckled slightly, fingers dancing forward to tangle into Eddie’s. Eddie glanced between Richie and his father, the chill of fear that had been disappeared at the sight of Richie safe returning. “How… how do you know about the vouch?”

Frank and Richie made eye contact, and Richie nodded slightly. Frank stood, walking from the room and returning to the room with a leather jacket in his hands. It was small, easily the size of a young teen, and he handed it to Eddie. Swallowing hard, Eddie held the jacket out to view the Devils logo on the back. “Oh god…” Eddie said quietly, squeezing it back into a ball and dropping it into his lap. “How… how could I never knew? Why didn’t you or mom ever tell me?”

Frank sighed, pushing his hands through his hair. “I left the Devils when I started dating your mother… it was very shortly after Campbell Denbrough had left the Devils to Went in the face of Zachary’s abandonment. It didn’t go over very well, Wentworth saw it as a betrayal but I couldn’t stay in the Devils and be with Sonia. So I had to make a choice.”

“I don’t understand,” Eddie said, shaking his head and digging his nails into the leather of the jacket. “You loved mom enough to leave the Devils, then why aren’t you together? Why did you abandon us if you’d already abandoned people for us? This that just what you do?”

“I never wanted to lose you, Eddie,” Frank said, voice dripping with such sincerity that Eddie choked up. “I would’ve taken you with me if I could have. Your mother… she is a very sick woman, has been a long time. As much as I loved her, her love for me could never have been true. You may have been the only thing in the world she was capable of loving, and I couldn’t take you away from her. Even if it meant she turned you against me.”

Tears stung at Eddie’s eyes. “I don’t…. I don’t understand, what are you talking about?”

“You remember when I got sick, the cancer,” Frank said softly, and Eddie nodded. “After I got better, your mother was convinced I was still sick. Constantly dragging me from doctor to doctor, desperately wanting somebody to tell her that the cancer wasn’t really gone and that I was still dying. I’m still not sure if she was just afraid the cancer would come back, or if she wished that I had died from it in the first place.”

Eddie started shaking his head, brain rapidly bringing forth its own memories. His mother writing notes to get him out gym class, despite Eddie’s claims of his asthma not bothering him at all, trying to tell her much he loved to run. How he had to hide being on the track team from her for an entire year, how she’d completely lost it when she found out what he’d truly been doing after school. How she tried to keep him inside all spring and summer long, with claims of terrible allergies, though Eddie never once felt as though his eyes burned or that he needed to sneeze around flowers. His stomach churned and he was only dimly aware of Richie squeezing his hands.

“Your mother has never loved me,” Frank was saying, voice sounding like it was coming to Eddie through water. “She settled for me, and I tried to make it work for you, Eddie. I just couldn’t stay with her while she kept trying to make me believe I was sick when I knew I wasn’t.”

Eddie pulled away from Richie and clutched the jacket to his chest, feeling his bottom lip tremble. He stood, Richie immediately mimicking the action. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t think I can talk about this right now. I’m sorry.. I just want to go to bed.”

Richie’s arm was around him in a moment, saying something to Frank over his shoulder as he lead Eddie towards the spare room that had become theirs in the past few weeks. Eddie immediately crawled into the bed and Richie laid down beside him. They linked their pinkies together and Eddie stared down at where they were joined.

“She does it to you, too, doesn’t she?” Richie said lightly, rubbing his thumb on the back of Eddie’s hands. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I… I saw it all over your face. What your dad said is true, she does it to you, too.”

“I don’t know…” Eddie said in a small voice. “It’s possible, but I don’t… She’s my mom, she loves me, I don’t want to believe she’s capable of that. She’s always been overprotective of me, but it’s not… she isn’t abusive, Richie. She’s not.”

Richie nudged their noses together. “It might not be true. Your brain could just be putting pieces together, wanting to believe what your dad is saying. You don’t want to believe either of them are capable of bad things. If your dad is right, your mom is toxic and kind of a terrible person but if he’s wrong then he walked out on your family and is a liar.”

Eddie sniffed, and looked up at Richie through his lashes. “I just don’t know what’s the truth anymore.”

Richie’s eyes danced over Eddie’s face, his chest started to heave. He launched forward to close the small amount of distant between them, their lips only touching for a brief moment before Richie let out a soft gasp and pulled back. His face pressed into the pillows and Eddie could feel how heavily he was breathing.

Eddie himself was dazed, despite the amount of time they’d spent together- every moment, in truth- since Janie’s body had been found they hadn’t kissed once since that night. Eddie had managed to come to conclusion that he may very well be falling in love with Richie Tozier, but hadn’t been able to find the courage to kiss him again since his sister’s death.

Richie’s face was pulling out of the pillows, and meeting Eddie’s in a desperate clash of kisses. They came together and broke apart in several frantic, spilt second kisses before Eddie was slipping his tongue against Richie’s lips and Richie’s hands were squeezing Eddie’s hips as he rolled on top of him. Eddie felt himself being pressed against the pillows, running this tongue along the top of Richie’s mouth before Richie pulled back to press soft kisses to Eddie’s jaw.

“Richie… I…” Eddie sighed out. “I think I love you.” Richie pulled back, lips slightly swollen from the kissing and likely the hit they took earlier. His eyes were wide, full of a deep emotion Eddie couldn’t fully ead. “No, I… I know. I’ve known it since the moment I kissed you… maybe even before that. And… scary as it is, I don’t want to deny it anymore. I don’t want to run from it, and I don’t want to let it run from me.”

Richie beamed, leaned down slowly and pressed their lips together again.

–

Ben Hanscom grumbled to himself, trying to figure out exactly where everything went. It was the first time his mother and aunt had let himself close by himself, and he was only freaking out slightly. Since cutting off ties with Aurora and Mike, Ben had thrown himself into the family paper as what he even knew was a distraction. It didn’t stop him from nearly bursting with curiosity over what his former friends had found out at Shawshank and the sick feeling in his stomach at the image of Beverly Marsh being pulled the classroom in handcuffs. The nerves over knowing they’d taken Stanley Uris, too, the distress that Greta Bowie and Audra Phillips were dead, that Bill Denbrough was under house arrest and the uncomfortable feeling the sight of Richie Tozier without his Devils jacket always gave him.

Shifting through the many letters sitting on his Aunt Mary Elise’s desk, most for the advice column, one caught Ben’s eyes. It had his name written out in large red letters and his heart jumped into his chest. Sitting down, Ben ripped the letter open under the dim light from the singular desk lamp he still had on.

You can keep yourself away, but you can’t hide from what must happen. All will be revealed on the night of senior prom. If you wish to guarantee survival, turn away now.

[shreyamistry]

I. Rain

Hana x MC (Nicole)

Choices September Creates: Day 1: Rain

Summary:  Tonight, Liam will pick Nicole to be his bride, unknowing to him that she and Hana have fallen in love. Despite her attempts to force herself out of her feelings, Hana simply can’t stop herself from falling for Nicole. Finding herself in the pouring rain, Hana has to make her choice and Lady Nicole has to accept it.

A/N: Check out my masterlist here! See my specific Choices September Creates mastelist here! Requests are open, find my rules here! Don’t know what to request? See my prompt list 200 Prompts here, OTP here, Angst here!

Tagging: @nuttatulipa @choices-september-challenge

Thanks for reading I hope you like it!

“You can’t be with me, Nicole! You can’t pick me and I can’t pick you.” Hana yells, tears streaming down her face mixing with the rain pouring down on the pair standing outside the palace. The ball raging on inside, as she holds her smaller frame, her soppy wet dress chilling her to her core. “I can’t be with a woman, Nicole! And the king is going to pick you tonight! Are you going to turn down the King?”

“Hana for you I’d turn down anyone.” Nicole takes a few cautious steps toward her, her hands shaking from her nerves and the cold rain washing over the pair. “After everything we’ve been through, how can you give up on us Hana? We can change your parents' mind, we can-” Nicole falls silent as Hana cuts her off shaking her head with a sniffle.

“It’s not possible.” She whips the back of her hand against her nose, “Nicole, I’m a noble lady. My parents sent me here to fight for Liam and I can’t give up my family wishes.”

Hana watches her with heavy eyes, she couldn’t understand Nicole, how she was so free and willing to give up the king’s hand for her? Hana Lee was nothing (at least she thought so) but a way to be a wife to her suitors, except to Nicole. Nicole could see through her exterior, sneak her way in between the cracks and make her feel like herself for the first times in her life. She chews on her lower lip as Nicole shakes her head perking up with a deep breath.

“Hana, listen to yourself.” Nicole takes Hana’s shaking hands into her own, her tears freely following down her cheeks as she as she sucks in another steady breath. Squaring her shoulders further moving her hands to Hana’s cheeks. “All the moments that brought us here right now, tell me they didn’t mean anything to you. Tell me if I married Liam, would you be happy for me and yourself?”

“I can’t answer that Nicole.” Hana admits, her eyes falling to the floor her hands falling on top of Nicole’s, “I don’t want to lose you, but I have to.” Hana starts to move away, but Nicole catches her before she can, begging her with her eyes to at least hear her out. Begging her to love her enough to not leave her. Begging her to stay.

“Hana remember when I kissed you?” The memories flashing through Hana’s mind.

Nicole giggles, as she lets Hana lead her into her room closing the door silently behind them, finally letting herself dissolve into giggles her hands holding onto Nicole’s wrists as she spins Hana around the room.

“I can’t believe we did that.” She huffs, trying to catch her breath giggles leaving her lips as Nicole comes to a stop pulling Hana towards the dresser with her leaning herself against the wooden wardrobe. “Oh,” Hana whispers standing extremely close to Nicole, her hands resting on Hana’s sides now.

“Is this okay?” She whispers softly, “If it’s not I can-”

“No. It’s very okay.” Hana whispers, her cheeks reddening as she rests her hands on Nicole’s shoulders, a very awkward position between them, although Nicole didn’t mind, she found Hana to be absolutely adorable all the time. “I’ve never really done something like this.”

“Would it be alright if I kissed you, Hana?” Her voice barely audible as her gaze moves from Hana’s succulent lips to her eyes, swallowing the lump lodged in the middle of her throat. Her hands tremble slightly against Hana’s body, “Again, feel free to say no.”

“I would like that very much,” Hana answers, moving to tuck a few strands of loose hair behind her ear, Nicole’s arms pulling her body even closer to her. Her lips falling against Hana’s delicately, a jolt of passion passing through the both of them, Nicole’s hands finding their place on Hana’s cheeks, cupping her skin as she deepens the kiss between them.

“When I held your hand when we snuck off with the horses the night of the derby?”

“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble, Nicole? I’d feel awful.” Hana asks as the horses lead them towards an open field, the horses trotting beside one another Hana within arms reach of Nicole. “We must return the horses, Nicole.”

“Hana it’s okay.” Nicole smiles, reaching her arm over to Hana, her hand falling into Hana’s tightly holding her shaking hand with a gentle smile. “You have nothing to worry about, were in this together.”

“Oh.” Hana whispers, her eyes trained on their interlocked fingers, a blush creeping up her cheeks, “If you’re sure.”

“Beyond sure. Positive.” Nicole laughs, rubbing her thumb back and forth against Hana’s skin, enjoying the warmth of their interlocked hands. “I’m sure Liam can vouch for us worse case scenario.”

“Nicole!” Hana shouts, her mouth falling open in protest.

“I’m kidding, beautiful.” Nicole grins, “Kinda. Giddy up boys!” Nicole shouts pulling on the reins letting her hand fall out of Hana’s hand with a glance over her shoulder as she speeds past Hana and her horse. “Are you coming? You don’t want to leave a fellow noblewoman alone in the forest do you?” Despite herself, Hana smiles pulling on the reins of her horse chasing after Nicole feeling free for the first time in forever.

“Or when i stole that kiss on your cheek after we got cronuts?”

“So?” Nicole asks, Hana catches her eye unable to read her expression, her tone, the suggestive tones to her voice as she wraps her arms around her body thinking to herself for a long moment. Her lips pushing against one another as she thinks of an answer for her friend, or whatever she and Nicole were destined to be. “Earth to Hana, are you there?”

“Yes, of course, I’m here on earth. What kind of question is that, Nicole?” Hana asks, her brows furrowing as she struggles to understand. An inside joke among all Americas, she asks herself walking slower than before her mind processing the words that refuse to register on her mind. The men of their group not realizing much further ahead of the girls.

“It’s a saying, Hana.” Nicole laughs, draping her arm over Hana’s shoulder pulling her close to her. “Are you cold?”

“A little bit.” Hana admits, “I should have brought a jacket. I forget how cool Cordonia nights can be.” She admits, a gentle sigh leaving her lips as she begins to lean into Nicole’s warmth radiating from her body. “Thank you.”

“I’m the next best thing from a jacket.” Nicole grins goofily at her, getting a laugh from Hana in response who shakes her head despite herself.

“I suppose so.” She offers.

“I suppose as well. Besides what jacket can do this?” She leans in placing a gentle kiss onto Hana’s cheek, her lips lingering on Hana’s cheek. Hana’s body stiffening at the sudden contact, before softening into Nicole’s touch, her face turning bright red. Hana looks away as Nicole pulls away softly, a grin on her face as she looks back at her. “Best jacket ever?”

“Hana! Nicole! Hurry up!” Maxwell yells behind his shoulder grinning at them.

“He’s about to eat all the cronuts, Lady Nicole would you mind talking sense into our resident Beaumont?” Liam calls back, struggling with Maxwell to keep the box out of his reach, “If you eat them all right now we will have to walk back to the store.”

“Perfect we can get more.” Maxwell cheers, managing to rip open a corner of the box.

“Great job Liam.” Drake huffs, using his hand to push on Maxwell’s face to keep him from advancing further.

“Jacket duties are over, don’t get cold without me.” Nicole grins before pecking Hana’s cheek one last time untangling her body from Hana’s before jogging to catch up with Maxwell, moving to jump onto his back, he stumbles at first before wrapping his arms behind her knees to help steady her. “Down Godzilla! Down!” Hana smiles to herself strolling faster to keep up, her mind lingering on Nicole.

“Please don’t give up on me, Hana.” Nicole whispers, her hand brushing tears off her cheeks, “You don’t have to lose me. Choose your destiny, Hana. Pick me, choose me. Don’t break both of our hearts, Hana, I know you want this as much as I want this.” Nicole brings one of Hana’s hands to her lips brushing a gentle kiss against the skin.

“Nicole! Hurry up! Liam is about to pick his suitor.” Maxwell’s voice carrying over to the pair, his voice distant and hard to hear over the sound of rain slapping against the floor. The whipping of the wind against both of them.

“It’s now or never,” Nicole moves her hands to rest on Hana’s cheeks again, “Let’s runaway while we still can. I-I- Hana, I love you.” Nicole smiles genuinely, her features bright with hope, as she brushes her thumb against the corner of Hana’s lip. Hana’s head falling into the touch, snuggling her deeper into Nicole’s touch before she abruptly straightens her head. “I mean it, I love you.”

Hana’s mouth falls open in surprise, the words registering on her mind. She drags her tongue over her lips, looking at Nicole her heart tearing apart in her chest. I love you. The words float around her head trying to make sense of the easily understandable words. She loved her too, how she wished she said that instead of what she did.

“Nicole,” Hana whispers, brushing wet strands of hair out of her face, “I can’t.”

“Okay.” Nicole whispers, her hands moving to let go out of Hana’s face trying to hide the feelings washing over her as she swallows deeply, “It’s fine. I’m fine. Thanks for this Hana, I-- I have to go now.” She turns on her heel, as Hana watches her retreat--no run-- back towards the palace, the outline of her body shaking even more than before. Hana watches silently, fighting the feelings yelling at her to follow to catch Nicole before she can reach Maxwell, to pick her happiness.

But she doesn’t.

[xukunstellation]

Stay || Lin Yanjun

Title: Stay Pairing: Reader x Yanjun Genre: angst + fluff Word Count: 1700 words Summary: You don’t understand why your best friend Yanjun keeps pushing you away. All you want to do is help him, but he seems to want nothing to do with you.

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write angst for the longest time. It’s getting a little too chummy on this blog with all the fluff (jk i still love it tho). The anon requested for some tsundere!yanjun, so I am here to deliver! As you can tell by the word count, this turned out a lot longer than expected, so I’ll leave everything under the cut for convenience. Thanks for requesting, love!

It boggles people’s minds when they find out that you and Yanjun are best friends.

The two of you are what people consider to be polar opposites. Yanjun was known as the cold, stone-faced delinquent of the school. He’s always walking around with an intimidating aura, seemingly glaring at anyone that dares to be within a few feet radius of him. He’s constantly skipping class and finding ways to end up in detention. The fact that he doesn’t talk much only adds to the fear factor.

Then there was you. You were the epitome of a ‘good student’. You scored good grades and always came to class on time. It came as no surprise when you were elected class president. You weren’t extremely popular by any means, but you were known by many as someone who was always willing to help out others. Your friendly and kind nature made you a favorite among your peers and professors.

So, how did you and Yanjun come to be? 

Honestly, it all comes down to sharing history. You’ve known Yanjun for as long as you can remember. Your moms were childhood friends, so naturally they introduced you both from the moment you were in diapers. Thus, you and Yanjun grew up together by each other’s side from fighting over toys, witnessing each other’s awkward puberty stages and finally becoming young adults. 

You weren’t oblivious to the differences that others saw. You knew that upon first glance, there would typically be no way that someone like you would ever be friends with someone like Yanjun. Little did they know, you saw Yanjun for who he really was.

He didn’t talk much because he felt the need to talk only when it was absolutely necessary. That cold-stoned face he was known so well for? Unfortunately, he just had a bad case of resting bitch face. When he was skipping class, it was usually because he’d rather spend lunch with you (although you’ve scolded him every time). The reason why he found himself in detention often was because he never hesitated to defend someone being bullied and would willingly participate in fist fights to protect another person. Unfortunately, not many people knew of this. If they did, they didn’t believe it.

You knew Yanjun as the person who would go out of his way to throw his jacket over your head to protect you from the rain when you both forget to bring your umbrellas. Even though he acted like he hated it, you knew that he loved it when you left cute little words of encouragement in his notes. He always acted like it was a pain for him whenever you asked him to get you your daily dose of coffee, but he still continued to do it for you every day. You can’t remember a time where he hasn’t walked you home from class or work even though his house was in the opposite direction. 

Of course, no one but you knew of this side of him. They continued to judge him for what they saw looking in from the outside. Rumors upon rumors continued to float around his name, making him out to be this terrible person that you knew he wasn’t. You simply ignored the rumors and continued to be around your best friend.

Until the day he stopped hanging around you.

Naturally, you became worried when he refused to show up for class for days straight. He started ignoring your texts and calls, simply leaving you on read or sending you straight to voicemail. You even went as far as contacting his mom and visiting him at home, but it seemed he was never home whenever you stopped by. His mom assured you he was alive and well, though she wasn’t sure what was up with him either whenever she asked.

It’s been a week since you’ve last had contact with Yanjun and it was bothering you to no end. As you were walking down the hallway to head home, to your surprise you saw Yanjun walking towards you on the other side of the hall. He watched as your eyes lit up at the sight of him. You hurriedly made your way to him.

“Lin Yanjun! Where on earth have you been? Do you know how worried I was-”

Your words were cut short when the male merely brushed right by you, causing you to halt your pace. Feeling your heart begin to speed up nervously, you whipped around and stared at his retreating back side. Shaking your head in disbelief, you ran after him and grabbed his hand, making him stop. Walking around to face him, you felt an unfamiliar sensation in your chest when the normally soft gaze he gave you was replaced with an icy blank stare. 

“Jun? What’s wrong?” you worriedly asked.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

You flinched at his sharp words, looking at him with hurt and confusion. “But I’ve always called you that. Did something happen?” you asked again.

“Why can’t you mind your own fucking business?” Yanjun scoffed. “It’s not like you mean anything to me. Get off my case for god’s sake. You’re so annoying.”

You didn’t move when he yanked his hand out of yours. You still didn’t move from your place even when you heard a door slam from the other side of the hallway. You weren’t even aware of the looks of pity and soft whispers surrounding you as people observed the scene. All you could pay attention to was the bitter pain that spread like wild fire throughout your chest and the burning sensation that bubbled in your throat as you struggled to breathe. Feeling tears blur your vision, you trudged your way home alone again.

Every time you saw Yanjun after that was unbearable. Just one look at him and you were instantly reminded of the cruel things he said to you. You were hurt. You were angry. Above all, you were mainly confused because the Yanjun you’ve known for years could never say and mean those things about you. Despite the fact that you were still extremely hurt by him, you needed answers and you were going to get them no matter how stubborn he was.

The next time you saw him was on the school rooftop. Students weren’t allowed to be up here, but Yanjun had snuck the two of you up here countless of times. You knew that this was his favorite place to let of steam and be alone, so you mentally gave yourself a pat on the back when you found him looking out through the iron fence.

“Yanjun,” you called out.

You walked up to the male. He didn’t respond to you but he spared you a brief side glance that was gone in a flash. You tried not to frown, only managing a small sad smile. Summoning your courage, you grabbed his hand and interlaced your fingers with his. The action made Yanjun flinch. To your relief, he didn’t make a move to pull away.

A moment of silence ensued. You weren’t sure what was going on in Yanjun’s head. He said all those nasty things to you before but here he was, holding onto your hand with seemingly no intention of letting go. Your mind was running a thousand thoughts at once. As you tried gathering the proper words to speak, Yanjun broke the silence himself.

“They’re right, you know,” he said wistfully.

“Who?” you replied in confusion.

“The others. The ones who spread all the rumors about me. I’m a trouble maker who is always up to no good. You have no reason to be around me. I’ll only ruin everything for you. You don’t need someone like me in your life,” Yanjun confessed, a bitter edge hanging onto his words.

Behind the strong poker face he tried to put up, you could see the hurt and shame swimming in his eyes. Right now, you saw him in his most vulnerable state. This was the Yanjun that didn’t care about what people said about him... unless it had an effect on you. No matter how tough he tried to appear, he was insecure at the thought that you wouldn’t want him in your life anymore. You saw that he was willing to protect you and your image, even if it meant cutting him out of the picture.

“You’re wrong.”

He turned to look at you in surprise. You stared back at him with determined eyes. With little hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his torso and pulled him into a hug, burying your face into his chest but only enough so that you still had room to breathe and talk.

You clarified, “I don’t care what others say about you. Rumors are rumors. They don’t understand you like I do. Likewise, no one understands me better than you. I have every reason to be around you because I need you. Lin Yanjun, do you hear me? I need you.”

There was another moment of silence before he wrapped his arms around your frame, pulling you closer to his chest. Feeling him rest his chin on top of your head, you smiled at the familiar sensation. 

“Sorry for everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it. Do you really need me as much as you say you do?” he questioned, running his fingers through your hair softly.

“Of course. Who else is going to provide me with free food?” you teased.

You felt him flick the top of your head in warning, making you whine from the pain. “Don’t start thinking I’ll be your slave now that we’re together,” he scoffed.

You raised a curious eyebrow at him. Looking at him with amusement, you replied, “Together? As in a couple?”

Yanjun rolled his eyes, looking away to hide the fact that he was slightly blushing. “What else, idiot?”

You happily kissed his cheek as an answer. He tsked, shaking his head before tapping on his lips expectantly in response. Rolling your eyes playfully, you leaned up once more and met his lips for a proper kiss.

It didn’t matter where life would take you. All you wanted was for Yanjun to stay with you throughout the journey.

[elanorjane]

Foreplay (Love on Ice)

Realized I forgot to post the newest installment on its own here for those that prefer to read on Tumblr. 

Summary: Gold puts his skates back on for the first time in over a decade. Will Belle be there to help him get his groove back? 

Part of Love on Ice. A series of stories in which disgraced ex-pairs figure skater Gold is hired to coach ice princess Belle and her partner Gaston to the Olympics. If Gold and Belle don’t kill each other first.

AO3 

“Why don’t you come out here and show me then?” She was spouting off at the mouth again. He’d corrected her jump combination for the third time in a row. But lately it wasn’t even her own performance she was protective of. She’d launch to Gaston’s defense at any opportunity. It was exhausting. Since the impromptu therapy session with Dr. Hopper, dissecting his feelings for Belle had become unavoidable. He couldn’t drink the unseemly thoughts away and he couldn’t completely avoid her. He was forced to stare at her beauty for a living. He was paid to inspect every angle and curve of her figure. He was expected to instruct her on the best way to highlight the curve of her neck, her eyes, her smile, her legs.  All under the guise of how to best win over the judges. The only thing keeping him from going mad was the gym. Over the past few weeks, he’d sneak between Belle and Gaston’s scheduled workouts. They shared the skating compound with other teams but he’d been careful and nobody had caught him yet. While he enjoyed free reign over the complex, he didn’t want anyone to know. The snide cracks from Ella alone if it ever got back to her was enough motivation to be secretive.    

These days it was easy to avoid  Gaston and Belle because went everywhere together. It was rare to see them apart. Even when he was only addressing one of them, the other would be hovering right over their shoulder. He tried not to let it rankle him. He didn’t entirely believe Belle and Gaston weren’t sleeping together. This was despite what Archie said. Even if they weren’t then, this was weeks later. They could be now.

Even now, she settled next to Gaston as she shot Gold a dirty look. This particular outburst of hers had especially stung. Because she knew he wouldn’t step foot onto the ice. Everything he did, he did from behind the barricade. Between it and the ice was an invisible boundary he refused to cross and she’d noticed.

He doubted she suspected the reason for his hangup. If he went out there, he’d have to actually accept the fact that he was back in this godforsaken sport. He hadn’t been prepared to face those demons yet. He knew stepping onto the ice would feel different, and not necessarily better. Putting on skates and going out there with only a quarter of the ability he once had, while this gorgeous girl skated circles around him in his dreams, was torture. To be on the ice and never touch her, never to hold her the way her partner could, would kill him.  

His eyes bore a hole in the ice at her feet. “You’re dismissed,” he said to both of them.

Her brow creased. He’d been doing that a lot lately, avoiding fights with her. He could tell she was confused. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was even a little hurt that he wasn’t engaging with her like he used to. But he was trying to keep his feelings towards her, whether they be anger or attraction, in check. But those beautiful blue eyes, that pouty lip she was giving him. She had no idea how hard she was making it for him.

“But…” she started, the saltiness gone from her voice.

“Go.” He’d even managed to say it without raising his voice.  

He waited until the echo of the metal doors slamming faded and a count of ten to make sure neither of them returned.

He unhurriedly peeled off his wool coat, letting it fall to the bench behind him. His hands stroked the stubble that ran down his chin and untangling the knot of his scarf. Tugging on one end of the fabric, it slid off his neck discarded on top of the jacket. He popped another fastener on his white button down. He wore no undershirt. The air conditioning hitting his bared skin caused gooseflesh to rise. Glaring at the ice like the old adversary it was, he slowly unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. He purposefully rolled each sleeve up his forearms.

He lowered himself to the bench and felt underneath, uncovering a pair of black skates. He unlaced how own shoes and dropped them to the cement with a dull thud. The skates felt burdensome in his grip. But he propped them between his shins and grimly stepped into them. He bent over, his fingers nimbly threading the laces in a familiar ritual. He pulled the strings tight, his forearms flexing with the effort.   He stood, noting the twinge his knees and hips gave. Incredibly, he used to feel more stable on skates than off.

He gingerly approached the ice, all the time thinking about what an old fool he was. He debated whether he was ready. Maybe he should chuck the skates and go back to the gym. What was he doing out here anyway? What was he trying to prove? And to whom? Belle’s face and how free and relaxed she looked when she flew around the rink came to him. She’d made him want to try. Just to see if he could.  

He thought he heard voices. He paused at the edge of the rink, prepared to duck behind the barrier if anyone entered. He hadn’t been on skates in over a decade. If he was going to fall on his arse he didn’t want an audience.

When no one appeared, he braced himself with one hand on either side of the boards. His right leg hovered over the ice for a moment before he steeled himself and threw his weight on his front foot. His left automatically pushed off and he was drifting across the ice. He picked up one foot and then the other, shaking out his arms and stretching his neck from side to side. The feel of the slick surface under him, the clean, cold smell of the ice. Other than the terrible protests his body was making, it felt like no time had passed at all.

To begin, he simply skimmed across the rink, only occasionally pushing off his back leg. He lifted his right foot, placing it behind his left ankle, and lifted his arms. It was the pose he took to float to center ice when announcers called his and Milah’s names. Instead of being haunted by bad memories as he expected, it felt…good.

He filled his lungs with the frigid air and tried a few crossovers and picked up speed. He closed his eyes as he circled the ice. The self-created wind whipped against his face and through his hair. He could hear his breathing and his blades cutting across the ice and he thought of nothing. He’d forgotten how peaceful an empty rink could be.  

He’d only meant to take a few loops around the rink and then stop for good. But the artist in him emerged. He ran his fingers through his hair as he rotated on one leg. His musicality and artistry had been the strongest aspects of his skating. Before he could think better of it, he was crisscrossing the length of the rink with turns, spread eagles, and all the other flowing steps with strong edges that were at one time his specialty.

His shirt clung to his chest and he panted as he pumped into the turns. His knees groaned in protest but the rest of him felt awake for the first time in years. He let loose with what his body had been begging to do for weeks. The gym had rediscovered atrophied muscles, but they were built for this. He wouldn’t be attempting jump combinations or any other advanced moves, but a camel spin he could handle.

Circuiting the ice again, he turned heels in and leaned back into a spread eagle. He closed his eyes again to embrace this feeling one last time before he exited the rink. Possibly forever. He knew he could do it now if he wanted to, and that was enough.  

Something clapped onto his hand, jerking him off balance. He regained his footing, eyes snapping open. Belle was gliding there beside him. He blinked, convinced he was swept up in the moment. He was imagining himself fifteen years younger. The lucky bastard who got to skate with her, lift her, make her fly. But then her hand squeezed his harder and she smiled at him.

He didn’t think it was possible for him to blush, but he felt flush with embarrassment. The old man caught trying to relive his glory days. Pretending he still had it. He tried to pry his hand out of hers, but she wouldn’t let go. He tried to slow down, but she sped up, forcing him to keep up with her.

He snapped out of his trance to maneuver them around the corner and avoid crashing into the boards. She didn’t speak, just grinned. Not like she was laughing at him, but like she knew something he didn’t. He didn’t dare say anything and risk removing the light from her eyes. If this was an elaborate figment of his imagination, he wasn’t ready to crash back to cold, lonely reality yet.

At first, they skated around the rink until their skates fell in sync.  They held hands like a couple of middle school kids on their first date.  He forgot how much he loved these sounds. The scrape of their combined skates. He used to associate these things only with his personal and professional failures. Now, he realized, he correlated them with Belle. He tried not to notice how intimate their labored breathes sounded.

She crossed in front of him and reached back to take his other hand. She placed both on her waist. Understanding, he spun them so they skated backward, bent his legs, and tossed her. Not very high, but both her feet left the ice for a complete rotation. She landed with perfect ease and immediately reached for him again. The pride and exhilaration he felt in making her take off from the ice made him want to beat his chest and howl at the moon.

He wondered what it would have felt like to be younger and her partner and be with her like this every day. He pushed the thought away. He didn’t need to imagine. She was there with him, now.

He led her around the ice, marveling at watching her up close. She spread her arms wide and he crossed over behind her. His arms supported hers as they rushed through the corners. He wasn’t her coach now. He didn’t watch her feet to make sure she took off from the correct edge of her blade. He supported her when she extended her leg into a spiral. Lost in the moment, he scooped her against him, flush against his chest. He felt her sharp gasp of surprise, her skates dangling inches off the ice as they spun. Her fingers intertwined behind his neck. She slid slowly down his chest, her lips parting. Her skates hit the ice and he dipped her as they slide to a stop in the center of the ice.

Wide blue eyes looked into his. “That was wonderful,” she breathed. “You skate beautifully.” He knew she wasn’t patronizing him. She meant it honestly, one skater to another. She searched his face. “Why don’t you do it anymore?”   A prick of annoyance stung him at the mention of his past career, bursting the bubble they were in. He fought the urge to lash out of her. So instead he ignored her question. “Well, don’t ask me to sit spin, I might not get back up.”   She laughed. It was the first time he’d gotten that reaction from her. Not haughtily or sarcastically, but genuinely. She was still in his arms and made no move to untangle herself. She was as relaxed with him right now as she was with Gaston. It gave him a similar feeling to when he threw her. Because he knew how much trust was required of her. “We’ll work up to that,” she told him through her grin. The meaningful and flirtatious glint in her eye made him gulp.  

A/N Thanks to A Monthly Rumbelling's June prompt, I can promise drinking, karaoke, dancing, kissing, and a date in the next installment! We're headed to the Autumn Classic hosted by Skate Canada!

[lettersofsky]

Never Gonna Be Alone

I finally finished this thing for @pttucker for ‘Fandom Trumps Hate 2018′! Woo! They wanted some Post AC/DoC SFW Genesis and Cloud stuff so I hope you enjoy how this turned out! I’m very mean to my beloved trash son here, he doesn’t deserve it probably.

Fandom: FFVII Post-DoC Characters: Genesis Rhapsodos, Cloud Strife, Weiss the Immaculate, Tifa Lockhart | Pre-Strifesodos Warnings: Angst, Disease and Off-Screen Minor  Character Death

Enjoy!

Ko-Fi/Tip Jar 

Weiss was dying.

Worse; Weiss was dying and there was nothing Genesis could do about it.

Where was the magical aptitude he’d built his entire identity around? The abilities that had earned him his place as a Commander of SOLDIER, able to stand next to the great General Sephiroth?

He couldn’t even summon a simple flame to his hand, something he’d been able to do with ease since he’d been a child in Banora, given his first bit of Materia by an unapproved-of uncle. What a disgrace he was!

The fact that Midgar was a deserted ruin only made the situation worse; they were alone in this wreck of a city, no one around to help them. And the nearest bit of civilisation was miles away, too far for Genesis to move Weiss, not that he felt safe to; Midgar may have been destroyed but that didn’t mean that Shinra had been too.

Genesis was sure that the company would not be happy to see him again. And he didn’t want to chance either of them being captured once again; Shinra had never been kind to those that they believed had wronged them, he doubted that whatever had occurred here had changed that attitude.

But Weiss was only getting worse as the days passed; Genesis was quickly running out of time if he wanted to save this brother. He needed to do something, he was quickly running out of options.

Weiss started coughing again, the rasping, rattling sound breaking Genesis from his thoughts. Turning his gaze towards where he had settled the other, a nest of old, tattered blankets and pillows on an old mattress he’d found amongst the nearby ruins, he’d elevated the sleeping man’s head once the coughing had started, fearing he would end up choking himself on phlegm while Genesis was away.

The sounds were too much for Genesis to stand and he fled their shelter, escaping into the ruins until even his enhanced hearing couldn’t hear the hacking any more.

He didn’t know where he had ended up; the destroyed city was too similar, the topmost plate had dropped onto the slums, leaving nothing but indistinguishable rubble surrounding him. The only way to properly navigate Midgar now was from the air, else one was reduced to wandering aimlessly through the once great city, senses trained on your surroundings to avoid being ambushed by the monsters that now roamed here.

He took a few moments to simply breath, filling his lungs with the scent of rust, dust and decay, slowly forcing himself to calm down from the panic that had driven him from their shelter. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to be so influenced by his own uselessness, enough so that the mere sound of coughing had caused him to flee their place of safety.

He really had become useless hadn’t he?

The muted sounds of monsters fighting somewhere in the ruins reached his ears, soft, distant noises floating on the breeze and grabbing his attention. He welcomed the distraction, focusing on the far-off sounds, most likely monsters fighting over some newly-discovered scrap of food.

He froze suddenly when a foreign sound reached his ears, the telltale sounds of sparking lightning. His wing materialized within a moment and he shot himself into the air, turning towards the sounds of combat some distance away.

He recognized the sounds of Thundaga anywhere; someone else was within the ruins of Midgar.

Lightning singed the air a few miles away from where Genesis hovered and he turned towards it immediately, covering the distance within a few moments and diving down towards the figure standing alone amongst the remains of a battle. He dropped onto the stranger, sending them both to the ground, his chest heaved with his laboured breath, hope and anxiety warring in his chest as he lifted his head to meet the other’s gaze.

The sight of glowing mako-blue eyes nearly brought tears to his eyes; a SOLDIER! Could he get anymore unlucky? The man under him would surely inform Shinra of his presence ehre, leading to an inevitable capture…

But Weiss needed help and Genesis just couldn’t do it.

“Help me,” he begged, voice scratchy and hoarse from disuse, having not spoken to anyone other than Weiss’ unconscious form for quite some time. He tightened his grip on the man’s jacket, forcing himself to continue speaking despite the shame that threatened to choke him. “Please, help me. He’s sick and I can’t -” his voice cut off, the words suddenly becoming stuck in his throat. He swallowed heavily, forcing the words out. “And I can’t do anything!”

Then there was quiet, the stranger just stared up at him with wide blue eyes. He grit his teeth, frustration and wounded pride combining to create wetness in his eyes, moisture he desperately tried, and failed, to hold back.

Oh, how he had fallen. Reduced to tears and begging a stranger, someone who was most definitely beneath him. His parents would have been so disappointed in him, but then again, when weren’t they?

He had been about to open his mouth and say something more, beg the other once again, but the man stopped him, a single word freezing him in place.

“Ok.”

What? No, it, it couldn’t have been that easy… There was no way it was that easy!

But, he couldn’t afford to second-guess the kindness offered to him, not when Weiss needed it.

“Thank you,” he breathed, lifting himself from the other’s chest and standing on shaky legs. The stranger followed, standing shorter than any SOLDIER Genesis had ever seen, even shorter than he himself was barefoot; Shinra certainly must have been desperate after the mass desertion if they had diverged so much from their preferred body type.

He let the stranger pick up his oversized weapon, at least Shinra kept that particular stereotype, before he moved, wing appearing in a flurry of ruffled and damaged feathers as he grasped the man’s sword harness tightly, lifting them both into the air. The stranger shouted, a shocked, panicked sound, his instincts causing him to struggle in Genesis’ grasp as he lifted them further from the stability of the solid ground below. His struggles quickly turned to white knuckles fisted in the tattered remains of Genesis’ clothing, holding onto him for dear life as he turned towards where he and Weiss had taken shelter.

The SOLDIER’s panic would only aid them in remaining safe, if he was too focused on keeping a hold of Genesis to memorize their surroundings then he wouldn’t be able to lead others back to them.

They landed at the rubble that acted as his shelter only a few minutes later, the stranger dropped to his knees, spiky blond hair falling into his face as he took several deep breaths, relieved and disorientated. Genesis allowed him a moment to compose himself before grabbing him once more and dragging him bodily into the barely standing makeshift shelter, into the muggy heat trapped by the twisted metal and concrete.

Weiss had thankfully stopped coughing while Genesis had been away though his breathing was still laboured and uneven, chest heaving as he struggled to get air into his lungs. Each breath was audible in Genesis’ ears, a continuous rattling that set his nerves on edge.

He stopped them both once they were inside, jerking the SOLDIER to a halt before releasing him, continuing to Weiss’ side on his own. He knelt next to the nest of pillows and blankets he’d left his brother on, sweeping limp, filthy white hair away from his face, forcing his frayed nerves into compliance before addressing the stranger.

“He’s been like this for weeks,” he informed the man behind him, voice low and hollow. “And he’s only been getting worse. I, I can’t do anything to help.”

There was silence, the sound of Weiss’ breathing providing an unsettling backdrop to the tension slowly growing with Genesis. He didn’t know what he would do it the man refused him now, he sincerely doubted anyone else would be foolish enough to wander into the ruins and that was only if the blond didn’t report them to Shinra

“I’ll see what I can do,” the SOLDIER promised, approaching them hesitantly and seating himself directly across from Genesis. He could see the subtle glow of materia under the other’s clothing and could taste the Cure being cast over Weiss’ form, mingling with his brother’s energies to encourage his body to heal.

His eyes remained focused upon his brother’s form, watching the magic seep into his skin and spread out inside of him, the tendrils of soft green reminding him of his own healing several years previous.

He relaxed, a deep sigh of relief leaving his mouth as Weiss’ breathing began to even out and the horrid noises he was making ceased, leaving the man between them breathing easier than he had since DEEPGROUND fell. He could still sense that the other wasn’t completely healed but the stranger had done something for him, which was far more than Genesis had been able to manage.

“I can’t do much more here,” the quiet voice broke Genesis from his thoughts, causing him to turn his gaze away from the easy rise and fall of his brother’s chest to the man across from him. The blond was watching him with soft blue eyes, imploring with Genesis to see how sincere he was being. “He needs to be taken to Edge, at least to get away from here.”

“What is ‘Edge’?” He asked instead of answering the man’s veiled question, it had the added bonus of giving him a moment to quell the panic that threatened to rise in his own throat at the suggestion. He knew that Weiss needed more than he could provide him here, he needed actual food and someone that could heal him; things that the ruins, that Genesis, lacked.

“It’s the settlement of Midgar’s survivors,” the other explained calmly, seemingly unfazed by the fact that Genesis didn’t know that little bit of most likely obvious knowledge. “It’s a few miles from here, but I can have a friend bring a truck around in about two maybe three hours? If they ignore the speed limit.”

“There’s no speed limit in the wastes,” Genesis mused weakly, barely paying attention to what he was saying as his own thoughts consumed his attention. There were so many things that could go wrong for them if he allowed the SOLDIER to take them to this ‘Edge’; they could be captured, they could be separated, they could be executed. But Weiss was guaranteed to continued to deteriorate if he didn’t get the help he needed, help he could only get if he took the chance the man offered.

He heard the surprised chuckle from the other man but he missed most of what came after, only focusing back on his voice as he finished speaking. “ -hing like that.” Genesis blinked slowly, emerging from the haze of his thoughts, giving the other what he could only assume was a blank, unimpressed look, par for the course with him really. “Right. Well… Do you want me to call them? Or would you rather stay here?”

“I do,” he answered steadily, forcing himself to remain calm and focused. It would not help Weiss if he panicked, it would not help him if he panicked, panicking was the worst thing he could do in this scenario. He just needed to get his brother help, he could figure things out from there, but first; “what has become of Shinra?”

He needed to know, to prepare as best as he could.

“Pretty much gone,” the other answered, pulling out his PHS and manipulating it until he opened his contacts, or so Genesis assumed. “There’s Rufus and four Turks left now. But they’re not really effective at much of anything anymore, the WRO keeps him in check.”

“That is good to hear,” he replied, the words acknowledged but not responded to. The stranger moved away from him and Weiss to make his call, though Genesis could hear him as clearly as if he were standing next to him. Rufus had never been impressive and Genesis was confident in his ability to dispose of four Turks, even without being able to use Matiera.

They’d both be fine. If Weiss was able to pull through whatever was affecting him.

He kept an ear on the PHS conversation going on a few feet from them, ensuring that the other was trying anything despite evidence pointing towards the contrary. Whoever the SOLDIER, well ex-SOLDIER if Shinra truly wasn’t a thing anymore, was speaking to called him Cloud, presumably a nickname if not his actual one; he couldn’t judge if it was, his own name was rather exotic.

Weiss’ breath stuttered in his chest, drawing his attention back to the unconscious form lying before him. He reached out and shifted the pillows behind his brother’s head so he was propped up a bit more, hoping to alleviate whatever was causing the difficulties in Weiss breathing.

Cloud had helped quite a bit but Weiss was still ailing, he’d only deteriorate even more if they remained. Leaving was the best option for them, was the best option was Weiss. He couldn’t doom his brother simply because he was worried about the last vestiges of Shinra or this new organisation ‘the WRO’, that would be selfish of him, and he’d already hurt too many he cared about with his selfishness.

Cloud returned to them soon after, having finished his call and alerted his friend to needing their assistance. He dropped down across from Genesis once again, inspecting Weiss as he addressed him. “A friend’s coming with her truck,” he said, materia starting to glow as he swept it over Weiss’ form once again. “We’ll need to get him out of the city and somewhere she’ll be able to find us.”

“Of course,” taking Weiss from the safety of their shelter filled him with trepidation, anything could happen to him out there and there was no guarantee that he’d he safe out there. “It’ll be difficult to carry the both of you.”

“You don’t need to carry the both of us,” Cloud suggested softly, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “We should be able to carry him out between the two of us.”

“No, we’re far too deep into the city,” he stated, shaking his head in a sharp jerk. They were miles away from the edge of the ruins; they’d have to go too far in order to get somewhere Cloud’s friend could reach them, around mountains of rubble and past numerous monster nests. The way would be near impossible if they had to carry Weiss’ dead weight between them.

“It’ll be too far to fly with the two of us.” Cloud insisted, turning to face him full on.

“You underestimate me,” he scoffed, mind already racing with figuring out the best way to carry both Cloud and Weiss while he was in the air. He’d have to hold onto Weiss to ensure he didn’t fall, but Cloud would be able to keep a hold of him in the air so he didn’t have to worry about the SOLDIER meeting an untimely end viat dropping from a great height onto the rubble below. “I’m far superior to your expectations.”

His words caused Cloud to chuckle, a deep, pleasant sound that resonated in Genesis’ ears. It’d been so long since he’d heard such a sound, even longer since he’d been the cause of it, there hadn’t been much of a reason for laughter when he had been on the run from Shinra and dying from Degradation.

“Just, don’t get us killed, then.” The amused words drew Genesis from his thoughts and back to the situation at hand. Cloud’s laughter lit up his face, brightening his eyes immensely and soothing something in Genesis’ chest; it was all too similar to when his SOLDIERs had accepted hi hair-brain schemes in order to achieve victory over a seemingly unbeatable enemy.

It was beyond reassuring, achingly familiar in a way he hadn’t realized he’d missed.

“I will do my best not to,” he responded, making himself sound as confident and unaffected as he could. He lifted himself to a crouch, sliding his arms securely under his brother’s form before standing to his full height, cradling the heavy, unconscious body against himself. “You’ll have to hold onto my back, unfortunately.”

Cloud nodded, noticeably nervous at the notion, but trusting him and his abilities all the same. He followed him out of the shelter, into the open air of the ruined city surrounding them.

From there it was just a moment’s pause for his large, hideous, double-jointed wing to emerge from his shoulder with a single strong beat, the feathers fluffing under Cloud’s heavy gaze. He wasn’t used to his wing being inspected so intently, he’d never given it more than a second’s glance and knew that anyone else who’d seen it was only able to bare a moment’s look before becoming sickened by the sight of the monstrous limb.

“Up you go,” he coaxed, crouching enough for the other to climb upon his back. His wing extended, the muscles stretching until the limb was spread nearly flat, as he waited for Cloud to move.

The first touch against his shoulder was obvious in how hesitant it was, barely there at first but slowly growing more confident as Genesis remained still under his touch. Cloud was soon pressed to his back, though clear of his wing so it could move unencumbered, clinging to him tightly with his knees against Genesis’ waist and arms crossed over his chest. He lifted himself to his full standing height once Cloud was holding him securely, feeling the other tighten his grip as he shifted.

“Ok,” Cloud said, the words brushing against Genesis’ ear and nearly causing him to shiver. He contained himself though, this was neither the time nor the place for him to focus upon the man clinging to his back. “I think we’re ready to go.”

“Good,” Genesis said, wing beating at the air a number of times as he prepared himself to take to the air. “Hold on tightly,” he reminded the other, tightening his own grip around Weiss where he cradled him safely to his chest.

Cloud may have said something, but Genesis didn’t hear him as he took to the sky with a leap and a final strong beat of his wing. The rush of wind covered all sounds other than that of his inhuman limb cutting through the air, muscles working in tandem to keep them airborne.

He turned back towards where he had discovered Cloud fighting the monster, hoping to find the vehicle the other had travelled to Midgar upon, believing that to be as good a place to wait for the other’s friend to arrive. It was a quick journey, his wind easily carrying them over from their shelter towards the remains of the battlefield.

He touched down upon the lightning scorched ground a few moments later, wing folding in on itself as he landed in a crouch. Cloud stepped onto the ground heavily, stumbling a few steps as he put a bit of distance between himself and Genesis. He ignored the sting of disappointment at the action, focusing instead on dismissing his wing as he stood ot his full height.

Weiss groaned within his grasp, the first real response he’d gotten from him in a number of weeks, and shifted within his hold. He shifted his hold on his brother to ensure that he didn’t drop him, keeping his hold tight and secure until Weiss settled.

He relaxed once Weiss had finished moving, turning towards Cloud, who was watching them with a concerned expression of his own. “My bike’s this way,” he informed him, gesturing towards an area where the rubble and ruin opened up to the dead, empty wastes.

Genesis nodded, following Cloud out of the destroyed city for the first time, emerging from the dust and rust into the fresh, open air. Cloud’s bike rested, untouched, mere feet from where they stood, a large, looming display of sleek, grey metal.

The wastes around them were still as dead as they had been when Midgar had been whole and complete, the Reactor’s impact lingering even after they’d been destroyed. The drab, emptiness allowed him to see for miles, and the beginning of civilisation that Cloud had called ‘Edge’.

“And now we wait,” Genesis muttered, striding forward until he could set Weiss down next to the bike, propping him up against the vehicle. He swept filthy, dirt-stained white hair away from the other’s forehead, watching the gentle rise and fall of the other’s chest.

“Now we wait,” Cloud parroted, joining him at the bike. He could feel the man’s gaze upon him, but kept his own on his brother, needing to reassure himself that the other was alright. “Is there, something I can call you?”

That stunned him for a moment, his eyes snapping to meet Cloud’s own. How, didn’t he know him? He had been one of Shinra First Class SOLDIERs, standing next to Sephiroth, how didn’t the younger know who he was?! Had Shinra swept him under the rug like all their other failures? Wiped him from existence and records so they didn’t have to admit as to what had occured?!

He forced himself to take a deep breath, not wanting to jeopardize Weiss’ health by snapping at Cloud in his anger and frustration. “My name’s Genesis,” he answered, voice void of emotion. “Genesis Rhapsodos.”

“Genesis?” Cloud repeated, sounding out the name on his tongue. His anger dulled at the sound of his on the younger’s tongue, enjoying it perhaps a bit more than he should have. “That sounds, familiar.”

“It should,” he forced emotion back into his voice, clearing his throat a bit. “I was one of the best of SOLDIER, once.”

“I’m sorry,” the apology caught Genesis off guard, more so how genuine it sounded and Cloud’s slumped posture. “I, can’t remember much before four years ago.”

Oh, well that explained why Cloud didn’t know him. “Mako Poisoning?” He asked softly, remembering a number of his own SOLDIERs who’d suffered similar side effects from their own treatments. It had been a sad fate, losing years of memories, some had even been left as fresh slates, missing their entire lives and having to build from the bottom up once again.

“Something like that,” Cloud’s eyes dropped away form his own, lips tightening into a thin line and arms crossing tightly across his chest.

Genesis nodded silently, letting the subject drop as it was obviously making Cloud uncomfortable. Instead he searched his thoughts for another topic, not wanting to pass the long wait in silence and waste his first opportunity to speak with someone since he’d awakened. Questioning what had actually occurred within Midgar to put it in such a state, seemed too big for the current point of time, so he settled for something a bit easier.

“What happened to SOLDIER? To the rest of us?”

Cloud relaxed, but not very much, shoulders slumping as the smallest amount of tension drained from his frame. “SOLDIER disbanded when Shinra did,” he said, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “What was left mostly scattered to the winds, trying to find somewhere new to belong.”

“”But, not you?” The words had escaped him before he could stop himself, curiosity over the man who had decided to help them beating out his self-control. He decided to continue with his tactless question, having already given it voice. “Why did you remain in Edge?”

“I’ve got a reason,” Cloud answered, avoiding the question as Genesis thought he would. Silence passed between them, an extended moment of nothing before Cloud decided to break the silence with a question of his own. “What about you? Why were you two in Midgar?”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted softly, the words quiet and barely audible. “It was the safest option after,” he stopped himself before he could utter that name, aware of the horrors the former prisoners had wrought upon the surface and that there was a definitely possibility that Cloud would not treat them kindly if he knew they were affiliated. “The world has changed since the last time I knew it.”

He felt Cloud’s heavy gaze upon him but the other didn’t respond, remaining a silent presence at his side as they waited.

Cloud must have underestimated his friend’s concern for him when he gave his guess as to how long it would take them to arrive, as a vehicle sped towards them at a breakneck speed less than two tense hours later. A woman exited the truck, obviously a fighter from her defined form and confident stance amongst the monster infested wastes.

Her confidence flickered when she turned her gaze to them, the poorly disguised pity twisting something unpleasant in Genesis’ chest. He didn’t care for her pity, not at all and having it focused upon him rankled his already frayed nerves.

Thankfully, she quickly turned her gaze onto Cloud and addressed him, giving Genesis a moment to collect himself and calm his nerves.

“I got your room ready for them,” she said, though her tone implied that she wasn’t saying everything she wanted to. “It’ll do the job.”

“Good,” Cloud said, standing from where he’d been feeding healing magic into Weiss’ form. “I’ll ride with you, then.”

The woman’s brow furrowed at the words, confirming Genesis’ thought that this was an unusual offer from the blond, but she nodded slowly, choosing not to comment on the odd occurrence. “Alright then,” she said instead, cautiously moving around the truck towards them. “We better get moving then.”

Genesis dropped to his knees next to Weiss’ form before picking up the man and cradling him to his chest, feeling his steady breath fan across his neck as he stood to his full height. The woman was watching him again, gaze trained on how he held his brother to his chest, expression still softer than he wished to acknowledge.

He kept Cloud between the woman and himself; while it was unlikely that she would attack him, it didn’t hurt to be wary of her. Neither commented upon his behaviour if they noticed it and he soon had Weiss in the truck, held securely to his chest and head resting against his shoulder.

Genesis forced himself to take steady, even breaths as he waited for Cloud and his friend to join them. He hated being so enclosed, especially without the use of his magic, he wouldn’t be able to escape the vehicle with Weiss safely if the two did turn against them. But, Weiss needed their help, so he had to trust that they wouldn’t turn against them.

The woman, to his irritation, pitied them, making it more unlikely for her to act on any prior plans to do them harm. And Cloud had only been kind to the two of them, causing his fears to seem even less likely to occur.

His rational and logic didn’t cause his fears to fade though, they lingered and kept him stiff and tense as the two others entered the vehicle and the woman started the engine.

She kept the truck moving at a steady speed, fast though nowhere near the break neck speed she’d used to reach them, keeping her attention focused upon the road before them. Genesis did notice her shooting glances at them in the mirror but didn’t bring attention to it, no, he kept his senses trained on Cloud’s purposefully steady breaths; the other’s breathe was audible in the quiet of the car, deep  and even in a way that was obviously unnatural.

It was almost soothing, in a way; the other man was as uncomfortable in this situation as Genesis himself was, though he was certain it was for a different reason than he himself was.

He allowed his mind to quiet itself as the trip continued, letting Cloud’s and Weiss’ breathing consume his senses and blanket his awareness. He was blind to the passing of time and the majority of the journey, only coming back to himself when the sounds of civilisation reached his ears and pulled him from the state he had found himself falling into.

He blinked and the muted noises grew in volume and clarity, filling his ears with the sounds of a thriving town; the indistinguishable sounds of people talking to each other and the rumble of engines a familiar mix of noise after so long without it. He found that he’d missed the sounds of the city, odd, considering he hadn’t missed Banora at all once he left; even now he couldn’t bring himself to feel much in regards to his destroyed hometown.

The truck came to a stop before he could fall too deep into his thoughts, parking in front of a simple two-story building. This, couldn’t have been the new organizations headquarters, he didn’t know where they’d taken them but it wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

Cloud removed himself from the truck within moments of it stopping, taking a few deep breaths before opening the door to the backseat and addressing him. “Do you need help getting him out?”

Genesis swallowed, hands tensing where he’d been holding Weiss to himself. He did need the assistance, as much as he wished otherwise, so he nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“It’s alright.” Cloud reached into the backseat with steady, gradual movements, allowing Genesis to see and judge each shift as it was made until he could take a hold of Weiss and lift him from the vehicle.

Cloud looked awkward, holding his brother’s much large form in his arms. Weiss’ frame dwarfed Cloud’s own, dwarfed them both really, the image would have been amusing to him in a different time and place.

As it was, he was more concerned with removing himself from the vehicle and taking his brother from the smaller man, holding him securely to his chest.

The woman was already within the building, leaving the door open for their own entry. Genesis followed Cloud inside, senses trained for any abnormal sound and ready to escape if he needed to.

The interior of the building revealed a bar, simple and plain but obviously well maintained. The wooden floor and counter was clean, though they showed signs of wear and tear, reminding him acutely of Gillian’s kitchen and dining room, a place he’d spent a majority of his time during his childhood.

Cloud lead him through the bar towards a set of stairs that lead up to the second story, ushering him into a small sparsely furnished room. Genesis gently lowered Weiss onto the plain sheets before beginning to fidget with the pillows behind his head, elevating his head in an effort to make breathing easier for the unconscious man.

Cloud had entered the room behind him, crossing to the bare desk near the window and opening one of the draws to retrieve something from within. When his hands reemerged holding a few pieces of materia, Genesis found irritation rising in his chest once again. He should have been able to identify exactly what they were especially from this distance, but he was unable to gleam anything from the orbs, even as Cloud drew closer.

Cloud sat himself next to Weiss, placing the materia he had retrieved on the side table by the bed and focusing on the unconscious man. He picked up a green orb and Genesis was forced to stop him before he could feed any energy into the orb, reaching out and grasping the other’s wrist in a tight grip.

“Wait,” he said, holding Cloud still as he forced himself to continue. “What is that?”

Cloud didn’t act like the question was an odd one, just handed him the materia as he answered him. “It’s Heal,” he gestured towards the other piece resting on the table, naming it for him. “I’ve also got my Mastered Cure.”

Genesis nodded, hair shifting to fall into his face as he released Cloud’s wrist and pulled his hand back to his chest. He watched intently as Cloud activated the ‘Heal’, prepared to launch himself at the other if the magic that escaped the materia proved to be anything else.

Thankfully, there wasn’t any need to attack Cloud as the bitter tang of Poisona blanketed his tongue.

He breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing as he watched the noticeable glow from the magic as it covered Weiss’ form. The glow diminished within seconds though, indicating that whatever was afflicting the unconscious man, it wasn’t a poison of any kind.

Next came the sweet-sour zest of Esuna, the magic practically dancing on his taste buds as it was cast. Unfortunately, it lasted as long as the Poisona before it had, leaving Genesis despairing Weiss’ chances to recover.

Cloud’s eyes furrowed in confusion at the results, standing up and grabbing a yellow piece of materia from the desk drawer before returning to the bed. Sense was a subtle citrusy taste, the magic moving over Weiss and hopefully informing Cloud as to what exactly was affecting his brother. The look on the other’s face told him otherwise.

“You can’t tell what’s wrong with him.” Genesis said, the words dull and hollow even to his own ears.

“No.” Cloud agreed, voice dripping with honest guilt and frustration. The man didn’t know what was affecting his brother, and nothing was telling him either, leaving whatever was wrong with him to be something natural.

But that left the question as to what could affect an enhanced person in this way? This wasn’t anything like the Degradation that Genesis had suffered through himself, nor was it anything like what had happened when Angeal began taking on the genes of monsters into himself.

Shinra would have known, but Shinra was dead and gone and even if they weren’t Genesis wouldn’t trust them with his brother’s health. No, as painful as it was to watch Weiss waste away and be unable to do anything to help him, it was far better than handing him over to Shinra and allowing them to do as they wished with him.

Genesis didn’t realize that his form was shaking with ugly, heaving sobs until Cloud’s hand on his arm pulled him from his spiralling thoughts. He was pulled against the other’s chest, ducking his head down to hide the tears that were streaking down his dust and dirt stained face, finally breaking from the sheer overload of the past few weeks.

Cloud remained quiet, letting him grieve against him, until he was leaning against him in exhaustion, utterly drained and slumped against the solid chest in front of him. He tried to steady his breathing from the rapid, rise and fall it had become from his release of emotion, pulling away from Cloud’s chest once he felt he was controlled enough.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, clearing his throat at the roughness of his voice. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us, it means quite a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” Cloud offered, looking him over with concerned eyes. “You two can stay as long as you need to, there a shower down the hall if you want it.”

“I believe I’ll have to accept your offer,” Genesis answered after a moment’s pause, turning away from Cloud and picking up Weiss’ limp hand in his own. “But I might wait a bit for that shower.”

“Alright,” Cloud said from behind him, his weight lifting from the mattress. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

He nodded, listening to Cloud leave the room. He kept his gaze focused upon Weiss, mind already racing as he forced himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be able to save this brother either.

Eventually, the layers of filth on his skin drove him into the shower, where he spent just enough time to rinse the dirt, dust and stench from his skin and hair before getting out. He was rubbing the water from his skin when he realized that he had nothing else to change into and the very idea of putting on his own clothes was one he didn’t wish to consider, thankfully, a knock at the door saved him from having to make a decision.

“Hey,” it was the woman’s voice that called through the door, soft and quiet. “I’m leaving some things for you out here, ok?”

“Thank you,” he returned, ears now focused upon her movements on the other side of the door. He opened it once he felt she was far enough away, picking up the bundle of clothing and bringing it into the bathroom with him.

They were large on his frame, obviously belonging to a man both taller and broader than Genesis himself was. But, they did the job and he emerged from the bathroom garbed in the items he’d been given, attempting to towel his long, matted hair dry.

As focused as he was on his brother’s unconscious form, he almost missed the fold out bed that had been set up in the middle of the long wall. But he did notice it, along with the pillows and blankets that were folded on top of the frame, waiting for him to use.

They looked to be of good quality, thick, warm and well-made, not something he’d expected to be offered. There was even one folded next to the foot of Weiss’ bed, ready for him to cover his brother with, how kind of them to try to make them comfortable.

He listened to the sounds of life on the lower levels, the sounds of footsteps and of soft, ineligible words as Cloud conversed with his friend. He ducked out of the room again, returning with a wet cloth in the hopes of washing most of the dust and dirt from his brother’s skin before tucking the blanket around him. With that done, he relaxed a bit, allowing himself to take a few breaths and just bask in the calm of the moment.

He didn’t realize that he’d fallen asleep until he awoke hours later, thankfully unmoved from his position by Weiss’ side, the soft taste of Curaga upon his tongue. His head shot up and his gaze landed on Cloud sitting across from him, directing a flow of curative magic over his brother’s form.

He relaxed at the sight of Cloud, turning his gaze to Weiss to see how the magic was affecting him. It wasn’t a good sight, the green glow of the magic painted Weiss’ skin a sickly colour in the light of the dimly lit room and his chest was rising and failing in uneven bursts.

Genesis forcefully turned his attention away from his brother, to the man casting the magic, focusing on him instead. “Evening,” he greeted, voice rough with sleep. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours,” Cloud answered, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “You looked like you needed it, so I didn’t wake you.”

“How kind,” Genesis muttered, rubbing at the crust that had built up in his eyes. He still felt exhausted, even after his nap, countless days of snatched moments of rest had left him with a bone-deep weariness that wasn’t likely to fade anytime soon. “Truly, it was very kind of you to allow us to rest here.”

“You needed the help,” Cloud explained and Genesis could have sworn he saw colour flush the young man’s cheeks.

“Yes, but many wouldn’t have given it,” Genesis knew that well enough, the world was a cruel and cold place to those that needed kindness. And he was not proud to admit that once, in his most desperate moment, he’d been just as cruel.

“I’ll just be special then,” Cloud said in return, the glow of magic fading from Weiss’ form as Cloud moved to stand. He turned to him with a soft, kind smile, a light sheen of perspiration on his skin. “Try to get a bit more sleep, alright?”

Genesis nodded, watching Cloud leave the room before turning his attention to the fold-out cot he’d been given. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but next to the ground it was as soft as feather-down.

He awoke late the next day, closer to midday than morning, some of his previous exhaustion freed from his form. Weiss was still resting undisturbed, though Genesis noticed that his breathing had changed from its steadiness of the previous night.

It seemed that Weiss was already beginning to deteriorate, despite Cloud’s best attempts otherwise. His heart ached at the realization, falling to the pit of his stomach and remaining there as he continued to stare at the unconscious man, lingering under the comforts of his blanket for a moment.

He lifted himself from the cot, folding it and setting it to the side for later, before pausing, lingering by the other’s beside. He forced himself to continue past the bed and out of the room, cautiously making his way downstairs and towards the soft, muted voices he heard below.

He saw Cloud speaking to his friend at the bar’s counter, steam wafting gently into their faces from the mugs between them. He forced himself to continue moving into the bar proper, keeping himself calm as the woman’s gaze shifted over to his approaching form.

Cloud, following the other’s gaze, turned towards him. Genesis found himself freezing under the other’s gaze for a moment, breath stuttering in his chest in a manner he hadn’t experienced for years. The spell was seemingly broken, though he would need to consider his reaction later, when Cloud offered him a kind smile.

“You’re up,” Cloud stated, turning more fully towards him as his friend placed another mug on the counter before turning to grasp the pot of coffee. “How do you like your coffee?”

He blinked slowly, still slowed from his initial reaction to the other ex-SOLDIER, responding after a moment of stillness. “With milk, no sugar.”

The woman behind Cloud nodded, fixing his mug as he continued to approach them and setting it before him with a soft, welcoming smile of her own. Now that he wasn’t moments away from a panic attack, he noticed that she was indeed a beautiful woman, and the muscles on her frame confirmed her as a fighter.

“You’re looking better today,” she noted, gaze sweeping over him in a searching manner. “I’m glad the rest did you some good.”

“It did,” he agreed, wrapping his hands around the warmth of the mug in front of him, not drinking from it quite yet. He was savouring the heat seeping from the mug to his hands, the comforting heat giving him something to focus on as he conversed with the two. “Thank you…” He trailed off purposefully, reminding them that they had yet to be properly introduced.

“Tifa,” she offered, holding out one of her hands towards him. “Tifa Lockhart.”

“Genesis Rhapsodos,” he returned, shaking her hand within his own. Her fingers was calloused beneath his own, telling him that she was used to working with her hands. She also hadn’t seemed to recognize his name, something he’d have to get used to now; he didn’t doubt that Shinra had done all they could to sweep his existence under the rug like the rest of their mistakes.

“Welcome to Seventh Heaven, Genesis,” her words were genuine in his ears, lacking any lies or hesitations. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

“I’ll try not to be a burden upon you,” he replied, practically feeling the contentment coming from Cloud, who’d been standing next to him and listening to their exchange quietly.

Tifa grinned at him, a wide, bright thing that warmed her wine-coloured eyes. “Oh, I’ll make sure of it.” There was promise in her voice and he heard Cloud chuckle beside him, Genesis found himself pleased at the suggestion he’d be put to work; looking forward to distracting himself with whatever task she provided him.

Days passed quickly from there; Tifa kept him occupied and though it wasn’t anything like what he was used to, he appreciated how busy the work kept him and the opportunity to interact with other people again. The civilians were nervous around him but they were also nervous around Cloud, a result, he assumed, of Shinra’s influence. Afterwards, he’d retire to the room he was sharing with Weiss, which turned out to be Cloud’s room, the other was bunking in Tifa’s son’s room while he was traveling with her partner on a trip to his hometown of Corel, and spend some time conversing with Cloud before retiring for the night.

At first, they spoke only of small matters; how Genesis was handling his new occupation and Cloud’s own delivery service, the man’s custom made bike and his very unusual set of swords, which, of course, lead to questions about Genesis’ own peculiar weapon. First Tsurugi and Rapier were beautiful examples of craftsmanship, tailored to fit their individual fighting styles and capitalize on their strengths, though Genesis couldn’t use Rapier properly at the moment due to still being unable to call upon his magic. The late night conversations were a lovely way to avoid thinking about Weiss’ steady decline in health, something that wasn’t likely to change if the doctor Cloud had managed to find was right, and how useless he felt being unable to do anything about it.

But he had something else planned for tonight, he’d been living in Seventh Heaven for a week and felt that he was finally ready to hear about what had happened while he’d been asleep. He wasn’t going to mention anything about what had happened to him, he didn’t want Cloud to think differently of him, but he wanted to know how Midgar fell.

“It’s not the best story,” Cloud warned him, frowning down at the glass in his hands. They were out on the roof, which probably wasn’t the best idea considering they were both drinking, away from the bustle of the open bar and the stench of decay that clung to Weiss’ skin more and more as days passed. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Perhaps not,” he agreed, pressed closer to Cloud’s side than he would have been if he’d been sober. The alcohol in his veins making him bubbly and affectionate, not helped by how long it’d been since he’d been with literally anyone else. “But I wish to hear it, all the same.”

“Ok,” Cloud said, shifting next to him and staring up at the bright stars above them. “We’re gonna be here a while then.”

“Good thing we’ve got more drinks then.”

Cloud snorted, shoulder shaking with his amusement. “You’re right, there,” he said, turning to grin at him. Genesis felt warmth flare in his chest at the expression, returning the grin with a soft smile of his own as he tucked the feeling away for the moment to revisit later.

Cloud was right about his story being a sad one, Genesis almost regretted asking him to tell it, his thoughts ran wild in his mind as he processed everything that Cloud had told him. Seems even his detainment in DEEPGROUND hadn’t stopped him from ruining the world further, and he’d driven his last remaining friend into insanity in his desperation and insanity.

How ironic that he was the one to survive the whole ordeal. It should have been either of the others; they were far more deserving of being here, alive and free to choose what to do with their life now.

Cloud must have noticed the turn his thoughts had taken, as a warm hand landed on his shoulder, turning him to face the other’s concerned expression. “Hey, it’s ok. Let it out if you need to.”

Genesis hadn’t realized there had been tears leaking from his eyes until Cloud’s thumbs brushing them from his cheeks brought attention to them, causing him to drop his gaze from the other’s concerned blue eyes and focus upon the ground below them. Dammit, he hadn’t wanted to dissolve into tears in front of the other, he wasn’t usually such an emotional mess!

But, how else was he supposed to react? Knowing that he was at fault for the death of so many people at the hands of what had become of his friend, that it was his actions that had lead to the horrors that Cloud had had to face the the friend he’d lost to save the world?

He couldn’t give voice to those thoughts, Cloud would certainly hate him if he did and Genesis certainly wouldn’t blame him if he choose to throw both Weiss and himself out on the street. That only added to his distress though, his tears continuing to leak from his eyes in an ugly show of emotion, that Cloud reacted to by winding an arm around his shoulders and drawing him closer to his form until he could rest his chin upon Genesis’ head.

Neither of them spoke afterwards, they simply remained silent as the weight of everything that had happened, and the role he’d played in it, crushed down upon Genesis’ shoulders.

The next week found Genesis back in the wastes of Midgar, perched upon a pile of rubble and staring unseeingly at the death and ruin before him. His mind was eerily silent, a fog had descended upon his thoughts and left him thankfully blank for the moment.

He’d been here for the last hour at the least, ever since his brother had drawn his last pained, laboured breath, the wet, gasping sound echoing in Genesis’ ears. Cloud had tried to ease Weiss’ final few hours but Genesis doubted he’d even been aware enough to know he was free of pain at all, the actions more to ease Genesis’ mind than whatever they did for his brother.

He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten out here, the familiar ache of his shoulder told him he’d flown but he didn’t know if he’d flown straight from Seventh Heaven or if he’d had enough foresight to wait until he’d cleared the city to reveal his inhuman nature. Either way, he was here now, the corpses of the monsters that had thought him fair game littering the surrounding area.

He remained still and unaware until a hand grasped his shoulder, pulling him from his empty haze. He snapped towards the person touching him, focused on nothing else but them, and had his weapon knocked out of his hand as if it was nothing but an afterthought.

His reaction was as instinctive as it had ever been, palm thrusting forward uselessly without the flames that would’ve once curled around it, only to be gripped by a strong hand. He snarled at the man holding him in place, trying to jerk himself free of the other’s grip but finding himself unable too.

He slumped after struggling for a few moments, curling into himself as frustration coiled in his chest. First, he couldn’t save his brother and now he couldn’t even free himself from the hold on him, some First Class he was.

“Let go of me.” He demanded, form trembling now that he’d been pulled from the comforting silence that he’d descended into. He didn’t want to deal with this now, he wanted to not think, he wanted his magic back and, most of all, he wanted to go back to before he’d started to degrade.

He wanted his brother back.

He wanted…

He wanted Angeal and Sephiroth back.

“No.” That was Cloud’s voice, come to his aid like the hero so many thought of him. No wonder he couldn’t break the other’s grip; this was the person who’d defeated Sephiroth, a feat Genesis had tried and failed for years to achieve, he couldn’t match up to that.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He insisted, jerking himself away from the other again and failing once more. He kept his gaze focused below them, adamantly not looking Cloud in the face. He didn’t deserve the other’s attention, nor his kindness, nor after what he’d caused to happen to him.

“I don’t want you to be alone,” Cloud said, causing him to freeze in place. “Nobody deserves that.”

Cloud wouldn’t say that if he knew what he’d done, he wouldn’t. He needed to tell him so it wouldn’t hurt as much as it would when Cloud left him later on, he needed to save himself that small amount of pain. “You’d hate me if you knew what I’d done.”

“I don’t think so,” Cloud disagreed softly, loosening his grip on his arms now that Genesis wasn’t actively trying to attack him. “I think things have been pretty hard for you and that you’re doing your best to keep things together even though you’ve been through a lot, and that you’ve made mistakes, just like everyone else has. I don’t hate you for that.”

“But it’s my fault!” Genesis finally exclaimed, snapping his gaze up to meet Cloud’s warm and forgiving eyes. “All of this! All the lives ruined by Meteor, by Sephiroth, were my fault! I couldn’t help anyone! I couldn’t even save my brothers!”

“I know.” That froze Genesis to the core; those two quiet, confident words were too much for him to comprehend.

Cloud knew?

How did he know? How long had he known?

How could he still stand to be around him if he knew?

“Tifa remembers you,” Cloud explained, shoulder moving in a shrug. “She told me about what happened at the Reactor and the rest filled in on its own, I’ve known everything since the night I met you.”

Genesis shook his head weakly, not knowing how to react to the fact that Cloud had known everything and still wanted to spend time around him, still felt some kind of affection towards him if the previous few days were anything to go by. It was too good to be true, he didn’t deserve it.

“Then why…?”

“Because we both deserve to be happy after everything that’s happened to us.” Cloud answered, filling in the blank of his trailed off question. “And I don’t want you to be alone anymore.”

“How noble,” Genesis muttered, the words wet and heavy. He slumped against Cloud, all his energies drained from the day. There were things he needed to do back at Edge but for now, he was tired and wanted to rest.

He’d let Cloud support him while he needed it.

Ko-Fi/Tip Jar

[goldenscript]

passing skies

↳ prompt: vampire!johnny

pairing: johnny seo | reader genre: fantasy au / fluff word count: 1,542 description: the K-line has become that of a sanctuary for you and other Night creatures, but somehow the one person you’ve found thee most comfort in is the same one you haven’t said so much as “hello” to. at least until now.

Seeing him again is still like the first time.

He dawns a rumpled jean jacket so worn that the collar merely lies limp, no longer crisp and folded as it was that first week. That mop of brunet tendrils refuse to stay out of his eyes, falling just above his lids but you swear his lashes are practically kissing the tip, and still there’s a particular impishness to them. His eyes always drawn to the window. You’re still not sure what he sees, whether there’s really something he’s searching for or if the sky is telling him things no one else can hear. All you know is the fading lavender and blurring tawny are beautiful.

The rest of the bus’s occupants are in their own worlds, enthralled by their own companions with stories you only hear snippets of. Their anecdotes only somewhat registering through the tsunami waves wrecking across the expanse of your chest.

I’m going to talk to him today. You take one more side glance at him and feel your throat tighten. Fuck. Maybe next week.

It’s been nine weeks since you’ve become acquainted with Johnny Seo.

Not that you can call it much. The very first conversation was nothing more than a brief lock of the eyes and a subtle nod to tell you your presence was accepted. The second nothing more than the same exchange until the third, fifth, and eighth was replaced with expectation. You get onto K-line, find him with his back leaned against the red faux velvet seats with his gaze trained on the speckle floor, sometimes conversing with someone—God does he know so many people—and other times just waiting, and his hickory hues shift to yours when you arrive, sometimes slightly dishevelled and other times in leisure, but almost always he will meet you and welcome you with a mere quirk of his lips.

Almost every time you feel the compulsion to speak to him, to finally finalize this involuntary camaraderie. you stop short just as the words have built up in your throat, dissipating like fallen hail. Perhaps it is cowardice. Or really, it’s fear.

Humanity has not been a kind place to people like you or Johnny or really anyone on the K-line. The mundane cannot grasp anything that hasn’t been presented to them in a neat package, and their vehemence to these so-called monstrosities make them close-minded now more than ever. It makes them fearful of you, a simple student, just for existing and for the power you hold from the ground they walk on and the very auras they extrude. For someone like Johnny who may live off another’s essence to live. For someone like Irene who unwittingly entrances others and needs to. They don’t understand that you three and the many others like you exist as they exist and you live as they do. They simply don’t want to.

You vaguely remember the hunt that happened on the T-line. The bare traces of anger enough to make you feel unsafe even with the high possibility that someone may defend you. A little over two decades of paranoia, fear, confusion, and anger can do that to a person. It makes you nervous to open up to someone. Even Irene’s encouragement is falling on deaf ears despite the fact that she’s the one who led you here in the first place.Though the very possibility both exhilarates and frightens you, you don’t know what to expect or how many skies you two will share in silence. 

Except today is different.

You feel it. You know it deep down. And the confirmation comes as soon as his gaze leaves the bespeckled ground in favor of your eyes without leaving. His smile curving farther than half his cheek, inducing yet another set of waves loose inside you. Somewhere along the way comes courage. It’s far, but you feel it bubble in your gut like performing any other charm.

You give a small wave as you plop down beside him, “Hi.”

“Hey.” If he’s surprised at the turn of events, he doesn’t show it. He is exactly how you observed, yet somehow better than any of the preconceived scenarios you thought up prior to this moment. It doesn’t even take long to exchange the pleasantries of names, though he isn’t very surprised to hear yours as you aren’t any less surprised to hear his.

In turn, this relinquishes a small gush of shared laughter to pass. It eases away the stiff, awkward parts that are always foreseen for you, and you can’t help but fall into step with him once the bus immediately starts rolling.

“It’s probably a little late to ask if you come here often huh?” He asks with a straight face albeit the faint traces of amusement are peaking through the cracked resolve.

“Probably?” You gives an exasperated sigh, “Try definitely. But I guess this conversation has been pretty long overdue.”

He shrugs, “The chances just weren’t right.”

“You believe in chance?” You quirk a brow at him. Part of it is out of curiosity and another part of you is prepared to receive another playful pick-up line.

He nods, “I think things always happen for a reason. Us finally talking now. Me being here. Everyone being here. Stuff like that. I won’t bore you with the details.”

“Please do.”

Of course you’ve heard about fate and destiny, but  it’s still intriguing to hear him talk about it. You want him to talk about it. Existentialism may take up a lesson in your studies, deeply entwined in your secondary life to a point where you often find yourself believing it no matter how terrifying it can be to think about in hindsight.

He looks surprised then, unabashed to show it this time around, “Haven’t you heard enough about it?”

“I mean you’ve probably lived a bajillion years longer than me so it’d be a hell of a lot more interesting to hear it from you.”

He snorts, “More like a bajillion and one, thank you very much.”

“My bad, my bad. You’ve lived a bajillion and one years longer than me, so please enlighten me on your philosophy.”   

The triumph on his visage lasts for about a second before he gives you a look that seeks confirmation. It kind of strikes you that him being a vampire might be even harder than just simply being another any Night creature on this campus. They may be different through status and age, but sometimes even the other groups forget that too.

You smile softly, nodding. “I mean it. Tell me.”

“You know you’re the first person to let me talk about it. I mean they’re great and they hear me out, but it’s nice. Talking to you about it.” He mentions as he runs a hand through his hair.

When you don’t say something immediately, his gaze drifts from your visage and toward the window. The bare traces of marigold kissed away in favor of scarlet and the white clouds scattering in between the spaces of what was once an icy sky. He seems to relax right then. You can’t say for sure as you follow the dreamy canvas.

“Quick question.”

He hums in response, though neither of you tear away from the window.

“You like the sky too huh?”

You turn your head back to him, meeting his dark brown eyes. There are faint traces of solemnity behind them which tells you your answer. But his soft voice still leaves you waiting to hear more, “I do. A lot.”

“Why?” You tilt your head at him.

“It reminds me that I’m not different from anyone else looking at it either. Like—” He pauses. As if trying to find the proper words to describe it. But you get it because you feel it too.

“—Like we’re all looking at the same sky so how different can we be to someone on the other side of the world, right?”

He nods almost fervently, “You like them too?”

“A lot.” You nod. Despite how much you might like to turn and look back to the sky for comfort, you feel it right there with him too. “So, you were saying?”

Johnny shows you another breathtaking smile albeit nervous one that is even more endearing on him and he begins to tell you how fate is who oversees our lives and causes all the things to happen, while destiny is the grand design, the plan to it all. He mentions so many other things, some of the words even getting mangled together by his slight lisp but you don’t mind. Before he goes, his stop coming right before yours, you tell him: “For the record, you’re the first person I’ve told any of this too. Thank you.”

The next day comes quickly with his smile and his words—“I’ll see you and the sunset tomorrow, Y/N”—floating across the forefronts of your mind in a whimsical twirl. You feel ease as soon as you meet his eyes, a faint twinkling exchanged between you two with the prospect of another conversation (and many many many more to come) in the air.

Just as it’s always been, you take your seat beside him and admire the view.