#I’m not even going to touch on how often Splinter nearly dies

[forgetful-nerd]

The 2012 TMNT boys have died or have almost died so often that, at this point, they probably have some sort of unspoken “no one’s declared dead until we find the body” rule.

[exclted]

˚ · . @swiftscion​ asked:

Hunger and soreness don't hurt her nearly as much as the pain of being apart for so long.

Larcei wakes with a start, and before she can touch bases with any of her teammates rushes out of her room. They are safe. She knows it. They fought side-by-side with her, waged war against their general and survived just as she did. Their bodies would heal, with enough time... There's someone else whose safety is unclear.

"You!" The door to the village dreamers' room is burst open, the raging comet having not taken 'no' for an answer when knights and staff alike tried keeping her at bay. Larcei pushes through, and there she is, sitting among them: Lucina of the Exalt.

Larcei cares not for the run-down state of affairs. Not crumbling walls nor fractured floors, not the patches of green sprouting through  ruins nor stone-cold slabs used as bedding. That Lucina hadn't gone and sacrificed herself for another is enough to shake the fatigue out of her bones.

Continuing her frenzied dash, she dives headfirst into the other's body. Mere words cannot communicate the strange sense of joy she feels at the Lowell's survival; Larcei is spurred to action, unclogging her dam of emotions in the only way she knows how.

( Though if you really think on it, you're not quite sure what you'd even call this emotion. It is a kind of happiness, sure, but unlike one you've ever felt before... )

"You're safe..." she mutters, her breath cut short by the weight of the other's shoulder pressed so close to her mouth, "You didn't do anything stupid... I was worried about you, you know? The whole time."

"Thank the Crusaders you're alright."

This is not the first time that a false reality has collapsed around her, giving way to the truth. It is, however, the first time that such a thing has happened after she felt the world go dark.

Lucina stares bleakly at the palms of her hands -- impossibly unscathed. It feels difficult to believe even as her thumb smooths over calloused skin, marked by years of swordsmanship and nothing more.

She had seen them all die -- she had died.

The silence of the room is shattered by the sound of wood splintering on long- rusted hinges. She knows the voice that is carried with it, feels her shoulders ease as recognition takes her, disregarding that accusatory tone entirely.

A quiet ‘mmf’ as Larcei barrels into her chest, effectively startling the air from her lungs. She hardly minds. In fact, there’s a soft laugh on her next exhale.

“As are you,” arms come to fold around the other, allowing herself to be held and to hold in return. Another day and her she may be red-faced with embarrassment, beside herself with the thought that there are people around them to see such a display.

Today, she is nothing but relieved. Lucina presses her nose to Larcei’s hair, lets her hold tighten just so. She had worried too -- for her safety, for a world in which they may never have gotten to see one another again. It’s no small weight from her chest, knowing that neither of her fears were made truths.

“I didn’t, no,” what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, “though I’m glad to see I didn’t have to, now that I know you’re okay.” A sigh, a long moment spent unwilling to let go of the star caught in her arms.

Her parting gift is a lingering touch to the other’s cheek, the corners of her lip twitching in a smile. “I suppose you will just have to keep me in check more often.”

[saferemercer]

Worthy

June 26th, Late Evening, After the Queen’s Gala

"There ya go lass, she's all set for yeh!" 

Safere glanced at the dwarf gryphon master, still holding the winning ticket in her hand. To the right of her, stood Snowbeak, the majestic, white Wildhammer gryphon she had just won in a high society raffle. The beast was immaculate; feathers shining in the moonlight, beak seemingly polished to a mirror sheen and talons sharp as adamantine steel. She was straight out of a storybook. 

Safere looked down at her rented tuxedo; a crab meat stain on her collar, one cufflink gone and her shoes having stepped in something grey and slimy. She didn’t want to think about that too much. All in all, she felt pretty damn foolish standing in front of this paragon of gryphon-kind, ready to take her as a mount. 

“So uh...you have any tips for how to...uh, care for her?” she asked. “I mean...I have another gryphon, but he’s older and kinda half-blind…”

The dwarf chuckled, unlatching the gryphon’s chains. “Oh, Snowbeak is ah’ feisty young lass, she’s gonna want ta’ fly around prettah’ often. You’ve got ah’ roost fer her, yeah?” 

Safere rubbed the back of her head. “Yeah...definitely,” she hoped. 

“Good, good. She needs tha’ best of care! You gala types can manage that, ah’m sure. You ah’ knight or ah’ cleric of some kind?” 

Safere rubbed her head, harder. “I’m...a...uh, protector.” 

“Protector! Ha, tha’ sounds good! Yeah, Snowbeak is fit fer the grandest of adventures. The soarin’ clouds, the tallest mountains, the greatest-” 

“I get it, I get it,” Safere said, through gritted teeth. “I’m...sure we’ll have a wonderful time together.” 

The dwarf shrugged and gave Snowbeak a final pat on the snout, before he opened the gate and led her out of the pen. Safere walked up to her, trembling just a little. She raised a hand and brought it down to touch her beak. The gryphon stared into her eyes, as she was touched. Safere swore she could sense a subtle disappointment in those eyes. She sighed. 

“I know, Snowbeak...we’ll...make this work,” Safere said, now starting to regret ever taking a raffle ticket. 

July 20th, Mid Evening, Crowsfield.

Snowbeak was screaming at her. Well, squawking might have been more accurate, but it sure felt like screaming to Safere. If the beast could speak common, she had an idea of the level of vitriol she’d be experiencing right now. 

“I know, I get it, you’re angry!” Safere grumbled, trying to clean her feathers with an old brush. “We don’t...we don’t fly as often as you’d like...and I wish I could fix that, but I just...don’t travel as often as some people. Ok?! Buddy doesn’t mind, do ya pal?” 

She turned to the black gryphon in the pen next to her. The cross-eyed, older gryphon was chewing on a large ferret he had caught earlier that day, but in the same way a tired farmer might sip on a tall glass of sweet tea. He was in no rush. 

As if Snowbeak could understand Safere’s words (she was almost certain she could, some days), the majestic gryphon snorted at her, in seeming disgust. 

Safere sighed. “Yeah, I know, you don’t like being compared to Buddy. But he’s the only gryphon I’ve ever really known before, so maybe we can just-” 

Snowbeak raised her legs and flapped her wings right in Safere’s face, knocking her to the ground, landing flat on her ass in the dirt.

“Oh, fine!” Safere shouted, lying down in defeat. “Have it your way! I’ll just let you-” 

“Might I be of assistance, Miss Mercer?” 

She looked up to see a man in copper colored armor, standing above her, offering a hand. She turned around and gripped his palm, rising back to her feet. She recognized the man immediately. He was the only one she knew who would wear a fully enclosed helm in such sweltering weather. 

“Mordecai, right?” Safere asked, despite knowing she was right. She just..hadn’t spoken to him that much. 

He nodded. “Indeed, Miss Mercer. Mordecai Sharpe, at your service.” He sounded calm and helpful, even if his expression was entirely unreadable. That copper-colored mask he wore always bore the same neutral, placid expression. His eyes were the only thing that could be seen. Kind brown orbs, blinking every so often. 

Safere sighed, dusting off her trousers. “Well, uh, have you got any experience with gryphons? At least more than I do?” 

Mordecai nodded once more. “I rode one for nearly a decade. Back when I was a more...active member of The Silver Hand. She was a gorgeous creature, fair and swift...but I didn’t appreciate her at the time.” 

Safere blinked. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I...neglected her,” he began to say. “Not in the sense of health or feeding, I assure you. I always kept her well fed, clean and cared for. Until the day she died, she never missed a meal, nor was she abused. But…” 

The man’s shoulders fell, for but a moment. “I didn’t truly appreciate her. I never even named her. Not really. Whenever a fellow knight would ask me, I would say something like...Silverwing or Judgment. But it was a hollow excuse for a title. I simply didn’t care. She was a beast to be used for glory. Much like a sword or a shield. Cared for, certainly. But never loved. Never seen as more than a tool.” 

Mordecai turned to look at the gryphons. “Do I have your leave to approach her?” 

“Sure,” Safere replied, shrugging. “Just be ready, because she’s in a mood.” 

He walked up to Snowbeak, slowly reaching into a pouch on his waist and retrieving a handful of wildberries. Once he reached the gryphon, he held out his palm and let her eat from it. She did so with some trepidation, but soon enough, had cleaned his gauntlet entirely. She then leaned her head against his arm, as he stroked her gently. 

“A beautiful lady...you should be very-” 

“HELP!” 

Mordecai and Safere turned around to see a young woman running toward them, a distraught expression on her face. The paladin ran forward to meet her halfway. 

"Miss, what is wrong?!" 

"Please, they took my brother, please they took him into the forest-" 

He laid a hand on her shoulder...and she seemed to calm down, enough to explain more clearly, at least. By then, Safere had joined Mordecai by his side and was listening closely. 

"She took Theodore, the...some witch, I saw her snatch him from his bedroom window and take him into the moor! I tried to run after her, but these...skeletons rose up from the dirt! Undead monsters! Out in the Bleakmoor! Please sir, miss…please help my brother…” the girl wailed, tears welling in her brown eyes. 

“We have no time to lose. Miss, return to your home and wait for us there. We will find him. Safere,” Mordecai said, turning to face her. “Might we-” 

She nodded, already running back to Buddy. “Come on!” she called back. Fiddling with her ebon gryphon’s chain, Safere mounted him and pulled the reins. He may have been an older gent, but Buddy knew when it was time to get serious. Years of getting Safere out of sticky situations had given him a kind of sixth sense. He rose to his feet and flapped his wings, ready to burst off. 

Mordecai was running up now, while the young woman returned to her homestead.  He looked at Buddy and Safere. “I...don’t know if I’ll be able to fit on there with you. Or if your gryphon can carry my extra bulk,” he said, gesturing to his mix of chain and plate mail. “Perhaps if-” 

Safere shook her head. “You’re taking Snowbeak!” 

The paladin shook his head. “No, miss Safere, she is yo-” 

“This is not the time to argue, pal! Get to it!” Safere shouted. 

Mordecai nodded and ran to the ivory bird, expertly climbing upon her saddle without even a wayward twitch from the proud beast. She shrieked out a battle-squawk and took to the air almost immediately, leaving Safere and Buddy to catch up. 

They were soaring above the hills now, keeping low enough to spot any figures...if it wasn’t so bloody dark. 

“I can’t see a damn thing down there!” Safere shouted, the wind coursing through her hair. 

“Let us remedy that,” Mordecai roared back. “Cover your eyes, Mercer! For just a moment!” 

Safere did as she was told, bringing her wrist back across her eyes, just as the night turned to sunrise in front of her. Her peripheral vision was a holy inferno, but it soon faded enough until she felt comfortable to gaze openly again. Mordecai was still glowing, casting a net of light across the hilly moor below. 

“There!” he said, pointing down. Sure enough, no longer shrouded beneath a barrow-hill, Safere could spot a crowd of figures. Over a dozen skeletal warriors, covered still in the dirt and grime of their former resting places. Most gripped broken hatchets and rusted blades. A couple held ancient shortbows. These two decrepit snipers took aim as Safere and Mordecai came down upon them. With surprising dexterity, an arrow was loosed, aimed right at Snowbeak’s chest. 

But the gryphon saw it coming, swiping the missile away with a talon. The other shot toward Safere and Buddy; its aim was less true, allowing them to dodge the projectile with a quick turn. By then, the two of them were landing. Hard. 

Snowbeak smashed into the center of the undead, scattering two of the boney bastards into splinters. Mordecai pulled his great morningstar from his shoulders, the flanged head gleaming with golden fire, as he slammed it into the rotting ribcage of another, crushing the sternum and wasting the foul creature away. 

Safere came down less glamorously, but no less effective. Her cutlass in one hand, silver edged and shining, slicing through the skull of the axe wielding monster nearest to her. The foolish archer she had landed by, tried to swat Buddy with his bow, only for the elder gryphon to grab him in his beak and snap his spine. 

“Interlopers!” A shrill voice screamed. Safere turned to see a wretched old hag, twisted and deformed, holding a young boy by the scruff of his pajamas. The child was wailing, kicking at his captor, to seemingly no avail. “You will not stop the sacrifice to Gorak Tul!” 

“Gorak Tul is vanquished, fiend! Killed in his own realm of shadow and failure!” Mordecai growled, shattering the knees of an approaching skeleton. “You will accomplish nothing!” 

“Yeah, you suck!” Safere helpfully added, stabbing another undead. 

“Fools! Gorak Tul’s spirit lingers, forever! And I will be his new bride!” the witch shrieked, raising a twisted dagger to the child’s throat. “The boy’s blood will show me the way!” 

Safere grit her teeth, looking around for any options. There were still a half dozen skeletons advancing. Buddy was fighting off one more to her left. Snowbeak...was gone. Where had she-

Mordecai let loose a sharp whistle. The gryphon moved so fast, she was more of a blur of white upon the wind, than any discernible form. Just as the witch had barely begun to look behind her, she was rammed by the Wildhammer gryphon, sending her gangling form flying forward, her loose grip on the boy’s shirt going slack, as he fell a few feet to the ground. 

Safere ran over to him, making sure he was unharmed. Aside from some dirt stains and a bruise on his shoulder, he seemed to be fine, if still wailing and terrified. Within that handful of moments, Mordecai, Buddy and Snowbeak had dispatched the handful of remaining skeletons, their bones scattered and unmoving. The witch...lay in a defeated pile nearby, groaning like a sickly weasel. 

“You are beaten, monster. Submit and be judged!” Mordecai commanded, his aura pulsing like wildfire. He stood above the subdued wretch, morningstar at her throat. 

The witch mewled and raised her elongated arms, in a show of surrender. “I...yes, I am defeated! Oh, brave and powerful paladin! I...submit to your mercy! Please!” Her yellow eyes wide and pleading. 

“Mercy! How could a villain such as you deserve-” Mordecai began to say...before stopping and sighing. “Very well, witch. You will come with me, bound and subdued...to be judged by the people of Autumnhearth! And see what mercy they lay upon you!”  

The paladin barely shifted his gaze, but for a mere moment, he did glance at his belt, to retrieve a length of rope...only for Safere to watch as the hag began to channel a pale blue energy in her palm. 

A Ruinous Bolt! Safere thought to herself. She had been researching just last night. In a flash, she drew her Gnomish pepperbox from the back of her trousers and fired. One, two, three, four…

Her aim did not fail her. Each silver shot ripping into the hag’s flesh, with the last metal ball landing right between her sour yolk-yellow eyes...which made the spell in her palm fade away and the witch slump back onto the ground, as dead as her would to be husband. 

Mordecai looked back at the shot riddled body and exhaled. “My thanks, Miss Mercer.” 

She nodded, sweat dripping down her forehead. In her arm, the young boy blinked and wiped away tears. “That was...so loud!” he squeaked. 

“Ah yeah...sorry about that, Theodore,” Safere said, grimacing. “But it’s over, your sister is waiting for you.” 

The boy nodded and hugged her, still crying, but less feverishly. Mordecai came over to him, kneeling down and offering a hand. 

“How would you like to fly on a gryphon, master Theodore?” he asked. 

For likely the first time that night, the boy smiled. 

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

The reunion with Theodore’s sister (Charlotte, they learned) was full of more tears and smiles alike, but the boy was soon returned to his own bed, with a small number of local farmers promising to watch over the house until morning. Mordecai would join them, sitting down by the front fence with Safere. Snowbeak and Buddy waited nearby. 

“That was...an exciting evening, wouldn’t you say, Miss Mercer?” Mordecai said, having removed his mask, among the two of them. Safere had seen his burned visage before and grown accustomed to it. The permanent half grin across his partial lips and exposed cheek, were little more than a beauty mark to her by now. 

“Hell of a lot more...fighting than I expected, that’s for damn sure,” she said, sipping from a glass of fresh milk. Supplied by Theodore's grateful farming family, after the two of them had refused the meager amount of silver they had scraped together as a reward. “But this is good cow juice.” 

Mordecai sipped from his tin straw and nodded. “Indeed. Regardless, you fought well. Thank you again for your expert shooting.” 

Safere chugged the last half of her moo-juice and stood up, brushing off her pants. “Don’t mention it, Mordo. Last thing I needed tonight was having to tell Wes that her Warden took a Ruinous Bolt to the chest.” 

He chuckled and stood with her. “You recognized the spell? How impressive.” 

“Yeah, all that reading paid off, just like Mere said it would,” Safere replied, smiling. 

“You make the steward proud, I’m sure,” Mordecai said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you returning to Easthollow with your gryphons, then? They’ve had a busy evening too.” 

“One of them, yeah,” Safere said. 

“Good, I hope they-” 

The paladin turned to look at her, confusion in his eyes. “One of them?” 

“I’m leaving Snowbeak with you, Mordo. You made an incredible team. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna break that up.” 

Mordecai shook his head, raising a hand in disagreement. “No, Miss Mercer, I couldn’t accept such a-” 

“First off, call me Safere. Or Saf, even,” Safere said, making sure her cutlasses were properly attached to her belt. “Secondly, I’m not gonna hear any arguments on this. Snowbeak deserves someone like you. Someone brave and worthy of her. Someone who can make the best use of her skills. And that ain’t me.” 

The man was silent for a moment. “You are worthy of more than you think, Mi...Safere. And you are as brave as any champion of the Hand that I’ve ever known. You joined me in the search for Theodore without a second thought. Lent me your steed, without hesitation. Charged into the mass of undead and stood by my side.” 

He whistled, causing Snowbeak to trot over. Mordecai rubbed her neck and watched as she nuzzled back. “If this is your desire...your command, I will do so. I will care for and love Snowbeak, as I failed to do for my former steed. But never believe it is because you are unworthy. Promise me this.” 

Safere sighed and smiled, looking down at her boots for a second or two. Before returning his gaze and nodding. “I promise.”

He nodded back. “Good. Also, I ask that you bring Buddy along to visit every so often. The two are quite...attached.” 

She blinked and looked from Snowbeak to Buddy. The white gryphon was looking back at him, softly cooing. Buddy in turn was waving his wings slowly and...prancing? 

“Buddy, you scoundrel!” Safere exclaimed, laughing. “Have you been laying down some moves behind my back?!” 

Buddy squaked, shaking his wings and hopping up and down. Snowbeak scraped her talons in the dirt and squawked back. 

“Best warn your gryphon master of the possibility of eggs, in the future, eh?” Mordecai cautioned, chuckling along with her.

Safere gave him a thumbs up. “You bet. Keep safe out there, Mordo! See you soon!” She left with a spring in her steps, mounting her flirtatious bird and soaring off toward Easthallow. The wind in her hair felt like energy flowing through her. She let out a loud “woooooooooo!” and grinned. 

It had been quite a night to fly. 

[klariwitch]

All You Ever Were was One’s and Zero’s

There was some sort of light above them. It casted long shadows among their noses, their bodies that pressed tightly against one another’s and even the little lilies scattered by the pond nearby. Was it the sun? Sure. Could be, if you were to look past the science fiction side of it. So, maybe it was a laser, or not, either way he found himself completely distracted from all the possible ill intent it held. He didn’t care. No, not when he had all this.

Conner was with him. Right there. Holding him oh so tightly. It was the way they were always supposed to be. His do-over.

The grass scratched at their legs below. It was nice at first, but now just annoying and itchy. He’d most certainly puff right up tomorrow but what did he care? Hell, he’d  choose to sniffle and sneeze all week if he had to.

They probably should have gotten up earlier, time passed so much quicker on the screen. Almost like, a movie you really like? One you’d never wish to end. Well, the credits were well past rolling. It was the kryptonian that kept him there. Tied him down like an anchor. It was okay, though. All is well in pure bliss. 

Kon huffed. He nudged his side slightly. “Hey,” he chuckled. What a fucking angel, “I know that look,” he nodded, brain doing small turns and twists. “Care to share what’s gotcha so stuck in that big brain of yours, wonder boy?” His voice. Oh god his voice. It rasped so heavenly and choked him into lust. Tim slid into his lap. They sat against the old barn, the rusty red paint properly poisonous, chipped and splintered from wear. 

They were indeed where they belonged. Not, in the city. Sure, that’s where they hung out most often and where they were to reside, but really they could only truly thrive out in the country. There, it would be quiet, peaceful, and…happy?

read the rest on ao3

Tim rolled his eyes in a playful manner. He tilted his head to stare at Kon, he could so easily lose himself in the depths of his eyes. Like some sort of romantic maze of one's and zero's.

He tangled his fingers in the inky curls. “Just that, I like this,” the boy shrugged, lips pursed. His voice kept quiet, almost like a hushed whisper with his mind preoccupied.

“You like this?” Kon chuckled, raising his eyebrow. Tim hummed a soft agreement as he felt large hands slip up his waist. “Care to be more specific?”

The robin tilted his head back, giving a soft sigh and hopefully the sudden sort of ability to quickly hide a blush. When he turned back, he held on to Kon’s face, fingers balancing below his jaw. Leaning slightly, he craned his head to dip in for a kiss. One, that would only last a split second before he pulled back away.

“Well, lets see,” Tim started, resting one hand on Kon’s chest and the other still gripping the black locks. “I missed that,” he gave his lips a glance, “I missed this, I missed you. I missed your touch, I missed your laugh, I missed your dumb jokes and your little rants and your cockiness and your smile and god, I missed your charm,” Tim groaned, looking away now.

Kon rested his head against the old boards of the barn. His fingers inched up his lover’s hip, and the other caressed the small muscles in his arm. He brought his palm in for a kiss, then set it down on his heart. His beating heart. “Fuck, Tim,” he bit his lip. “You didn’t lose me. You didn’t lose any of that,” Tim could hear the sigh escape his lips. If he were to sink any closer he could feel the hot breath on his neck.

The only problem was, he did lose him. Very much so. The Superboy died nearly a year ago and he hasn’t came back till now. Maybe that’s why it felt off. Why was he here again? Come to think of it, none of this was right. The blue sky tended to glitch around them, and he was pretty sure the original spot they had settled in was in the field. They had held hands and kissed in the dirt whilst flooded in nothing other than wheat. He remembered thinking that the sun didn’t hurt his eyes no more. No, not as it did before, not while Kon was huddled over him, kissing his-

No. He wasn’t to look far enough into it. He held on to Kon, in the now instead. This was better. This would be safer.

“Can you just kiss me?” He muttered, voice shaky and eyes tired.

Kon groaned. He'd never looked at him with such sad eyes before.“Tim, look-"

He kissed him. Kissed him because he didn’t want to fucking talk he just wanted to be held. With Conner, he felt completed. Obviously this was something he wouldn’t so easily let go of. The clone played along too, giving into the simulation in every way possible.

Then, a single tear came between them, and when Kon jolted away Tim watched his own tear stream down Kon’s cheek. How lovely was that? Anyway, the water flooded his eyes now and would have flowed over if it wasn’t for the thankful barriers.

Yet, they broke. Harshly, too. Like a dam ready to burst. Hot tears flooded down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. Besides all that, the boy managed to remain almost completely emotionless and dull. What a scary look.

“Jesus,” Kon swore. “Tim? Love, you didn’t lose me. I'm right here. I promise,” he pleaded, holding his darling oh so very close. He lifted his chin, turning him face to face.

Tim held his expressionless disarray.

“What can I do to help? Whatever it may be,” Kon asked, too sweet for his own good.

His muscles stiffened. Any sort of way that could keep him from touching him, really. Why did he feel so nauseous?

It was all fake. All artificial and false and any other sort of synonym to describe the true alarm of the situation

A sob developed in his throat. “Can you just talk? I don’t care about what I just…” Tim looked him in the eye, “my head is so loud.” His request was obviously simple enough, because he heard a small ‘of course’ in return.

Kon pondered for a moment, it wasn’t everyday someone was to encourage him to talk. “Y’know, now that you ask me to its like my mind is just drawing blanks?” That earned a soft laugh. When Tim opened his eyes, it was just as before only this time, he was looking directly up at blue skies. He was laying on his back, not one cloud in sight.

“Lets see, well, one time I sunk a tractor?” Kon offered. His story continued on too, but to Tim it all sounded like babbles, getting drowned out by inaudible sound.

He realized then his full surroundings—some sort of strawberry field, with everything around them so overgrown and the light dimming that suggested evening. His head still was placed on Kon’s lap, of course he’d only notice that when he felt familiar fingers twirling his hair.

Something about this was nostalgic, like some sort of odd case of deja vu.

“We moved,” Tim stated duly. His doll eyes stared up at Kon with such curiosity, and his arm reached to caress the side of his cheek. Solid. Real. Even when all he really was-

“Hm. Yeah, I guess we did, didn’t we?” The meta glanced around. He picked one little white flower from the strawberry bush, tucking it neatly into Tim's hair. What an angel. His ttk seemed to be present as well, Tim found himself shuddering as the imaginary compression of hands snaked down his body and scrapped against his collarbones. “Malfunction?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Tim nodded, swallowing his gasp.

“C’mon, let's get out of here,” Kon finally announced. He stood then, bringing his lover up with him.

“What?” The Robin asked shockingly. On his feet now, he could feel the soft flower buds tickling up the ends of his jeans as he was lead out of the small field.

“I want to show you something,” Kon insisted, bringing him further along.

“Kon,” Tim halted. The air between them felt almost toxic and unwelcoming.

“What it is?”

“We uh,” the boy started, looking around for some help. “I mean, I don’t think we can..” Why couldn’t he finish? This was all so wrong, so incorrect and not to mention horrible for his health. The world quite literally felt like it was going to crash, how were they to surpass this? Who were they to decide to keep going? The system had already been running for so long…well he wasn’t quite sure how much longer it could go.

“Why do you only ever care when it's getting good?” Kon asked him harshly. That was sure to break his trance.

“What?” Tim shot back in shock. He was still holding his hand, only now Tim could feel his grip getting tighter. Bone crushing.

“Kon,” he gasped, eyes wide, “you’re hurting me,”

“Oh,” was all the superboy said in return. He loosened his grip and smiled, “shall we continue on?”

Tim just nodded. What else was he supposed to do? His hand throbbed, heart matching the same. He wanted again to ask where they would even go, but who knew what the computer would throw at him this time. Or, maybe it was his subconscious begging him to stay.

****

It didn’t take long for the pair to reach the car. It was of course the Kent’s old truck, parked in the midst of the driveway. The one that seemed to go on for miles. Maybe it did.

****

       He’d never seen so many trees in his life. It was like, being in a forest when really they were just driving down a dirt road. The trees seemed to change colors as they drove on, from darker greens to lightened ones and then fading into dead yellows and…reds? Fall.

The system was crashing, time speeding up far faster than could be contained. He’d have to leave this soon.

Somewhere along the way, Kon’s hand found his thigh. Tim looked up when he noticed, only to see his lover smiling at their surroundings. He placed his hand to overlap Kon’s.

He wanted to ask, ‘are we there yet?’ Like some sort of impatient child, but before he even had the chance to, the engine roared to a stop.

“Well?” Kon turned for his reaction.

All around them sat more trees, which didn’t appear to be much till he spotted the red fruit. An apple orchard.

In the center was nothing but a red checkered blanket and a bottle of white wine, accompanied by two tall glasses.

“You, Conner Kent, have truly outdone yourself,” Tim smiled, looking over his shoulder from the landscape, to his loving boyfriend.

It wasn’t so sad anymore, all the glitches. After all, he was sure the system could hold on just a tad longer, right?

“There it is,” Kon sighed a bit of joking relief, “there’s that famous Timothy Drake smile,”

He rolled his eyes at the tease, of course the never could have a sweet moment with the reminder of being best friends.

“Zip it,” Tim hissed, pulling his boyfriend in for a kiss. It was all too familiar, lips pressed together softly with some sort of rhythm going. Maybe he was just that lucky, too, because suddenly the car had no middle compartment he remembered, making it easier to slip into his lap.

Just like magic, he had Kon’s hands holding him steady at the hips and his own bringing him closer with his fingers intertwined with untamed curls.

They smiled, heads tilting and breaths quickening. If they were to have done this back at Gotham they’d have the paparazzi all over, the media would annoyingly wonder, “who is Gotham’s youngest bachelor dating?” But, without all that they could give less than one fuck.

It was only, when he felt strong hands slip up his shirt did it get interesting. Then feeling of warm fingertips against his cold back was something ethereal, like something could just possess him and ask for Kon to never stop.

Within enough time there was something new to drive him crazy—that being the trailing of kisses down his own jaw and down to his neck. This time, Tim allowed a few soft sounds to escape his lips, ones that bounced their way around the small roof of the old truck.

He thought, maybe he’d tell him he loved him, that he never wanted to leave this place and that he would promise to make it happen.

His knuckles went white when he gripped the seat, he could feel all sorts of emotions flooding his brain, all as kon slipped his way up-

The soft cushion of his lap turned to concrete. The fastest it ever had before.

It was numbing, really, the way his elbow hit the ground.

Tim cried out.

“Kon?” He called, sitting up in almost an instant.

He wasn’t there, though. He wouldn’t be there to lift him up off the ground.

“I wasn’t finished..” He whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

Above him, he stared. The blackened lens of the projector stared back at him, evilly.

“I said,” Tim spat, standing up to get a better look at the mindless machine. “I wasn’t finished!” He yelled at it. “I wasn’t ready yet!” The robin screamed at the projector, he’d probably hit it down if he was close enough.

It was times like this, where he couldn’t think. He couldn’t breath or speak. All he was left with was the ability to scream. To cry. To throw himself against the hard walls and punch the stone till the skin over his knuckles turned raw and sensitive.

He would look at the controls. Begging and praying to no god to bring his beloved superboy back.

Screaming and crying doesn’t help, though. Even with voice control. The audio constantly insisted on being fried whilst the robin barked back for it to all start up.

“System overload,” the robotic voice reported.

The creator sat slumped over in the corner. His eyes were bright red and puffy, cheeks flushed and hands torn to shreds. “Please..” He would beg the system, the one that didn’t understand that sort of command. “I love him, you know that?”

Still, the computer didn’t budge.

His chest felt heavy, hot and overemotional. It was fake but it still hurt. He lost Kon. Again. He wasn’t able to decide when he wanted to leave before the system shut down itself. But, who could blame it, really? That was sure to happen when you stay in for an almost forty-eight hour period. It was fried. Overworked, just as Tim was. Now he had no choice but to let the system to rest.

How had he almost forgotten he was there? Like some sort of magic wooed him into confusing tech and reality. Almost like some sort of alluring way of putting him to shame.

From then, he’d get to work. The next week or so he would simply spend his time hunched over a small computer screen, eyes wearing from overloading amounts of one’s and zero’s.

In no time, he spotted the hundred of bugs, that and the needed storage.

“That explains the teleportation and seasonal jumps,” he’d talk to himself aloud, anything to reassure the idea of losing his love.

He got to work immediately.

[twiistedgalaxies]

Genesis: Chapter 10: The Heist

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves.

Or, alternatively:

The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

        Hisashi stood outside of the abandoned warehouse, hands shoved into his coat pockets to ward off the cold. Once he was finally released from that God forsaken closet, and endured hours of torture from the Matron, that sadistic bitch, he had gotten in contact with the meta-humans he had assisted before. They had finally dug up some information about his mother, and wanted to deliver it to him in person. He scrubbed his face with his hands. Hisashi was so, so tired. Back to back sleepless nights were starting to wear on him. Even his little brother, ever the oblivious one, was starting to worry, but Hisashi just shrugged off his fussing with meaningless placations. If their mother had gotten the mafia’s attention, chances are Tomura was in danger too. He was far too young to get dragged into this mess, Hisashi didn’t want his naivete, his innocence, to be washed away by this drab and shitty world. If only he hadn’t stepped away from more underhanded dealings for a while. Maybe then he’d-

        No, that train of thought would get him nowhere. Right now, he’d need to focus on extracting as much information as he could, and perhaps find a way to make a quick buck. Tomura had fallen extremely ill in the last few days, since his medicine had run out. Not only was his brother bedridden, but angry red scaly patches had begun to appear all over the boy’s skin, seeping and weeping and causing his baby brother to whimper at the slightest touch. He’d been running a fever for the past several days, and any time Hisashi hadn’t spent in class or frantically texting Matt in hopes of a job, he’d be by Tomura’s bedside, reading him comic books and weaving stories to keep him distracted. Occasionally Tomura’s friends would stop by to visit, and Hisashi often had to shoo them away to make sure his sibling got some much needed sleep. Hopefully replenishing Tomura’s medications would get at least some of his symptoms to go away, but this all seemed new. Never in his life had Hisashi seen his brother in such a grotesque state.

        He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and pushed open the wooden doors of the warehouse. Absentmindedly, he found himself thankful for his gloves, he would have acquired an absurd amount of splinters by now otherwise. It seemed the meta-humans had dropped whatever dramatic pretense they had from the first few times they met, as they were lounging around casually on crates. Amy seemed to be in a heated debate with Michael about something asinine. Raquel was nervously shuffling through a manila folder, and his head snapped up when Hisashi entered the large room. The teen nearly shot into the air when a hand clapped his maimed back, causing pain to course through him. He glanced over his shoulder only to see Bjame.

        “Thank you,” the giant of a man said, bushy face sincere.

        Hisashi quickly composed himself, “It wasn’t much. Just a job and nothing more,” he glanced at Raquel, who was making his approach, “I trust you’re finally upholding your side of our bargain?”

        Raquel nodded, “Yes, it took us a little while to obtain these files from our contact in the government. Whoever your mother was, her folder was under pretty tight security.”

        Hisashi took the folder from the office worker’s hand and hummed, “Your contact?”

        “Classified,” Raquel replied curtly, “Now, I assure you that none of us have looked at this file, we know well enough to respect your privacy.”

        “Much appreciated,” Hisashi said, and tucked the file into his jacket, “It was a pleasure doing business with you.” It had not been a pleasure, in fact, Hisashi had spent a decent chunk of his time fantasizing about various ways to knock Amy down a peg while he was locked up in the janitor’s closet. But what the meta-humans didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

        Amy let out a loud, frustrated noise, phone in hand.

        “What is it?” Raquel asked.

        “Dipshit cancelled on us, said it was too high risk,” she spat, glaring at her device like it existed to spite her.

        Michael frowned, “But tonight’s our only window, the feds are getting smart.”

        “You think I don’t know that?!”

        Hisashi pursed his lips, this could be quite the fortuitous opportunity, “What did you need him for?”

        “Whasit to you?” Amy replied, and pushed herself from her perch, sneakered feet landing on the cement floor with a soft thump.

        “Well,” Hisashi started, crossing his arms, “it just so happens that I’m in need of some cash, for the right price I could step in and help.”

        “What’s your price?” Raquel asked. Amy shot him a betrayed look.

        “What’s the job?” Hisashi inquired.

        Raquel hesitated for a moment, a variety of expressions flickering on his frown-lined face. Finally, he settled on an answer, “We’re disrupting a shipment to the Air Force base. The military is getting antsy, they’re preparing for something. Something big.”

        Hisashi hummed as he mulled it over, if nothing else, Matt could find the information interesting, “What’s the shipment?”

        “Weapons,” Raquel supplied, “We’ll be able to stock the resistance’s armory while keeping them out of those thugs hands.”

        “Alright,” he replied, because fuck it, he couldn’t bear to see Tomura spend another night in that miserable state, “I’m in, how much are you paying?”

        “Well,” Raquel huffed, “It’s not as if we’re well funded. We can probably put together about three hundred dollars or so.”

        Hisashi raised an eyebrow, that wasn’t a lot, especially for something so high risk. But on the other hand, that was about enough to cover his little brother’s most important prescription. He’d be around two hundred dollars short, but it wasn’t like any better options were coming out of the woodwork. “I’ll take it, but I’d like a pick of one of their weapons as well.”

        “You have a deal,” Raquel replied, and they shook hands, “We were planning on leaving after dropping off the file with you, but seeing as how the plan’s changed, you’ll have to squeeze into the van with us.”

        The teen nodded, indicating to Raquel that he should continue.

        “We’re to intercept the armored vehicle on the freeway, there’s some others who will be meeting us there and helping out. Amy over here,” Raquel jerked his head towards the girl, “already coordinated with our other team to plant bombs under the escort. Getting them stopped will be the simple part, but fighting off their goons and escaping? It’s going to get tricky. I hope you know how to fight.”

        Hisashi waved off the man’s concerns, “I’ll be fine. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

                                                -@~*^*~@-

        The van’s tires screeched on the sun-bleached asphalt as it swerved around the freeway to avoid flaming wreckage and other cars. Hisashi grasped onto the grab handle above the window for dear life, knuckles white, in a vain attempt to keep himself from violently slamming into Bjame or worse, the door next to him. It was a wonder they had gotten the vehicle started. According to Michael, the hunk of junk was hotwired and stolen from an impoundment lot. It was held together with duct tape, spit, and prayer. He winced when he heard the metal death trap give a pained howl as it flew down the road. If he hit the car door it was over, this thing couldn’t handle a stiff breeze, nevermind a full-body slam.

        The plan almost had gone off without a hitch. Almost. They’d managed to cut off the armored vehicle from its escort with some strategically placed cars. It all went to hell when Amy - God knows why the group decided to make her the driver - had detonated the explosives before they could get the target through an exit and into backstreets like planned. From there, everything descended into fire and chaos. Hisashi pinched the bridge of his nose, this entire thing had been counterproductive from the start, blowing the vehicle up was just going to absolutely ruin whatever they wanted to attain. Clearly, this little rebellion was in desperate need of competent leadership. He’d just have to see this job through, even if the execution made him want to silently scream. To keep himself grounded, he thought of the way his brother had looked that morning: pale and sickly and so, so frail. 

        He let out a sigh of relief as the van screeched to a halt, Finally. The teen slid the van door open, and sneered when it instead landed on the freeway with a clang. So much for stealth and subtlety, not that it had been an option when they blew up one of the busiest freeways in LA. 

        Before rushing towards the armored vehicle like his less intelligent companions, he took a moment to examine his surroundings. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon - that wouldn’t do, he’d be late coming back and the Matron would have his head - casting the world into a dark blue glow. Cars were strewn across the road like discarded toys, some crumpled and smashed like recycled soda cans. A flaming tire rolled across Hisashi’s field of vision, and amusedly he was reminded of tumbleweeds in old western films. It was a wonder that they’d gotten out of that unscathed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few survivors poking bloodied heads out from the wreckage, it looked like they would have to put on a good show.

        Ah, Hisashi thought, there they are. The warped metal carcasses of the vehicle's escort lay on the far side of the freeway, where the rebels had just come from. There was a pretty high chance that there would, like in the other wrecks around him, be a surprising amount of survivors. Of course, the soldiers could have died agonizing deaths and would no longer be an issue, but Hisashi refused to get his hopes up. Life had never dealt him an easy hand before after all. They'd likely have a few minutes, tops, before the escort would get over their shock, recuperate, and retaliate.

        Not wishing to be on the wrong end of a stream of bullets, Hisashi hurried towards the armored vehicle, where Bjame was working to pry open the bent metal. “We should get into cover,” Hisashi pointed out, sparing Raquel a glance.

        “We’ll have cover once we get this thing open, dumbass, now shut up and make yourself useful,” Amy hissed. She was digging through what looked to once have been the driver’s seat. 

        Hisashi felt his face sour, but he didn’t deliver the scathing retort burning under his skin. Squabbling like a bunch of preschoolers would get them nowhere. Instead, he opted to join the brat in digging through the wreckage. The driver and the passenger beside him were charred black from the explosion, and various parts of their bodies were scattered along the road. Gross. They hadn’t found much of use, only a busted up altoid tin and melted id cards. Amy had cheered upon seeing the latter, but quickly deflated upon seeing they were mangled beyond use.

        Suddenly, he heard what sounded like fireworks coming from opposite sides of the freeway. Hisashi cursed under his breath, but felt thankful that the rest of the group was giving them some cover fire. He glanced at Bjame, whose face was red and veins were bulging from the strain of peeling back metal. 

        “Oh move out of the way,” Michael said with a roll of his eyes as he lightly pushed the man from the bottom of the car. Hisashi’s eyebrows shot up as Michael’s arm began to glow red, an odd blade forming above his hand. Michael began to use this to cut through the metal like butter. 

        “Why didn’t you do that earlier?!” Amy shouted.

        Michael shrugged, “I wanted to see how long Bjame would keep that up for.”

        A bullet pierced the tire above Hisashi’s head, causing air to leak out of it with a low whistle. The teen cringed, and crouched lower to the ground. Thankfully, the metal underside of the vehicle hit the blacktop with a clang. “Try not to brush up against the edges,” Michael warned as he climbed inside, “They’re still hot.”

        Hot was an understatement, they were still glowing orange from the heat. Hisashi wondered how Michael’s mutation worked, it seemed to be heat-based, perhaps the blade was made out of some sort of plasma? He was pulled out of his musings when Raquel dragged him out of the line of fire and into the vehicle. Oh. Right. He let out a hiss of pain when the top of the opening brushed against his back, singeing his clothes and burning his already raw skin.

        For once in his life, Hisashi was glad to be proven wrong. The weapons were in surprisingly good shape, only a few had been damaged in the explosion. He supposed the government had kept using these trucks for a reason. Glass crunched under his shoes, the cases that had held the weapons shattered in the explosion. It just made it easier to grab what they needed, no need to fumble with locks unnecessarily after all. Hisashi reached for a sleek black pistol and some ammo that he assumed went with it. He glanced around the pseudo-room, it seemed his accomplices had the same thing in mind, they were rather decently armed. Based on how the gunshots grew nearer and the whirring of helicopter blades made his ears ring, they were just in time. Bjame, who’d somehow found a rather burly looking submachine gun, poked the upper half of his body out of the opening and began firing. The others seemed to follow in suit, Hisashi reached up and adjusted his face mask. The world didn’t need to know his identity after all. He stepped out of the wreckage, staying in a low crouch, and began to attempt to pick off any soldiers he could see. Marksmanship had never truly been his strong suit, he preferred to get a lot more… personal with his dirty work.

        Still, there was something to be said for the spray of blood and screams that bullets brought out in people. Perhaps he’d need to take up a new hobby. To his left, Hisashi heard Raquel let out a grunt of pain. He spared the man a glance. Shit. A bullet had embedded itself into his hip. Hisashi grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the vehicle, much like how the office worker had done to him only moments before. As he did so a loud bang sounded out to their right, his eyes stung as dust was kicked up into the air. This fucker couldn’t die, he still needed to pay for Tomura’s medicine. However this mess ended, it wouldn’t be pretty. Hisashi tore off his right shirt sleeve and began wrapping it around Raquel’s leg.

        “Thank you,” the man gasped.

        “Save your energy,” Hisashi snapped, “We need to figure out how to get out of this alive. Any ideas oh wise one? Any way to communicate with your buddies?”

        Raquel’s jaw snapped shut, terse.

        He pinched the bridge of his nose, a new habit it seemed, “Thought so.” Hisashi glanced around the armored vehicle’s cavity, - and no, he was not frantic! - looking desperately for anything that could help them. Finally, his eyes landed on something useful, thank God, and felt his lips stretch into a wide smile. Perfect. 

        “What?” Raquel asked.

        “Don’t worry about it, just stay here,” Hisashi replied curtly, ignoring his elder’s barrage of protests. He winced as another explosion rang out and shook the truck violently. It appeared he’d just have to feed the army a taste of their own medicine. The teen clambered to his feet and reached up into a previously neglected compartment. It was full of grenades, and lots of them. At the very least it would buy them some time to escape. He grabbed an armful, as many as he could hold. “Hey Michael!”

        The man looked up, face shifting from confusion to understanding, he got everyone else’s attention. Hisashi distributed the explosives among them while Bjame kept the offensive line busy.

        “Hell yeah!” Amy cheered as she lobbed the first grenade, letting out a near deranged cackle when it exploded into a hellish fireball. Hisashi threw one of his own and immediately understood her reaction, it was beyond satisfying. He spared a glance up, trying to figure out what it was exactly that was circling them. Ah, a news helicopter. Vultures.

        There was a pounding of footsteps on cement to his left, the explosions gave enough of an opening for their reinforcements to gain ground. 

        Pain flared into his being and flooded his senses. Holy shit! Holy shit! Hisashi had been shot before, but forgotten how much it hurt. He reached up to his forehead only to find blood. Only a graze but he’d been caught off guard. Silently, he cursed himself for getting distracted again, and returned his attention to the matter at hand. Sirens wailed in the distance. They needed to leave, and leave now. 

        “Get the weapons and run!” an unfamiliar voice shouted, seemingly struck with the same revelation as Hisashi. 

        Not thinking twice, Hisashi shoved his weapon into his pockets and grabbed all he could. He gave his companions as many weapons as they could take one by one before he finally took off himself, Raquel slung over his shoulder and a few grenades tucked under his arm. Briefly, he considered flinging an explosive into the vehicle for good measure, so the government couldn't use what was left, but quickly decided against it. He'd have to drop Raquel for that and the man still had some use left.

        The relief and euphoria that washed over Hisashi when they finally entered cover with their allies was unparalleled. The rebels loaded what weapons they could into the trucks and fled from the freeway like rats scurrying from a shipwreck. The car ride was bumpy, punctuated by random swerves as they avoided hitting any survivors or busted cars. 

        Hisashi leaned back into the corner between his seat and the door and let out a deep breath. For a while there, he didn’t think he’d get out alive. There was no way in hell he’d only accept three hundred dollars for this job. He reached a hand inside his coat pocket and pulled out the file he’d received earlier. A sigh of relief. It was intact despite all of the chaos. While his associates worked out how to shake various helicopters off their tails (something about splitting up) he carefully opened the envelope and looked everything over.

        At the top of his page was a photo of his mother. Her usually bright eyes and kind smile were completely absent. She looked exhausted, worn down by the world. Name: Hana Shigaraki. Age: 42. Sex: F. 

        He bit back a frustrated sound building in his throat. Most of the file was redacted. She was listed as an asylum-seeker, fleeing from government persecution. The details explaining why, exactly, the Japanese government was out for her head was a mystery, hidden under blocks of black ink, taunting the teen relentlessly. 

        They hit a particularly nasty bump in the road, and Hisashi spared a glance up. He grimaced, lovely. A corpse was smattered on the windshield, Michael - who was driving after Amy’s disastrous performance - was trying desperately to get it off to no avail. Begrudgingly, Hisashi closed the file and shoved it back into the manila envelope. That could wait for now. 

        Finally, after a few swerves and maneuvers that made Hisashi’s toes curl, the unfortunate fellow slid off the windshield and they had visibility again. 

        “I’m heading to Eastside, hopefully with all the back streets we’ll be able to shake ‘em,” Michael announced, glancing at his passengers through the rear view mirror.

        Hisashi tucked the envelope back into his jacket, “That sounds good, any way you’ll be able to drop me off around there unnoticed?” He needed to get back to the orphanage, he was really late. On the bright side, there was a CVS nearby that was open, he should be able to get Tomura’s prescription on the way back and come up with a decent cover story.

        Michael hummed, “I’ll try.”

        “I know this is more than you bargained for but,” Raquel passed over the promised money, “This is all I can get you for now. Amy’ll contact you when we have something more adequate.”

        “Fine,” Hisashi replied sharply. This wasn’t enough, but the rebels had proven to at least be able to hold up their end of deals. They wouldn’t leave him hanging, and if they did? Hisashi knew enough of their intel to stir up trouble. The teen made an effort to get comfortable, this was going to be a long ride.

A/N:

Alternate chapter title: The World’s Worst Uber

I had fun writing this! It was good practice writing action scenes, something I'm still learning how to do decently. Like with the chapter 8, this ended up being longer than anticipated, but I needed to hit every point important to the story. Like usual, feel free to leave a comment, I read and reply to every one of them :D.

AO3

Next Chapter

                                                Chapter Bonus:

                                                        Pest

                                                      6:00am

[This you? 👀]

[(link to a youtube video)]

                                                        [M, I’m using a burner. I can’t go on Youtube.]

[Apparently there was a terror attack

on the 105 today.]

[Fire, death, destruction. I’m impressed!]

[You’ve been busy :D]

                                                      [That wasn’t me, I was out getting my brother’s

                                                                                                                medicine.]

[Riiiiight]

[Which is why you have that nasty cut on

your face yeah?]

                                                                                                     [How did you…?]

[Eyes and ears everywhere, remember? ;)]

[xazz]

Moth Wings 1

Pairing: AltMal, Altair+Desmond Rating: Explicit Tags: vampires, romance, servant AU, music AU, Insect wings (but no bugs of any sort), fluff, angst, flangst Status: WIP

Extra warning for this chapter: there’s like a weird egg hatching scene. It isn’t graphic but if that freaks you out you’ve been warned.

Ayyye Vampire AU. Because who doesn’t like a vampire AU? This is “technically” the first part of chapter 1 but I’m cutting it up and posting it in shorter parts. If you want to read the full like... 10k long chapter 1 it’s available on my patreon (see blog page for details).

———

It had been a long year.

Altair was at his usual spot lately. He’d been spending more and more hours every day for the past few weeks. The chrysalis had been getting more and more opaque as the weeks had gone on and the master demanded someone be there to watch it. And it certainly wouldn’t be one of the coven. So it fell to Altair.

He was supposed to stay up all day and night with it now. Someone at least came and gave him food and drink. Half the time he just tried to not fall asleep, entertaining himself with his sketchbook, his one reprieve in this dark world he’d found himself in.

But finally.

Finally.

The chrysalis was hatching.

It was the middle of the day and the masters were asleep. But it didn’t matter to the one in the chrysalis. The fragile skin surrounding it splintered and a clear fluid leaked out and dribbled on the stone floor. Altair only left to get a mop and water. He knew he’d have to clean it anyway so he might as well prepare. There were already blankets and towels at the ready in tall stacks surrounding the altar the chrysalis was on.

Altair just sat and waited. He’d been instructed not to touch the chrysalis. Either it emerged on its own and was strong enough to join the coven, or it died in birth. Altair thought that was a pretty mean way to welcome a child into the world. But what did he know? This wasn’t his world. This was the world of the night. A world of darkness. A sleepless world for Altair.

An hour ticked by. Another. Slowly the cracks formed fractures and then rips in the fragile membrane of the chrysalis. He saw something moving in there, backlit by the chandelier overhead.

Then finally, well past noon, the chrysalis split. Embiotic juices splashed across the altar and floor and a figure tumbled out, onto the altar.

It was the size of a small child and looking at it Altair could hardly believe it was a vampire. It looked so thin and fragile. It’s black eyes were huge, its teeth comically too big for its mouth, its skull shape wrong to fit all those teeth. Its wings were damp and delicate, stuck to its back like paper. 

Unlike a human newborn it didn’t cry when it came into the world. It was too large. This was a vampire infant but it was nothing like a human infant. It was already as big as a toddler. It just looked at Altair with its big black eyes, breathing through its mouth, his nose clogged with mucus.

He started when it squeaked. Almost like a cat. “Oh, right,” he muttered and grabbed some towels and gathered the infant up. He wiped it down and it made more soft little squeaking noises at him. So unlike human babies. It was more like the noise baby animals made when they were hungry.

He swallowed realizing he might be the meal the masters intended for the newborn.

But that made no sense. He was much too big. Also they wouldn’t just throw him away like that. Or he hoped not.

He unwrapped the child and swaddled it again in some blankets. “Yes yes, let’s get you some food,” and he left the hatching room. He hadn’t left this room in days. What a relief it was. And it was still light out.

He went to the kitchens and there were fowl livestock for the lower members of the coven here. And he knew in the cellar were the... human livestock. He refused to think about it. Instead he put the child on the floor and went to get a syringe. He’d drawn blood from the animal livestock enough for the lower members of the coven to know how to do it without really hurting the animal. He stabbed a duck and drew a measure of blood. The duck was very unhappy about that but couldn’t easily protest locked in its little cage.

Altair sat at the kitchen table with the babe in his lap and let it lap up blood from the syringe. The masters would probably be furious knowing their spawn’s first meal had been game but Altair wasn’t allowed in the cellar. Even if he was he wouldn’t draw blood from humans. He couldn’t. It wasn’t like they were awake to take care of it. Altair had a feeling that’d be his job now.

“Better?” he asked the little spawn after it had licked up all the blood out of the big syringe. It just yawned at him and closed its eyes. “Oh good,” he yawned and slumped in the chair. He was so tired. Now that the child was hatched maybe he could finally get some sleep again. He felt his eyelids grow heavy and despite himself he fell asleep.

--

He was woken by a commotion in the kitchen and loud voices. He sat up. The child was still in his lap, starting to fuss from the noise. Altair patted its back, rousing himself. He couldn’t have slept more than a few hours. Not nearly enough to make up for the sleepless weeks he’d had leading up to yesterday.

“Where’d he go?” he heard one of the adults call and Altair knew he was being spoken of.

“Well… time to meet the family,” he sighed to the child, who was still fussing. He got up, holding the child to his chest, and left the kitchen. He climbed the stairs up to the dining room where several members of the coven were, talking loudly, annoyedly.

As soon as he entered the room they all looked towards him, drawn by his smell as much as the noise, and the smell of the newborn he was sure. “Where have you been?” the Matron shrieked.

“Down in the kitchen, mistress,” he kept his eyes down so he couldn’t even see her. She flew over to him and his hands went limp as she snatched the child from his grasp. “They were hungry.”

“Hmph,” and she stormed back down into the kitchen with the child. Probably to go to the cellar.

“Go clean up the mess, Altair,” said one of the children.

“Yes, young master,” he said and shuffled away. As he did he felt them watching him. He hoped it wasn’t in hunger.

He went back to the hatching chamber to his mop and bucket. He put the now empty chrysalis in another basin. The master would want it. For what he didn’t know. Altair knew better than to ask. He then slopped the now cold soapy water across the altar and floor and set about mopping up. He ended up half falling asleep standing up, using the mop to keep him upright. Only when he almost took a header into the altar did he try and wake himself more and stay more alert to finish the chore.

Once he was done he made sure the rest of the hatching chamber was in order, he put away all the cleaning supplies and made sure the chamber was neat and tidy for if the Matron came by to inspect his work. Then he took the basin with the chrysalis and went to the master’s study.

The master was there already, smoking out of a long silver pipe, reading an old book. The master’s study was his collection of books and artifacts from the world over. He’d been alive centuries and knew all sorts of things. Sometimes when he was in a good mood he’d take the time he’d tell Altair some of the things he knew. “Master,” he said at the open door. “I brought the chrysalis as you asked.”

“Yes yes, bring it in, Altair,” he beckoned. Altair entered and set the basin down on the desk. “That is all, Altair.”

“Master,” Altair didn’t leave quite yet. “May I sleep now?”

The old vampire chuckled. “Yes. I supposed you’ve been a good little human. You may sleep the night. But tomorrow night.”

“Yes, master,” he bowed a little, still not lifting his eyes even enough to see what he looked like.

Altair retreated and went back to his little room and used one of the wall lamps to light a worn candle to provide light in the room. It was a broom closet they’d allowed him to have so he wasn’t sleeping on the floor. They might not have been human but his masters refused to be ‘animals’ they said. He also knew he should be grateful for a bed, a stool, candles, and a piss pot. They reminded him often that the humans down in the cellar slept on straw like proper livestock and they all just used a corner for their business.

There was an old jug of water in the room. He wet a cloth and wiped himself off as he was sticky from cleaning the hatching chamber and the child. Then he removed all his clothing and crawled into his little cot with the thin blanket. There was no pillow but it hardly mattered. He laid on his stomach and was asleep in only a few heart beats.

[bowieandqueen11]

I’ve Always Loved You / Denbrough!Daughter Imagine

Request: could you write a one shot about aged up Bill where you're his daughter and for some reason you go with him to Derry and you're confronted with your worst fear which is Bill not really caring about you as much as he does you're sibling and then Bill saves you and he comforts you? 

I’m definitely not crying :’) This is the angst my poor heart needs <3

Bill had known kindness, but the negative influences in his life from his parents had often outweighed the good he desperately tried to feel in his heart. The morning he held you, his new daughter, the most perfect feeling he had ever known swept through him. He was rocked to his core, He knew he would do anything in the world for her. He would be her hero, her keeper, the one who gave her cuddles and kept her safe, no matter what she faced in the world. He would make sure she would never go through the same hardships he had faced, would never feel the same loneliness and heartbreak. He was going to be the perfect father. 

He would be there. Every ballet recital he was in the front row, regardless of who's view he blocked. Every school band performance, he would be there, the first to his feet, even if Audra couldn’t make it. He would just have to cheer loud enough for two. He would often use his you as inspiration for his book, picking you up into his lap during long, dreary nights when all he wanted to do was cry. But as you placed your small, delicate hands against the bottom of his cheeks, your eyes bright and full of wonder, he would smile down at you gently, feeling all the worry ebb away from his mind. But when your brother came along a few years later, you began to worry he would lose his love for you. He had often told you bedtime stories about your uncle Georgie, his little brother whom he had lost many years ago, and you could see the pained expression in his eyes whenever he looked at your brother that he resembled him. 

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, alright y/n? Don’t go killing any clowns before then without me?’ Uncle Richie steps over, taking one hand out of his jacket pocket to ruffle your hair with a bright grin.

‘I still can’t believe how much you look like Big Bill here. You’re the spitting image of your father, especially when he still lived in Derry.’ Richie squats down slightly to wink at you. ‘I’m so, so sorry for you.’

Bill just shakes his head, rolling his eyes slightly as Mike laughs.

‘B-beep beep R-richie.’

Ignoring Eddie’s slight yelp as he slips against the gravel stone of the ground, Richie having turned his attention to instead make a beeline for his hair, Beverly and Ben turning around with a tut and sigh to try and pull them apart, Mike wanders over towards Bill. You sigh to yourself, trying to make out their indistinct, low and serious muttering, but instead you’re bumped out of your thoughts by Uncle Eddie’s hip banging straight into your shoulder. His eyes are wide and bloodshot as he glances down at you, placing one hand against your face slightly to make sure you were okay, before he says a hoarse, ‘sorry, dear’. His hand slips into his red jacket pocket as he begins to wander away from Richie who inches closer again, his fingers trembling as he pulls out his aspirator and takes a trembling breathe.

Becoming bored with the adult talk, you begin to slip away from your father. You furrow your eyebrows as you see a red balloon float away, high above the open and shutting mouth of the clown that lured incomers into the carnival. It was a scorching hot summers day, a perfect day for the fair. The sky was dotted with a few candy-floss clouds. The entrance could be seen in the distance and the long queues edged forward slowly. Customers were becoming increasingly excited and impatient as they took a few steps forward every so often. Faint music could be heard from beyond the tall gates with the occasional happy scream suddenly piercing the air. Closer to the entrance and the massive structures of the rides could be seen: a rollercoaster, a ferris wheel, a helter skelter. Below, younger children stood watching, eating their sweets and snacks. Ice creams wobbled perilously over the cones and dripped down their small fingers as they melted; some munched on brightly coloured balls soft sugar strands that dissolved on the tongue and stuck to their teeth like glue traps. Letting go of his grasp, Bill too busy chatting heatedly with Mike to realise his hand had fallen limp against the jeans of his hip, his fingers empty, you wander off, drawn by some unknown force towards the house of mirrors.

Stepping inside, you rub your arms, a sudden chill snaking over your body and littering goosebumps over your skin with the sudden realisation that with every step you took, every step drawing you forward without your control, you were becoming more and more lost. You place your hands out in front of you, banging into mirror after mirror with only your panicked expression as companion, your breaths starting to become quicker and more frantic as your fingertips reached out only to feel cool glass. It shimmers like broken bottles as you stop suddenly, your mouth falling into a concerned frown as you reach out again, your palms hitting the wall, but as you turn, beginning to thump more erratically now, you realise all the walls are glass. You’re trapped.

The almost bluish light you had taken for granted in this enclosing, dark room starts to stutter into blackness; at first the flickers are wildly space apart, yet soon they become so close together that there is more darkness than light. Your heart is beating so fast you can see your pulse jumping out in your neck during the brief illuminations. Every face has a sheen that has nothing to do with the temperature, until suddenly the lights drop, illuminating the room in a dingy, musty glow. You turn slightly, eyes wide and mouth agape as you begin to whine, your little brother standing with his hands flat against the glass, his eyes stretched open with a wild ferociousness, his head tilted back slightly, looking off at the ceiling. His mouth was formed in a painfully wide cartoon of a smile. He began to flicker slightly, as if warping, and you weren’t sure if the little boy that stood in front of you in a dripping yellow raincoat was your brother, of your dad’s.

‘He loves me, y/n. Only me. And soon, you’ll be gone, and me and him can finally be together, forever.’

As the glass begins to crack under the force of his shaking hands, his skin beginning to blister and boil, you finally allow yourself to scream.

‘Jesus, do you hear that?’, Richie starts, ‘it sounds like-’

‘Y/n. It sounds like y/n’, Bill finishes. Looking down to his side, he feels his heart drop to see the space next to him empty, nothing but an empty candy floss cone fluttering slightly in the wind. He doesn’t even stop to think before he feels his feet pounding across the ground, not even properly touching the floor. His plaid shirt nearly flies off him, his watch burning against his skin. He can feel the cold sweat drench his skin, the throbbing of his own eyes, the ringing screams vibrating in his ears as his fingers are curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm.

‘Please, please, not again’, he mutters as he reaches the entrance. ‘Not my little girl.’

~

Frozen in fear as you tremble in the corner of the glass cage, you don’t notice the thumping of your father’s heavy boots as he finally catches sight of you. A smile brightens his face as he runs down the hallway, only to land with an ooph onto the floor as his forehead hits smack against the glass. He sits up, his hands in fists as they bang against it, but he falters for a second, horrendous memories ripping through his mind as he sees where you’re looking. There Pennywise sits, his tongue dripping saliva in pregnant drops as one clawed hand cracks through the glass and makes swipes at your stomach.

You don’t even notice the shouts and screams of Bill from the other side, the desperate thumping of his hands as he tries instead to kick down the glass, beginning to splinter it with every kick he manages to lever himself into. You didn’t hear the heavy sound of his boots kicking, rough and harsh as the wall finally collapses entirely. You don’t see his wild eyes as he runs towards you, the panic stricken fear on his face as his thick arms wrap around your waist, lifting you heavily and clumsily into his chest as he falls backwards onto his bottom, dragging the two of you away from the empty eyes of the bloody clown.

Running down the hallway, Bill is quick to fall onto his knees as the two of you finally break back into the daylight, his shaking hand coming up to rub roughly against your cheek, moving your face softly from side to side. His eyes are bloodshot and cloudy as he begins to pepper kisses against your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose as he begins to cry silently. He doesn’t think he’s ever cried so heavily since the night Georgie died.

'It’s okay, darling, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here, I promise. I’m never leaving you again, I promise.’

[mymindsmadness]

MyTake!Monday

For those of you that are new here, make sure to also check out WorkOfArt!Wednesday where we feature a Drarry artist that deserves love and recognition, and Fanfiction!Friday where I recommend and summarize a new Drarry fic every week!

MyTake!Monday is just a glorified way of saying that I’m either going to rant about something Drarry related or write a quick Drarry drabble (that’s fun to say). You can suggest topics or ask for opinions by dropping by my ask box! . Anon asks are always open!

Disclaimer: Anything talked about during MyTake!Monday posts are simply that - my take. They are in no way a reflection on the writings of J.K. Rowling, or the thoughts of others in the fandom. Even during topics I feel passionate about, I respect the thoughts, ships, and headcanons of others. Please respect my thoughts as I respect yours. I am always up for a lively debate, but any comments or asks left with malicious intent will be ignored, and I ask that my followers ignore them as well. Thank you!

This week on MyTake!Monday:

Expecto Patronum

Harry was never sure where he stood with Draco, not really. No matter how close Harry tried to get, Draco has always kept him at arm’s length. That is, until he almost died… again.

warning: This was written before my trip and has not been edited. 

 ______________________________________________________

Three times… the words echoed in Harry’s mind even as the ringing in his ears gave way to the frantic murmurings of Draco Malfoy. If he weren’t dying, he would have reminded Draco that ‘Malfoy’s did not mumble’. Instead, Harry stared up at the cracked ceiling of 17 Whitlock Road and contemplated how he found on death’s door for the third time.

It had been a routine call – one that had him working with Draco Malfoy. They kept their relationship a secret from the ministry, though Draco never failed to mention how stupid that was when they were out in the field. The truth was that Harry didn’t tell them for that exact reason. If he told the ministry, they wouldn’t allow Draco to work as his curse breaker, and Draco was a damn good curse breaker. That and… Harry enjoyed being around him. He knew better than to say as much, of course. Every time Harry got even the least bit sentimental, Draco would seize up and change the subject. Once, he even bolted out of Harry’s bed and through the floo without taking his shoes.

It didn’t bother Harry… or so he said. The truth was that he had known after a month of whatever they were doing that he was completely mad about Draco. Ron wanted to get his head checked. Hermione simply mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I owe Dean five galleons’. Of course in true Harry and Draco fashion, they hadn’t seen eye to eye on their relationship – or lack thereof – either. Harry wanted to take Draco out on dates and bring him to charity functions. Draco wanted to keep things casual. It became quite a nuisance when Harry found himself in love with the git.      

He wasn’t quite sure when it started, but he’d never forget the moment he realized. It had been one of the mornings that Draco was still in Harry’s bed when he woke up. They weren’t as frequent as Harry would have liked, but they grew closer together as their not-relationship stretched towards its second year. Harry had been in the kitchen when Draco stumbled down the stairs. He was mumbling about Harry’s messy room, his now long hair coming undone from its neat braid and sticking up on one side. He was barefoot, and scowling, and wearing one of Harry’s old Gryffindor sweaters. It was in that exact moment Harry realized he was so far beyond gone.

“Potter! Potter! Harry!” Draco’s voice was tight and just on the edge of panic. Through the haze of pain and memories, Harry frowned.

“Draco?” Harry breathed, eyes finally focusing on Draco’s pale face. Either the pain was splitting his vision or something had hit him hard enough to bypass the spells on his glasses and splinter the right lens. Ah yes – the third time. It was coming back to him now. “Severing curse.” He groaned out. He didn’t need to look at his leg to know it wouldn’t be there.

“Obviously.” He tried to sound snide, but he grew paler still as his eyes roamed over Harry’s body. “I’m not… I’m not equipped to handle this. I’ve used a stasis charm but... I have to call for Granger. I need you to hold on…”

“Careful Malfoy. It’s starting to sound like you care.” Harry couldn’t help but poking fun at him, even as his body screamed. Anything to wipe that fear from those mercury eyes he’d grown to love.

“I do care, you utter idiot! Merlin, it’s as if you don’t know me at all.” He sounded distressed as he palmed Harry’s robes. “My wand snapped, where is yours?”

“It’s nice…” Harry breathed, his voice growing lazy. He didn’t bother looking for his wand. It had been in his hand before the curse hit him. “That you care. You should say it more often.” Draco paused only long enough to give him an exacerbated look.

“I don’t need to say it, Potter. You know that I… how I…” He let out a small cry of triumph as he located the wand under a bit of rubble. Harry tried to focus on the words and not the blood that coated Draco’s hands. Seemingly realizing that Harry was waiting for him to finish his sentence, Draco sighed deeply.

“I love you.” The words seemed to catch the blond off guard. Harry would have laughed under less trying circumstances. As it was, they were down a wand, in the middle of a muggle neighborhood, and Harry’s mind was beginning to slip. If this was the final death for him, he just had to say it.

Despite the blank expression on Draco’s face, his eyes grew glassy. “Expecto Patronum!” He cried, waving Harry’s wand with the same ease he would use his own.

The bright face of a silver stag was the last thing Harry saw as he faded into darkness.  

The familiar scents and sounds of St. Mungo's hit Harry even before he opened his eyes. When he did, he ignored the cries and questions of Hermione who had undoubtedly demanded to be head healer on his case. The first thing he noticed were his legs – both attached and seemingly functional. The second was Draco’s pale, drawn face staring up at him from the chair at his side.

He only half answered as Hermione fussed over him, asking him to do this and that with his legs. It seems he had lost the left one for a short while, and the right had nearly joined it. Luckily, Harry had taken the curse head on and it hadn’t touched Draco at all.

Finally, finally he was left alone with Draco. “So…” Harry spoke carefully, noting the fear and shame in those slate eyes. “A stag, huh?”

He laughed as Draco jumped to his feet, his face twisted in a scowl, and an excuse on his thin lips. When he drew close enough, Harry pulled him into a simple kiss, his mouth still curved in a smile. It didn’t matter what he said. Draco Malfoy loved him too.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Barcelona is for Lovers - Chapter 1

Welcome to my new multi-chapter fic!  Thank you for joining us.  @stupidsatsuma is my beta, and a major help in getting this thing off my computer and into the world!

General warnings for: hanky panky.  Take the ‘lovers’ part of the title seriously.

Masterlist

AO3

Summary

Three months after Rose and the Doctor are reunited and promptly ditched on a beach in Norway, they are still trying to find their feet.  Rose plans a trip to Barcelona for them to relax, reconnect, and hopefully consummate their relationship.

Rose sank into the window seat, arranging her rolling bag at her feet.  Her present view was just of the train at the next platform, but once they were out of the station she anticipated gorgeous views of the English countryside.

“Good spot.”

Rose looked up at the approving tone, smiling slightly as the Doctor settled next to her.  “Thanks.”  She’d chosen the spot specifically with him in mind; they were at the head of the traincar, with nothing in front of them but plenty of space for him to stretch his legs.  His own bag went next to hers, and he reached for her hand.  She gave it willingly, lacing their fingers together and resting the joined palms on her thigh.

She could already see the difference this impromptu trip was making in him.  He’d been here, in this universe, for almost three months now. The first couple of weeks had been good, catching up and getting him settled.  Shopping and paperwork had been interspersed with tours of London and playing with Tony, telling stories and relearning each other.  But once the dust had settled he’d grown restless, and she had to give credit where it was due – he’d tried very hard to hide it.  She knew him, though, could still recognize that longing look in his eye that he’d have when they’d stay on the TARDIS for too long a stretch.

She’d booked this trip the next day.  They’d had to wait until his passport came in, but that was yesterday and today they were on their way.

Now he was calm, looking around in interest at their fellow passengers and out the windows.  “How long’s this leg?”

“Two and a half hours,” she checked their travel documents.  “Then a forty-five minute layover, then another five on the TGV.”

“The ‘TGV’,” he scoffed, “what an original name. ‘High speed train’.  Brilliant.”  His free hand carded through his hair, ruffling the strands he’d spent twenty minutes on that morning to the point of nearly making them late.

“You’re right, ‘Underground’ is much cleverer,” she teased, grinning up at him.  “It’s almost as if someone thought it might be a good idea for the name to be descriptive.”

The Doctor’s jaw dropped, staring down at her for a moment before pursing his lips and harrumphing.  “Go ahead and mock, Rose Tyler.”

She waited, but he didn’t say anything else, just determinedly staring out the window over her head.  “No need to pout, love, we’re on holiday! You should be happy.”

His expression softened, and he beamed at her.  “I am happy, my love,” he emphasized the endearment, and Rose suspected their faces would crack any moment from so much smiling, “cause I’m with you.  Plus, we’re finally alone.”

That was true; after four years of bedtime stories from his big sister about her heroic alien ‘friend’, Tony had been in awe of meeting the Doctor in the flesh, even more so than the time they took him to meet Elmo.  Every second that her brother was awake he clamored for the Doctor and Rose’s attention, barely letting them have a moment to themselves.  The odd times that they did find themselves alone for the day, inevitably one of her parents would interrupt, hijacking them until Tony woke from his nap.

But now they had ten uninterrupted days alone.  They were on their way to Barcelona (the city not the planet), where Rose had rented a house for the week.  No parents, no brother, hopefully no alien encounters – other than what she had planned for the one next to her.  Sightseeing, sunbathing… and, she crossed her fingers, hopefully some shagging.  Or at least brilliant snogging.

The train started moving then, and she squeezed his hand in excitement.  “Here we go!”  Rose let go momentarily to shove up the armrest between them, and they cuddled together by the window as the train left the station and made its way through the city.

She was so distracted by his long, lean body pressed against hers, she almost missed a point of interest.  Using the GPS on her mobile to verify they were in the right spot, she nudged him before gesturing out the window.  “See this park here?”

“Yeah?”

“You can’t quite see it but if you follow these paths, they’ll take you around towards the construction.”

“Oh?  And what are they constructing?” he murmured in her ear, sending a rush of warmth through her veins.

“The Olympic park.”

“Oh, are they doing that here?” he asked in delight.  “I didn’t ask.”

She grinned at him in the reflection of the window.  “Yep! Next summer now.  Coming soon.”

“Think they’ll let me carry the torch?”

“They didn’t let you the first time,” she shot back, “and hopefully, the Isolus won’t get lost in this universe.”

He hummed softly.  “Well, actually, all things considered, it wouldn’t be that big a deal if it happened again.  I mean, no one died, and honestly, I think it helped that family more than it hurt.  What was their name?”

“Webber,” Rose said promptly.  “Chloe and Trish.”

He went still behind her for a moment before pressing his lips to the side of her head, hard.  “I love that you still remember that,” he whispered. “I love you.”

Her heart skipped a beat as it always did, and she took a moment to savor those words, how easily he said them, how often he said them.  “I love you too.”

They’d had breakfast before leaving the house, but shortly before they entered the Chunnel the Doctor stood, stretching.  “I could use a cuppa – you?”

Rose didn’t hesitate to sprawl out across both seats.  “Sure, ta.”  She watched him walk away, whistling, before calling him back.  “Wait!”

“What’s wrong?”  He hurried over to her.

She dug in her purse.  “One – the galley’s the other way, and two – d’you have cash?”  She glanced up to see him grinning, wallet in hand.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said smugly, as if two days ago he hadn’t almost gotten them arrested because he’d forgotten to pay for lunch.

Rose relaxed, sinking back in her seat, unable to wipe the happiness from her face.  “Great.  Oooh, I could go a chocolate croissant though, if they’ve got any.”

He blinked down at her, looking almost offended.  “We’ll be in Paris in an hour, and you want a croissant from a train?”

“Yep!”

He shook his head, walking away muttering under his breath.

“I heard that!”

In Paris they changed trains, stopping to grab pastries and lunch to go.  Settled in their seats on the TGV, Rose immediately pulled out one of the croissants and tore it in two, offering half to the Doctor.  She had the window again, and they snuggled together to watch the French countryside fly by.

“So this is probably a ridiculous question, but have you ever been to Paris?” Rose asked, leaning back against his chest.

“Of course,” he answered as expected.  “A number of times. Once, I came with my friend Romana.  Was it before? No-  not long after she regenerated.  We were here as tourists-”

“Wait, regenerated?  She was a Time Lord?” Rose bolted upright, turning to stare at him.

The Doctor ruffled his hair, an uncertain expression on his face.  “Yes- well, Time Lady.  She traveled with me for a while in her first and second incarnations.”

“Oh,” she exhaled, mind whirling.  For some reason, she’d never pictured him travelling with anyone but a human.  “Were you… involved?”

“What, romantically?”  His concern seemed to be fading, only to be replaced with confusion.  “Ugh, no.  She is- well, was, I suppose- one of my best friends, and a good ally whenever I had to return home, but- decidedly not.”

“Okay.”  Rose shook her head, resettling herself in his arms.  “Sorry, minor jealous freakout over.  You were tourists?”

He kissed the side of her head, arms tightening around her.  “Right. Anyway, we were wandering around, taking in the sights, when we realized someone was messing with time.  Long story short, an alien of the species Jagaroth had tried to take off in his spaceship some odd 400 million years ago, the ship blew up, and fragments of his consciousness were scattered forward through the centuries.  The one in 1979 Paris was posing as a Count, trying to raise funds to build a machine that would send him back to just before the explosion to stop it.”

“Did he succeed?”

The Doctor scoffed.  “The ship exploding mixed with the amniotic fluid on the ground, creating amino acids and effectively life on Earth.”

“So it was a paradox,” Rose guessed, tilting her head back to see his chin.  “He could never succeed ‘cause if he did he wouldn’t have been splintered in the first place, and there would’ve been no humanity to help him get back to the explosion.”

“Exactly,” the Doctor confirmed after a moment.  “I must say, Rose, you follow this a lot better than you used to.”

“Experience,” she replied simply.  “I spent two years hopping from dimension to dimension.  I had to understand – it was do or die.”

He traced his finger over her face, starting with her cheek before skating over her lips, nose, and brow, feather light.  The touch still made her shiver, leaning heavier into him.  He never spoke, and eventually she turned to look out the window again, the countryside flying by.

The slight rocking of the train must have lulled her to sleep, because she jerked awake at the conductor announcing, “Gare de Narbonne!  Narbonne!”

Struggling to untangle herself from the Doctor’s grip, she sat up, blinking.  The sky was beginning to darken, and she realized it was the last stop before their own.  “Doctor?”  She gently shook him awake as the train began to move again.  “Wake up, please.”

His eyes cracked open, a loud yawn echoing in the otherwise quiet car.  “Where’re we?”

“Narbonne, we’re next.”

“How long?”

“Bout thirty minutes, I think.”

“Oh, okay.”  And his eyes drifted shut again.  Rose waited a moment, before viciously pinching his side.  “Oi!”

“Don’t fall back asleep,” she hissed, “we’ll be there before we know it.  Come on, let’s clean this stuff up.”

He grumbled, still yawning, but did as she asked.  By the time all the trash had been discarded and they’d each made a trip to the loo, they were pulling into the station.

“Gare de Perpignan!  Perpignan!”

The train stopped and they stood, the Doctor snatching Rose’s bag before she could.  “Lead the way,” he nudged, and she did, stepping off the train and quickly locating the car rental booth.

“Erm, bonjour- ah, bonsoir, je m’appelle Rose Tyler, j’ai une reservation?”

Getting the car was relatively painless, despite being able to sense the Doctor’s desire to jump in and take over.  Thankfully he was wise enough to let her handle it, merely following her to the rental car where she froze, keys in hand.

It was exactly what she’d ordered: a midnight blue, sparking convertible in a shade as close to the TARDIS as she could get.  But looking at the vehicle reminded her of a key difference between England and the Continent – the steering wheel was on the other side.

“D’you want me to drive?” the Doctor offered, already popping the trunk and loading the bags.

“No, I can do it, I just need you to navigate for me,” Rose said, biting her lip.  How hard could it be?

“Alrighty, then.”  And he opened the right-side door with a flourish, waiting expectantly.

Smiling, she shook her head, walking around to the left and opening the door for herself.  “Thanks, love.”

“Right.”  He yawned again, ruffling his hair sheepishly as he slid in.  “This is nice.”

“I wanted to feel the wind in my hair,” Rose explained, carefully adjusting her mirrors and seat before starting the car.  “Okay, we’ve got about thirty kilometers to go tonight so we cross the border into Spain.  Then we can drive along the coast in the daylight.”

“Molto bene.”

She eased the car out of the space, watching carefully as she got out onto the street.  Fortunately traffic was light, just enough cars on the road to remind her which side to be on.  She deliberately drove out of her way for a few minutes as practice, before making her way over to the divided highway, holding her breath until she’d smoothly merged with traffic.  So long as she kept going straight she wasn’t too worried, and was soon comfortable enough to steal glances every so often at the farmland on the side of the highway.

“So, you haven’t said what all you’ve got planned for this week,” the Doctor mentioned, startling her; he’d been quiet for so long, she’d thought he’d fallen asleep again.

“Oh, the usual,” she said flippantly, “sun, sand, se- spending time alone with you.”  Rose bit her lip hoping he couldn’t see her blush, and more importantly, hadn’t caught her slip of the tongue.  She wanted to discuss their physical relationship with him, but hurtling down a motorway at 100 kph didn’t seem like the best time.

“That it?”  His voice was warm, and to her surprise, he settled his palm on her thigh, thumb stroking at the sensitive skin.

“Sightseeing!  We’re not too far from Barcelona, so I figured we could drive in a couple days, do the tourist thing.”  She swallowed, warmth pooling in her stomach.  His gaze was heavy on her, but not uncomfortable – more of a cozy duvet during the winter type of weight, rather than oppressive.  Could he, possibly, already be on the same page?

“Yeah, all right,” he was nodded approvingly when she snuck a peek at him, “also, love the alliteration.”

“Just for you, babe.”  Her laugh was off, too high-pitched and breathless, but it was genuine, and he giggled along.

They rode in silence after that, Rose focusing as the traffic picked up around her, the Doctor a steady but still presence next to her but for the occasional direction.  They made it to the hotel soon enough, and once again he rushed to carry her bag for her, dutifully trailing behind as she checked them in.

Despite the fact they’d been sleeping in the same bed since his arrival, anticipation sparked between them as they reached the room.  For the first time, there would be no risk of interruption – no Tony to come bounding in, no Jackie to pester them down to breakfast.

Rose threw open the door, nearly dancing inside – until she stopped dead, the Doctor crashing into her back in his own haste.

“Oi!  Why’d you stop- oh.”  His chest was warm against her back as they stood there, staring at the twin beds.  A beautiful antique nightstand stood between the beds, and Rose had a nasty feeling that it would be quite heavy, if not impossible, to move.

“They were supposed to give us a king,” she moaned, as the two bags dropped to the ground behind her.  “Shit.  And the girl said we were the last to check in, too.”

“We can make do,” the Doctor said bravely.  “It’s one night.”

“Yeah.”  Rose supposed it was for the best, as she lifted her weekender onto the bed closer to the window.  The anticipation and impatience was making her ache, and if they slept curled up together she couldn’t promise to control herself, and she didn’t want that.  She wanted to have a conversation about it first, a likely excruciating and humiliating conversation, and make sure they were on the same page.

Plus, she didn’t want anyone to overhear them – she suspected they would be loud.

She couldn’t wait.

[littlecrookedheart]

Amen, Amen • Unfolding

Catch Up : Reckoning | Rum on the Fire | Like You're Made of Glass

Character(s) : Noah Marshall, Jane Marshall, Matt Pivouz (OC), Vinny Trovato (OC), brief mention of Lucia and Peter Trovato (OC)

Rating : MATURE. Language warning. Please read at your own risk. I’m issuing a general trigger warning for the entirety of this story. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SENSITIVE CONTENT SURROUNDING DRUG USE, MURDER, SUICIDE AND POSSESSION.

Time : This takes place 14 years after Jane’s death and roughly 5 years after the events in ILITW. Noah is 22 years old.

Word Count : 5,100 (or so)

Author’s Note : Have some answers to your Matt related questions!

Key : Perspective switches will be marked with ** | Time jumps will be marked with –

Soundtrack | Chapter Inspiration

"You in there? Keep your eyes on me."

Matt's voice swam in and out as if he were underwater, one arm around Noah, the other blocking his line of vision while they made it back inside the church. Noah's knees were buckling as often as he'd take steps, Matt having to nearly carry him inside of the church.

If you were a passerby, you'd see clarity, an empty space of land, dead and barren, two men walking through. You'd see overgrown vines, crumbling cement, the breeze turning stalks of brown grass into an ocean. But if you could see it, oh if you could see it, you would not be able to tear your eyes away.

With Noah hooked on one arm, Matt dodged what seemed to be warping, pitch black shadows of children, wailing deafeningly into the sky as they swarmed around Noah. They bent at unnatural angles, solidifying and cracking open, spilling out multitudes of maggots and beetles.

"What the fuck!" Matt screamed, trying to shake Noah awake as his feet trudged through the abyss of insects.

Once inside, the wailing grew louder, silhouettes of locusts flooding the windows matched the sound of loud, heavy banging against the walls and door. Matt left Noah against a pew, rushing over to open a bottle of water and coaxing Noah into drinking it. Finally, Noah opened his eyes fully, looking around at his surroundings. He jerked backwards, almost in shock, taking breaths and counting to seven, watching Matt head over to the altar where he kneeled down, dropping his head and silently praying.

Noah stood to his feet, wobbling over to Matt, putting his hand on his shoulder. Matt flinched under Noah's touch, looking up in horror before realizing who it was.

"Thank you for saving me," Noah mumbled, his voice like a hoarse whisper.

Matt's mouth moved in reply, but Noah couldn't hear him, the screams from the shadows and humming of the locusts drowning out all sound. Noah pressed his palms to his ears, turning around to face the door, one too many stupid ideas running through his mind. He ran forward, nearly collapsing, Matt's hand reaching to hold him back but falling short. Noah's hand hit the door handle, burning hot and crackling with a strange, dark energy, causing him to immediately let go and fall backwards, skidding across the splintering floor. He squeezed his eyes closed, audibly counting his sevens, over and over, until all went silent.

He warily looked around, the church having been entirely restored, with shining floors and brand new pews, the windows bright and beautiful as they reflected the afternoon sun. Rainbows danced along the wall of the altar, beams of light shining through stained glass at the east end of the church. Noah's breath was heavy as he stood up, creeping around the corner, eyes seeking out the source of this version of reality.

**

And there she is, Jane. She's standing in a long, white dress, her hair flowing down her shoulders. She looks like an angel. She doesn't even see me? I'm standing right in front of her, and she's just swaying, humming.

"Janie?"

"Katai! You took forever, what the heck!"

She's running...right through me. I'm turning around to see..Katai, as a kid, smiling at her and taking her hand. They're leaving. Running to the door, giggling. And now Katai is looking back at me, and they just smile, a wink, and I can't help it but..was that a message? What's happening?

"Mattie?"

On the front pew is a boy with jet black hair and the same hazel eyes Matt has, the kind with rims of gold and just a dash of green. I don't know who Matt's brother was, but this has to be him. It has to be. He looks so clean, so pristine and put together, kneeling on the pew, looking at me. Does he think I'm Matt?

"I'm Noah."

"Where's Mattie?" He's asking, and all of a sudden he's right in front of me. How can he see me when Jane couldn't?

"He's not here...I'm sorry."

"That's okay. Are you friends?"

Friends...right. Hardly, but I'm nodding.

"I can't stay here..." He's trailing off, smiling as he looks around the room. Beams of blue and green light are washing over him and he seems to glow, like he was fashioned of the stained glass himself.

"Can you tell him I waited for him? But I have to go now."

"I'll tell him." Will I? Does Matt deserve to know that his brother has been waiting for six years and now he's gone? Maybe it's better if he thinks his brother is still around.

"Tell him I heard him talking to me. I stopped the dark thing. But I -"

And he's gone, shimmering away into the light. And the church starts to decay, years or an eternity, even, flashing before my eyes. Left in ruins. Matt on that altar, looking up at me.

"How did you-"

"What was your brothers name?"

**

"What? Um.." Matt reached down, searching for something to grip as he lowered himself to the floor, burying his palms into his eyes and hid fingers in his hair.

"Vincenzo. V-Vinny." Matt looked up at Noah, confusion across his face.

"He...I think.."

"You saw him, didn't you?"

Noah sat on the floor across from him, brushing the hair out of his eyes before nodding. "He said to tell you that he stopped the dark thing. And..."

"He said more?"

"Yeah he said he's been waiting for you but..."

Noah bit his lip, seeing Matt's eyes start to glimmer. I can't do it.

"He said he's been waiting for you. Then he said to 'tell Mattie I love him.'"

Noah watched Matt, for the first time since they'd met, lose his composure. He became a river, drawing his knees to his chest, sobbing hard into them.

After a few moments, Matt looked up, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater.

"Did you ask him for help earlier? When you were praying?" Noah asked, worried to overstep.

Matt nodded, sniffling as a smile turned on his lips. "Yeah. I can't believe you saw him. Was he okay? Did he say anything else? Was he alone?"

"Uh...yeah, he was fine. He actually looked... beautiful. I saw Jane, too, but she didn't see me. And my old friend Katai. Your brother was the only one who talked to me, though."

"Vinny," Matt suggested, leaning over to grab his coat from a nearby podium. "Call him Vinny. It makes it more real."

Noah took a breath, sighing. "Vinny. Vinny was the only one who talked to me."

Matt shrugged a shoulder, letting out a small laugh. He fumbled through the pockets of his coat, pulling out a black leather wallet. Inside, two folded up photos stuck out of a compartment, Matt pulled hem out and handed them to Noah.

Noah took the photos, opening them to their full size. The first was old, Matt's unmistakable grin not having changed since even this. Vinny looked about three, which would leave Matt nine, the two of them holding a wicker basket of berries, purple and magenta staining their hands and mouths. Noah smiled at the photo, flipping it over. Across the back was scrawled in a dainty handwriting, 'Matteo, 10 Vincenzo, 4 berry picking with grandma.'

"Matteo, huh?"

"Shut up," Matt laughed, taking the photo from Noah and gazing at it, beaming at the memory.

The second photo was the boy Noah just met, Vinny, in a striped yellow shirt, his hair blowing in the wind.

"That was his twelfth birthday. Magic Mountain," Matt said, pointing to the background. "Three months before he died."

Noah handed the photo back to Matt, mindlessly picking his nails in intervals of seven.

"The berry picking, that's what I hold onto. I don't know if he even remembered it, but I do. That's my light."

"I hate that I saw him and you didn't, " Noah said, biting a fingernail.

"I've seen him so many times. Just..not the way you did."

Noah furrowed his brow, looking up at Matt.

"You saw him how I see Jane, didn't you?"

Matt looked away, staring into space.

"Something like that."

**

How could that be? Matt said Vinny died from an aneurysm, 'how fucked is that?' Why would these demons plague Vinny, or Matt, the way they do Jane and me? She was taken, physically taken, her soul left to linger for a decade. Vinny died, like people do, a death not uncommon. Did Matt lie to me? Maybe Vinny was swallowed up, too, by something just as sinister. Maybe Matt can't say it.

I can't say I blame him. Lord knows how many moments I tried to smash my words into something others could understand. Mom and Dad did just fine, lying through their teeth, saying Jane died in her sleep. Saying it was a...

Holy shit.

"Matt, I need to ask you something."

**

Matt clenched his jaw, standing up and walking over to the window. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, bracing himself for any reaction Noah might have. Light blankets of rain coated the ground, a cool gust of wind coming from the shattered block in the window. He leaned down, picking up a large rock, smoothing his thumb over the surface.

"It wasn't an aneurysm." Noah said, his voice shaking.

Matt glanced at him, quickly looking away.

"It wasn't."

Noah shook his head, scoffing.

"Don't," Matt snapped, spinning on his heel to glare at Noah. "Do not act like I've somehow hurt or inconvenienced you. You think I found you on accident? That I just heard about your story and thought I'd like to be your friend? No. No, I heard a story about a kid whose friend died and the news was blaming him. I heard how that same kid had a twin sister who died from an aneurysm at eight years old. I don't know why, Noah, but I knew that we were alike. That's why I'm here."

Noah's head spun with questions, and with just as much annoyance, burning inside from Matt's lie.

"What took him?" he asked, a darkness in his eyes he couldn't seem to shake despite knowing that he had no reason to be angry. His stomach felt like fury and his fingers like knives, digging them into his palms, opening the flesh and gritting his teeth to stifle the pain.

"I have no fucking idea. But I saw it. I saw it too many times."

Matt leaned onto the bricks, resting his head on them. "I was fifteen when I first met the darkness. At first it was just my mind, this incessant pulling at me. And I couldn't ever get it to stop."

Noah pulled himself onto a pew, looking at his lap while he listened to Matt's story.

"And then, I mean, what happens next? What happens when you can't shake the dark? You just indulge. So I did. Pills, you know. I remember I'd zone out so hard I'd miss entire conversations, meetings, classes. I'd go to school and they'd slap a test in front of me and I couldn't even read the first question. I didn't care."

Matt walked over, sitting next to Noah. He ran a hand over his face, taking a breath before continuing.

"I can play violin and drums...like, really well. I wasn't in concert band at school, but I was in a band, and they wound up kicking my ass to the curb. I wasn't me anymore...and it wasn't pills anymore." His eyes welled up, clenching tight to stop the flow. He swallowed hard, his voice wavering.

"One night, I got home from some guy's house, couldn't tell you who, and the next thing I know, I'm laying on the garage floor. Fucking blue. Body like an icicle. And Vinny's sitting next to me, screaming for mom. He's got the house phone in his hand, crying so hard...I don't even think the dispatcher understood him. And I look over, and he's got his hand pressed to my arm, there's fucking barf just...and mom runs in, screaming, she's crying, turning me on my side. And I just see a needle, and blood, and vomit, and then nothing."

Noah sighed, his eyes wide, scrubbing his face with both hands. Matt held up a finger, gathering himself.

"When I woke up in the hospital, Vinny was sleeping in a chair, sitting up. Mom wasn't in the room. But something else was. I thought I was hallucinating, you know? But I wasn't. It just closed its hands around Vinny's face, and I tried to scream, I tried to move, but it was like I was stuck. Frozen in place. I just watched this darkness seep into him."

"It couldn't have been-"

"It was. I didn't even struggle in rehab. Didn't go through withdrawal. It was all just...gone. But I swear to you, I didn't know. I didn't know that what I saw was real," Matt started shaking, whimpering. Noah raised an eyebrow, slowly putting a hand on Matt's back.

“Do you think it’s my fault?”

**

Yes, like it’s my fault. Yes, like the sound of Jane’s whistle, like the sound of Vinny’s scream, yes, like the way we failed them. Yes, like the way they burn us, living in our veins, breathing tar and wax and boiling sludge into our lungs. Yes, it’s your fucking fault.

“No.”

Because he’s my friend, somehow, despite not knowing him. Despite the way he always shows up when I don’t want him. Because he’s the only thing I have, and that has to mean something.

I don’t know how to console people. Put your hand on their back, right, Like in movies and at funerals. I swear I have a scar in the shape of a collective handprint on my back from Jane’s funeral. How can you say sorry when you can’t form words? How can you say thank you when you don’t know what it means? God, I feel like I’m just treading water.

I wonder if Matt feels the same way. Maybe he never knows what to say to me, too. Nah, he has things together. He survived, which is better than I’m doing.

**

After a long silence, Matt pulled his coat on, yawning.

“Go home, Noah. Reconvene in a few days.”

He slipped out the door, walking into the rain.

** FOUR YEARS AGO **

“Now, would anyone like to share?”

The room was quiet, seven folding chairs circled around a small table with a rubber stress ball sitting on it. Six teenagers who had nothing to say, or who didn’t want to say it - one of them who, for the first time ever, sat with a smile on his face.

“I’ll go.”

Noah reached to the stress ball, tossing it in the air.

“Fantastic, Noah.We have yet to hear from you.”

“I don’t like talking about Jane very often. But today is our birthday.”

A young girl around fourteen peeked her head up and smiled. “Happy birthday, Noah and Jane!”

“Thanks, Anya.”

“What would you like to share with us?” Ripley asked, folding his hands over the round of his belly.

Noah shrugged, pondering. Anya perked up, straightening herself in her chair. “How about what she was like?”

Noah sighed, grinning. “She was so much fun. A real brat, but fun. Jane always knew the best games, she always took lead and gave everyone roles that actually fit them. Like, I could run, but I wasn’t a good kicker. So when we’d play kickball, she always said it was only fair if our friend Dan kicked the ball and I ran for him.”

“She sounds nice!” Anya said, chewing on the sleeve of her jacket. “My sister was always the leader, too.”

“She was nice. She was funny, too. She always had something sassy to say.”

“How old were you? You know…”

“Anya, is that very considerate to ask?” Ripley said, raising an eyebrow to her.

“I’m sorry, Noah.”

“It’s alright. We were eight.”

“It’s not very fair that you didn’t get to know her for long, is it? My sister was almost twenty when she died. I had my whole life to know her… You only had eight years.”

“Anya, please-”

“Really, doc. It’s all good. You’re right, it isn’t fair. I just try and keep in mind that while I didn’t have very long with her… We had a lot of memories. Those memories can’t ever run out, even if I remember them a hundred times. Because Jane is always in here,” he said, pointing to a space above his heart. “Our twin cradle.”

“That’s a load of shit.” A tall boy about Noah’s age piped up, rolling his eyes. “Nothing is in that twin cradle. Know why? Because she died. Her end of the cradle will always be empty.”

“David, I think you should apologize to Noah. It is not our place to correct someone or project our emotions onto them, especially when it comes to grief.”

“Why? I’m not sorry. Do you think my brother is in there? He died five years ago. Identical twins. Do I feel him? Not a chance. My twin space? Cold and empty, because he’s dead. Sitting around singing campfire songs isn’t going to help him come back. Noah, I thought you might be the only other person in this group that knew that. Guess I was wrong.”

“I’m trying to honor Jane and this is the only way I know how to, Dave. I don’t think this will bring her back…but I do think it’ll keep her memory alive.”

David scowled, crossing his arms. He stood up and walked out of the room, mumbling under his breath.

**PRESENT DAY**

“Go home, Noah. Reconvene in a few days.”

A few days…right.

I’m not leaving yet, I don’t really want to deal with what’s bound to be waiting for me at home. Home. Supposed to be warm, supposed to be safe. Have I ever had a place like that? Not since Jane. Maybe one day, that’ll change. Maybe I can create my own home. But for now? Sleep.

–

“Hey!” someone is whispering, loud, like they’re right in my ear. It’s so dark I can’t even see my hand outstreched in front of me, let alone anyone or anything else.

“Noah!”

“Who-”

“It’s me!”

A flicker, like a match being lit, far away. It’s like a small orb floating in the distance, but the voice is all around me. I guess I’m meant to follow it. I swear I’ve heard this voice before, I swear -

“I have to show you.” Vinny, reaching to touch my forehead, and it’s like a warm apple cider, tangy and sweet, filling my body, darkness going dim, light surrounding me.

I’m standing in a living room. What the hell?

“Vinny, go get your brother.”

It’s like time is jumping, skipping, warping, Matt’s mother walking by is more like a phantom, like a fast forward button, pausing briefly. Vinny runs out of his room, winter hat on his head, dancing down the hallway.

“Mattie!”

“I’m coming!” Matt’s younger, looks like he’s still in high school, two drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket. “Hey, wait, Vin! Got your lunch?”

Vinny turns, nodding, moving his arms like a worm as he wiggles out the front door. Matt’s mom is laughing, pulling him into a hug before he grabs his keys and leaves, too.

Things are rushing, like speed mode, distorted fragments of conversations like a boomerang around my head. And then it stops.

Vinny skips into another room, Matt’s voice comes from there, too. Guess that’s where I need to be.

“I’ll bring you whatever you want,” Matt’s saying, putting his same leather wallet into his jean pocket. “Skittles? Gushers? Dr. Pepper?” His room is weirdly clean for a teenager, but maybe that’s why he thinks I live in a dump.

“Okay. Can I sleep in here?”

“Why?”

Vinny shrugs. “Dunno. I like it more.”

“Are you having nightmares again?”

“Sometimes…but that’s not why I wanna sleep in here. Deal?”

“Deal. You sleep in here, you don’t mention that I’m out to mom or Pete.”

Matt grabs his keys and slides the window open, slinking out. You can hear him make his way down the gutter, jumping off with a thud.

Vinny runs out of the room, closing the door behind him. Now I guess I’m stuck in Matt’s room? I’m not corporeal. Vinny as I met him, again, standing in front of me. He’s pointing at the door, and it opens. He’s gone.

Things warp, time speeding up again, a loud bang breaks the jump. It’s so dark it’s hard to see. Where’s Vinny? His room? Empty. Matt’s room. He wanted to sleep there. But the door is closed? Sounds like…shuffling…in another room.

“No! No! Please don’t do this, please, I-”

But I can’t get there fast enough.There’s a man, Pete, I think - standing over Matt’s mother’s body, a single gunshot, and now..blood. So, so much fucking blood. For fucks sake, what?

Pete is storming out of the room, staring at himself in a mirror above the mantle. I can’t let him get Vinny.

Speaking of Vinny, he’s in the hall, opening the door before he’s gone again.

He’s hiding under Matt’s bed, stuffing papers into a panel on the floor. What is that? Not important. I have to find a way to get Vinny to safety. Come on, come on, I can’t get this fucking window open!

No, no, no, no, no, this can’t happen. Matt said it was the darkness that took Vinny, there’s no way - open, you fucker!

A glitch in time, seriously? Another bang. Vinny?

Oh my god. Oh my god.

–

*SIX YEARS AGO*

Matt gripped onto a window ledge, climbing his way up the gutter. He shoved the window open, jumping in through the window. The room is dark, the scent of metal in the air.

“Ew, what the hell?”

Matt clicked the side button on his phone, the light illuminating his face as he switched the flashlight on.

At the sight, he fell backwards, struggling to breathe. And then, after he caught his breath, he saw crimson against his eyes, not the blood on the walls or the floor, but rage, pure and unwavering, as he ran out of his room and to his mother’s.

A single gasp of terror, his head spinning, no trace of his step father amongst the remains of his mother and brother. And then the scent of sulfur, a boiling hot wave of fear, Matt holding himself up along the wall, finding Pete staring into the mirror above the mantle. All in a moment, Matt’s eyes widened, a shudder of a shake in his head.

“No…”

The reflection of his step father swirled in black, smoking tendrils crawling into his eyes and mouth, the sulfuric cloud making Matt choke as he stifled a gag. He watched Peter’s eyes glaze over as he raised his hand and - gone.

“Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.” Matt repeated, collapsing before rocking himself back and forth with his arms wrapped around his knees. “Gone.”

**

“See?” Vinny’s whispering to me, pointing under the bed. “I have to show you.”

I’m nodding, and then everything dissipates, leaving me in the dark again.

–

“Noah, wake up.”

Katai is standing over me, holding the sides of my face.

“Katai, I have so much to-”

“WAKE UP!”

**

Noah heaved awake, his eyes jolting to the altar, where Vinny’s phantom stood.

He approached him, kneeling to his height, tears welling in his eyes.

“Vinny, I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“Help him,” Vinny whispered, hugging Noah before fading, trickles of light left where he’d stood.

“How?”

A loud clank came from the west side of the church, Noah craned his neck to see the source of the sound. Matt lodged a chunk of wood against the door, looking up when he saw Noah.

“When did you get here?”

“What? I stayed the night when you left yesterday.”

“Noah..I haven’t been here in three days.”

**

Maybe I should be more concerned with having lost three days and wow, what the fuck? But I’m standing here, looking at Matt, the image of him finding Vinny burned into my head. I can’t believe I ever thought he didn’t know what he was talking about. I can’t believe I got so pissed off at him for not telling me.

Why the fuck am I like this? Hug him.

“You solid?”

Hug him. Say you’re sorry. Tell him you know. Hug him. Hug him.

“Noah? Is everything okay?”

And I’m hugging him, I can basically feel him looking at me like I’m fucking insane. Maybe I am. Maybe that’s exactly why we get each other.

**

Matt’s face turned in confusion, but after a second he just accepted it, hugging Noah back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Matt stepped back, rubbing his temples.

“What?”

“I didn’t mean that, I-” Noah turned away, slinking over to sit on the pew. “Hold on. It’s been three days?”

“Yeah, has it not been for you?”

“No, I just slept and woke up and now…Matt, what happened to your mom’s house?”

“What? Why?”

“This is going to sound bizarre, but please just…I’m sorry. About being such an asshole. I know what happened to Vinny, your mom…Pete. I know you found them. I know.”

“Noah-”

“We have to go back.”

“…To my mom’s? How did you even…Vinny. He told you, didn’t he?”

“He showed me. And yes, your mom’s. Do you trust me?”

“As much as I probably shouldn’t, yeah, I do.”

Noah pulled his jacket on, walking over to the door.

“Now?” Matt asked, buttoning his coat. Noah nodded, and with Matt leading the way, they walked into the night.

–

Turning onto the street, Matt pulled out a ring of keys, running his thumb over the teeth of one specifically.

“I don’t know why I kept it,” he said, turning his head for Noah to better hear him.

“I used to come here to feel closer to Vinny. Now…it’s just rust.”

“And cobwebs.” Noah added, shuffling his feet along the sidewalk.

“Yeah. Those too.”

Matt nodded toward an old house, shingles falling apart, more decrepit than Noah expected after seeing the inside. Time’s most tragic and beautiful gift. Decay.

Inside, moonlight washed over the coffee table, a harsh, lingering smell of mildew in the air. Everything remained as it was, apart from the mirror above the mantle, which was now shattered, pieces having rained across the floor. Matt noticed Noah’s pondering stare, rolling up his coat sleeve to reveal a scar along his knuckles. Noah nodded, understanding.

Turning toward the rooms, they both stopped short, a figure standing midway through the hallway. It was still, a mess of rot and dirt, like thick, webbed membrane, gray and dry.

“Ignore it,” Matt said, pulling Noah’s sleeve toward his old room.

“Right, ignore it.” Easier said than done.

**

The thing in the hallway growls as we pass it, almost like a threat. Good thing I don’t give a fuck about threats anymore.

Matt’s room looks exactly the same, only difference is the blood has been scrubbed away. I kneel down, reaching under the bed, but the panel is too far away.

“Help me push it?”

We shove the bed against the wall, Matt’s standing there watching me as I move the wood and grab a stack of papers. There’s also a bracelet, one of those plastic ones you braid together at camp or something, and a figurine of a dinosaur. I hold it out to Matt, but he just takes the dinosaur, almost starts to cry.

I toss the rest onto the bed, slowing sorting through papers, which mostly consisted of awards from school. 100% on a spelling test. Perfect attendance. Best Hall Monitor of the year. And then there’s a letter, and a folded up piece of construction paper.

I’ll open the letter first, read it out.

‘Dear Matteo aka Matt aka Mattie,

I can’t believe you’re already graduating high school. Then you’re gonna go to college, and you’re gonna move away. I hope I get your room! JK. I just want to say thanks for being the best big brother. You were always there for me, especially during the times where I didn’t feel like I was very smart or cool enough. Thanks for just listening. Thanks for being my brother. Maybe I don’t tell you enough but I really do love you. Good job graduating.

Love,

Your brother Vincenzo aka Vinny’

Matt is gripping the dinosaur, tears staining his cheeks, his chest shuddering with his breaths.

“Can I?” He’s asking, and I’m handing him the letter. Fuck. Of course he can.

Now I’ve got the construction paper in my hand, unfolding it. Jane used to make these fortune tellers with Ava, folding the paper like this one is. I wonder if all kids did this. Maybe it’s just an anomaly, just our siblings did it. Who knows.

It’s a scribbled crayon drawing of Vinny, standing on something? And next to him is a little girl, blue dress, long red hair. Are they….is this the church? This isn’t possible. This can’t be real. Matt’s looking over my shoulder, I can feel him breathing on my neck.

“What the fuck is this?!” I turn, shoving the paper at him, but he’s not there, he’s standing to the side of me, still crying with the letter clutched to his chest.

“What?” Matt says, I’m turning back to him, thrusting my arm over to hand him the paper.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. My head is full of pressure, like it’s about to pop and shatter like that god damn mirror. A loud screech, a jolt, the hallway figure appears in front of us and pins Matt to the wall, gripping his throat. Red and black burns appear under its fingers, Matt’s screaming in pain, but doesn’t look away. He’s staring straight into it, his face twisted like he’s just stared into the eye of Hell.

 I don’t know what to do, so I just -

“No! Jane, STOP!”

The figure turns, dropping him to the ground, cocks its head at me. It laughs, growls,

“It’s not Jane,” Matt chokes, trying to slide up the wall into a seated position. He’s doubled over, coughing up black ash, the figure crumbling into bone fragments and gray, lava like gooey shit.

“Who was it, Matt?!”

“Noah, I…it was you.”

•

Disclaimer : Characters I own are Matt Pivouz, Vinny Trovato, Lucia and Peter Trovato, Ula Santiago, Dr. Ripley, David, Anya, and Remy. I do not own the others. I’ve added a bit of a flare to them for the sake of this piece, but they do not belong to me.

Tag List : @teamtomsato @nuttatulipa @lovethemarshalltwins @europeanguy @spectrelier @breaumonts @fullbeaumonty @choicesatnight

[the-purple-martin]

Chapters: 19/? Fandom: Fallout 4, Fallout (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor, Paladin Danse/Sole Survivor, Arthur Maxson & Female Sole Survivor, Arthur Maxson/Sole Survivor (one-sided) Characters: Paladin Danse, Female Sole Survivor, Arthur Maxson, Scribe Haylen Additional Tags: Post-Blind Betrayal, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Strong Language, Violence, vengeance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Angst, No Fluff, Mental Health Issues, Sexual Coercion, Guilt, Ok Maybe Some Fluff, Sexual Content, Consent Issues, Canon Divergence, Modified Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Redemption, just be patient

Five minutes.

That's all the time she allowed herself to waste. To crumple to the floor and succumb to the utter and all-consuming panic.  Her hands clutched at her ribs, nails digging into her sides as she heaved and screamed and cried. Overwhelmed by the reality that Danse was likely already dead.

Her world blurred and the bleak walls of the bunker came crashing down on her. Pinned beneath the weight of her hysteria, she retched and choked on bile. For a fleeting, desperate moment, she entertained the idea of breathing in and letting herself asphyxiate on the filth in her mouth.

Breathe, just breathe.

Her mind eased her racing thoughts. Slowly the room stilled and she was left a pathetic mess, weeping on the floor and drowning in self-loathing. This was selfish, a waste of time and above all else, it was not about her.

With the reminder that Danse’s life was dependent on every second she wasted, Jackie pushed herself to her feet and urged her limbs to stumble through the irrational haze. She staggered across the room, aimlessly groping for a plan, and dragged a dirty sleeve across her face. Except it only furthered her dilapidated state by smudging her cheeks with grime.

Don’t forget to breathe. Mindful breaths.

It had been years since Jackie had struggled with anxiety so intense that it triggered panic attacks. But waking up in that goddamn vault had brought about a new kind of hell for her mind to wander in.  Often in the months before joining the Brotherhood, she had found herself pressed into a dark corner, stricken with fear, unable to move or breathe or think.  Terrified that some horrible creature or the perversions of man that called themselves human beings would find her and she would die alone and forgotten in this shithole.

Once she started traveling with Danse, she had been able to keep her anxieties at bay for a time. He reminded her of Nate and despite the heartache it brought her, Jackie didn’t feel so vulnerable in Danse’s presence. A sense of normalcy had begun to return and with each passing day she reclaimed a piece of her sanity.

As much as she tried, she couldn’t keep her demons stuffed away forever though. On a frostbitten night in midwinter, they had stopped to set up camp, hunkering down in a crumbling building for the evening. That night, Jackie had awoken in a panic. She’d jolted awake, cold sweat trickling down her back, convinced that this was the end.

“Danse?” she called out to him, hearing only faint rustling from somewhere beyond the shadows in return. She clenched her sleeping bag in her hands, her heart hammering away in her chest. “Danse!” again she cried his name only for the rustling to crescendo into horrid hissing and screeching.

She desperately groped around for her weapon, her Pip-Boy, anything to help fend off whatever was lurking in the darkness, except she came up empty handed. This was it. She was going to die, torn apart by some wretched wasteland creature, feasting on her innards as she screamed in vain.

Suddenly loud crashing and the sounds of grinding metal filled the air.

“Soldier?”  It came out forceful and frantic as Danse clanked through the room, “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know!” Jackie panted, unable to catch her breath, “I don’t know!  I can’t breathe!”  The panic threatened to strangle her and she shook with the pounding of her heart. “Something’s wrong!”

Unable to control her racing thoughts, Jackie was convinced she would hyperventilate, or at the very least, die of embarrassment. She pressed her face into her hands, attempting to conceal her shameful state and regain some semblance of control.

“You’re alright.”  

She nearly leapt out of her skin at Danse’s hand on her shoulder and his voice in her ear. So consumed by her irrational fear, she hadn’t even heard him exit his power armor. It stood a menacing stance at the edge of the shadows and Danse... Danse was so near that Jackie was suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotions she’d been trying so hard to bury since leaving the vault. All the pain and heartache, her insurmountable grief, leaked from the little box she’d haphazardly stuffed them away in.

“It’s not real, you’re safe. It’ll pass, just breathe.”

Danse had taken a knee beside her and his grip, firm on her shoulder, moored her to reality. At least until she met his gaze and those heartbreakingly familiar brown eyes shattered her sanity. It took everything in her not to clamber into his arms and weep away her troubles. Instead Jackie clutched at his uniform and squeezed her eyes shut to block out the haunting reminder and hold back the tears caught just behind her lids.

Nate...she missed him so goddamn much it hurt. But Danse...right now, Danse would have to do. She let his soft, calming words sooth her aching heart and slowly the panic subsided. Left with only an echo, Jackie’s hands fall into her lap. Broken and hollow, she grasped at the ghosts of her former life splintering in the parallels of her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered and pawed at her face, wiping at tears or the flush of shame she didn’t know.

“This is common among soldiers.” His hand lingered on her shoulder, a gentle reminder that despite her madness Danse still had her back. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Jackie just stared at her hands. There was sadness in Danse’s voice, a resonance of understanding that made her wonder about his own mental state. She wasn’t blind. She’d seen how he struggled. How he kept himself endlessly busy, avoiding sleep or rest so he didn’t have to confront his demons. Danse carried the weight of the wasteland on his shoulders and clearly he cared about her. He was a tough nut to crack, but underneath it all he was kind: a good man.

All Jackie had done since enlisting was repay his kindness in cruelty. She had been insubordinate at best and nothing short of a cold-hearted bitch at worst.

“I haven’t treated you fairly,” she admitted, “I’ve been angry and so caught up in myself. You...” she nervously wrung her hands together as she trailed off. “You were an easy target.”

Danse shifted to lean his elbow on his knee. “Sometimes trauma makes us do things we aren’t proud of.”

“Doesn’t give me the right to be nasty.” She glanced over at him and was met with the faintest of smiles.

“Is that an apology I hear, soldier?”  

“I-ah…,” she tittered to herself, “yeah, I suppose it is.”

Danse continued to grin and he knocked his shoulder against hers, "I appreciate the sentiment.”

She leaned into him, wishing he could give her so much more than just fleeting touches. “Thanks,” she muttered and pulled away before her emotions got the better of her again. “I can take watch if you want.”

“Negative,” his fingers brushed against her shoulder as he stood to retreat back to his armor, waiting until he was safely encased inside before continuing, “but you can sit with me if you’d like.”

Jackie’s chest ached thinking about that moment. What if she never saw Danse alive again? The realization halted her advance across the room. Danse…he was the only thing worth fighting for in this world, the only thing that kept her breathing. He was her lifeblood and if he died at the hands of the Brotherhood for her foolish, selfish mistakes, they might as well kill her too.

This was her fault. She should have done more, fought harder, told Maxson where could shove it and walked away. Should have run and never looked back. Taken Danse somewhere far away. Somewhere near the sea where they could watch the sunrise and hear the waves crashing upon the sand. Leave it all behind and allow the Commonwealth fall to its own demises. But Jackie had been broken. Gutted and left to bleed, too scared to retaliate or flee and worse, too afraid to say no. Now she would atone for her sins in fear and blood.

The cycle of panic threatened to repeat itself but someone had once told her that, ‘courage was not the absence of fear, rather the knowledge that something else was more important than fear.’ Danse was more important than her irrational mind. If she had any hope of saving him, she needed to take action.

Fear still rattled her bones, scratching at her skill like the parasite it was, but Jackie pushed herself forward. She forced her feet to carry her across the room to where she had dumped her duffle bag the night before. Hastily she stripped of her soiled clothes and plucked a clean uniform from her pack, dressing with little regard to her personal appearance.  

Unkempt and unhinged, it would have to do. She would have to do.

With a sigh and a final glance around the room she jabbed the elevator call button, pacing and trying to formulate a plan while she waited for its decent. A plan that didn’t involve her solo assault of the Brotherhood stronghold or the very real possibility that she would be forced to murder their Elder.

Shit.

Jackie stumbled to a stop, staggered by the consequences of Danse’s actions. If she wanted him to come out of this alive, she was going to have to bring down the Brotherhood -- alone. If by some stroke of dumb luck she was successful, then what? The Commonwealth would crumble at the sudden power vacuum.

Dammit Danse!

The door to the elevator clanged open and Jackie was left standing there, messaging her forehead between her fingers. She didn’t know what the hell she was going to do but she slung her duffle bag over her shoulder and snatched up her rifle nonetheless.  She would make it up as she went and hope to whatever gods were still listening that they didn’t end up dead.

The elevator made an agonizingly slow ascent to the surface and Jackie prayed that she was wrong. She hoped that Danse had just gone to patrol the perimeter or ventured to a nearby settlement for supplies and he would be waiting for her in the vestibule of the bunker. If only she could be so lucky.

When the elevator finally rattled to a halt, Jackie was greeted with darkness. Quiet and empty, midsummer twilight hung in the sky beyond the open door. Her heart skipped a stuttering beat at the sight. This was good. In the cover of night and concealed in her armor, perhaps Danse was still alive. Kept safe in the guise of a much-coveted Brotherhood paladin set on a warpath to bring them to their knees, burn them to the ground for betraying not only himself but the woman he had devote his life to.

The irony nearly had her smirking, except she was reminded that they were likely both going to wind up dead before this was all over.  

Jackie made her way out into the desolate wasteland and rooted around in her bag, searching for the signal grenade she had stashed away in case of emergency. The sun pushed the envelope of dawn painting the skyline in faint wisps of pink and orange. It lazily eclipsed the deep blues and black of night as she walked out into the open, heading east to the unofficial extraction point.

It was the quiet of the wasteland that unnerved Jackie as she walked. Here silence didn’t necessarily mean safety and she had spent the entirety of her life before the war surrounded by constant background noise.  The world never stopped, even in the dead of night, there was never true silence. Now her surroundings were deceptively quiet, peaceful even, and it unsettled her.

It didn’t take long to reach the designated location, a vacant stretch of broken road behind the old ironworks factory. She threw down the signal grenade and watched as the plume of smoke circled up into the air. Not so patiently she waited for the distant hum of the vertibird’s engines to break the silence.

The sun breached the horizon and with it brought the feeling of failure. Not once had she bothered to check in with Danse last night to assess his own mental state. His deteriorating physical health had been an obvious sign of his instability, yet Jackie had failed to acknowledge it. Instead, she burdened him with her insignificant troubles. She’d neglected to reciprocate his kindness and allow him to voice the complexities and emotionality of his internal conflict, and look where it had gotten her.

She had promised to be there for him, help him heal, and secretly she had vowed to love him. Then in the face of hardship, she’d abandoned him. Jackie couldn’t breathe and before she could stop it, tears were leaking down her cheeks. She had betrayed him when he had needed her the most.

The crippling intensity of her guilt sliced at her underbelly, threatening to tear her open and spill her guts upon the pavement. It would have been better, easier for them both, if she had just endured the pain of letting Danse go. Allowed him to move on and live out his days in peace. After everything he’d been though, he at least deserved that much. In the end, Jackie had let her self-serving desires get the better of her. Now, it no longer mattered, she would be forced to pay it forward, with her life and his.

The ground groaned beneath her feet as she paced in an attempt to occupy her mind and halt the hemorrhaging of her spiraling thoughts. Bile rose in her throat and she commanded her body to be still, but she lost the battle and just barely caught her knees in her hands as she retched and stumbled forward.

The pooling sick a reflection of the disease that festered within her. It disgusted her how far she had fallen, the things she had done, people she’d killed, monsters she’d made. Jackie didn’t deserve this life and she clung to the shards of humanity that still resided within her.

Her urge to vomit again was quelled just in time to hear the familiar whirl of a vertibird’s engines approaching. Earth and grass were whipped about and dirt was violently kicked up with the aircraft’s landing decent. Jackie covered her face with her arms, attempting to shield herself from the dust storm. Despite the sickening feeling that still lingered, she hoisted herself up into the ‘bird as soon as the landing gear made contact with the ground.

A familiar face, clad in aviators and arrogance, greeted her as she clambered inside. It was always the same Lancer who picked her up. The same pilot who had run transport for Danse and his team and who had taken Maxson to the bunker. He was the only one authorized for extraction from this location and even though words had never been exchanged, Jackie knew he knew and she wondered what price he had paid to keep their secret.

He handed her a headset as she scooted by to sit into the co-pilot’s seat, the roar of the engines was drown out when she slipped it on.

“Paladin,” His voice crackled through the earpiece, followed by terse nod and a salute.

“Geers.” Jackie returned the gesture out of habit.

For a moment Geers watched her, taking in her obviously disheveled state, but chose not to comment, “Ma’am, you’ve been given orders to report to the Command Deck immediately upon arrival.”

“Wonderful,” she scowled, “who did I piss on this time to be owed the pleasure?”

A knowing look passed between them before he spoke, “The Elder knows where you go when you disappear.”

Jackie said nothing and stared at her feet, the knots in her stomach twisting tighter.

Geers allowed the void of conversation stretch on before he added, “Maxson thought you weren’t coming back this time.”

And there is was, the painful reminder of her violation.

“Yeah, that was the plan...” She could feel his eyes on her, pitying her, questioning her.

“So why did you?” he dared to ask.

None of your goddamn business.

Jackie wanted to snap at him. Put him in his place and maintain the distance that was held within the chain of command, but she bit her tongue because it was rude and Geers was one of the few people she could still trust – her friend.

She twisted her hands together and mused her bottom lip. Should she tell him the truth? The truth would likely get him killed so Jackie decided on a half-truth. “There's been a recent development that requires my immediate attention back on the Prydwen.”  

Static hissed in coms while Geers watched her with a frown hovering upon his brow. “You told him about Maxson...didn’t you?” he pressed her with the demand and sharp angel of his eyes when she didn’t immediately respond. “Jackie-”

“Just take me back.” It wasn’t a request, she was done playing games. Every second she spent dicking around with Geers put Danse at risk, they needed to leave – now.  

Geers cursed under his breath and Jackie could hear the eyeroll as he turned back to jab at the instrumentation panel.

“Whiskey, golf, echo, seven, this is Lancer-Knight Geers en route to the Prywden.”

Static droned in her ears, her stomach lurching when he abruptly jerked the stick the get them in the air.

“Acknowledged, what’s your status Lancer?” the voice on the other end asked.

“I’ve got movement. Delta November inbound. Juliet Charlie,” Geers glanced over at her, looking more smug than ever, “secure. Give the order.”

More static and then finally air traffic control came back, “Roger that. You’ve been cleared for landing in bay two upon your arrival.

“Roger out.” Geers responded and flipped a switch, cutting out the static.

“What was that about?” Jackie wasn’t sure she liked what she just heard.

“You aren’t the only one with secrets.” There was that look again. Whatever Geers had been up to, he was damn proud of himself.

If Jackie didn’t know any better she would say this reeked of mutiny. “I don’t like this,” she frowned and shook her head.

“Too bad, sister. You gave up control when you climbed in my aircraft.” Geers pulled down his sunglass just enough to wink at her like some crazed junkie. “Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.”

God, she wanted to smack that stupid grin right off his face. Though, as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. All she could do was  close her eyes and hope that whatever half-baked plan Geers had cooked up didn’t get them all killed.

[wumpusandzandii]

Moral Authority: Chapter Two

Human!AU TMNT Storyline for Leo x Kim

Chapter Two

Early evening found the Hamato family comfortably scattered throughout the lair, the hour late enough to be past dojo hours and dinner, but still prior to any evening patrols. Many nights found them elsewhere, other locations, other obligations; but that night it was a house full. In a small nook he had created near his lab space, Donnie was comfortably settled with his head in Lily’s lap, her propped up on pillows and his long legs stretched up and resting against the wall as they both read books. Mikey had his headset on and was playing a videogame, laughing and talking from time to time, the one sided conversation holding little interest to anyone else in the space. Leo was off doing his pre-patrol meditations, as was his standard ritual. Raph was sat diagonally on one end of the sofa, one arm slung over the back of the couch with Stacey stretched out on the rest of the couch with her back against him comfortably. Smiling, she kissed the back of his hand as she looked at the scene in front of them.

On the floor, Splinter sat on one of his meditation pillows, stacking blocks with his granddaughter. He would stack blocks up slowly, encouraging her to help as she giggled, waiting for the right moment to crash the small tower over. He would gasp in overdramatic alarm, hand on his chest and she would erupt in belly laughter, face turning pink as she laughed. He couldn’t help the grin that followed, his crow’s feet stretching to his graying temples.

“Sera, what are you doing?” he asked as she watched him, still laughing. “You made it fall down, what are we supposed to do now?”

“Fix! Fix!” she proclaimed, picking up a block and putting it back atop another.

“Fix it, yes,” he answered, his smile never wavering as he resumed stacking the blocks. “Such a clever little girl, aren’t you?”

“It’s a normal milestone, dad,” Donnie said absentmindedly from the nook, not looking up from his novel as he spoke. Lily made a scoffing sound and swatted at his shoulder playfully, shaking her head as he turned his head up to look at her. “What?”

“She’s the most clever Hamato girl yet,” Splinter proclaimed, scooping her up above his head before she could crash their new tower. “No offense to your mother of course, but a grandfather can’t help but be partial.”

“None taken,” Stacey replied, giving the arm Raph had around her a squeeze, and feeling comforted by the squeeze he gave her in response. “I have a feeling she’s going to be a handful.”

“Ah, but who would we blame for that, hmmm?” Splinter asked rhetorically, lowering the one year old to nuzzle noses with her as she reached out and patted at his tied back hair.

“Raph,” came the chorus of answers around him, even as far away as the meditation area, followed by laughter.

Chuckling softly at Stacey’s wry comment about their daughter being a handful, Raphael could have easily replied with ‘like father like daughter’ or ‘it’s part of her wonderful charm’ but as usual he felt ganged up on. His soft smile quickly dropped and his brow knitted together with a snarl as he turned to glare at each of his visible brothers. “Hey! Ya ain’t meant to all agree!” he huffed, slumping back into his corner of the sofa only making both of his girls giggle at his pouting.

“Not that it’s a bad thing, of course,” Stacey then hummed after controlling her laughter, turning to place a hand on his broad chest and grace his cheek with a light kiss.

Upon hearing her father’s voice, Sera wiggled and clapped her tiny hands in his direction. Her smile only widening when his attitude faded away, his scarred lips turning into a wide grin when her eyes met his. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with takin’ after daddy now is there, princess?” Once released from her grandfathers hold, she was quickly and happily scooped up into Raph’s arms, her laughter infectious once she was being gently tickled. Blowing a raspberry against her soft belly, he had quickly grown used to his mess of dreadlocks being tugged on by her. His only worry was her getting tangled, but half the time she brought it on herself in a ploy to have more attention from him, not that he ever minded.

Now distracted from her reading, Lily closed her book and set it aside, sighing softly while watching the tender scene. Still lost in his book, Donnie continued his reading once the laughter had died down, only humming softly once he felt her fingers slowly brush through his mop of hair. She’d never thought about children, maybe once or twice before she started her courses in veterinary care, but work had taken the soul focus of her mind until recently. She’d never admit it but after Raph and Stacey brought their daughter home, those maternal thoughts had bubbled to the surface again. Science taught her that it was normal for her to feel this way, but that didn’t stop her from shunning her own mind. Maybe one day, but how many? Maybe one, or two?

“You alright there, Lu?” Donnie asked quietly, brushing a hand against her arm.

Her skin flushed almost as red as her hair, blinking herself out of her thoughts and down to the bright silvery eyes below her. “Oh! Yes! I’m okay, my apologies… my mind wandered from my book.” Smiling softly, she toyed with his hair, ignoring the raised brow she was getting for being so pink in the cheek.

“Sure?”

“Positive.”

Sitting up, careful not to catch his head on the low ceiling of the nook, Donatello shifted himself to look at her properly. “If you’re getting warm you can say…” he added a little awkwardly, reaching up to delicately touch her cheek.

“You know I would do, but I’m very much content. However, let me get you another coffee. I’d like a chai tea right about now.”

Albeit reluctantly, she slid past him after neatly closing his book and adding it to the pile they kept on a shelf, only to have him tail her like a lost lamb. “No, you made me one last time, it’s my turn,” he protested, taking one long stride to get past her with a slightly smug grin.

“But I thought I was your lab assistant, isn’t that my job, sir?” Dancing past him with a coy smile, she peered up at him from under her fringe and gracefully took his mug off of his desk before he even attempted to. Feeling the heat in his cheeks, his eyes watched hers as she shephered him to his desk, backing him up until he nearly tripped and fell into his chair. “It’s my pleasure to.” She was like a magical little pixie, always using her sweetness and smiles to get her way, but more often than not, he did so willingly. Bending at the hip, tucking a stray strand of her hair from her eyes, she softly kissed his nose before disappearing to the kitchen.

Watching her leave until she was out of view, Donnie let out a breathy sigh. Adjusting his glasses, he then ran a hand through his hair, realising the state she had left it in from playing with it. Clearing his throat, he swiveled around in his chair to properly face his desk and its many monitors. Nudging the mouse, a few activated from their screensavers, opening up to a page of many different camera feeds. Flicking through each section quickly, everything seemed normal. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing suspicious or curious. “Looks like patrol is going to be quiet tonight…” he muttered to himself, subconsciously adjusting his glasses again. He checked and double checked all the usual spots for activity before he was greeted by a hot mug of coffee being placed in front of him.

Humming gratefully, he leaned into the kiss being placed on his cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart.” Lifting the mug to his lips carefully, before he had chance to look up at Lily, his eyes caught something on one of the smaller screens. Squinting, he placed the mug down again, punching in a few keys to enlarge the camera feed to his main monitor.

“Something wrong?” Lily murmured close to his ear, gently squeezing his shoulders, not wanting to alert anyone if it wasn’t anything important.

“Possibly. Looks shady already…” he responded quietly, his eyes fixated and switching quickly between different camera angles and figures flashing up. “Maybe patrol will be a little exciting after all.”

Slowly rising from his meditations, rolling his body up in a smooth motion, Leo breathed deeply, trying to release the last tension out of his shoulders. It lingered, however, and his lips pressed in a line of disappointment. Meditation was something he had always had an aptitude for, and it ruffled his feathers that even something as simple as that was failing to bring him back to center. Stepping barefoot to the open doorway into the living space, he dropped a shoulder against the frame. The scene in front of him was bittersweet, causing lines in his forehead to match the grim line of his lips.

Leonardo couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t had purpose driving him. He had always wanted to perform well, finding satisfaction in being the model son, doing his best to give his brothers a worthy example to follow. In retrospect, that might’ve had better effect on Raph if he’d been the opposite, as he seemed forever determined to strike out separately from him. Not that it had served him poorly, he ruminated, looking at the small family he had made for himself. Raph didn’t need an example, he had just needed the space to be himself, find his own. Doubt etched deeply into the back of his mind, wondering if he had been wrong all those years, pushing him the way he had.

Mikey was playing videogames, talking to someone as he did so, quietly. Mikey talking quietly was only one of two things, conspiratorial or something he considered private; ‘his own’. Likely it had to do with the pink haired girl that had come round with him a few times in recent history. There hadn’t been any formal introductions yet, but something told him that was only a matter of time. He’d had girlfriends throughout high school, but nothing serious, more of moths to a flame. If he was being careful, it meant that he viewed this girl differently.

Splinter, his father, had such a look of pure joy on his face, one that erased the hard lines of pain from the years and replaced them with creases of joy. The introduction of his granddaughter had brought forth a side to him that was some bit different than they were used to. Once the small girl graced his arms with her presence, gone was the strict sensei they had grown up with, replaced with a man touched by years but a soul that was youthful once again. It was beautiful, honestly, but somehow just beyond his own grasp.

With a heavy sigh, he watched Lily exit the kitchen with two steaming mugs, moving in close to Donatello. From his station in front of the computer screens and the late hour of the day, he was certain his brother was scouting through camera feeds to determine if there was anything that deserved their attention directly that night, rather than simply running a standard patrol. He found himself hoping for that direction, feeling lost and needing that purpose. Smoothing his hands over his short ponytail, he unexpectedly found understanding in Raph, and his need for altercations that seemed to have tapered off to a significant degree. Had it been a lack of purpose all those years? Purpose that Leo had been given in spades, the dutiful son turned into leader?

Both Donnie and Lily stooped together at the same time, focusing on the same monitor that was blocked from view by their bodies. Seizing the opportunity to relieve himself of the grief of questioning his life choices, Leo walked over to the computer station, stepping wide to the opposite side of Donnie than Lily, so as not to startle them with his presence. Unlike his brothers, he tried remain aware of his ninja-silent movements, preferring not to unsettle the people they chose to bring into their lives.

“Something interesting come up on the feed?” he asked, attempting to view the same monitor without crowding space or seeming overbearing. He was well aware of the perception that he was overbearing, and honestly did his best to remain neutral while maintaining some kind of authority over the small group. It was a delicate balance and not for the faint of heart, as it was rarely appreciated.

“Mmm, down on the pier we’ve been keeping eyes on,” Donnie answered without looking up, hunching closer to the monitor before dedicating four monitors to the activity. One was live feed, the other four after some typing on his behalf, began rotating through short recorded clips. “The activity is all in the last 24 hours, but there’s been a significant increase in the last two hours. Cars, high end or desirable models go in, but none come out.”

“It is a pier warehouse,” Leo stated, well aware that Donatello was probably already working through the square footage of a space that size, and whether that many vehicles could fit inside. “Any chance we’ve just got a collector?”

“Down on the piers? Not a chance,” his brother scoffed, shaking his head. “The moisture off the water down there wreaks havoc on the car bodies, suspension and engines. No, they’d be using a far more advanced storage space for those cars to preserve them, keep them from oxidising. Besides, by the tally of vehicles, put up against their size specifications and the size of that small warehouse space-”

“We’ve got a chop shop?” Leo finished, the first real smile of the evening lifting one side of his mouth into a wry grin. Punching a fist into the palm of his other hand, he pivoted and started to jog off towards the gear room. “Everyone gear up! Looks like we need all hands on deck for tonight’s mission.”

Unlike in the past where the atmosphere would shift and pulse with energy, bodies springing to action as if they needed to be ready yesterday, no one really moved. Heads turned toward the sudden loud order over the silence, but not a whole lot of ‘gearing up’ happened. Raphael had barely registered anything had been said outside of the bubble he had with just him and his daughter. He still was happily captivated by her smile and laugh, now having her laid in his lap as he tickled her gently, repeating the same funny snarl that had her erupt with laughter every time.

It even took Donnie a moment to peel away from his desk, but that wasn’t unusual for him, especially with Lily so joined at the hip. Making his final checks, then double checking them, he managed to pull himself free of his desk chair and turned to find his own gear. Luckily, his ‘assistant’ had already handed him his digital armband, holding it in her own palms with a bright smile. Around her neck were his headphones with the extra cables he needed for the rest of his equipment. “If I wasn’t heading out I’d say keep them on…” he murmured, leaning in to softly catch her lips as she softly hummed, keeping still as he removed them carefully.

As much as she didn’t want to bring an end to the beautiful scene in front of her, Stacey sensed there was an urgency in Leonardo now, given how quickly and eagerly he was to gather himself together. “Raph… babe, come on,” she softly giggled, unable to keep her tone even with how Sera patted at her father’s cheeks.

“Yeah, I heard…” he replied, his eyes not leaving Sera’s while he continued to grin and make playful grizzly faces at her to which she tried to mimic. Moving in close, making her own disgruntled face at Sera which only made her laugh more, Stacey smoothly stole her from Raph’s lap.

“Come on, all hands on deck.”

Grumbling with a sincere scowl, he sat on the edge of his seat on the couch, running a hand through his dreadlocks to tame them back out of his face for a few seconds. “Ugh, really?”

“Yes. Really,” a voice from behind him clarified.

“Ain’t three enough?” he protested, sulking more like Mikey than his usual prickly self.

“Don’t worry, me and lil’ monster will be here waiting when you return.” Nuzzling against Sera as she gently bumped her head against her shoulder tiredly, Stacey smiled up at him with an expectant eyebrow lift that he could never refuse. It was the look he got before she put her foot down. The look when he knew he couldn’t get out of it and would only suffer more if he continued.

“Fine…” Heaving himself up, he ignored the low chuckle from his father as even Mikey was ready before him for once. Brushing past his wife, he muttered about being picked on as usual as he tamed his tendrils back loosely in a low tail, only getting a roll of her eyes and shake of her head in response. Tugging the straps of his arm guards tight, fastening the belts and buckle over his shoulders and waist, he cracked his neck before fixing his faded red bandana. Inhaling deep, he ran a finger along the wooden frame in the brick wall, hesitating before wielding his sai from their place. Spinning both around in each hand, he let out a satisfied growl before slotting them down into the belts on his waist. Switching to a different frame of mind, he then felt he wanted to go. He had something to protect after all.

Sauntering out to group with the others, he bumped a fist against Mikey’s without looking to greet his grin in return. “So, leader, lead the way,” he sneered, his lips twitching into a smirk as his eyes fell and caught Stacey’s, flashing her a wink while he squared his shoulders.

***

Parked not too far from the docks, along a road that linked the warehouses together in neat rows, Kimay’a sat silently in her car. Dropping her head back against the rest, she let out a slow and controlled sigh. She had been patrolling most of the night but had entirely forgotten why she had even offered. Maybe it was because a chest wrenching feeling had started to make her feel sick, feeling boxed in and crowded by the busy office of the station. It was nice to get out of there, as she rarely did, even if it was just driving in circles for a few hours. More often than not, she found herself with piles of paperwork, because she knew she was the only one in the office who didn’t grimace when faced with it. That and she didn’t cut corners to get it done.

Nothing had come in on the radio. Just mundane chatter, updates on other patrols or simple check-ins with her other officers. It was a quiet night. Even if there were shady after hours things going on, all she had to do was slowly drive by and they’d disperse into the night again. Taking a short break, she had pulled over to breathe for a moment. Others did so why couldn’t she? Tilting her head, the light of the docklands dancing across the calm waters catching her eye she watched it contently. It was soothing. Even if it was mildly distorted through the wire mesh fence, and shipment containers, but the small window was enough for now.

***

The four men moved silently through the harbor district, all joking, teasing and getting the messing around out of their systems on their way out, from the distanced safety of the rooftops. Well, Leo’s brothers had gotten it out of their systems on the way. He had silently tolerated it with only brief commands for silence and focus. Singularly minded, he was lost entirely in his own mind, thinking of the docks and the chop shop. There was no time or place for that nonsense, not on a mission. The irritation bound the muscles in his neck and shoulders, and he had tried to breathe evenly and relax them as the moved along. It piled on top of the irritation he had felt back at home, but he shoved those thoughts far away into the depths of his mind, he could deal with them later.

Right now was his time, he was in charge and they had a purpose. A purpose that was built on the foundation of excited uncertainty and almost ritualistic repetition. They had been on numerous missions over the years, and the adrenaline rush as they headed into one never waned. Even when they had a decent amount of information, there was always a decent amount of unknown. The basics were the same, get in quietly, take the criminals down as quickly and effortlessly as possible, restrain them and contact authorities.

That thought actually managed to derail his focus momentarily. Bright gold eyes behind the fringe of dark hair, pressed under a uniform hat. He gave his head an abrupt shake, glancing back at his brothers as if worried they could read his thoughts. No admission of guilt had escaped him after his last meeting with her, not even to his father. After granting her request of his name, he had a similar adrenaline rush as he felt at that moment, the rush of heading into the unknown. Even meditating on it, he couldn’t understand why he would be so reckless as to tell her, but at the same time, he didn’t regret it. Part of him hoped she would be on the responding team that night, just so he could see if he felt any guilt upon seeing her again or not. But if she was, it was likely at least one of his brothers would stick around until the police around, after a bust of that size, and if they found out… he’d never hear the end of it. His reputation and hold as leader would be put to mocking, even more than they already did.

Shaking it off, he redirected his focus on the mission with dedicated accuracy. He could not change what would be, only how he reacted to it. Above all else, he’d at least have the opportunity to unsheath his swords and release some of his pent up frustration. He would never admit it to Raph, but his brother was right. Sometimes you just needed to knock some skulls together.

Gesturing for them to slow a bit as they reached the shipping containers, he was content that he couldn’t hear the ringing of metal beneath any of their feet, not even the continually clumsy Michelangelo. He began to have a good feeling about the bust, like it was just what they all needed to set everything right and for it to feel normal again, the way it was. If he had taken the chance to reflect on that thought more deeply, he would likely have discovered that it was a projection of his own thoughts and feelings, but he allowed himself to simply be content with the thought as they moved in on the hangar.

Finding an obscured corner amongst the shipping containers once up close, they huddled around Donnie as he showed them a map of the area outside the building, anyone on the outside outlined in red. They must have grown into a sense of complacency, there only being one man watching the front door and two off the main hangar door, smoking with assault rifles strapped to their backs. There was a rear entrance, blocked off to traffic by containers, but absolutely not blocked off to ninjas. Coming up with a quick plan, he had Donnie go to the rear to deal with whatever lock was on it, sent Mikey and Raph to deal with the two by the hangar, and set off to take care of the one in front himself. He ignored the offended look from Raph when he instructed two of them to take care of two men. The look was interrupted as Mikey took off to get to them first, and Raph had to take off to catch up so as not to miss his chance. They’d meet Donnie around the back once it was cleared.

As he crept silently to the front corner of the building, he peered around it at the sole guard. Looking bored and put out, likely pulling the short straw to be there, he was swinging binoculars back and forth on their string. Stepping back into shadow, Leo picked up a stray bolt, tossing it at a nearby shipping container. It was an old trick, but it worked almost flawlessly. The guard walked slowly past the corner, cautiously stepping towards the containers, away from Leo. Once the moment presented itself, he moved up behind him without a whisper of sound except the small *shick* of his blades releasing. Bringing both the hilts down hard on the back of the guard’s head before he could even turn, he dropped unconscious to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Leo deftly moved him off where he couldn’t be seen, whispering, “Have a nice nap.”

At the back door, he arrived just after Mikey and Raph, the latter shoving at the former for some reason or another. Glaring at them, they both shrugged, unapologetic. Donnie was already inside, having propped the door open just enough for them to notice, and once they entered, they found him working on a control panel of sorts just away from the door. “It’s a basic system,” he whispered, looking back and forth from his holo to the panel. “I already have the security disabled, I’m ready when you guys are to shut down the lights.”

“Let’s do this,” Raph growled, the smile of anticipation lighting up his face just before the dim lighting shut off. There was shouting and hollering coming from the main hangar, and they fanned out, taking different positions as they made their way to the only door that could lead the criminals to their inevitable fate.

One man burst through the door with a flashlight, cursing and muttering about fuses and having to do things himself. There was a brief struggle of his flashlight shining rapidly around the back area before it went out and there was no more sound. After a few minutes and more yelling at the man to shit or get off the pot, two more men burst through the door, one with a flashlight, one with a rifle. Leo moved to grab the one with the flashlight, as he was closest, getting into a brief struggle, the large man fighting back before Leo kicked the back of his legs hard, causing the man to land on the back of his head with a sickening crack. As he popped back up, he winced as the other man got a short burst of bullets off towards the ceiling, the muzzle flash flickering light across Raph’s snarling face as he lurched forward to headbutt the man.

There was a small thump as the man hit the ground from the impact, but the damage was done. “Gigs up, dudes,” Mikey whispered, swinging down from a rafter to the door. “We go in swinging?”

“Move in fast, spread out away from the door where they won’t expect us,” Leo ordered in a harsh whisper.

“Thanks, Capn’ obvious,” Raph grunted, shouldering past him to quickly get through the door. Leo allowed himself an exaggerated eye roll into the dark before following his brothers into the room now filled with the clicks of guns being loaded and flashlights moving around. “Go in swinging,” he whispered, rolling off to the side past the door and becoming one with the shadows, as was their way.

[selenelavellan]

5, 7, 12, 16, and/or 22 for Dirthalene in the Companion Selene AU?

I think I managed to get them all in there in some form…

Companion Selene AU

Dirthamen is @feynites

Selenes legs are dangling off the edge of the railing as shestares down at the pair of men in the library.

The two are absorbed into some book about the dead; practices andrituals and various half-baked resurrection spells that make heruncomfortable to think about.

The one in the mask looks up at her suddenly, and she nearly fallsbackwards.

The red haired human at the desk behind her lets out a quietgiggle, and Selene turns to glare at her.

“Something on your mind, Spymaster?” she shoots.

“Only the way your face blooms like a rose when he looks atyou.”

“What? That’s-”

“It is good to see love blossoming, even in the darkness of ourcurrent predicament. The two of you keep finding each other it seems.It would make a lovely story; Varric barely has time to put down hispen these days because it is so romantic.”

“You’re mistaken,” Selene argues. “There’s no love there.It’s…” She makes a vague waving gesture with her hand “It’sbaggage. Remnants of something that happened that I can’t evenrecall, and that he seemed to be clinging to.”

“ ‘seemed to be’?”

“I’ve barely even seen him these last few weeks,” Selenemumbles. “He’s been spending all his time with that human,Dorian…look at them; he’s got his arm slung over the lordsshoulder! He could have had that arm removed back when-”

“Hang on; are you jealous?”

Selene scoffs.

Leliana waits, the missive she had been writing still in her hand.

“I do not get jealous. Especially when there is nothingto be jealous of,” Selene asserts.

There is another beat of silence, as she wavers. “There isno…no loss, nothing I could be missing if he simply stopped being apart of my life. Nothing would change,I’m not…we’re barely friends.”

“You share a bed, do you not?”

“That’s a matter ofconvenience.”

“And was it also conveniencethat saw you wearing one of his cloaks through the halls to sneakfood the other night?” Leliana teases.

Selenes shoulders go stiff andstraight. “That-It was cold, and my own was still wet from a wash!”

“That is not what my reportssay.”

“Then your reports are wrong.”

Leliana turns back to writing hermissive.

“It could be worse,” Shehums. “Dirthamen could actually take Dorian up on his offer. Thenyou wouldn’t have a cloak to borrow in the middle of the night.”

The staff in Selenes hand makes adistinct crack-ingnoise that echoes in the space of the building, the wood splinteringin her hand.

“Tell Deceit to stop stealingfrom Baron von Pluckys stash while you’re down there!” Lelianacalls to Selenes back as she races down the stairs. “We’re close tohaving an all out war for beads on the rooftops…”

–

It would be rude to snatch Lord Dirthamens arms, if they werestill in elvhenan. She could be punished, or exiled, or even killedjust for taking such an action.

But they are not in elvhenan, and Lord Dirthamen hasrepeatedly told her he does not mind her taking familiar actions withhim. She has to remind herself of this when she loops her handthrough his elbow and tears him out from where Dorian was leaningover his shoulder to read some piece of the book together.

She gives him a quiet, half-hearted apology as she pulls Dirthamenback through the shelves with her and into an empty aisle.

“I think we need to talk,” She breathes, heart beatingquickly, too quickly in her chest. Because she is alone with him, andhe is her superior, of course.

That is definitely the only reason.

Dirthamen inclines his head in a way that lets her know tocontinue talking and Selene begins speaking without filtering orthinking first.

A trait that has never lead her down particularly positive paths.

“It is none of my business who you choose to have sexualrelations with,” she says quickly “But I do not think Dorian is agood choice for you to make. He seems very nice and I know the two ofyou get along and have a lot in common and perhaps he is even able tomake himself seem like a tempting offer, but-but your health! Yes, heworks in necromancy, and does not always take care to wash after!Disease is rampant here, and I worry that if perhaps you were to be,er, intimate, it could lead to severe health problems for you,problems I am unfamiliar with and there are no spiritual healers herethat might be able to care for you if something were to happen-andtherefore you should not engage in sexual activities with him. Mylord.”

His two visible eyes blink behind his mask.

“I am not having sexual relations with Dorian Pavus,” heinforms her. “Nor was I planning to.”

“Oh,” Selene breathes, suddenly feeling very foolish. “Wellthat’s…I heard otherwise.”

“Even if I had been interested, he is sleeping with someone elsecurrently.”

Someone clears their throat loudly from a few aisles away.

“…though I am not supposed to know, or speak about that.”

“Also, Dorian Pavus takes better care of his hygiene than anyoneelse in this whole keep,” Comes the same voice who had clearedtheir throat. “If anything, he would be stepping far belowhis usual standards for a charming elf who won’t even take off hismask to eat. That was a waste of perfectly fine wine, you know!Imported and everything. Do you know how many favors I had to oweJosephine to get it smuggled in here?”

“You are getting off track,” Dirthamen chimes in.

“Right, yes,” Dorian continues, finally stepping into the endof their aisle. “Perhaps you have a reason that isn’t a false claimto poor hygiene that you wouldn’t want Dirthamen to sleep withsomeone as wonderfully charismatic as me?”

“I never said I didn’t want him to-”

“Oh pish,” Dorianinterrupts. “Just tell the poor man you’d like to get back to thedancing and the stories and the grossly intimate cuddling sessions sohe can start focusing on the important things again. Like magicaltheories that aren’ttangentially related to 'technically-partially dead’ partners andpotential magical fallouts of such things. Or how I’m so dreadfullyattractive that the partner who came back from the dead for him mightfind me a threat, andhow flattering that is.”

“Who died?”

“You did, of course.”

Selene blinks, and feels herstomach drop out from under her.

“I…what?”

“We are not actually sure thatyou died,” Dirthamen tries to assure her, taking a step closer “Ihave been attempting to decipher the precise details, so that I mightbetter know how to help you. Dorian has been assisting me in mysearch.”

“I died?” Selene repeatsagain, still trying to register the possibility.

“That is one possibility, yes,”Dirthamen answers slowly.

Selene nods numbly.

“Are there others? Otherpossibilities?”

“Yes. Though they are lesslikely. Dorian was not supposed to mention it. We have been tryingnot to shock you in anyway-”

Selene lets out a snort of alaugh.

“So instead I’ve been wanderingaround with possibly false memories, because no one wanted to tell meI might have died? Is that really better?”

“I do not know,” Dirthamenadmits. “But I have lost you before; over and over I have lost you.Any actions I could take to keep that from occurring again seemed tobe the best option.”

“Right,” Selene grits out.“Sure, of course it did. So all this time, I’ve been-you’vebeen-it’s not like some passing infatuation? You really….” Shelets out a sigh. “No more secrets. I don’t care how uncomfortableit makes people. If it’s about me, I have a right to know. If youreally…feel that wayabout me, you’ll tell me. Alright?”

“I…will attempt to keep tothat.”

Selene nods, arms crossingstubbornly over her chest as she looks at Dorian, standing awkwardlynear them still.

“I’m sorry I said you might not always wash. But I don’t care if it turns out Iam dead, I don’t wantyou doing any magical experiments on me.”

“Perish the thought,” Heassures her, hands raised placatingly.

Her nails tap against her armguards,as she contemplates her actions.

“Alright,” She finallydecides, arm looping through Dirthamens elbow once again. “We’regoing to our bedroom.”

“For what purpose?”

“I haven’t really planned thatfar ahead,” She admits as she pulls him along behind her. “But Iknow we need to get there before my nerve runs out and I start toworry you might kill me for touching you again.”

“That worry will passeventually. You often have that concern, and I have never harmed you for it.”

“Well, as reassuring as thatis…If I am going to kiss you, I am going to do it privately, and Iam going to need all the nerve I can muster.”

The sound of feathers rustlingblooms behind her, and Selene finds herself quickly lifted byDirthamens arms as he passes them through the nearest window andtowards their bedroom.

“We should go quickly, then.”

[aesirfalling]

Last Resort

Part 3 of 6 (Hope, Vague Hope/Light Rain ft. Weight of the World JP version) - Together We Brought the Moon Down

Character/Full ATB Skill Study of the Final Fantasy XIII Cast Set to Nier: Automata Music.

At last, the darkness folds back upon itself, erasing the ark and her heart seamlessly; the world dies down properly, and so do you. Alone in the chaos, surrounded by ink and soft, amorphous velvet, you try to breathe before realizing you don’t possess a pair of lungs anymore.

How much… do I have left?

After so long utterly despising and fighting chaos with every fiber of your being, this almost strangely… feels… like home.

(Is home a true emotion?)

Slowly, painstakingly, thoughts float back into focus; they are ideas without wings, soul fragments without a heart. But you remember. You still remember this part.

“My name is…”

“My name… is Hope.”

  It gets a little easier, after a while; more things come back to you. You are not going to question how – there’s a lingering suspicion somewhere in all of this that you wouldn’t want to recognize what you have become – but only opens your arms to embrace them, cradle them close to a sluggish consciousness that only wants to smile. There, the slow spill – the fireworks of Yusnaan, the clock tower of Luxerion… the long bridge spanning Poltae and the Temple of the Goddess, the solitary guardian that dies even as he is remade, the throne, the throne, the form of the rose enclosed in crystal –

The acute pain nearly knocks imaginary-wind out of the sails of your imaginary-heart, and you feel something wet and warm on your face even as your hands have gone up to cover it and you are so giddy with happiness that your entire body is trembling. And this –

I don’t have my own heart anymore, but if I get to keep this dream of it – this desperate longing, this indescribable pain – I’ll continue to be human, won’t I?

 The Ark is the clearest part of your memory; it’s where the construction of the imaginary-heart started, after all. Abandoned by the creator in the middle of a pristine world of white, you had approached everything with the wonder and bewilderment of the first human molded from Etro’s blood and left to wander the Earth.

Can I… see?

The shapes – the screens – had made sense once you touched them. You remembered their brethren, the screens of what your records declared to be 400 and 500 AF and not to say the screens of Bhunivelze after, in this very room, the last time it had been filled with people. You fell into one of those settlements – chairs? – and everything is so familiar, down to the near undiscernible crackling of the machinery and the algorithms of the processors. I’ve done this before. I know how to do all of this…

Fumbling with the circuits. Things going up in flames. You pursued on, entranced and eager to please.

I can see deserts, oceans, cities…

You had been so delighted to just be, you didn’t notice the gaping holes in every aspect of your existence until they had starved you of oxygen and left you screaming in your imaginary Ark dreams.

 “Welcome home, Light-san.”

She stared with an intensity that almost burned, scrutinized you as if you were wrong, and a cinder somewhere in your core burst into flames and died at the first eye contact, a considerably unacceptable touch of melodrama. You told her everything she needed to know, smiling easily as you recited lines and orders you didn’t remember ever learning.

You made a mental note to look for her in your memory archives.

 “Hope… does that mean you’ll be watching the rear? You’ll have my back?”

Her voice; it was just one touch forlorn, missing a breath of something you couldn’t quite place. You shifted your weight in your chair, ignoring the sudden spark of recognition that had occurred in the back of your mind, a particular phrase and a particular scene that had no business cropping up as often as it did through nearly four hundred years of memories. Orphan’s Cradle. Palumpolum. Academia. The Dead Dunes. The Temple of the Goddess –  

You were important to him.

You are important to me.

She and they had what you had long lost, a… human heart…

You could tell me you couldn’t hurt over Serah anymore, but that look in your eyes…

It… it made me feel small.

It made me realize that I can only start to imagine what I had…

Biting the last word between your lips. Trying to scratch yourself with bookshelf statues and doomsday clock hands to see if you could still bleed.

“Who am I? It’s a question I don’t have an answer to.”

Lost…

 You spent more time than you were proud of watching a boy with your hair and face cling onto a young woman’s baseless promise.

You spent even more time wondering whether or not that boy – that Fal’Cie-despising, self-sacrificing, and fiercely empathetic boy – would be ashamed of you for serving God.

 “Light, I don’t want to pry, but are you all right?”

“But, Light, try not to die, okay?”

“I suppose that’s just like you. But don’t let yourself get hurt, okay?”

She scoffed but appreciated. You grinned even with your brows furrowed.

Concerned assistant. Loyal partner. That was what you had always been.

(But was that what you had always been?)

 “So then Lightning, Hope’s with you now?”

“I’ve missed that kid. But he would’ve come to see me if he could’ve, I’m sure. I guess this means he can’t.”

“I don’t know the whole story, but something’s keeping him away.”

“He’d better come back to us someday, though. You tell him that for me.”

Snow… I…

Even if I’m not really the real Hope… I will…

Let me feel, you beg (whisper, scream, command), and the entire ark is silent.

 He (you) loved Nora and Bartholomew Estheim.

He (you) fought until your body nearly broke down to try to save the world.

He (you) would never forget the hope you gained from a hug, a promise, and a divinely tempered bond of trust.

He (you) would sooner die (or survive) than to cease to be human.

He (you) should never have been here.

He (you) loved a Lightning who would splinter herself into pieces to protect those she loved, even if he (you)

-        As God

Could never see her heart, the spark

of Lumina.

 The whole Hope Estheim was brave, pure and true. You were fragmented and afraid, tainted and possessed by God –

Do you not also possess his soul? Do you not possess his body, all the invisible wounds under his skin, a perfect imaginary imitation of his heart?

“Who are you?” You cried out, looking around wildly. You were alone. Lightning was down on the surface, locked in her battle against Ereshkigal. The only possible answer, even if it’d mean even the Ark was being invaded and the end was near... “The chaos?”

Do you love the world?

“Yes.”

Do you love her?

“Yes!”

Do you trust them?

Lightning had nearly finished dispatching Ereshkigal. She would return soon. You would have to – “… Always.”

Don’t forget, Hope Estheim, the chaos intoned, vast and passionate and terrible, no matter how much you’ve lost and what you have become, your Last Resort would always be with you.

 Last resort, you tell yourself in this endless abyss, cherishing the memory of Light reaching out for you in that enclosed space of the end even as you watch yourself slowly disintegrate, is to trust in those you love under the weight of death.

Because I’ve always trusted. Because that’s why I’ve managed to come so far, even if it will all end here. Because that’s what I want to take with me into this oblivion…

I feel… human.

I feel… loved.

Even if this soul of mine would disappear and that heart of mine would crumble under the weight of Light’s blade, if I had been true to myself, if I had trusted, I…

 -        A fading glimpse of love, full of hope and yearning.

Even now… I am not afraid…

 Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

 “– This is the last soul I will save!”

[rhiannon-a-christy]

If Tomorrow Never Comes ::: Part 1

 The world around Darcy was silent but for the chirping of birds and the distant roar of cars traveling down the old dirt road. There was a chill in the air that wasn’t just from the dense fog hanging heavy over the field. Darcy pulled her jacket tighter around herself, hoping that the old leather would somehow block out the cold and despair filling her up.

  Jane watched from the car, her back pressed against the rusted metal. She sighed as her friend trudged through the tall weeds in a pair of worn blue jeans.

   “You don’t have to do this, you know.” Jane had tried to talk the younger woman out of coming, but Darcy would hear nothing of it.

   “I have to see it… I… Jane you don’t understand, I just have to.” Darcy had spent weeks trying to explain this to her friend after she had returned, but how could Jane ever understand? She hadn’t been the one to go, she hadn’t been the one to lose her heart… and lose everything.

   Ignoring Jane, Darcy walked the last few yards. The toe of her boot tapped against the edge of a stone sticking up from out of the weeds. She swallowed down the lump forming in her throat and crouched down to run her fingers over the stone. It had once been swept clean, the weeds curling around it plucked away. But over a hundred years had whittled away at the rock, now she could barely make out the two names that had been roughly carved into it.

   Forcing away the tears she stood and walked around the house. The years had not been kind to it, the roof had fallen in long ago and the thick wood walls had pitted and splintered with age. What windows were still intact, were encrusted with a thick layer of grime. She desired nothing more than to step beyond the threshold and walk the steps of a life long ago, but she knew the floorboards would be just as rotted as the roof.

   Rounding the side of the house she came to a stop. The window, built a bit lower down than the others, led into the kitchen. It had been one of the busiest rooms in the house, always filled with the aroma of fresh baked pie and bread. He used to come in after a long day on the ranch, make teasing comments about the heat and the lack of a need for clothing, steal a biscuit and plop himself down at the table.

   Darcy pressed her hands into her eyes, willing the images to stop. Maybe Jane had been right, maybe this had been a bad idea. Instead of hightailing it back to the car as she should have, Darcy leaned into the wall and ran the sleeve over the window.

   Through the now dirt smeared glass she could make out several bundles of roses hanging from the ceiling. It had been a habit that had formed during the years. He would bring her flowers from the sparse garden and she would hang them in front of the window to dry. Her favorite blooms would be cut from the brittle stems and placed inside a crystal cut glass box he had brought back from a trip to Boston. She figured the box was probably still sitting on the vanity top in their room. It was where she had left it when… when…

   Darcy pushed away from the wall and rushed back to Jane. After rounding the house her foot caught on the marker stone and she went tumbling to the ground. She stayed in the dirt, her knees burning from the fall. But any pain it caused was nothing to the one she felt in her chest. She took in huge breaths, tears falling without her permission. For the world it had been over a hundred years, but for her it had only been three months.

   What had been the point of it all? Why had this happened to her, why when this was the outcome?

   Since she returned she had often wished that none of it had ever happened. Over and over she had tried to think on how she could have avoided it all. The pain, the heartache.

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

   It had all started when she had agreed to spend the holidays with Jane’s family. Of course, Jane hadn’t told her that meant staying in an almost two-hundred-year-old house in the middle of nowhere. The woman conveniently left out her uncle’s old family estate.

   Darcy had been left to her devices for much of the time, what with Jane trying to deal with all her cousins. To alleviate some of her boredom she had gone exploring. This was her first mistake. In the movies wasn’t it always the people that explored old houses on their own that disappeared?

   Her exploring brought her to the upper most room. It had been closed off, everything inside covered in dust and cobwebs. She had marveled at the pretty little trinkets laid out atop an old dresser. The place looked like it hadn’t been touched since the Victorian ages.

   She had run her fingers through the dust, taking time to pick up one item or another. Finally, she came to the closet. Slowly she opened the door, expecting to find old clothes. Instead there was only a lone bundle of dried roses. Behind the brittle flowers was another door. This one bolted shut. For a moment she felt like she had been transported inside one of her favorite books. There was the insane thought that if she stepped through that door she would find herself in Narnia.

   Laughing at the absurdity of it, she reached for the lock. The rusted metal broke apart and fell to the ground with a heavy thud. She had no idea what she expected on the other side, but she was disappointed when all it revealed was a dark, empty storage area.

   She took a step back, turned, and nearly fell on her ass when she noticed the room around her. Everything looked the same as before, only every speck of dust and grime was gone. The whole room looked fresh, as though it had just been cleaned. Impossible of course, or at least that was what Darcy kept saying to herself whenever a new thought rushed through her head.

   From downstairs she could hear laughter and the faint sound of a piano. She blinked. She had remembered an old piano stuffed in the corner of the drawing room, but Jane had said that it hadn’t worked in years. Actually, her uncle had gone off into a story about the damned thing. According to him the last time the piano had been played was back in 1885. It had been at the wedding of a family friend that the piano had been broken, or really shot. The groom had made some rather dangerous enemies, ones that didn’t care about hurting innocents as long as they got their man. Darcy remembered seeing the bullet holes, she had even made an inappropriate joke about holy music.

   The piano music grew louder as the door opened. Darcy blinked as Jane appeared… dressed in a rather frilly dress with her hair piled up in curls atop her head.

   “Oh Darcy, what are you doing hiding away up here? I know you dislike dances, but Papa went out of his way. The least you can do is show up for your own birthday party.” Jane stood in the doorway, gloved hands pressed against her hips.

   Darcy blinked again. Nothing about what just came out of Jane’s mouth made sense. Her father had died years ago, and Darcy’s birthday was months off.

   “And what are you wearing?” Jane looked Darcy up and down, her mouth thin. “You have got to stop stealing the farmhand’s clothes. People will talk. Come on, I’ll help you get ready.”

   Darcy remained silent as Jane dressed and groomed her. She was quiet as the other woman pulled her out of the room and down the stairs. She said nothing as Jane maneuvered her from room to room. But when she was finally pushed into a room filled with various dancing couples she found she could no longer hold her tongue.

  “What the fuck?!”

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

   Author’s Note: So, like I really needed to do this. I have so many work in progresses it isn’t funny. But I’ve had a been several weeks and I needed a western au. And so here it is, a different kind of western au. I also might be stuck on the whole Darcy gets transported back in time thing, so have one where she gets sent back to the old west.

   This will not be a long story, maybe three or four parts, and I’m thinking it will be Wintershock, mainly cause I just really want some Wintershock right now. Plus, Cowboy!Bucky! Come on!

   And the part at the beginning with the old house and roses is inspired by a story my grandfather told me. When he was younger, back during the Depression, his family lived with an aunt and uncle of his on their farm. It had been his favorite place, and his favorite aunt. Because of different things they were forced to move. Years later after he was married he returned to the old farm house and looked in the kitchen window. Hanging from the ceiling were two bunches of tea roses. Every year his aunt would gather a bunch of tea roses from the bushes outside the house and hang them in the kitchen and let them dry. They would stay there all year and she would replace them in the summer. The house was all worn down and falling apart as no one cared for it after his aunt and uncle died, but years later those roses still remained in the window. I admit, I cried when he told me the story. I still do.

 This is also inspired by the scary doors in the back of my closet that leads to a creepy dark storage area. Too bad all they actually lead to is lots of wolf spiders and not Cowboy Bucky.

 Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

[irlaimsaaralath]

#12 for one word prompts! :)

The prompt was “seasons.”  Thank you for prompting!

The spring equinox had only just passed, and the days had yet to lengthen into a balance of light and dark.  Nights bore a lingering chill, while the first hints of green were sprouting from the waking earth and unfurling from their winter hiding places.  Standing just outside the tent flap, Niyera hugged her cloak closer about her thin arms, and each breath curled tendrils of white along the edges of her hood before they disappeared into the air.  She desperately wanted the chill to be gone, and she longed to run barefoot through sun-warmed grass.  

A wedge of light fell across her back along with a push of heat, and her shadow stretched out before her, narrow and straight, as another larger rose to eclipse it.  “Come, asha'lan.  It is too chilly to linger outside,” the voice at her back said, and without glancing over her shoulder, she answered.  “Mamae, when will it be warm again?  I’m tired of being cooped up all day,” Niyera groused as she finally looked over her shoulder to her mother, who stood with a temperate smile on her lips.  “Soon enough, da'lin.  Don’t be so impatient.  Everything comes in its own time,” her mother replied as she held open the tent flap.  WIth a huff of discontent, the young girl ducked under her mother’s arm and disappeared inside.

Humid and hot, the setting of the sun had done nothing to lessen the intense heat of the day.  The bonfires that dotted the open field did nothing for it either, though she was out of reach of their flames.  Besides, she had kindled her own fire.  A fierce spark of jealousy and anger burned in her chest, and it was more than enough to paint a swath of red across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks.  Right down her neck the heavy flush went, disappearing beneath the neckline of her dark green linen blouse.  Not that anyone could see it in the darkness, as she was sitting a goodly distance away from the celebrations, slouched in the grass.  Staring at a pair of figures dancing around the nearest bonfire, she pinched off blade after blade of grass, twisting and grinding it between her fingers before throwing it to the ground.

So lost in her own dismal thoughts, she failed to see the figure skirting closer to her along the edge of the field.  “Why are you hiding out here?” her mother’s voice came through the darkness, and though surprised, Niyera didn’t stir outwardly.  She also didn’t speak, but instead ripped up a whole fistful of grass before tossing it down again.  The elder elf regarded her daughter with bright viridian eyes from beneath a shock of black hair and silently sat in the grass at her side.  Long moments passed, and the scent of broken green hung in the air.  Finally, the adolescent Niyera spoke, and when she did, her mother could hear the tremor of tears in her voice though she couldn’t see them.  “Why doesn’t he want to dance with me, Mamae?”  The woman tucked a silky lock of white hair behind her daughter’s ear as she spoke, “Because you do not flatter him as she does.  He doesn’t yet realize the value of a mate that will tell him what he needs to hear rather than what he wants to hear.”  The younger elf glanced at her mother, and the elder brushed her tears away with a thumb.  “Don’t waste your tears, da’lin.  You deserve better than a match made on such tenuous foundations.”

A hollow rustling sound filled her ears as the Keeper spoke, but the words were swept away with the leaves as the wind bustled by them.  “Are you listening, Niyera?” the elf’s stern voice snapped, dragging her from her reverie, and she turned her viridian eyes up to meet his.  “Yes, you’re telling me you’re not willing to do anything for her.  We haven’t exhausted all the options.  The shems might-,” and the Keeper’s raised hand silenced her protests.  Her jaw set as she ground her teeth together so hard that she heard them squeak.  “That is not the case at all.  You must trust me when I tell you that there is nothing more tha-,” and his voice drew off when she cut a vicious glare up at him before turning her back and retreating to her family’s tent.  Once inside, she went immediately to her mother’s cot and knelt down beside it.  Niyera took her mother’s hand in her own.  “Mamae,” she whispered, and when the elder turned her head, she smiled at her daughter.

The young woman pressed her cheek against the back of her mother’s hand and refused to look away from the other’s eyes as she spoke.  “The Keeper will not permit me to seek assistance elsewhere.  He insists that there is nothing else to be found,” she said, her voice strained and careful with a mixture of sadness and anger.  “If only I were older, if I were Keeper, I’d-,” and the touch of the elder’s fingers on her lips silenced her.  Her mother smiled, as she always did, and said, “Do not wish your life away, da’lin.  The years will come quickly enough and seem much too short when they’ve gone.”  The woman, whose black hair was streaked now with white, coughed harshly, wincing before she settled again.  “I am but a season, and like them, my time has come and passed.  It’s the way of Nature.”  Niyera closed her eyes when she kissed her mother’s knuckles and whispered, “Ar lath ma, Mamae.”

Standing atop Skyhold’s battlements, a fierce gust of wind raked across the mountains, stirring flakes of snow from their beds and tossing them into her hair and eyelashes.  The last light of day was dwindling among the peaks of the range, splintering into shades of gold, pink, and crimson before being swallowed up by the encroaching indigo of nightfall.  She sighed, her breath a fist of white on the air that died before it was fully formed.  Her nose and cheeks were red with the touch of the wind, and she huddled down into her cloak, wrapping her arms about herself from beneath.  Sometimes, she thought she heard her mother’s voice on the winds.  In spring, when the first subtle breezes stirred the scents of green and growing things, she heard her say, “Don’t be impatient.  All things in their own time.”  In the summer, when the wind was a blessing amid the stifling and sweltering heat, she heard, “Build on solid foundations.  Seek the spoils that are not easily won.”  In autumn, as the leaves spiraled from their moorings in the trees to tumble along the ground, she heard, “Savor life.  Do not wish yourself hurriedly through, but value all experiences for they are like seasons.  They come, they pass, and then they come again.  The same but different.  This is the nature of things.”

From behind, a strong and lithe pair of arms encircled her waist, blanketing heat against her back.  The scent of sandalwood and parchment came with the embrace, and Solas pressed a kiss into her hair before settling his chin on her shoulder.  “You should come in, vhenan.  It is far too cold for sunset watching this evening.”  His voice was warm against her ear, and it sent a tenuous shiver through her.  She smiled, resting her hands over his where they clasped on her hip.  “Soon, I promise.  Go on in.  I’ll be there presently.”  Her lover regarded her silently for a moment before he deposited another kiss on the crown of her head.  “As you like, ma lath,” was his response, and he disappeared back inside.  Solas often knew when not to press a matter, and thankfully, he judged this moment accurately.  Though, in a way, she was certain he’d have understood, but all the same, she didn’t want to have to explain that she couldn’t come inside because she was listening.  She didn’t want to seem mad.  She took in a deep breath of the frigid air and held it, savoring the sting of it in her lungs before she exhaled.  She closed her eyes, shutting out the gilding light of the fading day that cast golden shadows across the mountainside.  And, she listened.

She heard it before she felt it; a howl of wind coursed through the snowy peaks surrounding Skyhold.  The way it echoed back to itself sounded like a pack of wolves baying at the full moon.  It was haunting and beautiful and chilling.  When at last the gust reached her, she wasn’t prepared for it.  It rocked her back on her heels as she nearly lost her balance, but a hand on the stone railing steadied her.  She listened beyond the bluster of it in her ears, past the whistling, past the howl.  Beneath it all, she heard what she’d been waiting for; her mother’s voice rang in her mind as clearly as if she were standing at her side.  From beneath the lost years under which it had been buried, the memory surfaced.  In the winter, her mother used to tell her, “Don’t go running off into the drifts.  You never know how deep they might be.  Before you know it, you’ll be in over your head.”  Niyera, of course, always argued, but her mother persisted.  “The winter is devious, da’lin.  To look at, the snow is beauty and stillness, but once trapped, the ice lulls you and steals your will.  In its cold arms, you will think yourself falling into a peaceful sleep, though it will be death that claims you.  Beware, da’lin, of dangers that don pretty masks.”

At her back, a wedge of light fell across her, and she heard Solas’s voice.  “Vhenan?”  Opening her eyes, she tugged up the collar of her cloak and turned.  “Coming, ma lath,” was her answer.