#The way their cloak falls around them ah pretty <3

[sysig]

Blood sugar levels (Patreon)

[rcreveal]

Shipwrecked with no memory of who we were before Chapter 3

Summary: In this story, Aziraphale and Crowley have woken up on a tropical island with no memory of who they were before. In Chapter 1 they took the names Asclepius(Aziraphale) and Caduceus (Crowley) when they figured out that they had the ability to heal and Crowley could turn into a giant winged serpent. In Chapter 2 they start falling for each other, again, because romance without roadblocks is why I wrote this fic!

In Chapter 3 Asclepius and Caduceus wake up after their joint healing and find that a great deal has changed. More mystery while they are falling fast for each other. Chapter 3 does end with a NSFW non-explicit, very mature, spicy scene only in Ao3. It ends with a kiss here in Tumblr.

Sendarya's Discord Prompt a week 2024 challenge Prompts: 1) Eden 2)fanart (a beautiful, tender, non-explicit, start of a kiss between Aziraphale and Crowley and inspiration for their first kiss here) https://www.tumblr.com/selene-yoshi-chan/190056389466/cobragardens-selene-yoshi-chan-ineffable-mess?source=share

Work text:

Asclepius and Caduceus lay facing each other, foreheads nearly touching, hands clasped, eyes closed within a glow of almost preternatural health.  Their heads rest on something golden while little plants have grown all around them like a green carpet. Black lava beneath Caduceus peeks through the dense growth, creating the look of large black wings while white flowers trail away from Asclepius like bright feathers.    

Waking at almost the same time, Asclepius and Caduceus smile at each other. 

Asclepius tries to blink the glow from his vision, so relieved to see the golden-orange eyes flutter open, see the healthy color on Caduceus’ cheeks and the muscle filled out on his chest again, says, “You look so well! I feel so well.  Did our healing work all the way this time?” 

“Seems like it to me, for both of us,” Caduceus admires the extra flush in Asclepius’ cheeks that was missing before, then looks perplexed, “I smell sheep.  Do you smell sheep?”

“Sheep?” Asclepius replies, “Well, yes, now that you mention it.”

They sit up in the new greensward of tiny flowers and sweet-scented grass suddenly growing all around them, looking at what they were resting on. 

Caduceus points, “Where’d this sheepskin come from?  And what happened to the beach we lay down on?”  They are laying not on white sands but golden wool.

“My goodness! That’s a golden fleece!  Where did that come from?” Asclepius exclaims.

“‘S pretty soft, for gold,” Caduceus pats the fleece, “Aren’t golden fleece thingummies supposed to possess all kinds of health and vitality and share it with all those in the local place, kindof thing?” asks Caduceus speculatively. 

Asclepius replies, “Yes, all that and I’m quite certain we would have noticed if we had one before!” he looks down and around, while Caduceus looks up.

Wheeling flocks of birds, brightly colored and raucous are flying over a dense forest that wasn’t there before.  High, eroded, green cloaked cliffs with the occasional sparkling waterfall now rise out of the water far down the beach.  Dolphins play just off the reef.

“The island got taller,” remarks Caduceus dryly, looking further up what may be a dormant volcano, or, possibly not...dormant that is.

“Ah, and the wildlife got more…wild.” Asclepius states, standing now to look around.

Several turkey-sized gray birds waddle into the undergrowth, Caduceus points at them, "Those are extinct,” he states flatly.

Asclepius watches as the last dodo steps behind a fern, “Not those ones, apparently,” Caduceus huffs, “But yes, they were too delicious for their own good, as I recall.”

They continue to study their new surroundings, noticing the shelter and their supplies are still nearby, unchanged.

In a taking-stock sort of voice, Caduceus inquires, “O-kay… Asclepius, what were you thinking about for our healing, just now?  Just out of curiosity, you know?”

Asclepius looking up the mountain replies,  “I was trying to bring back our natural healthy state, make us strong enough to heal and weather any more storms that might be on the way in future.  What about you?”  Asclepius asks conversationally, as rainbows shimmer between the distant waterfalls.

Caduceus shrugs, “I mean, same as before, really.  I wanted to fight the wound that was hurting you, get rid of it completely.  Destroy that parasite thing on me.  It really hacks me off to see wonderful things maimed and destroyed… again!  Senseless and wasteful, that!  Like destroying a beautiful painting or killing off some incredible species!” his voice is winding up for a lengthy rant.

Asclepius smiles and blushes, “You think I’m wonderful?”

Caduceus stops mid-rant, then turns to Asclepius, and the tight-wound fighter energy, the glib replies, the veneer of confidence all melt away.  Vulnerable and open, Caduceus gently touches Asclepius’ hair, brushes his cheek, places his palm over Asclepius’ heart before stepping back, arms and hands loose at his sides.  A deep loneliness surfaces in Caduceus’ gaze, his shoulders rounding as he says, “Look at you, you’re gorgeous!” a catch in his voice like part of him doesn’t believe that Asclepius could possibly return his feelings.

Asclepius’ prim formality evaporates along with lingering echoes of harsh ‘standards’ of how one should comport oneself that were just protection from some deep-seated but now untethered fears of being judged and persecuted for acknowledging or expressing his feelings.  The constant self-scrutiny burns away like heavy fog as the doors of his heart burst open.  Then his brow furrows, Caduceus doesn’t know, doesn’t realize? Is gazing at him as though the only thing he expects is a blow to fall? 

“Oh! You glorious creature!  You take my breath away!” eyes sparkling with unshed tears, Asclepius shines as Caduceus’ face transforms in unexpected wonder.

Utterly defenseless to one another, they reach out at the same time, drifting forward, eyes closing, their lips meet, an almost chaste brush of lips.  ‘How soft, how incredibly soft ,’ Asclepius thinks, partaking of the gentlest of kisses. ‘ How warm, how welcoming, ’ Caduceus sighs. They share featherlight kisses over and over again.   Holding each other delicately, tenderly as unexpected tears pour out like gentle rain.   Having such deep wells of emotion open up without context disorients them.  They cling to one another as their only stable anchor in this ever changing landscape, somehow recognizing that this has been the case for most of their existence.  Kissing away each other’s loneliness as haunting wisps of half-remembered pain surface before melting away, they tremble and shake. Finally, they stand in each other’s arms, just resting against one another, feeling a security that wasn’t there before. 

Slowly becoming aware of the sea breeze, the sound of waves and the almost tangible growth of the island around them, Caduceus sighs into Asclepius' hair, “That felt like we’d been holding our feelings back for a long, long time.”

“Oh, yes, for ages and ages,” Asclepius replies, resting his head in the curve of Caduceus' shoulder,  hand on his own his chest, “I feel so much better now, but so…tender! And you, dear, dear Caduceus?” moving his palm over to Caduceus' chest.

“You have my happiness and my heart in your hands, Asclepius.  I love you,” Caduceus says simply as they stand together.

“I love you, too, Caduceus.” Asclepius says, looking into Caduceus’ eyes and then resting their foreheads together gently.

***

After awhile, Caduceus says reluctantly, “I would rather stay here holding you, but I think we should probably figure out if we’re still on the same island,”

 Asclepius smiles at him, indicates the island, “Indeed. Well, the mountain and those cliffs are in the same place as ours were, just significantly bigger .  Do you think we did this?”

Caduceus looks surprised. “Us? Did we grow the island and all these creatures?  That’s rather a leap from collapsing on each other with our healing attempts, don’t you think?”

Asclepius tilts his head, and asks candidly, “Did you keep your promise?”

Caduceus looks confused, “What? Me? Yeah!  I was only ‘moderately trying’ to heal us.  Everything just fizzed up and kept rolling out from my first try.” 

Asclepius looks thoughtful, “Mmm, yes.  I was only giving it a moderate effort.  I felt it rather run away from me like a horse with the bit between its teeth, so to speak.  This is awfully…exuberant.”

Caduceus suggests, “We could test that theory, you know.”

“The island building? How?” asks Asclepius, puzzled.

“We can both make light.  We could do that separately and then together.  See what the difference is,” suggests Caduceus and putting word to action says, “Let there be light!” producing the same friendly bright orb.

“Oh, I see!  And however much the light is increased when we do it together, that’s how much our working together boosts the uh, ‘power’ so to speak? Light please,” Asclepius produces his own little orb, “That felt the same as last night!”

“Right and now together!” Caduceus says, then hesitates before grabbing Asclepius’ hand again, looks up at the, ri-ight, that’s an active volcano, “Maybe we should try producing an amount of light that’s easy to figure out how much more power we make together,” Caduceus suggests.

“Oh, good idea…What’s the least amount of light it’s possible for us to measure, do you think?” Asclepius asks politely.

“One photon.  Like this,” Caduceus demonstrates.

“Wonderful! Here’s mine,” Asclepius makes his one photon light (human observers would not have detected anything).

Molten lava flow glows off the back of the island.  Caduceus says thoughtfully, “And I can make that little light, say, a kilometer off the island.  For a second?” and demonstrates this, too.

“Lovely! “ Asclepius gives Caduceus a mildly quizzical look, “We’re just being overly circumspect and making it easy on ourselves to measure, correct?  Only, I have this little niggle…”

“Ye-ah.  I see your point.  Better make it five kilometers,” Caduceus holds out his hand and grins at Asclepius, “Can’t be too cautious, right?”

***

“I like your hair like this,” remarks Asclepius, lightly, looking at the lightened red-orange highlights in Caduceus’ hair and beard.

“You say that because sitting on the golden fleece healed our sunburn immediately,”  Caduceus says dryly. 

“Mmm, yes, but at least we know,” replies Asclepius.

“Know what!? That even you won’t sunburn if you lay out on the golden fleece? Oh, and us making one photon each of light together made a flash like a fission reaction go off!!!”  Caduceus chokes a bit on his frayed calm..

“Know that we did restore the island and all these creatures when we worked together,” Asclepius explains patiently, leaning over and nudging Caduceus’ shoulder.

Caduceus grimaces, “Handy for getting out of a bind.  But, we need some serious practice if we don’t want to overshoot so much in future.”

Caduceus claps his hands against his thighs, standing up off the fleece, offers Asclepius a hand up, “Come on, let's check if we created any rampaging herds of swine or prehistoric beasts that will tread through our camp whilst we sleep.  Want to see if I can fly us both around the island?” 

Asclepius stands, as well, “Oh, can you!? I'd love to be able to fly.”  

Transforming into a winged serpent, Caduceus gently encircles Asclepius.  His great dark wings swirling the golden motes that still sparkle in the air, easily carry them both aloft.  “You’re light as a feather, Asclepius!” cries Caduceus as they rise above the treetops.

“This is marvelous!” Asclepius calls back over the wingbeats.  The great snake’s skin is warm in the sunlight, his scales smooth and polished like obsidian, red jasper, and amber. The strong coils adjust in their flight so Asclepius has no fear of falling. Together, they fly up the shoulders of the volcano, lush and verdant on their side over the lagoon, and rugged and austere with blown out pumice and smooth lava flows on the other side.  Bright lava is flowing into the sea, building the island even more while offshore steam rises from an underwater seamount. On the other end of the island, the high cliffs are from a dormant caldera with a broad breach in the rim in which a beautiful valley lies protected on three sides.  Streams sparkle within it.  Off shore on their side, the lagoon and surrounding reef is larger, brighter.  

“It looks like we made the island younger and more diverse!” calls Asclepius.  

Cadeus points his head at the protected valley, “That and the stronger reef would make weathering a big storm safer.  We’d be out of luck if the volcano exploded, but right now it just seems to be busy building more island.”

“Can you see any more islands or ships?” asks Asclepius.

But even from this height, as far as they can see, they are alone, no ships or islands on the horizon.  Nothing flies in the air but seabirds and land birds, and Caduceus, of course.

While scanning the seas, they see a new pod of dolphins enter the lagoon with several showing signs of injury.  “Those newcomers look hurt! Shall we see if we can help them out?” Asclepius points.  

“I’ll land on the little spit of sand on the reef there.  We can enter the water human shaped,” replies Caduceus heading over toward the dolphins.  He touches down and returns to human form.  It’s an odd but not unpleasant sensation, as Asclepius feels the embrace change from strong coils to strong arms. Turning, he kisses Caduceus’ snake tattoo, sending a shiver down Caduceus’ form and whispering, “You are remarkable,” before turning to the dolphins.  Some of the pod has been watching the strange arrival, and further developments.  From the little spit of sand on the reef, Asclepius and Caduceus dive in and swim over to the sea mammals who are supporting their most grievously injured member.  

“I say! Can we be of assistance? Caduceus and myself, Asclepius, have some healing skills,” calls Asclepius in fluent dolphin.

Caduceus in human mode treads water next to him as he feels the pod look them over with sonar.

“Humans don’t usually speak dolphin, but then, you aren’t humans exactly, are you?” a mature female calls back.  “ If you can help, we’d appreciate it.  Stanley* can’t go on much longer, even in this lagoon.”

Stanley is easy to identify, with his podmates helping him keep his blowhole above water and with an all too familiar wound in his side.

“We should just do this one together.  We already know how bloody difficult it’ll be, otherwise,” suggests Caduceus.  

“But just a teeny, tiny joint healing,” Asclepius warns. 

“ We can heal every sick or injured dolphin in your group.  We just need to all be touching at the time,” calls Caduceus.  The female leader and a grizzled old fellow, the least injured, ferry them over to Stanley when she offers, “We’ll keep you above water.  You probably can’t heal and try to swim at the same time."  

Grasping hands over the backs of their supporting dolphins, Ascelpius and Caduceus touch Stanley and through him, every dolphin in the pod.  All are weary or injured in some way, but Stanley is close to death.  

“ On the count of three.  One, two, three!” This time their healing seems to stay within the pod.

Several male dolphins excitedly caress the healed Stanley* all speaking so quickly that neither Asclepius nor Caduceus can understand them.

(*Of course “Stanley” is just a human version of his name, as Stanley’s name was a series of sounds that humans are incapable of making nor do we have any way of writing them down.  Stanley just thought “Stanley” sounded cool.)

 “ Our thanks, Healers,” says the female leader.

“You're ever so welcome!  We're just delighted to be able to help!” Asclepius replies.

Caduceus asks, “ How were you hurt?  Even humans generally revere your kind,” anger sparkling in his words.

“ We do not know.  We remember a terrible storm, then we found ourselves in calm seas.  We sought this refuge to heal our wounded.  What say you?” replies the female leader.

“ Same as you.  Storm, injury, memory gaps.  Stay as long as you like.  Seems like we’ve got plenty of fish to go around,” offers Caduceus.

Asclepius gushes, “ Oh please stay!  I didn’t know I could talk to you before today!” The female tenderly brushes her pectoral fin against Asclepius. “ We shall be friends, then. And friends don’t let friends bleed on the reef and attract sharks, so we’re taking you to shore.  So say I, Shayla*, leader of this pod.”

( *When told that her chosen human name evokes a warrior queen, Shayla replies, ‘ Of course ’)

Waving at the dolphins, they stand shoulder to shoulder, then their hands find one another and they look out at the lagoon, fingers entwined, gently twisting and touching. Smiling at each other again, they walk up the beach to their shelter.  Looking hopefully into the pot, Asclepius’ stomach growls.   But they ate everything last night.  

“Look!” Asclepius spies a new mango tree with ripe fruit and makes directly for it, hungry and thirsty from their busy morning.  Caduceus grabs a basin and a knife and follows after.  The tree is covered in luscious smelling fruits from hard green to softly blushing red over rich orange-yellows. 

Asclepius has already started picking ripe fruits and looks up happily when Caduceus offers the basin.  Filling it with mangos, they take it with them over to the stream to splash their faces and drink the cool, clear water.

Asclepius prepares a mango, cutting out the large oval seed and cross-hatching the remaining halves.  Folding the skin inside out pops chunks of mango into a sudden bouquet of edible bites. It looks like a magic trick.

“ Voilà ,” Asclepius hands a mango half over to Caduceus, who takes a bite of the exquisite fruit.  The rich scent and flavor burst in his mouth but the juices surprise him, spilling over his lips.  He finds himself slurping up the mango pieces off the skin, so as not to miss a drop, not quite realizing all the happy noises he’s making, so intent is he on getting every last piece.

“Aaaa, that was good! How was yours?”  Looking up, Caduceus sees Asclepius hasn’t started his mango, but sits staring at him a little flushed, even in the shade.

“Are you alright?  If you don’t want your mango, I’ll have yours. They’re delicious! Only the juice gets all over, ya know?” Caduceus is licking his fingers now.

Still gazing at Caduceus, Asclepius brings the mango to his mouth. His first bite closes his eyes ecstatically as the juices run into his beard. Slurping the next piece, and the next, he moans at the delightful flavors.  By the time Asclepius finishes his half of the mango, Caduceus has figured out what had been troubling his love before, because he thinks he has the same affliction.  Bodies, who knew?

Asclepius opens his eyes, flustered to see Caduceus staring back at him, “You were right, that was a really excellent mango!  Would you fancy another one?” he turns to select another mango as good as that first one, not quite sure what to do with his strange new feelings.

When Asclepius turns back, hands empty, Caduceus captures his face and kisses him fiercely.  Asclepius tastes like the exquisite mango with a wild undertone.

Asclepius wraps his arms around Caduceus’ back, slips his tongue past Caduceus��� lips eliciting a moan which tastes sweet in Asclepius' mouth, resonates in his chest and reverberates further down....

The rest of the chapter is too spicy for Tumblr, but can be found on Ao3

[rotworld]

3: Salamander

The apprentices of Magister Hezethril seem to be dying of horrific accidents with suspicious frequency.

->contains gore, murder, non-consensual touching, yandere, threats, and extreme power imbalance (basically teacher/student).

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There’s a commotion in the hallway. A crowd of apprentices, swarming together in a sea of black cloaks, have gathered in the open doorway of the alchemy laboratory. But there’s no excitement among them, no jovial anticipation. They’re whispering and weeping, clinging to one another anxiously. Your heart skips a beat. It can’t be. Not again. You push your way through the crowd, refusing to believe it until you see it with your own eyes, ignoring the voices all around you.

“...looks like Bianca…”

“...the third this week…”

“...couldn’t have done this to herself…”

“Excuse me,” you mutter, shouldering past a pair of gawking boys. You’re hardly a step into the room when the stench hits you, sharp and unnatural, rust and ozone. Something pale green and foul-smelling is spilled across the stone floor, dripping from an upended cauldron, but what’s worse is the blood. You can follow a trail of pain and slow suffering; a bloody handprint on the glass case in the back of the room. A smear across the table. A spattered drag across the floor, all the way to the lifeless body of an apprentice, her hands frozen in rigor mortis claws in front of her face. Her mouth is still open in a silent scream.

“What in the seven hells is going on in here?” 

The words crack like a whip through the tense air, cold and razor sharp. The crowd parts silently, allowing Magister Hezethril into the laboratory. You make way for him, scrambling out of his path. The Magister is imposing in his long red robes, towering above the apprentices and pushing them aside with webbed hands. His bronze skin turns ink black halfway down his extremities, his nails lacquered with gold. He sweeps forward wordlessly, tendrils of long black hair waving in his wake. His frightening eyes, spots of gold in black sclera, fall upon the dead apprentice. He scowls in distaste. “Who was in the room when this happened?” he asks.

A trembling apprentice steps forward, a young man with blood on his hands. “I was,” he says hoarsely. “I came in to use the lab. Bianca was already here, working on something. She dropped something into the cauldron, I didn’t see what. But all of the sudden, she was gasping and convulsing. She started,” he swallows hard, his hands trembling, “scratching. At her own throat. I tried to stop her, but she fought me. She just kept scratching. There was this awful, wet noise, and then she…” One of the other apprentices puts an arm around him as he begins to sob.

“I see,” Magister Hezethril says. He turns on his heel and walks away. “Clean this up,” he orders, leaving shaken apprentices in his wake. Some scatter, eager to be far away from the gruesome mess, but you stay with a handful of others. The young man who saw Bianca die sits, unresponsive, against the wall. He’s going to need all the help he can get. Several apprentices cover Bianca with a white sheet and take the body away. You and a few of your peers begin scrubbing blood from the floor. You wince at the fleshy chunks of tissue among the mess.

Luca finds something in the bottom of the cauldron that makes him wrinkle his nose. “She was poisoned,” he mutters. “This brew was extremely toxic. No one in their right mind would have brewed it, but there’s some kind of residue in the bottom. I think she was sabotaged.” He pinches a fine, ashy dust between his fingers. You can’t recognize it anymore, singed as it is, but you believe him. The smell in the room leaves a distinct burning sensation in your throat.

Beside you, Sheila squeaks, “Sabotage?” She’s had to leave the room twice to vomit, and she looks like she might need to again.

“It’s not unheard of,” Phoebe says, shrugging. She wipes Bianca’s bloodied handprints from the cabinets. “Lots of mage apprentices die under suspicious circumstances. It’s new apprentices, usually. Young, impulsive, trying to compete. They just want to get ahead.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Sheila insists. “What’s there to compete over, anyway? The Magister hates all of us.” 

That gets a bitter chuckle from everyone in the room. Working together, you get the laboratory cleaned up in no time, every trace of blood and poison mopped up and disposed of. It leaves an empty feeling within you. It feels like you do this more and more often lately, erasing all traces of your fellow apprentices. Memorial services, if there are any, happen in the distant hamlets and villages where the apprentices came from. Life in the Magister’s tower goes on uninterrupted and you’re expected to behave as though the sudden holes opened up at certain desks and in certain dormitories simply do not exist. 

The others are thinking about it now. You can feel that heaviness in the air even with the body gone and all traces of death washed away. Accidents happen anywhere you gather inexperienced mages, but not nearly this many, not so close together. There’s a field south of the tower full of fresh graves and wooden crosses. “Why isn’t the Magister doing anything?” Sheila whimpers. “Is this what he wants? Are we all supposed to kill each other until only one of us is left?”

“Of course not,” you insist. You give her the water pail you were going to use to rinse your hands, letting her take it first. She sniffles as she scrubs Bianca from beneath her nails. “The Magister must know something’s happening. Maybe he’s just being careful. He doesn’t want to say anything until he’s certain he knows who’s responsible.”

“Are you kidding? Magisters get off on things like this,” Phoebe says, rolling her eyes. “It’s a power trip for them. You saw how he looked at Bianca, right? Like she was an insect. He only cares about his favorites. Bet you get extra credit for offing somebody.” 

“That’s awful,” you tell her. 

She shrugs. “That’s life.” 

“I assume you’re done in here if you have time to gossip.” 

The Magister’s voice is like ice down your back. Sheila practically sprints from the room. Phoebe sheepishly greets him and keeps her head down as she leaves. Luca eyes the Magister suspiciously but passes without a word. “Magister,” you address him, bowing your head. He holds out his arm when you try to step past him. 

“Just a moment, apprentice,” he says. You’ve heard him speak to your peers, reducing them to tears with nothing but his hard gaze alone. But when he looks at you, his strange gaze softens with affection. He says “apprentice” as though it’s a term of endearment. You shift uneasily, peering into the hallway behind him in search of your friends, but they’re long gone. A sinking feeling overtakes you when he bumps the laboratory door with his elbow, shutting it behind him. “I won’t keep you long,” he assures you. “Solstice preparations will begin soon. Could I persuade you to assist me?”

Could I persuade you, he says. A phrase unheard of, coming from the mouth of an elder mage. They don’t ask favors. They don’t plead or beg. They give orders, and apprentices jump to follow them. Magister Hezethril is no different, but for you, he will dress up the truth in pretty language, will say it sweetly so it scares you less. But you know better. You hear the threat unspoken. His hand hooks beneath your chin, demanding eye contact. The webbing between his fingers is soft and damp, slick against your skin. “Yes, Magister,” you say quietly. “I would be happy to assist you.”

The Magister’s smiles are uncomfortable, too wide and hungry, too inhuman. “Excellent,” he says. “See to it that your schedule is open, I’ll need you the next few evenings for preliminary research.”

“Of course,” you say. “But, ah, I will need tomorrow evening to myself.”

“Oh?” the Magister says, sounding so unconcerned and casual that you almost slip up, forget who you’re talking to. “And why is that?” You try, subtly, to slip out of his grasp. A mistake, you realize too late, Magister Hezethril’s pupils narrow into slits and he corners you against the back cabinets, slamming his hand against the wooden panels beside your head. You hear the cabinet door splinter, feel it shaking and collapsing inward. You hold your breath. The Magister bends slightly from his great height, his gaze piercing and heated. “Where are you going, apprentice?” he hisses. “Why the rush? Are you hiding something from me?” 

“I’m not, I swear I’m not,” you insist, too weak and hesitant to convince him. You can never lie to him. He always drags the truth out, one way or another. “I just...I promised one of the others that I’d tutor them in incantation.”

The Magister makes a frightening, inhuman sound, somewhere between a hiss and a growl, flashing fangs and a black, forked tongue. “This again?” he mutters. “How many times must I tell you that you are above them? They do not deserve your attention. How could you possibly learn everything I have to teach you when you are too busy with these wastrels you call your peers?” He doesn’t give you time to answer, nor the space to breathe. His sharp nails trace your jaw, titling your face towards him when you try to turn away. He looms so close you can smell the fire in his lungs, magic that could reduce you to ash if he so desired. 

“It would be such a shame, wouldn’t it, if another apprentice were to die,” he murmurs, looming inches from you, his breath warming your lips. “Such a terrible waste. So many accidents these last few months. So many dead.” 

“Please,” you whisper, clutching his shoulders. His robes bunch up beneath your grip but it’s worthless. He’s so much older and stronger than you. “Please don’t hurt anyone else.” 

Magister Hezethril tilts his head, drinking in your fear and submission. He traces your lips with the sharp tip of one nail. “Are you available tomorrow, apprentice?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you say shakily. “Yes, I swear, I’m all yours.”

It’s just what he wants to hear. Smiling, he pulls you into his chest. Gently, he smooths down your hair where it ruffled against the cupboards, pushing the creases from your cloak. But he pauses as he does this, catching sight of the thick turtleneck fabric you’re wearing beneath. He toys with it, peeling it down to expose tender flesh. You shiver under the attention, the careful stroke of his fingers along your pulse. “You aren’t just yet,” he says. “But that’s alright. I can be very, very patient.”

You wince when he slices into you, just enough to break the skin. He rolls your turtleneck back up. The wound throbs hot underneath. “See you tomorrow, apprentice,” he purrs. You nod numbly. The laboratory opens and slams the shut, the sound echoing off the stone walls.

[angelanimedesaray]

hey i saw your requests are open and i have the BIGGEST dad levi brainrot rn, can i request Levi and Reader in a long term relationship, reader’s sibling has a newborn kid and reader takes care of the kid and Levi sees how motherly reader is being, how would he react? i’m curious about what you think!

AN:  Ohhhhhh I love some Dad!Levi, I’ve got at least two or three fic ideas with eventual Dad!Levi, so it’ll be good to dip my toe into the waters a little earlier than I otherwise would have :D  I had these two little short scenes almost immediately come to mind when I read this and while I was at work, and its the first thing I started to do when I got home :D  Thank you for the request--I don’t get many <3

Plus, I think everyone needs some happy fluff after the two story whammies I just delivered XD

Fanfic One-Shot Request is below the cut.

~*~Different Kinds of Gifts~*~

*Levi’s POV*

He was midway through his day, finished with his daily cleaning routine (besides his own room) and finished with helping with morning training.  He was giving himself a bit of a break, and by break, he meant he was going to spend a few hours in his office doing paperwork.

When he opened the door to his office, he was met with an unexpected sight.

It wasn’t the same office that he used to have--once the two of you had solidified your relationship as a serious one and started practically living with one another, Erwin had moved the two of you into a larger space that was more like a small apartment than a simple office and bedroom.  The main front room was still his office, but it doubled as a living room as well, with a couch, fireplace, bookshelves, and lounge chairs taking up a portion of the room off to the side, though Levi’s desk and workspace was still center, and a straight shot from the front door with nothing in the way.  Instead of one branched off room there were three--the bedroom, of course, off to the right, as well as a washroom and a small private kitchen whose doorways were along the left wall.

Practically the lap of luxury by Scout standards.

However, right now the little sanctuary you two shared was occupied by more than just you.

Levi paused just in front of the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob and the door hovering open just a crack as he processed the sight in front of him.

You were sitting on your usual spot on the couch, somewhere he actually knew to look for you whenever he needed to find you.  However, in your arms was a small, carefully wrapped bundle, tiny arms hanging free and moving involuntarily around in the air, coming to curious stops whenever they collided with your chest, neck, or chin, little fingers curling instinctively against the human being they found.  A small face of soft and not-yet defined features was peeking out from the bundle, the cloth wrapped around its head like a snugly fitting cloak, and its eyes were open, staring widely at your face as you peered down at the babe with a soft smile, a mouth that could probably be covered by the pad of his finger working as if it was trying to copy the sounds you were making as you spoke softly to the little one.

For a moment, Levi was just...confused.  What were you doing with a baby in his office?  Where had the baby even come from?  He was pretty sure that whole thing about storks coming to deliver swaddled babies to expecting parents was an out for parents who weren’t ready to have the babies talk.

He was pretty sure.  The sudden appearance of a baby in your arms made him doubt for a couple of moments.

With the initial surprise passing, Levi shut the door behind him much more quietly than he initially would have, though you had already looked up by now to see him entering the room, that soft smile still on your face.

“Hey--didn’t expect to see you for a couple more hours, at least,” you said, as if it wasn’t noteworthy that you had a baby in your arms.

“Paperwork--what’s with the...”

Levi was dismissive about why /he/ was here, considering he was much more interested in why the /baby/ was here.  You only chuckled at his confusion, though, one of your fingers brushing against the baby’s little cheek and making the baby try and look to see what touched them, eyes following the finger as it traced lazy circles in the air in front of the baby’s face.

“You know how my sister had her baby the other week?” you said pointedly, and the pieces clicked into his mind.  Ah, /that’s/ what was going on.  Babysitting.

“I thought their boy already had a reputation for his lungs,” Levi said wryly, moving over to his desk and taking off his jacket, draping it carefully over the back of the chair for the time being until he was ready to put it back on and get back to work /outside/ his office.

“Oh, believe me, he does--he came here screaming and crying and people kept checking in to see what the hell was going on,” you said with a chuckle.  “But we got pretty well acquainted.  He seems to like me, now.  Don’t tell my sister, though--she’ll want to know what my secret is.”

“What is your secret?  They were having a rough time getting him to quiet down,” Levi remarked as he took a seat, remembering the tired circles under your sisters eyes the last time he’d seen her and how she’d been running through an exhaustive list of what they’d already tried to calm their newborn son down.

You shrugged.  “There is none.  I guess I just have a gift for it,” you said with a twinkle in your eye, turning your attention back to the newborn as he seemed to be burying his face in your chest.  “Hey, that’s not going to give you any food, I’m not your Momma!  Where’s that bottle.”

“Hey, hands off, those are mine,” he grumbled at the baby as he pulled a stack of papers towards him.  You shot him a look which he returned with the ghost of a smile flickering across his face, a bit of amusement in his eyes as he kept track of your movement through the office and apartment as you sought out the bottle to feed him.

Levi’s attention turned back to the paperwork he was planning on doing once his curiosity had been satiated, a relative silence falling over the room.  For the most part.  There was the occasional noise from the baby that got to eagerly suck on the warm milk after you’d disappeared briefly into the kitchen to heat up the milk.  You walked in slow, directionless lines around the room, wandering around to keep the baby entertained and in motion while you fed him, and a few minutes afterwards when you burped him (Making sure there was no mess left behind, of course), and as you simply hummed or talked to him, finger brushing against his lips, or his ears, or his cheeks, just giving him little reassuring touches until one of his hands curled around your fingers.  The smile you had when that happened was heart-melting, even if you had prompted it by letting your finger brush against the baby’s tiny hand, and it might have been a reflex more than anything else.

It wasn’t long before the baby was sleeping, but instead of laying him down on, say, the bed in the bedroom, you simply brought out a crescent moon pillow from the stash in the bedroom your sister had apparently given you while you were babysitting, and sat on the couch.  There you cradled the baby closely to you, mostly laying him on the pillow so he was securely held to you and you wouldn’t have to keep a hold of him with your arms, though they rested around him along the rim of the pillow.  Once he was safe and secure, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes, letting out a soft sigh and slipping off into a light sleep, something Levi could tell by the sound of your breathing.

The entire time, his attention kept getting drawn off the paperwork in front of him, watching you out of the corner of his eyes so you wouldn’t catch him, gaze following you as you paced around the room, watching how you interacted with the baby that seemed so content in your arms.  Now that you were asleep, he gazed more openly, even putting the pen down for a few moments with his arms lying loosely in front of him on the table, a small smile curling across his lips as he watched you and the baby sleeping soundly, the peaceful silence in the room somehow warmer than the sun outside.

A few days later, and the sight of you with your sister’s baby still hadn’t left his mind.

Currently, the image was plaguing him as the two of you stole some time for yourselves, the door to the apartment/office locked, with you sitting properly on the couch and Levi stretched out along the couch, his head in your lap as you gently threaded your fingers through his hair in a relaxing, soothing manner, allowing him to relax and stew in his own thoughts as he gazed up at you.

He was thinking about that peaceful moment when he’d watched you after you’d fallen asleep with the baby situated securely within your arms on the pillow.  He thought about that warm smile and the bright look in your eyes, how quickly the baby had taken a liking to you, how you’d said you had a gift for it.  He was looking at you in the present, but his mind was projecting an image that had been slowly solidifying in his mind since that day, of what it would be like, what it would feel like.

“What if we had a baby?”

You blinked, thrown off by his sudden question as you looked down at him in your lap, your hand pausing halfway through his hair.  “What?”

His cheeks colored with a light blush as he realized he’d just blurted that out loud without any context or explanation, just dropped it on you without warning.  “Not right now, there’s too much risk, but...eventually.  What if we had a baby?  When this is over?”

Your eyes were wide with surprise, lips moving without words coming out as if you were seeking for the right thing to say.  Suddenly, he got worried he’d somehow said the wrong thing, that he’d simply assumed, that he’d let his little fantasies run away with him without stopping to see what you thought about it.

“Unless...you don’t want kids,” he said, quickly trying to retreat and take back his blurted out question, already mentally kicking himself for springing this on you.

“No, I...I think I do, some day, I just...wasn’t expecting to be talking about it right now.  Honestly, I thought I was going to be the one to bring it up, not you,” you said with a slight laugh, hand running much more tenderly and intentionally this time through his hair to soothe him and any worries your hesitation had caused him.  “I do.  I’d love to have a child with you one day, Levi,” you promised him quietly.

Levi took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes to conjure up that mental image of you holding a child you’d had with him, that same warm look in your eyes--no, warmer.  Sparkling.  Like they were right now as you promised to have a child with him.

“One day...” he agreed in a low murmur.

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea @hauntedhousecat @peaches-and-clouds

[sergeantsporks]

Hey could you do Hunter getting getting injuries treated at the owl house? Like some hurt/comfort. If you want to write a non compliant Hunter that’s be really cool but thanks so much! I just love your owl house fics 🦉🪶

<3 Thank you!

Hunter yawned, the tip of his staff dipping through the air. He pulled himself back up. Just a little further until Bonesborough, and then he could make a pit stop, take a little nap, or at least grab some coffee. He rubbed his eyes. Okay, so maybe he should stop taking quite so many missions. But since he’d returned with the titan’s blood, Belos had been so pleased, and he wanted to keep that going, and obviously there wasn’t anything huge he could do, but if he kept taking all of the little missions, that would probably keep him in a good spot, right?

Hunter shook himself as he started to drift off again. “Bad,” he scolded himself, “Stay awake.”

He heard the sound of wingbeats behind him, and he twisted back. A griffin. Great.

Hunter dove to avoid the bird, but it chased him, shrieking. Probably a new mother. Well, he didn’t intend on being baby food.

Hunter swooped and swerved to the side, just barely dodging a swipe of claws.

If he’d just been a little more alert and less sleepy, he probably would have been able to see and avoid the tailstrike.

As it was, the griffin’s tail caught him right in the chest, knocking him off of his staff.

Hunter screamed as he tumbled through the air, clawing for his staff. His palisman fluttered out of his pocket, grabbing the back of his tunic in its claws and frantically flapping its wings.

It didn’t help much.

He slammed into the top branch of a tree, all of the air leaving his lungs with a whoof as the tree branch cracked under the force of his fall. The world blacked out.

When Hunter came to, it was because everything hurt too much for him to stay out. He groaned. His head felt dizzy, light, and everything ached—but especially his left leg, which throbbed painfully.

Hunter managed to pry his eyes open to see the ground, still far below, his staff too far beyond his reach, and his palisman lying dazed a few branches below.

“Ah!”

Hunter twisted to look up, biting his lip as the movement made his whole body scream in protest. He was hanging upside-down, his left foot caught between two branches. Hunter’s stomach heaved. Feet were… not supposed to bend that way.

Hunter strained to pull himself up and grab the next branch, but the shift made a wave of pain sweep up from his broken foot, and his vision went spotty.

Hunter relaxed, breathing heavily. Okay. This was… this was fine. He could get out of this.

Somehow.

Xxx

“Going to the library for some books, bye, Eda!”

“Uh-huh, yeah, books, sure, say hi to bossy-boots for me.”

Luz raced out the door and down the path, humming to herself. She tripped over a stick, and stumbled forward a few steps, looking back.

Wait.

Luz scooped up the coven staff she’d tripped on, glancing around. “Where…”

A rustle in the trees made her look up to see a very familiar white cloak and golden mask in the trees. Hunter was stuck upside down, and she suppressed a snicker.

“Need some help up there?”

“No! Go away, I’m fine!”

Luz tucked the staff in her belt, climbing up the tree and sitting on a branch next to him, scooping up Lil Rascal on the way. The trail of broken branches above Hunter indicated a pretty long fall. “Uh-huh.” She tugged off his helmet. “Can you even see out of this thing?”

Hunter swiped at her, and then yelped. “Ow! Go away! I don’t need your help!”

Luz examined the branch his foot was caught in. Oh, ow, that looked painful. “Hang on, I got this.”

She slapped a little plant glyph on the tree, and it responded to her, forming a little shelf underneath Hunter. Luz snapped the branch his foot was caught in, and he fell with a little oof to the tree shelf she’d made. Luz climbed down below him, taping a fire glyph to the bottom of the shelf and breaking the shelf, hitting the fire glyph so that it slowly lowered him to the ground.

“I said I didn’t need your help!”

Luz swung down next to him. “You’re welcome.” She held out his staff. “Hey. I know you’re mister independent or whatever, but the Owl House is literally right down the road, and you’re never going to make it back to the keep on your own, so why don’t you just come home with me, and we’ll fix your foot?”

Hunter snatched the staff back, struggling up to his feet and leaning on the staff, keeping his wounded foot up. He looked awful—besides the obvious foot problem, the dark circles under his eyes were so dark they looked like bruises, and his knuckles were white on his staff. “I said I’m fine. I jussssst… need to get to… town.”

He managed to hobble a couple of steps before he fell again, yelping.

“Wow. That’s just sad.” Luz hauled him up, slinging one of his arms around her shoulders and turning around. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

“I doooooon’t… need…”

Hunter struggled weakly against her, but then gave up, going limp, his eyes sliding shut. Luz dragged him along. “Whoof—hey—wake up, you’re heavy!”

Lil Rascal cheeped in her pocket, flapping out and shifting into its staff form, hovering so that Luz could sit Hunter on top of it.

“Trrrrrraitorrrrr,” Hunter slurred, his eyes open just a crack.

Luz pushed him back towards the owl house, pushing open the door with her foot.

“HEY EDA!” she called, “CHANGE OF PLANS FOR TODAY!”

Xxx

Ow. Ow. Ow.

Why did everything have to hurt so much?!

Hunter opened his eyes, staring up at a ceiling.

Wait.

Where was he? He glanced down, the familiar weight of his armor gone. Replaced by a T-shirt that said ‘bad girl coven’ on it

“OOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooo, you’re awaaaaaake!”

Hunter yelped, punching the weird bird face. “Augh!”

The bird… worm… thing… drew back. “Ow! Geeeeeeze.”

Hunter sat up so fast he nearly blacked out again. His foot was stuck in a heavy cast, healing patches on it. “Where—oh, no-!” he swung his legs over the side of the couch. “I can’t—I can’t be here, I—”

Xxx

Luz came thumping down the stairs with more healing patches in time to see Hunter try to get up, and then immediately fall back with a groan.

“Ow—ow—ow—ow—”

Luz poked her head over the couch. “Hello!”

Hunter groaned. “Just kill me now.”

Eda stuck her head out of the kitchen, where she was cooking up more explosive potions. “Did I hear that we’re killing the nerd?”

“We’re not killing anyone.” Luz smacked a healing patch on Hunter’s forehead. “Pain patch!”

He tried to get up again, then hissed, sinking back. “I—ow—I can’t—”

“Your foot is broken, Hunter, you can’t go anywhere.” Luz put another patch on his face. “There. That should make it stop hurting.”

Eda snorted. “You know too many of those have a sedative effect, right? They use sleeping nettles to make them.”

Luz twisted back to look at her. “Whoa, really?”

Eda nodded. “See for yourself.”

Luz looked back down at Hunter, whose eyes were already drifting shut. He yawned, glaring at her. “What did… you…”

“Heh. Whoops. Sorry.” Luz squinted at him. “When was the last time you slept, anyway?”

“I don’t—couple of days, I don’t know.”

Luz slapped another pain patch on him. “I take my apology back, GO TO SLEEP!”

Xxx

“Aw, look at him.” Eda poked a sleeping Hunter in the face. “Y’know, he’s actually kind of adorable when he’s not trying to kill us.”

Luz peeled off one of the old healing patches that had lost its magic, applying a new one. “He can be nice. He needs a friend.”

Eda snorted. “Luz, he’s a coven member. I’m sure he has plenty of friends back with all the other Belos-ites.”

“I don’t think he does.” Luz sat on the arm of the couch. “He seemed kind of lonely, like he has no one to talk to. I mean, he’s the head of the coven—who’s he going to talk to that isn’t treating him like their boss?”

“Whoa, hey, there, Luz. He’s fun right now, when he can’t move, but don’t forget that he’s dangerous—he beat the two of us pretty handily, held his own against Kikimora, and Amity just barely got out of her fight with him, and that was when he was stressed out of his mind. I’m not saying he can’t be nice, or that he isn’t lonely, but just… watch your step, okay?”

Luz nodded. “I’ll be careful, Eda, I promise.”

Her mentor gave her a thumbs-up and ran back to the kitchen as smoke billowed from the door. Luz spun Hunter’s helmet in her hands, slipping it on. “Ugh. How does he wear this thing all of the time?” She tugged it back off, setting it down.

“Dooooon’t touch that.”

Luz jumped. Hunter was watching her through bleary, half-closed eyes. “Oh, hey.”

“Hey yourself,” he mumbled crossly, “Why can’t I move?”

Luz winced. “I miiiiiiiight have put a few too many pain patches on you. But you were really hurting!” She poked his shoulder. “Can you feel that?”

“Quit that!”

Luz stuck her tongue out at him. “Eh. Hey, did you know that half of your ribs are broken?” I think your armor probably protected you a little bit, but how high did you fall from?”

He blinked sluggishly. “I don’t know—high.”

“Man.” Luz fidgeted. “Hey, uh, Hunter? Where’d all of those scars come from?”

Hunter closed his eyes again.

“Hey! I know you’re not asleep, Hunter!”

He opened his eyes just a little bit. “They were accidents,” he grumbled, “Satisfied?”

“Accidents?”

“Yeah. Accidents.”

“Even the claw one? What was that an accident of, accidentally antagonizing a bear?”

He closed his eyes again. “Something like that.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them, and Luz sighed. “Okay. Hey. I’m sorry. I won’t poke into your personal life anymore.”

He opened one eye. “Really?”

“No,” Luz admitted, “I’m totally going to keep poking into your personal life. But… you don’t have to answer. If you really don’t want to. Oh, hey, you thought the glyph combos were cool, wanna see my new one? Of course you do.”

Luz scribbled down a plant and fire glyph in a circle combo and squeezed it in her hand. A whip made out of fire stretched out, and she cracked it. “Neat, huh!”

“You just lit the floor on fire.”

Luz yelped, stomping on the fire. “Go out, go out, go out!”

Xxx

Hunter snorted, watching Luz struggle to put the fire out, then winced as the snort made his ribs ache. The pain patches must be wearing off.

Luz put out the fire and started chattering about how the glyph combos worked, and how folding origami could make the coolest things.

Hunter drifted off again, still groggy from the patches (and yes, okay, fine, from the all-nighters, too). When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. One single ball of light floated in the middle of the room, sending off a dim nightlight.

Night?!

Oh—he was so late—he would be in so much trouble—maybe he could pretend he was still out doing missions?

Hunter started to sit up, then fell back with a groan. Ow, his ribs.

His palisman chirped sleepily, untucking its head from its wing to blink at him. Someone—probably Luz—had propped his broken foot up with pillows and given him a blanket.

I need… to go back…

But it was warm and comfortable here, and he couldn’t move anyway, and his foot wasn't going to be better for a while, and his eyes were already drifting shut.

But maybe… maybe I can stay a little longer.

[chao-writes-stuff]

DELTARUNE SPOILERS

Heyyy! I wrote a thing involving Jevil and the Chapter 2 Superboss! I'm going to put it under the cut, but at the end, there will also be an Ao3 link if you wanna support me there!

Thank you! Remember to Reblog if you wanna

The Lightner Trio walked down the stairs in the Queen's massive manor, their hurried footsteps echoing like a rough pitter-patter in the technological nightmare. The massive lair confused and bamboozled them, but they definitely wanted to figure out the mystery behind what the Fountains were about, what Queen's true intentions were… and what was in the basement?

"Uhh… Kris?" Ralsei asked, his soft voice echoing out. "Why are we even here? Aren't Queen, Noelle, and Berdly upstairs? And not here…?"

Susie quickly interrupted him, punching his arm lightly to get his attention. "Of COURSE they aren't here. But whatever is here is probably important. Right, Kris?"

"I guess!" The currently blue human replied. "I've been asked by some… guy, about doing these weird favors for him. He really wants me to be alone."

"We sure he ain't a p-" Before Susie could finish her thought, Ralsei muffled her mouth with his scarf. "Who is he? And why does he want you to be alone?"

"His name is Spamton, I think. I don't know much about him, but he gave me this Loaded Disk earlier, and--"

Suddenly, a strange, chaotic voice rang out. Everyone recognized it. The tail attached to Ralsei's cloak popped off, diamonds and hearts flying out with it. The tail spun and took form, and the chaotic Jester they quite literally put to rest yesterday was reawakened.

"Spamton? SPAMTON? The same Spamton who wished for me to go, to go, and be free, free?" Jevil laughed chaotically, with Ralsei caught quite off guard. "You know him?"

"That dorito chip was part of the reason why I was set free, he was! He used to rule this world, before the Queen I've been hearing oh so much about took over. Oh, I MUST know more of how you met that ridiculous lunatic! And that's coming from ME, ME! Spamton, oh Spamton, I'd like to have a word with him~!" Jevil looked quite pissed off, his normally jovial expression looking slightly stern.

"I didn't wanna go down there anyway. Just come back, okay? You're kind of carrying us with your defense boost." Kris, with a neutral expression, gave the clown the disk they were gifted by the malignant salesman, and watched as Jevil immediately sprinted off into the basement. They could hear an echoed "Buh bye~! I'll be back in a few hundred words!" As the jester descended into the decrepit basement below...

Jevil entered the musty, rotting cellar. Despite him rarely stepping on the ground, each step he did take left a haunting impact on his feet. It was silent, save for the occasional rustling of his clothes. He didn't have long to do this. His physical form only had a few hours to be out and about before he solidified, just like the young boy and the puzzle freak. Thankfully, that's all he needed. He was getting excited, almost giddy, to interact once more with his old acquaintance. Oh, what a wonderful conversation they'd have!

He didn't walk for too much longer before he found the train station that was buried deep below. Or was it a roller coaster? Whoever had this built clearly had some elaborate roundabout in mind… too bad they were still imprisoned, haha! Jevil walked and floated across the tracks, reaching a room with a decaying robot inside.

He knew this was a bad idea. But when did he ever have good ideas?

Without hesitating, the joker put the disk into the robot. At first, nothing happened, and he was getting impatient VERY quick. He gave the robot a swift kick in the lower area, before stepping back out of the room.

Step…

Step…

SLAM! The clown was admittedly caught off guard with how fast the silhouette from above came and pushed him onto his knees. With a small gasp for air, Jevil looked up slowly at the encroaching menace. The jagged movements, the glitchy, unsolidified form… this was him alright.

"KRIS… MY LOYAL [Sponge!] THANK… YOU. THE [Clown Around Town!] I REMEMBER YOUR [Disgusting] FACE. EVERYONE WAS SO [Thrilled] TO SEE YOUR [Calcified] FACE." The massive robotic behemoth loomed over Jevil, rage in his glasses. Spamton NEO.

The clown got up, a smug, shitfaced expression on his mug. He knew damn well that the dorito in front of him was pissed off, so he leaned back in the air to retort. "At least I drink plenty of milk, uee hee hee! As for you, you haven't changed one bit since we last spoke~! Or would it be a byte, a byte? Regardless, I do hope you've given up on the illusion of freedom, freedom~! The only one who can be free is MEEE!"

The robotic menace swung around to the other side of Jevil, making it very clear who was in charge of the conversation. A small concentrated blast of Pipis was fired at the jester, pushing him back with a surprising amount of force. "YOU ACT SMUG, BUT YOU [Crashed our stocks!] AND THEN YOU [Spoiled relations with our Esteemed Partners!] I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU… GOT IN HERE, YOU… [Tuna Fish,] BUT I'M NOT FALLING FOR YOUR [Roundabout!] AGAIN!"

Jevil laughed maniacally at this thought. This guy was mad! Over something that happened how long ago? Why even bother holding a grudge still? Petty, petty! He knew why, and it's why he came back too. "You influenced him. That pretty little kitty. You gave him enough funds to release me into that carousel of bliss and innocence! But I wasn't done, not one bit! And all those years, spent being free… they made me realize something, my dearest Spamton."

The oddly calm tone coming from the jester put Spamton NEO at an incredible amount of unease. "WHAT? WHAT COULD YOUR [Calcified Lump] THINK OF THAT WOULD MEAN ANY GODDAMN THING TO ME?"

"I CAN DO ANYTHING!"

The joker used his latent power to pelt the giant mecha with small white hearts. Spamton was caught off-guard, stumbling back a fair amount. Of course, you have to fight fire with fire, so the robot used his abilities to send out a Big Shot of blue Spamton Head Pipis.

"YOU [Saturated Marketshare!] YOU CAN'T SIMPLY ATTACK ME AND EXPECT IT TO WORK [As seen on TV!] I'M A [BIG SHOT!] [BIG SHOT!!!]"

Jevil hopped up onto the ceiling, clearing the first few Pipis on the lower row heading his way. Unfortunately, the higher row caught him clean in the face as he bounced between the two, making a small Jack-in-the-box melody as he pinged around.

"SPAMTON, MY BELOATHED! I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND, UNDERSTAND, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE TRAPPED IN A CAGE WITH A SHARK, A SHARK! YOU GET BITTEN AND CHEWED UP!"

The fool retaliated by running circles around Spamton, turning into a carousel of horse bullets! The robot, in a surprising feat of puppeteering, dodged the attack almost perfectly… until a stray horsie cut a string, sending the mech's right arm into the horse race. One thing about arms with cannons on them? They fire.

As soon as it happened, Jevil was face to face with a swarm of Pipis all around him. He was stuck. All of them exploded brilliantly, sending the clown flying clean across the rotting tracks and into the wall. Tauntingly, mockingly even, Spamton NEO retorted.

"I'M THE SHARK NOW, JEVIL! I'VE CHEWED UP SO MANY [Failed Buisness Partners] THAT I COULD MAKE A WHOLE [Presentation] OUT OF THEM! STAY OUT OF MY GODDAMN WAY, OR [Sparkle like new!] YOU BRAT."

The buisnessman charged at Jevil, his hands becoming phones. "IT'S FOR YOU." Suddenly, before either of them could react, loud blasts of garbage noise manifest expelled from the phones, attacking the court jester with white blasts of energy. There was nothing he could do to stop this robot's onslaught, it looked like.

"OH SPAMTON, IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK? THAT YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S SO POWERFUL RIGHT NOW, NOW? I'D SUGGEST YOU LOOK UP, UP! YOU'RE NOTHING WITHOUT THOSE STRINGS IMPRISONING YOU, UEE HEE HEE! YOU'RE NOT A BIG SHOT, YOU'RE JUST A LAZY FRAUD WHO CAN'T STOP HANGING ON TO HIM! I GUESS SLEEPING FOR 100 YEARS DOESN'T MAKE LITTLE OLD ME MISS MUCH, RIGHT?"

Without warning, Jevil was myseriously gone from his corner. The spamware looked frantically for his target, before being struck in the arm, the leg, and the chest by scythes. Devilsknives. The last knive cut a few strings clean off the puppet, who briefly hit the ground before rising back up.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! [Hyperlink Blocked.] I'M STILL HIS LOYAL ASSOCIATE! HE MAY NOT HAVE TALKED TO ME IN [Employee of The Month for 144 months!] BUT HE'S STILL THERE…"

Jevil interrupted him cleanly and concisely. "FACE IT. YOU'RE NO BIG SHOT ANYMORE, SPAMTON G. SPAMTON. ALL YOU ARE IS A FAILED INVESTMENT, UEE HEE HEE!"

With those words, a purple blast came from behind the clown, striking the robot right in the noggin. He flew back a bit, giving the joker enough time to turn around to meet his esteemed guests.

"Ah, my imprisoners~! Didn't you guys have a Queen to rock-em sock-em?"

Susie immediately cut him off, as she punched him in the arm (causing his head to spring up, naturally.) "Well, Kris over here couldn't shake the feeling things were off. So they forced us down here, and now they're right. Somehow?"

"I know I'm right.. Jevil, who the hell is Spamton?" Kris replied, their worry about the situation starting to rise.

"It's of no concern to you~! His screws were almost as loose as mine, and I don't think it's my job to tighten them~! Uee hee hee! Thank you for the help, but I can do anything~! Even tell you guys that 3 coasters are about to come down and force you guys along for the ride~!"

Ralsei immediately stuttered something out. "Three… what?"

And just like that, with a loud rumbling, the heroes were swept up into 3 old, rusty carts, barrelling down the track. Jevil laughed to himself, proud of what he got to do. "Ah well, it's a shame I can't finish him personally…"

"But oh well! Are you proud, proud? They took care of him…"

"Doctor."

Ao3 Link!

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 3

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed​

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn's attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain's father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Four: Playing House

“Who could be calling this time of night?” Vassa rose from her chair, her skirts flowing to the floor.

“Trouble?” Lucien shrugged.

“We can only hope,” Jurian grinned, leaping to his feet with newfound excitement.

“I sent the maids to bed,” Vassa moved to peer out a window where she should’ve had a clear view of the porch, but nothing could be seen through the black rain, “Should I wake the house for guests?”

“We don’t know if it’s a guest, might be something more fun,” Jurian was still grinning wolfishly, now bouncing from one foot to the other, “So…who’s going to open the door?” Both man and male turned to look at Vassa who only scoffed in response.

“Ugh - why me?”

“You’re the queen, princess.”

“How are you going to call me queen and princess in the same sentence?”

“It’s an oxymoron.”

“Oxymoronic more like.”

“Oh Mother, I’m surrounded by children,” Lucien groaned, running his hands over his face.

“The only children in this room are you two. Afraid of answering a door for Cauldrons-sake,” she huffed as she waltzed into the foyer, embellished with russet wood and crimson carpets, Lucien and Jurian on her tail like puppies.

She’d just reached the towering oak doors when something whipped her around, pulling her by her outstretched hand. Turning, Vassa came face to face with Lucien whose eyes were stony with determination.

“I think not,” was all he said, his other hand resting on his belt where his silver sword of Autumn was permanently strapped.

“Why?” Vassa huffed, feeling her heartbeat quicken in response to the intensity of Lucien’s gaze.

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to let a queen open the door to an unexpected guest in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm, whilst unarmed and being tracked by a Death God.”

Vassa’s wide eyes just drank him in, before looking down at where his hand was wrapped around her wrist. He dropped it instantaneously, as though she had burned him.

“So he does have balls,” Jurian cooed from behind them, but to Vassa, he was long forgotten.

“Fine,” Vassa took a step towards the Fae Lord, allowing her voice to drop a few octaves as she refused to break eye contact, “Go ahead.” She just about purred before turning and walking back to wait at the base of the stairs, missing the confused look on Lucien’s face as he turned to the door.

He should’ve been able to smell whoever was on the otherwise of the door, as well as the Belladonna’s which sat in clay pots on either side of the entrance. But all Lucien was getting, was the smothering dew of the rain, wet overturned earth and the neither-here-nor-there scent of furious winds. He could however hear a soft murmur of voices, from the pitch, female, before a second, shy knock beat on the wooden door. Two heartbeats, and that was it, all the information he could glean given the storm and inches of brick which separated him and his ‘guests’.

With his hand on the door’s iron handle, Lucien’s body felt alive and electric, like a drawn bow ready to fire. There was something in the air, a moment of calm before the storm. Without dwelling on it any longer, Lucien rose to is full height, one of his greatest assets even against other Fae, and yanked the door open.

“Hello?” A small, quiet voice. A voice that haunted his dreams.

***

Touch her. No, don’t touch her. She doesn’t want to be touched. But it is normal for people to touch, people touch all the time, a hand on a shoulder is no affront. Just touch her. But you have no reason to touch her.

That’s what Elain smelt like, or something similar, he supposed.

At first all Lucien could see of Elain was her big eyes, peeking over her purple cloak like beacons. But he’d recognise those eyes everywhere, sometimes it felt as though they were in his room, watching him. She seemed to still as he caught her eye, him standing in the warm orange light of the house, her shrouded in darkness and mystery.

At first all Lucien could see of Elain was her big eyes, peeking over her purple cloak like beacons. But he’d recognise those eyes everywhere, sometimes it felt as though they were in his room, watching him. She seemed to still as he caught her eye, him standing in the warm orange light of the house, her shrouded in darkness and mystery.

In response to the cold and the rain, Elain’s cheeks had flushed a healthy rose. Her eyes were wide, and Lucien could see how the water had darkened and elongated her lashes. If Elain were this beautiful when she was fae, Lucien couldn’t comprehend how magnificent she must’ve looked like a human. Surely there had been suitor after suitor, clawing for a minute of her time, or even a handkerchief or a pearl. Anything of hers to prove to themselves that such beauty was possible – that she was somehow real.

It wasn’t until Lucien had stuttered a meek ‘come in’ when he noticed the second bundle of a person over Elain’s shoulder. When they came into the light of the foyer, Lucien had recognised her as one of the shadow wraith’s that often accompanied Elain in the Night Court. Which one, he could not tell, but she was lesser fae, and lesser fae were always welcome in his home.

Lucien was sure he was in a state of shock, his ears were ringing faintly as Elain entered a polite discussion with Jurian who was smiling enough for the both of them. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, convinced that if he even blinked for too long then she’d disappear, back to the Night Court.

Lucien stood lamely to the side, his posture rigid. Vassa remained at the base of the stairs, whatever her countenance was to Elain’s arrival, he didn’t care for it. As Jurian chatted, Elain had pulled back her hood to reveal her hair of deep gold, soaked entirely, as though she had just arisen from a bath. Lucien dug his nails into his palm.

She was so beautiful, and it hurt to wonder how the Cauldron had ever, at any point of time, believed him worthy of being considered a perfect equal to such a creature.

“Ah, might this be the letter?” Lucien forced himself to tune into the conversation.

“Yes,” Elain’s gentle voice washed over him, lapping across his skin and like magic, it began to soothe him. “From the High Lady of the Night Court. I am to be staying with you for some time it seems, an extra hand to deal with the councils. If that would be alright?” Her voice, unlike Jurian’s or Vassa’s, was consistently soft, and in a strange way, it gave her an aura of power. As though she need not speak too loudly or rush her words, as she knew the world would be listening anyway.

“Ah,” Jurian plucked the sopping note from Elain’s palm, and though he really didn’t care, Lucien watched with intent at how Jurian avoided touching any part of Elain’s skin. Instead, he grabbed the letter’s corner and held it out as it dribbled rainwater across the red and gold carpet.

“Oh, um,” Elain seemed to flush, “I promise you it was a note from Feyre. The lettering might be a bit…illegible.”

“I think we can take your word, Ms Archeron.”

“Elain, please,” she whispered politely with a small curtsey that clearly came naturally. Lucien was so taken aback by Elain that he barely had time to recognise that Jurian was putting on a big show of good behaviour for his mate. If Elain had been anyone else, and if Lucien had been back in the Spring Court manor wearing his fox mask, he would’ve winked and told Elain that she was pretty enough to go where she pleased since kings would most likely fall to her feet anyway, but he just bit his tongue and cocked his head.

He needed to say something to her, he needed to be able to look into those eyes. What was she really doing here? Had Feyre truly sanctioned this? She’d said High Lady, not High Lord. Why had she come in the middle of the night? Why was she here, why was she really here?

“Let me take that for you,” was all he ended up saying, looking from Elain to her cloak then back to her eyes.

Some part of him hated seeing Elain in damp clothes with her hair dripping. It reminded him too much of the first time he’d seen her, as his mate, after she’d just been through the most traumatic experience of her life. He wished nothing more than to wrap her up into his arms and send wave after wave of warmth through her to dry her clothes, to make sure she was never cold and shivering again.

Elain seemed to stare at him for a moment, and Lucien wondered if she could possibly be just as taken aback by him as he was of her. How many of these moments, these little pauses between words, were genuine? And how much of it was the drive of the bond?

“Thank you,” She whispered, her hands reaching up to undo the clasp at her neck. As she did so, Lucien adverted his eyes. Something about seeing Elain remove an item of clothing, even a sopping cloak, felt too much like an invasion of privacy. And then she was holding her cloak out to him, and he just nodded at her, allowing his lips to turn up at the corners as he took the damp material, making sure not to accidentally touch her bare hands.

Behind Elain, the twin appeared to cock her head and glare at him, her message clear – ‘and what about me, huh?’ Lucien ignored her as he folded the cloak over his arm and took a step back towards the wall.

“Well, welcome to Lockhart Manor, Ms Archeron,” Vassa then announced herself as she strode forth from the base of the stairs, her posture stiff and elegant. This wasn’t Vassa speaking. This was a queen. “We have spare rooms in abundance which you’re more than welcome to settle into, since the maids are asleep right now please allow me to take you to your quarters.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” Elain nodded and smiled politely, a faint flush spreading on her cheeks, one that threatened to bring Lucien to his knees.

“No luggage, or are you not staying long?” Vassa inquired innocently enough, and had Lucien tore his eyes away from Elain for just a moment, he would’ve seen the slight glint in the queen’s eye.

“My sister will winnow me my bags tomorrow morning. You see, it was paramount we left the Night Court at a certain time. Unfortunately, this was our best window for travelling, but Feyre insisted you would be awake given…” given Vassa’s curse, her inability to see sunlight with human eyes.

“Are you in danger?” Lucien couldn’t bite his tongue as something began to rise within him – Terror? Anger? Worry? Elain’s big eyes drifted back to his, and once more she seemed to pause before speaking.

“No,” she breathed. Her voice was just a petal in the wind. “At least, only in danger of Nesta finding out I’m missing.”

“You didn’t tell her you were coming here?” If Lucien wasn’t mistaken, that might just be a slightly mischievous glint alight in Elain’s eye. The idea of Elain deceiving her viper of a sister to come across the world to stay with him, seemed far too good to be real, and Lucien couldn’t stop the small grin that pulled at his lips.

“Well, you must be tired after such a journey.” Lucien wished Vassa hadn’t spoken because it pulled Elain’s gaze from his. Lucien also suspected that little travelling had been done since Elain’s companion was a shadow wraith, and able to travel the world via the shades. “Please, let me show you to your room.”

Lucien hated to see her go, as she politely curtseyed to the queen before following her up the stairs and disappearing down a corridor which led to the western wings. It was only when she was, in fact, out of sight, that Lucien felt the reality of her presence collide with him like a pile of bricks.

Suddenly, he was breathing too quickly, no, too slowly. His body was overheating, and his heart was racing. All around him swirled her scent and every cell in his body was screaming at him to follow her up the stairs, to keep her in sight and never let her leave it. Keep her warm, keep her safe.

“Careful Luce,” Jurian’s voice called him back to reality, and he found Jurian peering at him with that god-damn, shit-eating, all-knowing grin, “She’s going to want that back,” was all he said as he nodded at the sopping cloak Lucien had clutched against his abdomen. The rainwater soaking through his linens, and making him shiver.

***

“You say your sister sent you?” Vassa was leading Elain and Nuala down a series of hallways. Elain liked the manor, one she would’ve adored when she was human. There was a crimson carpet that bled across the entire house, embellished with threads of sparkling gold. Deep brown wood covered the walls in panels, and there were candles here, not faelight, which cast the hallways in a warm, watery glow. It felt so familiar, in such a painful way.

“I wanted to be of some use to my sister following Briallyn, she thought I could be of use in working with the human councils given I…well, I…”

“Used to be human?” The queen’s voice was slightly monotonous, almost sounding as though she were somewhat bored, that these things happened all the time.

“Yes,” Elain nodded furiously. She’d been so caught up in the idea of seeing Lucien again that she’d practically forgotten Jurian and Vassa.

“Well, after a good night’s rest you might be able to catch me before sunrise and we can discuss where you’d be most useful.”

“Yes, thank you…what kind of work is there?”

“Meetings with councils and human lords, establishing positive relations between fae and humans which, considering humans were enslaved to the fae a few hundred years ago, isn’t the easiest relationship to manage. There’s also work to be done regarding the human armies, and not to mention the other human queens. We could also use with someone prepared to travel to establish trade routes between the mortal lands and the Spring Court, though, really all of this pales in comparison to cleaning up the mess Briallyn left behind.”

Elain blew out a breath. There was so much going on in the world, in the mortal lands alone, and her family had hidden it all from her. Or had they hidden her from the world? It didn’t matter, she was here now, and she was prepared to make herself as useful as possible.

“Where can I find you, to talk tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll most likely be in the dining room, taking breakfast with Lucien and Jurian.” The Queen swung a hard left and Elain stumbled slightly as she tried to follow.

“Okay…thank you, for everything.” Elain put on her best smile, but the queen wasn’t looking at her.

“You were quite sick the last time I saw you,” was all the queen said in response, and Elain felt as though ice had been poured down the back of her dress.

“Yes, I was,” Elain said quietly, her eyes meeting those of Nuala’s for a fleeting moment. God, where was her room?

“You’re better now?”

“Yes,” Elain practically whispered, not interested in being reminded of those torturous months post-Cauldron. Especially when, technically, she was still in them.

“Good,” Vassa said, and Elain couldn’t read her tone, but then, “Here are your quarters, Jurian’s rooms are just down the hall. If you wish to find me, or Lucien,” she paused slightly, “Then you can find our rooms in the East wing. Just ask a passing maid and they’ll lead you to us.”

Something ugly reared its head inside Elain as Vassa referred to her and Lucien as an ‘us’. And if Elain wasn’t mistaken, judging by the glint in Vassa’s eye, the language had been intentional. But Elain knew this game, knew how to play a courtier, how to manipulate a crowd with a smile.

Interesting, some part of Elain perked up. Maybe she’d gotten herself into more than she was expecting by coming to Lockhart Manor. Or maybe, it was a really, really good thing she’d come at all.

“Thank you,” was all Elain said, letting nothing pass her courtly smile. “For everything.”

***

Nuala had her own room but had stayed with Elain for a while after Vassa’s departure, perhaps reading the slight tension in the Acheron’s shoulders as she perched herself at her room’s vanity. If Elain was rational, then she would be obsessing over Vassa, of what she said and the look in her eye as she spoke. She would try and unfurl the dynamic she was to expect at breakfast tomorrow, when the world was still dark.

But she was thinking of him.

Lucien was different here, and Elain realised that she’d never seen him out of the Night Court. In fact, all at once the chaste meetings they’d had thus far seemed entirely, hilariously inadequate.

He was otherworldly, something about him seemed more fae than the others, even the Illyrian’s with their beautiful wings. Lucien was fire and light in form. His hair, no mortal could even imagine hair like that. In fact, Elain was convinced that even Feyre couldn’t capture it’s essence in her paintings. It was ever-changing, always moving and shifting colours in the light, almost as though it were alive. When she’d first seen him in the Night Court it had been a paler, autumnal orange with what seemed to be streaked with glittering gold. But here, by the candlelight of Lockhart manor, it was the red of rust and blood.

His skin was made of tan plains that rose and fell over the contours of his body in a way that reminded Elain of the deserts she’d seen drawn in adventure books. And then there was his impossible height, taller than everyone, including those back at the Night Court, only beating Cassian by an inch. He had a presence in a room like no other, he demanded intrigue and interest, with his mismatched eyes and brutal scar.

Maybe Elain had only been so nervous of Lucien because of that reason. Because she was used to seeing men who appeared to have not quite come into their bodies, their chins loose with excess skin, their hair wiry and coarse. And Lucien…Lucien looked as though he’d had hundreds of years to hone his body. Tall and sharp, standing with a poise that reminded Elain of a blade. His eyes alert and always moving, and a mouth that quirked to the side, as though there was always some dirty joke resting on the tip of his tongue.

Guilt moved through Elain in a wave. First, guilt over Graysen, then guilt over Azriel. Both men whom she’d also found to be beautiful, in their own ways. The innocence of Graysen, which in hindsight, proved to be a hilarious interpretation. The mystery of Azriel, the way that even when she was convinced he wanted her, she was never entirely sure.

Perhaps it wasn’t guilt that washed through Elain, but rather dread. Because here she was, again, and all she could hear was her mother’s voice echoing in her mind – Foolish girl. Foolish, foolish girl. Her mother would tell her that she never learns.

Or maybe she wouldn’t. She’d only admitted to herself that Lucien was attractive, his eyes searing, looking every bit of the fae prince as he swung open the door, backlit by gold and red light. And the bond was supposed to make her find him attractive, right? She could consult the book she’d brought later. Because that was the problem – what was real and what was the bond? Did Lucien truly care for her? Would he have even looked her way if the bond hadn’t existed? No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t be convinced. Lucien was suited to the bold courage of Nesta or even the quick-wit of Feyre. Elain was brutally soft. Men like Lucien didn’t care for the delicate - right?

“I’m sorry to take you from your sister, Nuala,” Elain whispered, as her friend began to comb through her dripping hair.

“It’s no problem,” Nuala’s voice was like velvet, and in the mirror, Elain could see her eyes were soft and her mouth turned up at the corners. “Sometimes getting away from family can be good for you.”

Elain hummed in response as Nuala began to knot her hair into a crown of elegant braids so that her hair would dry with a curl.

[pillage-and-lute]

The Courting Ways of Wolves (Part 2)

It’s back! Dumb boys in love! Also Grandpa Vesemir gets some feels and Geralt does some math. Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue

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

Watching Winter at Kaer Morhen melt into early spring was always a beautiful process, but this year brought Geralt trepidation as well. Watching Ciri train had been wonderful, helping her learn the basics kept all the wolves on their toes, for the first time in many years actually thinking about motions that normally came from muscle memory. 

Yennefer had flourished into her role as “Aunty Yen,” not sweetly nurturing, the way one often thought about with children, but a clever tongue and tough love that Ciri, granddaughter of the Lioness, seemed completely at home with. 

Geralt was doing his best too. Ciri had started calling him dad about halfway through the winter, the first time happening at dinner and he’d very nearly choked on his ale. It sent something warm running through his veins every time, like good brandy that burned all the way down. 

He was trying, words still didn’t come naturally, but somehow Ciri always seemed to be able to see exactly what he meant. Maybe it was Destiny, maybe just a hurt, lost child clinging to whoever was consistent in her life, but Geralt hoped it was more. More than anything, he hoped Ciri truly understood how cared for she was, not just by himself, but all the wolves, Jaskier, and Yennefer.

Ciri had whispered to him one day, still panting after training, asking if he thought Yen would mind if she called her mom.

Geralt had replied that he didn’t think Yennefer would mind at all.

Yennefer came to him later, a tender look in her eyes. There was something, not fragile in her eyes, but Jaskier had pointed out in a marketplace once, a beautiful porcelain vase that had been broken and artfully repaired with gold. Yen’s expression reminded him of that. 

They sat for a while, then Yennefer said, “Will you be able to let go of her in the spring?” 

“Yes,” Geralt said, although he was less than sure that parting from Ciri would be so easy. “She needs you, and time away from me. And to be around women.”

Yennefer nodded, gave Geralt a pat on the shoulder, and left. Geralt stayed, cloak wrapped around him as he sat looking out over the walls. 

There was much that would happen in the spring, and his life, which had been pretty stagnant before, was changing more in these past few years than it ever had. He felt like Kaer Morhen itself, built to last and yet crumbling still, the weight of change and time and destiny tearing down walls. 

He watched the sun go down. 

Vesemir joined him, carrying two bowls of stew. Geralt took a bite of his and winced. It had been Eskel’s turn to cook. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vesemir’s mustache twitch with a hint of a smile. They ate the oversalted meal in silence.

“You know,” Vesemir said, and in the starlight the crags on his face looked carved in. “I come up here to think too.” 

Geralt knew, but Vesemir wasn’t interested in talking about the battlements, he could tell. 

“I think, most nights, about the ghosts within these walls. All of the little boys who died so that the School of the Wolf could be.” The wind picked up, howling like, with an excellent sense of the dramatic, a wolf. 

“The Trials haunt me, Geralt. More than anything in my life, and it has been a long life indeed.” 

“You saved me,” Geralt said. “Saved Eskel.” But he too remembered the still bodies carried out and buried in the night. How few boys remained. Remembered the screaming in the night, unsure how much of the sound was torn from his own throat, and what came from his brothers dying around him.

“I let them put you through it twice. That wasn’t salvation, lad.” Vesemir sighed. “I couldn’t have put a stop to the Trials, don’t know if I would have if it were possible, there have to be Trials to be witchers, and the world needs us, whatever it may believe. But maybe there was a better way. A kinder way. You were boys, little lads who went through so much pain.”

Geralt was startled to see a tear fall down the craggy face, burying in the moustache. Witchers could cry, but it happened rarely, tears could blur vision in a fight, and only very strong emotion, the sort they had been taught to suppress,  could override the mutations. 

And then Vesemir put an arm around Geralt’s shoulder and gave him an oddly nice hug. It could have cracked a boulder.

“Someone should have held you boys more,” Vesemir said, a touch abashedly. They looked out over the walls some more and Geralt wondered if the conversation was over, but Vesemir didn’t take the arm away.

“Ciri called me Grandpa today.”

Ah. That would explain a lot. Watching Vesemir interact with Ciri over the winter had been a delight and a surprise to the wolves. He’d even sat her on his knee and told her stories of when Lambert, Eskel, and Geralt were young like a, well, like a doting grandfather. Jaskier had been enthralled as well, naturally, but seeing Vesemir so soft, and sometimes looking a little sad, around Ciri, had been an education for the men who would always think of themselves as ‘Vesemir’s Little Lads’.

“She won’t be a witcher,” Vesemir said. “Couldn’t be even if we would want it, and I never would.”

“No,” Geralt said.

No,” agreed Vesemir. They looked out over the darkened landscape.

“I never wanted a family,” Vesemir said after a while where their breaths hung in the air before them. “‘O course, witchers aren’t supposed to, but you’ve built a nice little family for yourself, laddie. It’s not as may be, not like you’d find in villages or in your pet bard’s fancy songs. But you’ve a brave and rather headstrong daughter, and she has a mum, and a dad, and two already very protective uncles.”

“And a grandpa,” Geralt cut in.

“And a grandpa,” Vesemir agreed. “But a family needs a little more than that. There’s gotta be someone to teach the lass how to love.”

Geralt was about to protest that he’d seen plenty of loveless marriages, but then considered the results in the children. Jaskier was one, he knew. The sort of lost way Jaskier sucked up approval, when they’d first met, the way he’d drank up compliments like a man with water in the desert, whenever Geralt thought on it there was a sort of humming ache. He’d consulted with Eskel on the feeling, concerned it was illness. Apparently, it was just what happened when someone you loved was hurting and it wasn’t something you could kill or fix.

“It doesn’t need to be romantic love,” Vesemir said, obviously seeing Geralt’s face. “And she’ll know how to love family fine, and how to love friends, as you and Yennefer figure that out between the two of you. But your bard loves you, and the way you love him can teach her how to love others and herself. And if Ciri has another dad maybe you can worry less.”

Geralt chuckled. Ciri could have fifty parents, and Geralt would still lose sleep worrying. Vesemir smiled back at him, eyes crinkling and moustache lifting like a bristle brush that had learned to fly. Then he slapped Geralt on the back, and Geralt, the White Wolf of Rivia, Butcher of Blaviken, the witcher who had twice survived the Trials, felt his spine compress like a spring and he was sure he felt a rib creak.

“Love Jaskier, lad. Hold tight to him. We rarely get good things.”

Then Vesemir walked back inside and Geralt stared after him. There weren’t many old witchers, dangers of the job and all that, but Vesemir was proof that witchers, like oak wood, only solidified with age. 

Geralt followed him inside. 

The next days passed in a flurry of activity. Ciri had been let off of training with the wolves to pack for her journey with Yennefer, and to be quickly given the rundown of the basics of magic. The wolves were packing as well, preparing to leave Kaer Morhen. In between final preparations and weapon repair, Geralt checked over The List.

The List was supposed to help him court Jaskier. It was the combined brainchild of everyone (except Jaskier, of course) at Kaer Morhen. More importantly, his intention to court Jaskier met with Ciri’s approval. 

When the day arrived, Geralt felt a curious lump in his throat. He watched Ciri say goodbye to Eskel and Lambert, the latter picking her up and swinging her in an arc, letting her joyful whoop echo about the courtyard. Then she hugged Vesemir, and he crushed her very gently to him. And then she turned to him and Jaskier. 

He was thankful that Ciri bade Jaskier goodbye first, watching the bard wipe a surupticious tear away as he held the blonde girl. It was Geralt’s turn and he didn’t know what to do. He cleared his throat.

“Follow Yennefer’s instructions,” he said. That didn’t seem like enough. “And don’t talk to strangers,” he said. It still seemed insufficient but he was out of advice so he stuck out his hand to shake. Ciri laughed and leapt at him, throwing her arms around his neck.

He held her there, reveling in hugging his daughter, his child surprise, who was so full of surprises and he felt, for the first time in many years, the feeling of rather full tear ducts. He blinked them away. 

“Good luck,” Ciri whispered in his ear. Jaskier wouldn’t have heard, but the witchers with their enhanced hearing surely had. Geralt nodded and set her down.

He coughed awkwardly and pulled out a little packet wrapped in burlap and some rough twine. Ciri beamed and pulled at the string so that the packaging fell away. A long piece of metal, bent into a thin U shape lay in his palm, the ends were surprisingly sharp. Ciri picked it up and examined it, then looked up at him questioningly. 

“Hair pin,” Geralt said gruffly. “For your hair. And stabbing.” He mimed a clumsy, underhanded stab. “Eskel helped me silver plate it. For monsters. But also men, if they’re close enough.” He trailed off, knowing he sounded awkward. Who gave a self defense implement as a gift?

Ciri beamed at him again. “I love it,” she said, also miming a few stabs. He supposed that as a parent he shouldn’t be so proud of the light in his daughter’s eyes when she talked about stabbing, but he was almost certain that she got that trait from Jaskier, who tended to get...pointed about disagreements in pubs.

Yennefer stepped forward and carefully took the hair pin from their daughter, swooping her silver blonde hair back into a twist and sliding it in place. She placed a hand on Ciri’s shoulder and smiled at Geralt, and he was reminded again of that vase, stronger and more beautiful for the cracks in the facade. She then gave him a quick side hug and and even one for Jaskier, and opened a portal.

Geralt stared after his friend and his daughter long after the portal closed, until Jaskier, hand wrapped in a heavy mitten, gently took his wrist. They waved to the other wolves, and left, Roach walking obediently alongside. 

And then it was just the two of them. Again. Just like the last twenty years. That thought occupied him as they made it down the Killer. The path down from Kaer Morhen was deadly, but that year Geralt made it down without thinking, keeping half a thought to Jaskier’s ambling form as he went.

How old was Jaskier? 

He’d been eighteen or so when they met. Eighteen plus twenty-two was forty. Forty wasn’t that old for a human but Jaskier didn’t look too much different than he had at...Geralt did the math. Twenty-five? But there were signs. A few lines here and there, although Jaskier was insistent about his skincare. A line of silver, just a few hairs, probably unnoticable except to Geralt’s enhanced eyes. He was aging better than a human should.

Or perhaps not. Time was tricky for witchers, never staying in one place, never knowing people long enough to watch them age, he didn’t really know what to compare Jaskier to. 

He did know how long humans lived though. And at the base of the mountain he came to a resolution, felt it settle in to his bones as deep as his mutations, deeper, even. 

Twenty years, or nearly, where he hadn’t known Jaskier. Twenty more where he hadn’t admitted they were friends, or that he loved him. Eighty years in a human life span. And Geralt would love Jaskier, and make sure he knew he was loved, for the next four decades, give or take. He looked at his companion, paused as they were to give their feet and Roach a rest. The weak, watery sun of the early spring day fell on Jaskier’s face, dappled through the branches, which as of yet held no buds.

He pictured lines appearing, laugh lines, smile lines, crinkles carving themselves into the landscape of the familiar features. He pictured silver through the hair, more, in thicker streaks at the temples. Geralt saw a lifetime, Jaskier’s lifetime, in an instant. Silver covered warm brown, strong legs grew shakey, lines crowned a forehead and swept about clear eyes. 

What would happen, Geralt thought, when Jaskier could no longer keep up? But Geralt knew what would happen. He’d take Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, or go with him to Oxenfurt, and spend his days with him. It had been a few short months since he’d realized he was in love with Jaskier, but that was only because Geralt’s skill with emotions was roughly similar to Jaskier’s apparent self preservation. Why had he let the lad talk to him in a pub? Had he loved him then? He remembered the shock of not being feared, of looking into clear, bright eyes and seeing admiration, the fierce protectiveness that had flared when he woke and saw the fool tied to him in an elven lair. Had it been love? 

Watching Jaskier whisper softly to Roach as snow melted around him, Geralt was sure it had been. Destiny, Fate, the two bit tart who kept fucking him over, had given him his greatest blessing in a form that Geralt, up until that very second had considered a myth. Love at first sight. Love had brought him Jaskier, and Ciri, and a fast friendship with the most powerful mage on the Continent. Love had brought him a family in the form of a wayward bard with bread in his pants. And Geralt had forty more years to cherish him. 

Step One the list had said in Eskel’s clear writing. Kiss his hand. Being mindful of Step Two, to mind his manners, Geralt crossed the clearing to Jaskier and took the thick woolen mitten in his gloved hand. 

“May I?” he said. Jaskier gave him a baffled look, but nodded.

Geralt pressed chapped lips to a palm wrapped in knitted wool, and Jaskier smiled, albeit a little confusedly. It didn’t matter. Geralt wanted to spend the next forty years wrapped in that smile. 

Then Jaskier asked him if he was feeling well.

[liam-cadmus]

ANBU

Sasuke grits his teeth, hiking Neji higher on his back. He’s thanking Kami that the Hyuuga is light— the fact should be worrying, if they’re not unconscious and bleeding right now.  The omega has a loose hold around his neck, his black cloak enveloping Neji enough that the warmth of his back is keeping him cold. He tries to hold Neji as securely as he can with one arm, the other supporting Shikamaru. 

His hawk summon, Aya is guiding him through the forest outside the walls, slowly walking closer the gate. Their shadows isn’t seen in the dark, his mismatched eyes looking around in case they get ambushed again.  Wet plops of mud can be heard from his footsteps, dragging Shikamaru with him. He ignores the shaking of his hands, ignoring it to move faster, despite the protest of his wheezing breaths. 

He feels Shikamaru waking up from where he’s supporting him with his left arm, the beta thankfully— awake. “Deer, wake up.” he says quietly, still pulling the other teen along, “It’s just a bit from here, just open your eyes please.”  He pleads, no matter how it hurts his pride, but his emotions are haywire— sometimes being an Uchiha has it’s downsides— and his anxiety is high-strung. His alpha instincts making his ears ring, the overwhelming impulse to protect the people important to him.

Shikamaru blearily opens his eyes, making him sigh in relief seeing familiar chocolate brown eyes. “You with me?” he asks, one brow raised. “Barely.” Shikamaru mumbles, the Nara inhaling his alpha scent, the toasted almonds and smokey cinnamon pheromones helping the beta gather his thoughts. He breathes out slowly, gritting his teeth at the bones in his ribs grating against each other, shivering as the cold wind hits his bare chest, his clothing around the two males he’s with to keep them warm. Shikamaru moves to pull away, making him click his tongue in annoyance. “Deer, stay close.” he tugs the beta closer, Shikamaru’s arm hitting his rib by accident, making him hiss in pain. Shikamaru, only pulls away more when he hears the hiss, attempting to wrench free of his hold. He would be amused if he his instincts aren’t screaming at him to not let go any of the two. His hand grips Shikamaru’s waist tight — making sure that the beta can’t be separated from him.

The beta male just narrows his brows, titling his head, licking his dry, chapped lips. “Why do you keep pulling me?”

 He shakes his head, pretending to shrug, before leaning on the wall, relieved to see they’re in the outskirts. He stops in his tracks, leaning on the wall with his dislocated shoulder, his chakra exhaustion finally putting a toll on his battered body. “Just don’t walk away, you might pass out, you hit your head pretty damn bad earlier.” he rasps, while lowering Shikamaru on the ground slowly, the Nara sinking on the muddy grass below him, blinking repeatedly to fight the sleep away.

His body aches for carrying the two for so long, for once thanking Kami for being an alpha, even if omega genetics is the major second gender running in Uchiha Clan.  “Kakashi,” he calls out, mismatched eyes staring at the lone dark grey eye in front of him, relief flooding his whole being at seeing reinforcements arriving.

“Kid, how are you still standing?” his sensei asks him, sturdy hands holding him up while Wolf carries Neji from his back, Sasuke falling forward to Kakashi’s chest. “5 soldier pills, 3 adrenaline shots and pure sheer will.” he snaps, exhaling shallowly. “Crow, Wolf, we need to shunshin these three to the hospital.” The two other ANBU scouts carry his team on their backs, Itachi and Kiba staring at him with worry.  He waves a hand dismissively, smiling in satisfaction when he sees Itachi’s red eyes glaring at him. “I’m fine, aniki.” he answers, letting Kakashi support him as they shunshin, arriving in the hospital, nurses and doctors alike walking out of their way.

Kakashi drops him to a bed, Sakura slamming the door open with Ino, Tsunade coming in last, the woman glaring at him. “Brat, what mess did you get into?” she pursed her lips, her eyes looking over the obvious bruising by his ribs, and the shudders going through him.

“Obito is with Shisui finishing the mission, they’ll arrive using the Kamui in a bit.” he croaks out, reassuring Kakashi and Itachi for their lovers.

Tsunade rolls her eyes at him, fondly scoffing a ‘tch’ under her breath. “I question myself why you’re my favorite Uchiha.” she says at him, earning a shallow breathy laugh from him, “It must be my charms, a lot of people say so.” 

He drew in a large breath when Tsunade moved his bones back into place, the action making him choke on his breath, coughing wetly. “What happened, Uchiha, you’re only supposed to get intel.” Sparrow asks him, making him look up from where he’s staring at his bloody knuckles.

“Kiri ANBU, three teams, ambushed us.” Several winces comes from the other ANBU scouts, Kakashi’s lips pressed to a tight line. “Obito’s fine, old man.” he teases, patting Kakashi’s arm with his unoccupied hand.  Tsunade decides to click his shoulder back in that exact moment, making him slap the arm in accident. He bit his lips enough to draw blood, turning to the woman with his eyes whirring, glare in place. “That was uncalled for.” Tsunade looks at him, before her hands glow in green chakra, healing the muscles and tissues around the socket on his shoulder, humming. “You should’ve paid attention then, brat.”

He rolls his aching shoulder blades as he leans back on the hospital bed, inhaling the scent of antiseptic and white sheets. He looks at his shivering pale skin, while wrapping his ankles together, whistling, “Thank you, mom.” he says, watching as Tsunade fondly pats his leg. “Try not to get hurled across the field next time.” she jokes, if only she knew. “You should tell that to Shika.” he points to the half-asleep Nara, the beta opening an eye to glare at him. “No, but really, you were thrown across the field.” he says in a firm voice, knowing the beta didn’t remember it, “Kami, my heart stopped beating for like, minutes.” he admits, crossing his arms. “Glad to know you care for me, Uchiha.” Shikamaru yawns, pillowing his head on his folded arms. “As if carrying you two across a whole damn forests isn’t caring, I don’t know what it is.” 

He moves to stand, bare feet planting on the cold ground, stubbornly ignoring the protests of the others telling him he’s healing. He opens the bathroom before looking at them flatly, over his shoulder. “I don’t want to sleep from getting doused on the rain.”  He gestures at his bare chest before turning to Shikamaru, “No matter how lazy you are, you better take a shower or else,” he threatens, narrowing his eyes, “I won’t hesitate to drag you to the shower, wounded or not.” The Nara sighs in defeat, before dryly answering. “Yes Captain.”  He closes the door, turning the knob to the hottest setting, pleased when he sees three folded clothes on the shelf, amused that the three of them already have a separate room from the other patients.

He walks out the shower, steam billowing by his ankles, drying his wet dark locks. He chuckles watching Shikamaru dragging his sleepy form in the bathroom, throwing his towel to the back of the brunette.

The brunette glares at him, before picking the towel off the ground, closing the door behind him. Sasuke fixes their masks by the bedside table, collecting their discarded uniforms to the hamper on the corner, separating his cloak and placing it on the back of a chair.

Sasuke moves their beds beside each other, gently rousing Neji awake, “You need to take a bath,” he tells him, the Hyuuga sleepily walking to the bathroom, while he lays down face down on the larger bed, listening to their humming.

He lays still while the two males drop to either side of him, a thought on the back of his mind nagging him if the his brother and the others are still in the room, but he’s too tired to care. He reminds himself to tell the others of his relationship, tired of being professional in front of them.

He rolls tiredly, looking up to Neji peering at him with white eyes, staring at his very soul. He huffs a quiet chuckle when he feels Shikamaru laying down beside him, an arm moving across his stomach, the rise and fall of his chest comfortable to Sasuke’s side, his arm wrapping around his shoulders.

Neji doesn’t break eye contact, blinking at him softly, the Hyuuga content on switching his gaze between him and Shikamaru. Shikamaru opens his eyes slowly, nuzzling him softly, “Neji, just fucking sleep.” he grouses, letting out a faint brown sugar and coffee scent.

Sasuke snorts, before pulling Neji down, tucking his head to brown locks, inhaling honey — the scent pleasing to the nose even if he hates sweets. 

He kisses their temples, looking at their intertwined hands over his stomach. Shikamaru leans over to kiss Neji on the lips, nudging their noses together before laying down again, muttering ‘how troublesome it was to lean over’. 

“Ah, sleep, I’m tired, you’re both heavy.” he complains, his eyes already drooping. “Ji, you heard that?” he listens as Shikamaru mockingly whispers, the two of them talking about how he’s the heaviest out of the three of them, which is untrue — he has the lightest steps, Shikamaru is the heaviest out of the three. He cuts in, “I’m not the heaviest, I just happen to be the one strongest to carry your two sorry asses across the forest.”  “You love these sorry asses though.” Neji teases, white eyes in mischief. “Damn right I do, now sleep.” he kisses their lips, before pulling the covers over them.

The silence is comfortable, the warm sunlight through the curtains lulling them further to sleep, their scents mingling, the combination fitting so perfectly, their chests breathing in the same rhythm.

“Baby Uchiha!” Obito greets quietly, making Sasuke scowl at him in irritation, not appreciating woken up from his sleep. He glares, feeling his drowsiness slip away from him, making him grumble.  “We still need to do the report.” Obito reminds him, still standing in his uniform. Sasuke stares at him, glancing from his mates to Obito, and back again. “Fine.” he answers blankly, separating his limbs from his lover’s, pushing the two together. Sasuke sighs at the sleep he just lost, before securing his boots, murmuring how it’s unfair he can’t rest after bringing two people on his own. 

“Sas, why’re you leaving?” he glances back at Neji’s sleepy mumble, making his features soften.

“Just report, I’ll be fast.” he reassures him, closing the door when the omega tucks his head on Shikamaru’s chest.

“So, that’s your lovers?” Obito teases, throwing an arm around his shoulder, ruffling his hair.

“No, that’s just my teammates who just likes to cuddles.” he retorts dryly, pushing Obito’s hand out of his now unruly hair.

“Maa, maa, you’re so agressive.” Obito mimics Kakashi, making him puff out a laugh. “Come on, I still need to sleep.” he tugs his cousin to run faster, the two of them on the way to the Hokage Tower.

(A very short AU prompt, soooo.....it’s a Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies....with A/B/O dynamics and Sasuke has the Rinnegan, cause I want to. I would’ve wrote this better if I wasn’t so damn busy...so excuse me for the OOC moments..)

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Just Fine

Prompts: I just finished your Merlin fic Not Bad, and was wondering if we could have something of a sequel to it, if you're willing? Thank you either way! - anon

hi omg i absolute love your works on ao3, you're such a talented writer! i'm in love with your touch starved! merlin fic on ao3 and if you're still writing merlin fics and if you wanted to write it i would love to see a second part! (i've never used tumblr before so i don't know if this is where you even take promps/ requests but i figured i had to try, i love your works so much!) - anon

So many people asked for a part 2 so now we have a part 2 yay

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: this chapter is fluff all the way down, folks

Pairings: platonic merlin & everybody, can be merthur if you want I don't care

Word Count: 4729

Healing isn't supposed to be easy, but maybe the others can help make it easier.

He did say he was going to be pulling Merlin into his bed to cuddle with him in the mornings.

The sunlight is a menace, Arthur’s sleep-slack brain decides one day as it slices knife-like over his eyes through a slit in the curtains. He furrows his brow and turns, nuzzling his face into his pillow and doing his very best to ignore the fact that it’s morning now which means he’ll have to get up and do things. He’s royalty, he shouldn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.

…well, okay, maybe that’s not true.

Arthur muffles a snort into his pillow.

That should show how much Merlin’s been rubbing off on him since he came to Camelot, Arthur before Merlin would’ve huffed in that arrogant prat way—he’s not too proud to admit he has his moments—and said that he gets to decide what he wants to do, no one else. Arthur after Merlin knows that he’s his people’s servant as much as they are his. He may not have had the words to express it before Merlin but he’s always felt that way. Seeing someone so blatantly defy the status quo—and by extension, Uther—helped bring that out of him.

See? This is why he’s tired and deserves more sleep. He’s already waxing poetic about Merlin. He turns over in bed again and resolves to try and get a little more sleep.

Of course, as soon as his head hits that side of the pillow, the door opens, and in come Merlin’s footsteps.

The curtains are pulled open and Arthur winces, the light beaming onto the back of his head. Merlin putters around, probably setting up breakfast going by the smell of sausages, and then there’s a tug on his blanket.

“No,” he mumbles, holding it closer to his face, “lemme sleep.”

“You have to get up, Arthur,” comes Merlin’s amused snort, “you’ve got a meeting with Leon in a few hours.”

Arthur grumbles, refusing to open his eyes. “Then why can’t I sleep until then?”

“Because if I don’t get you up now, you won’t have enough time to wake up properly.”

“But it’s just Leon!”

“Yes, and you know he has this annoying habit of looking pristine even when he’s covered in mud.”

This is true. Arthur sighs, cracking his eyes open, and is immediately greeted by a wonderful sight.

Merlin, his Merlin, is standing in the sunlight.

It felt like a knife on Arthur’s face, but on Merlin, it looks like a cloak. A cape. Something to be worn with pride. He glows, that’s the only way to describe it. Even his eyes are shining.

How can anyone believe that Merlin isn’t magic?

…yeah, he must be really tired.

“Arthur,” Merlin calls, and only then does Arthur realize he must’ve called his name a few times, “you okay?”

Arthur nods dumbly, still grinning dopily up at Merlin. Merlin looks warm. Warm Merlin. Merlin should be warm. Warmth is good for Merlin.

Something cold ripples through his chest as he remembers how cold Merlin was the first day he let them hug him.

Merlin shouldn’t be cold.

“Arthur?” A gentle tap on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Arthur blinks and holds his arms out. “C’mere.”

Now it’s Merlin’s turn to blink. “What?”

“Come here,” he insists, reaching for Merlin, “just come here.”

Merlin’s face flushes an adorable red. “Arthur, I—“

“I’ll get up in a minute, I promise, but come here first.”

Merlin sighs. “Alright, you big baby.”

But Arthur can see the way he trembles with uncertainty as he sits down to take off his boots. He can see the way Merlin’s brow twitches and how he isn’t quite sure of himself as he slides under the covers.

Well. Can’t have that.

“I said come here,” Arthur murmurs, gathering Merlin into his arms, “there.”

“…’rthur?”

“There,” Arthur sighs, snuggling into his new Merlin-shaped pillow, “perfect.”

Merlin’s tunics are scratchy. He’s a bit elbows and knees. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with all his limbs.

But as Merlin’s arms shakily come up to hold Arthur back, a contented rumble comes from Arthur’s chest.

Merlin is warm.

Yeah, they’re not getting up for a few hours. Leon will understand.

2.

Merlin doesn’t like going hunting, which is fine, which is why they’ve affectionally renamed it ‘a woods trip.’ Actually, he’s pretty sure Gwaine calls it ‘get Arthur out of the castle so his prat nature doesn’t consume him,’ but everyone gets the point.

The point is that it’s one of the few times where they can just be a group of men, bit worried about getting stabbed by bandits, yes, but not worried about the rules and hierarchies and eyes of the city on them all the time. They can mess about and joke and partake in the bizarre sense of humor they all seem to have without any of the guards looking worriedly at each other when they think they won’t be seen.

Honestly, most of the guards at this point have just…accepted it. Arthur will never quite get over the one time he overheard a conversation with one of the new guards outside his room.

“Shouldn’t we tell someone that the servant is conspiring against the King?”

There had been a scoff from the older guard, Kodi. “You must be new.”

If Merlin had wondered why Arthur was muffling snorts into a napkin when he returned, he didn’t ask.

The woods aren’t exactly safe, not like Camelot is, but as Leon says, the safest place for a ship is in the harbor but ships were made to sail.

It’s what he tends to pull out whenever one of them complains about camping out for a night.

“Come on,” Gwaine mutters as he tries to get the fire to start, “come on, you bastard…”

Merlin glances over and hides a smirk. “Need a hand, Gwaine?”

“No.”

After a few seconds pass, Gwaine stifles a sigh.

“Maybe.”

Merlin stands, takes the flint and steel from him, and crouches down. He strikes it once and there’s barely a spark. He frowns. Another try yields another failure.

“What’s wrong with this thing?”

“So it’s not me. Great.”

“No, it’s—did someone leave this out?”

“Ah—“ Percival raises his hand— “that might’ve been me. One of the canteens spilled over the pack that it was in.”

“Well, yeah, that’ll explain why the—yeah, that’s it.” Merlin sighs. “Okay, well, um…”

“Can’t you just—“ Lancelot snaps his fingers— “you know?”

Merlin stiffens.

“Hey,” Gwaine murmurs softly, resting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “Merlin. Hey, Merlin, look at me.”

Merlin turns, his mouth a hard line.

“You have magic,” Gwaine says gently, “we know. We don’t care that it’s illegal. You’re not bad for having magic and we won’t punish you for using it.”

“…thanks.”

“Anytime.” He nods toward a scrap of kindling. “Now come on, I’m hungry.”

It gets a weak laugh out of Merlin as he stretches his hand out and mumbles something. A fire sparks into existence and roars merrily. Gwaine smiles and wraps his arms tightly around Merlin.

“Good job, Merlin,” he says quietly as Percival drops a hand onto his shoulder and rubs, “good job.”

“…really?”

“Yes.” Percival gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Good.”

3.

New rule they figured out: Merlin isn’t allowed to go near bodies of water unsupervised.

It’s the end of winter and the trees are just starting to grow their leaves out again. The grass is turning green under the lumps of snow that still remain and the birds have started to sing. All around them is the sharp sweet smell of new, the soft cracks as the ice melts.

Soft cracks, mind you. Not big ones that mean someone is about to fall through a thawing lake.

He didn’t actually fall through, but it had been a close thing.

Elyan had fretted for a good few minutes as Merlin’s teeth chattered until they figured out the poor man had just had a clump of snow fall on top of him, he hadn’t fallen through the ice into the lake. He gets a half-hearted scolding as they whip up a fire and a warm drink, quickly replaced by questions of whether he’s okay, is everything still attached to him, is he hurt?

“I’m fine,” Merlin insists, huddling by the fire, “just a bit cold.”

“You’re still shivering,” Elyan points out quietly, “give me your hands.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m going to make sure you don’t lose circulation.”

Merlin frowns but lets Elyan take his hands. The knight begins to rub his fingers in a pattern Merlin recognizes from Gaius, stimulating blood flow back into the digits to ensure that everything is working properly.

Elyan works patiently for a few seconds until he realizes that Merlin’s eyes have glazed over.

“Merlin?”

Merlin blinks and seems to snap out of whatever daze he was in. “Sorry, sorry, I just—um—“

Elyan tilts his head, Merlin’s hands still cradled in his lap as he struggles for words. Absentmindedly, he swipes a thumb over Merlin’s palm and Merlin bites back a whimper.

“Merlin, am I hurting you?”

“I mean…yes? But no, no wait, I don’t want you to stop, I just—it—“

“Shh,” Elyan says, “it’s okay. Tell me what hurts.”

“I just…you’re really warm,” Merlin mumbles, “and I guess I’m just not used to…to…to touch yet.”

“Ah, I see.” Elyan moves his hands slowly, seeing the blood flow is mostly back to normal as he cups Merlin’s hands between his own. “It’s still warmer than you’re used to, right?”

Merlin nods.

“Can I keep holding your hands?”

“Mhm.”

Elyan holds Merlin’s hands in his own until they deem it safe for him to ride back to Camelot.

4.

If Lancelot knows the secret to getting Merlin to feel a little more comfortable in his own skin, it’s to have him hold something.

He’s not sure why it takes Merlin’s mind down an edge as he begins to fiddle with whatever’s in his hands, but it does. The worried furrow in his brow softens into one of concentration, the anxious twitches of his fingers grow more fluid, more relaxed as he twists and turns the thing between them. Over the years, he’s gotten good at figuring out what Merlin needs to be holding, if he does say so himself.

When Arthur has an important meeting that makes Merlin’s eyes dart around the room, Lancelot hands him a shirt that needs to be repaired. Merlin’s hands navigate the stitches with ease as he makes sure Arthur’s got his armor of a different sort.

When there’s a tournament full of knights coming from far away that Merlin can’t trust quite yet, Lancelot hands him a pouch of seeds to sort, collected from one of the children from the flower store. Merlin sorts them deftly, putting each group into a little envelope to be returned, using it to hone his eye.

When there’s a terrible thunderstorm and Merlin can’t sleep, when Lancelot finds him wandering the castle late at night, he gives him a little plush toy. It’s a small thing, stitched together from remnants of clothing, and something that the servants pretend doesn’t exist. But if you know where to look, and who to talk to, there will be a little stuffed toy sitting on your nightstand if you ever need something to hold. Malwen raises an eyebrow when he asks for one but once she knows it’s for Merlin, Lancelot has it before the day is out.

As he watches Merlin fiddle with the toy, twirling one of the buttons around and round its thread, he wonders.

Is this the only form of physical comfort Merlin has ever allowed himself to have?

The answer is an incredibly disheartening yes, and Lancelot resolves to always give Merlin what he needs to help himself.

Then there’s a moment where Lancelot has no idea what Merlin would want to hold.

It’s a visiting lord, because it’s always a visiting lord when it’s not bandits or a visiting knight. They storm inside—Lancelot hadn’t bothered to remember his name—and pronounced that he missed Uther’s way of doing things. That when Uther was in charge, Camelot was strong, that there were roots of evil snuffed out at every turn.

Of course, he was quickly glared into submission by Percival and Arthur had cooly informed him that evil was snuffed out by not giving it an environment to grow, not futility ripping weeds from the soil.

But not in time to stop the lord’s words from getting to Merlin.

Lancelot finds Merlin on the balcony that isn’t a balcony, an abandoned training ground far above the rest of the city. He sits on the old stone, swinging his legs back and forth, staring at the ground with a glazed expression. His hands twist and turn over each other and his breathing is a little too controlled to be safe.

“Merlin,” he calls softly, not wanting to startle him, “Merlin, can I come sit with you?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you.” Lancelot eases himself down onto the stone bench, speaking softly as if he’s trying to soothe a wild animal. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Merlin isn’t hurt, good. Lancelot glances down at his hands. They twitch and knead at the fabric of his tunic. They clench into fists only to open a few seconds later. They look like they hurt.

They’re trembling.

Lancelot takes a deep breath and carefully, oh, so carefully, takes one of them in his.

Merlin goes limp, all but slumping into his shoulder. His hands are so cold.

“I’m right here, Merlin,” Lancelot murmurs, giving the hand in his a squeeze, “I’m right here.”

Slowly, he reaches out to take the other, feeling Merlin’s hands twitch lazily in his. Every so often, Merlin will squeeze and he will squeeze back. Merlin’s head tucks itself under his chin and the warm rush of his breath hits Lancelot’s arm. His hands stay safely in Lancelot’s grip.

Lancelot will always give Merlin something to hold. It’s no accident that includes his own hands.

5.

Not many people in Camelot know that Leon isn’t just Arthur’s right hand, but the closest thing Arthur had to a brother.

They grew up together, in the streets and fields and halls of Camelot, running around with sticks before they got given swords, fighting dragons and monsters before they battled the real ones, helping each other in secret before they rose to places where no one could hurt them.

Leon remembers holding an Arthur too young for any of this as his father raged, as the swords clashed too close to his face, as a peaceful village burned around them. He remembers a younger Arthur holding onto his cloak, his sleeve, his hand, always asking, asking, asking Leon to be there, just to be there, the way he didn’t feel anyone else was.

They’re older now, and now Arthur is a man Leon is proud to know. He asks Arthur for things now, for help dismantling the things they hated as children, for help finding ways to take care of the knights when he doesn’t know what to do, for help figuring out what to do in this world where things are starting to make less and less sense day by day.

Arthur is his brother, his friend, and his King. Leon is Arthur’s brother, his friend, and his Knight.

To most others, Leon is nigh untouchable. He is the longest-serving knight in Camelot, he is almost royalty with how close he is to the Pendragon family, and he is near unmatched on the dueling grounds. He has the ear of the King, the unwavering loyalty of the knights, and the faith of the Council.

There is a short list of the few who know he this is not all he is.

There are a few children in the lower town who know he is a kind man before he is a great knight, that there are scrapes and bruises they receive running from something only to be protected by a red cloak and a calm voice. There are a few servants who know that his presence as they walk to Gaius is an impenetrable shield on one side and the softest guiding hand on the other. There are a few stable boys who know that they will never again be beaten for who they are because he is just like them.

But Leon has not truly cared for someone younger than him since Arthur was little. Not the way he used to.

Of course, as he is with most things, Merlin is the exception to this rule.

Merlin, with all his magic and baffling charm and bumbling wisdom, worms his way into Leon’s heart by the time he gets assigned to be Prince Arthur’s Manservant. From there, it isn’t hard for Leon to watch with a certain glow of pride in his chest as Arthur starts to change, from the hardened fist Uther wanted him to be to the man the little boy he grew up with was supposed to be. He keeps his words to himself about how kind Merlin is, relentlessly so, and smiles quietly when Arthur begins to clumsily mimic the acts of kindness. He grows to care for Merlin quickly, making room next to his heart for one more, nestled close.

But it isn’t until he has a chance to comfort Merlin properly that he begins to think of him as a brother.

Don’t get him wrong, Merlin is his brother the same way the knights are his brothers. But Leon hasn’t loved someone the way he loves Arthur in a long time.

He receives a call from Gaius and responds, hurrying down to the physician’s chambers to see Merlin’s face is awfully flushed and his eyes red-rimmed in tears. He hurries faster to Merlin’s side, asking what’s happened, what’s wrong?

It seems Merlin has been fixing something wrong with the magic of this bracelet Gaius shows him, a silver one with a big amber stone in the middle. It looks familiar, it reminds Leon of Morgana for some strange reason, but he can’t quite place it. But it seems something went wrong and now…now poor Merlin is upset.

Leon knows what to do.

He guides Merlin carefully into his room, stopping to remove his mail shirt and leaving him in the softer under-tunic and cloak, and sitting Merlin carefully down on the bed. The poor man looks cold, small, like a scared dog.

“Merlin,” he says softly, “Merlin, I’m going to sit next to you now.”

He eases his weight down onto the bed and waits. Waits for another tear to roll down Merlin’s cheek to let out a soft noise of concern, melting at the sight of someone crying.

“Come,” he murmurs, opening his arms, “shed your tears, Merlin.”

And oh, he hasn’t seen those eyes for a very long time. Not since little Arthur had looked up at him, shining with undisguised hope and want but holding himself back, like a starved puppy too scared to eat. It breaks his heart and he lets out another low noise, reaching for Merlin.

“When Arthur was little,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he begins to gather Merlin into his lap, “he never used to like sleeping alone when his father was away. He said the castle was too big, too empty, even with all the people inside.”

He takes Merlin’s hands and guides them around his neck.

“I never liked sleeping in the castle either, it was too quiet. I didn’t know where anything was, except for Arthur. One night, he came into my chambers and all but tackled me in a hug.” He smiles fondly at the memory. “He insisted I let him stay.”

“St-stay?”

“Yes, Merlin, stay. Stay with me, let me hold him until we both fell asleep. He pulled himself into my lap—yes, just like this, your legs over mine—and wrapped his arms around my neck—there you go, just here, that’s it, you hold onto me now—and we stayed like that until we fell asleep.”

Merlin’s hair ruffles as he settles, Leon’s breath warming the top of Merlin’s head as he tucks the poor man close. Merlin’s hands are ice around his neck.

“And when the nights got cold, we would wrap ourselves up in the blankets,” he continues, beginning to swaddle them both in his cloak, “until we were bundled so tightly together that even the coldest night wouldn’t get it. It was warm, I remember being warm, there, in the bed, in the blankets, safe…and warm…”

There’s a quiet sigh against his neck as he wraps the cloak around the both of them. It’s warm, a perfect little nest. Merlin’s weight settles against his chest and part of him that’s been suppressed for many, many years starts to warm.

“He stopped coming to me when he got older,” he murmurs, “whether because he didn’t need it anymore or if he got too big. Between you and me, I’m sure it’s the second one. He’d still try if he weren’t worried about hurting me. I think he misses it, sometimes.”

He pauses, then leans closer and tucks his face against Merlin’s temple.

“I know I did. I still do, every now and then, but I know Arthur feels safe now in a way he never did when we were growing up. And most of that is thanks to you.”

“M-me?”

“Yes, Merlin,” Leon whispers, “you. You make him feel safe, make the rest of us feel safe. You’re a good person, Merlin, and we care very deeply about you.”

“…you do?”

He can hear the sleep coloring Merlin’s voice. He hushes the poor thing, cuddles him close, rocks the both of them closer to slumber.

“Of course we do,” he whispers to his brother, “of course we do.”

+1.

Sometimes Merlin has good days. Days where he’s smiling and laughing and joking with the knights. Days where he’s bantering back and forth with Arthur like it’s nothing. Days where he uses his magic the way he always has, like it’s a part of him.

Sometimes Merlin has bad days. Days where he’s quiet and they can’t get him to smile. Days where he is every bit the perfect servant for Arthur, which means he’s about as far from Merlin as he could be. Days where he seems to want to pretend he’s never had magic in his life.

Today is a bad day.

Merlin doesn’t talk until one of them asks. He goes off on his chores and they don’t see him for hours. Gaius is worried. Leon is worried. Lancelot is worried.

Percival is angry. Some of the new knights believe Merlin is a traitor—for whatever reason—and spends time educating them on the training fields.

Elyan is afraid. Gwen came to him and said that she hasn’t seen Merlin all day, which means Merlin is avoiding the servants as well as the knights.

Gwaine is upset. Because he can’t find Merlin anywhere and the longer he stays away the worse he’s going to be when he comes back.

Arthur walks into his chambers at the end of the day and sees Merlin sitting on his bed.

He stuffs away the outrage at himself for not thinking to look here first, stuffs away the fear and sadness that Merlin is upset, stuffs away the need to order him to Gaius and have him looked over, and replaces it with a soft call of: “Merlin?”

“Sire.”

Oh, no.

“Hello, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, “can I come over to you?”

“If you like, sire.”

“I would.” Arthur crosses the room slowly, wary of Merlin’s reaction, until he can stop within arms’ reach. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Merlin looks up at him. “May I ask you for a favor, sire?”

“Of course, Merlin, anything you like.”

“…m-may I have a hug, please?”

Arthur’s heart shatters.

His face must do the wrong thing because Merlin flinches, withdrawing into himself. “I’m sorry, sire, that was rude of me to ask. I’ll leave you be, now.”

“No, no, no, Merlin,” Arthur stammers, “no, that’s not what I meant, stay, stay, Merlin, of course you can have a hug, come here, come here—“

He gathers Merlin into his arms, to his chest, wrapping him up as snugly as he can.

“You don’t need permission for a hug, Merlin, that’s why I was upset,” he mumbles, “I don’t want you to think you have to earn it, you don’t—“

It seems his ramblings, however embarrassing to him, are helping Merlin calm down. Or at least get over his fear enough to wrap his arms around Arthur too. Arthur squeezes him tight and is content to sit there for a moment to let Merlin have what he wants, but then he feels something tug at his chest.

Tug, tug, tug.

Arthur frowns, tries to tug back, only for the tugging to grow more insistent. He follows the tugging to scoop Merlin into his arms, carry him to the bed, and lie down beside him. As the tugging persists, he tucks Merlin’s head under his chin and pulls him closer, threading a leg through his. One last tug and oh, oh, he understands now.

“You’re not bad,” he murmurs, ruffling Merlin’s hair as he talks, “you’re not evil. You have magic, Merlin, that’s alright. You’re my Merlin. I don’t want a proper servant, I don’t want a normal servant, I want you. You’re my Merlin.”

There.

Whatever wall there is crumbles as Merlin begins to sob desperately into his chest. The tugging renews, guiding him this way, that way, to hold Merlin close, to pull back and let him gasp for breath, to murmur reassurances in his ear, or to roll a little and hold Merlin down as he seizes with the force of the cries.

And through it all, Merlin never stops asking for comfort.

His fingers never loosen their grip on Arthur’s shirt. His legs never let go of the one Arthur wraps through his. His nose never strays far from the crook of Arthur’s neck. He never stops pushing himself into Arthur’s chest, almost as if he’s trying to climb inside and make a home for himself there.

He already has one.

Arthur realizes the wordless asks and answers, holding him as tight as he wants, listening to the tugs in his chest to take care of his Merlin properly, never stops murmuring that yes, this is good, this is alright, Merlin can have whatever he wants, Arthur’s here, he’s here, he’ll take care of Merlin.

He’ll be here. He’ll always be right here.

After, Arthur will ask him softly about the tugs, and Merlin will blush and realize that his magic was asking for help when he couldn’t. Arthur will smile and ruffle his hair and tease him about his magic liking Arthur better than him. The smile will soften when Merlin shakily admits he’s thought the same thing.

After, Merlin will start asking for touch more. He’ll brush his hand against Lancelot’s, sit a little closer to Gwaine or Percival, start accompanying Elyan on his daily walks, or find himself reaching for Leon’s cloak only for Leon to bundle his hand in his and keep it safe.

After, Merlin will slide into bed the moment Arthur opens his arms, letting them both sleep in a little more and enjoy the feeling of warm, warm, warm.

But right now, Merlin is crying in Arthur’s arms and Arthur isn’t going anywhere.

He’ll always be right here.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Squeals and flails! Your writing is so good! Have been stopping myself from asking for continuations of pretty much every piece, especially the childhood, omega Lao Wen going into heat and possessive Ah Xu ones! Could you write a 5+1 fic with five times Ah Xu dotes on his Lao Wen, and one time Lao Wen is sweet to Ah Xu please? Was thinking that the first moment could be Wenzhou stargazing with Lao Wen falling asleep in Ah Xu’s arms and then Ah Xu hugging him closer? Thank you!

A/N: So this is going to be a 3 + 1 instead of a fiver because I’m sleepy and I want to finish this before bed haha... Sorry...

1. It’s a little too late in the season for them to be indulging in a spot of stargazing on the roof of the Manor, but Lao Wen had complained that they’d barely had any time alone (lies; they’ve stolen plenty of time alone because his ass sure as hell remembers those times alone) and had pulled out his trump card of telling Chengling to gather the kids for a spot of camping out in the plum forests as a form of cultivation exercise.

Zishu isn’t sure what sort of bribery Lao Wen had promised the brat, but he hopes Chengling bargained hard for it.

So, here they were. Up on the rooftop, wrapped up in their cloaks, passing a bottle of pear blossom wine between them as they watch the heavens twinkle down at them. In the distance, Zishu can clearly see the dull glow of the firelight and he feels assured that the kids haven’t gone too far.

“Ah Xu, pay attention to me,” Lao Wen harumphs, wriggling himself into his arms with a laugh. Zishu wraps his arms around him, burying his lips to the crown of his head and kissing him there with a smile. 

“I’m always paying attention to you,” He says.

It takes Lao Wen a beat to reply and when he does, it is a quiet but fond, “I know.”

Under the moonlight, they enjoy each other’s company; reminiscing of their first time stargazing together and all the hijinks that night had entailed. They talk about the progress of the disciples, about Chengling and his upcoming trip to Nanjiang to visit Luta, about the extension they will need to make for the new students that are coming next month.

It is about an hour into this when Zishu realises that Lao Wen has fallen silent. Worried that he may be struck by a bout of strange moods again, he looks down only to find that Lao Wen has fallen asleep in his arms. 

Smiling, he adjusts their cloaks so that they’re bundled up warm in the night chill. Curling a touch to Lao Wen’s cheek, Zishu settles in against him.

2. When Lao Wen sulks, he doesn’t do it in half measures.

Chengling winces at him in sympathy before backing away slowly like he is trying to escape a spooked tiger. In a way, Zishu thinks that this situation probably warrants a strategic retreat of some kind. 

Still. He glares at Chengling’s winning smile as he darts away to safety. That little traitor.

“So when were you planning on telling me that Lord Seventh,” Here Zishu notes that Lao Wen spits the syllables of Beiyuan’s title as if rolling something extremely distasteful in his mouth. “Was coming to visit?”

He mulls over what to say; well-versed as he is in taming Lao Wen when his darkest impulses flare to the fore, Zishu needs to weigh the next things that come out of his mouth before he digs this grave any deeper.

“Or were you not planning on telling me at all?”

The thread of hurt in those words strike true in twisting his heart. Looking up at where Lao Wen has his back to him makes it worse and he hurries across to him, pulling him into his arms and peppering kisses over his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his brows, the plush heat of his lips, as he seats both of them on the divan. 

“I really was going to tell you, I promise,” Zishu says, brushing back his hair. Letting Lao Wen nuzzle against his throat, he sighs. “I know how you are when Beiyuan visits and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with him being here, but he’s one of the few people in the world who knows me as well as you do. He’s a friend and there are times when I just want to have my friend with me.”

“I don’t hate him...” Lao Wen mumbles softly.

Zishu has to laugh at the blatant lie. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together can tell that Lao Wen gets an eye twitch or two when Beiyuan and he exchange some inside joke or two that excludes him. It’s such a little thing; petty by the standards of others and Zishu knows that he isn’t actually jealous or trying to be controlling, but is instead curious and yet dreading all the secrets that Beiyuan may let slip about Zishu’s life before him and all the persons that came before.

Now, that he is jealous about.

He doesn’t say anything to the contrary, merely pull Lao Wen tightly against him. “Alright, alright, if you say so,” He says agreeably, peppering kisses to his husband’s cheek.

3. Absence, as those who claim to be wise, would say, makes the heart grow fonder.

What Zishu finds is that it makes him a fucking misery to be around.

Chengling had long since given up in trying to coax him into some sort of reasonable mood a good week ago and had taken off in the night, leaving a note to say that he will rendezvous with him in another week. That disciple of his is getting better at picking up the subtle things that people are telling him without saying a single word.

He downs another cup of wine. 

It has been horrible to travel this far without Lao Wen. He’d had to contend with constantly looking over his shoulder for a smiling face and the quick-fire wit of his beloved. He has had to draw upon every self-control he had in him not to scream at the Sect Leader they were visiting to further their alliance.

Zishu fumes and drinks two more cups in quick succession.

If Chengling isn’t back in time and if he has to delay his trip back to the Manor just to wait for his silly disciple, he will absolutely without a shadow of a doubt, leave the idiot behind to fend for himself.

He’s done his best to equip the kid for surviving in the wild. No one can fault him for wanting to run back home with the stash of wines he had found on his travels. Zishu had bought them to share with his Lao Wen of course; there were some well-loved flavours and then some others that could be considered rare enough that a former Lord of the Ghost Valley would definitely find delight in the taste of.

Zishu finds himself calming somewhat at the thought of laying out his gifts for Lao Wen; of how those beautiful eyes would widen at the sight of all the wines, of how his lips would curl in a smile as he tastes each and every one of them, savouring them in the only way a connoisseur can; the sounds he would make in his enjoyment that could only come from a place so deep in pleasure--

No, no, no. Zishu is not going there tonight. He downs three cups and sighs. He’s already rubbed himself raw from missing Lao Wen this entire trip. If he does anymore, he’ll probably...

Yeah. Best to just save it til he gets home to his beloved.

+1

Lao Wen likes to think that he is an attentive husband. Certainly, Ah Xu has never wanted for anything when he was with him. Be it in bed or outside of it, he loves to cater to his beloved’s needs. 

As such, when it comes to his birthday, Lao Wen will die before he admits that he doesn’t know what to get him.

In the end, the answer comes simply. 

After the birthday dinner with the members of the Manor, he steals Ah Xu away for a bout of kisses that leave them both weak-kneed and aching jawed. “Get into bed. I’ll bring you your gift,” He says, hands on Ah Xu’s slender waist. Smiling, he swallows down his moan, licking the taste of wine and good food off Ah Xu’s tongue. “You’ll love it.”

He watches his husband stumble back, eyes a deep desire dark.

He cannot wait to see how his Ah Xu unravels when they put into play the little gift he had custom made for him; an exquisite jade that sits on a bed of silk in a lacquer box, hidden in the folds of his second-best robe. The same jade he may or may not have spent a small fortune in carving into the shape of his own cock. 

If he was being honest, this was an entirely selfish gift to be giving someone else on their birthday, but what does he care? This is something Ah Xu and himself can utilise over and over again, and this was something that could be the first of many to come. 

Absently and with glee, he thinks of the day he gets to help Ah Xu model for a jade phallus of his own. 

Oh, Lao Wen is going to have so much fun tonight.

[skullrock]

the campers, chapter nine

chapter nine - the savior 

series summary: Steve gets a job as a camp counselor at Camp Know Where, intending on using the summer to discover himself. When things start to go wrong at camp, the only people that can help him are the Party, Hopper, and his mortal enemy - you. [Enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort]

chapter summary: You, Steve, and Hopper explore the Upside Down in search for the missing campers. 

warnings: swearin’, angst, violence feat. demogorgons, death! this one is dark folks!

word count: 5.5k

a/n: you can catch up on the series here! sorry I was gone for two months w this story but here u go <3

===

The walkie drops from Steve’s hand and he straightens immediately, pressing his back up against Hopper’s. He holds the bat in both hands now as he scans the area.

It’s always weird, Steve thinks, how much of an impact adrenaline has on his body. He can’t hear anything except his own heartbeat and the rapid breaking of twigs somewhere in front of him. It’s almost an out of body experience - he’s numb to everything except the horror and anticipation. His knuckles turn white against the dark wood of the bat as his eyes flicker around in the near pitch blackness of the dimension.

“Steve, do you copy?”

And Steve does what seems right - he stomps on the walkie until it stops. The moment the sound goes out, the Demogorgon appears, and Steve’s tense muscles falter before stiffening again.

Hopper turns on his heel to stand beside Steve and cocks his rifle before shooting, directly into the opened flora of its head. Steve plants his feet and raises the bat as the thing gets closer. He almost feels like he’s right back at Jonathan’s house, with Jon on one side and Nance on the other. He kind of wishes that was the case, but Hopper would do.

Steve swings the bat as hard as he can once the monster is close enough and the nails slice into the thick skin of the Demogorgon. Both Hopper and Steve groan at the sound of its high-pitched shriek, and Steve rips the bat backwards before hitting it again, right where it’s ribs would be. Hopper fires more shots at it, but Steve knows it takes more than a few bullets to kill one of these things. If it can even be killed.

The Demogorgon’s mouth opens again to cry out and it slashes towards Hopper first, narrowly missing him. Steve arches forward to miss it’s claws before slamming the bat into its neck. When it cries out again, Steve aims towards it’s opened mouth and swings with all of his strength. Hopper takes a shot right after, and that seems to do the trick - the Demogorgon shrivels up on the cold ground. Hopper and Steve assault it a few more times before it finally goes limp, leaving the scene in deafening silence, save for the men’s ragged breathing.

Steve let’s the bat fall to his side, his grip on it easing. Hopper steps forward to look over Steve’s shoulder at the corpse before clapping Steve on the shoulder, sighing. The corner of Steve’s lips quirk up at the validation before he frowns when his eyes land on the obliterated walkie talkie.

It reminds Steve of Jonathan’s camera.

“Shit,” Hopper breathes, kneeling down to pick at the pieces.

Steve feigns innocence and points at the dead Demogorgon. “Must have stepped on it.”

Hopper stands. “We need a walkie.”

Steve looks at him like he’s crazy. “But we - we’re all the way in here -“

“I’ll go forward to look for the kids. You can go back to get a new one, since you broke this one.”

Steve’s mouth opens and shuts. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to split up.”

“We’ll get more done if we do.”

Steve stares before rolling his shoulders, throwing the bat back over them. “Fine. But we need to know where to meet.”

Hopper simply points at the shoe prints in the ground. “Follow these when you get back. I won’t move from them.”

Steve feels like he’s going to throw up at the thought of being alone here, but he knows that they really do need a walkie. So he sighs and nods curtly before taking off, back in the direction they came from.

“Hey, Steve?”

He turns. “Yeah?”

Hopper frowns. “Be careful.”

“No shit,” Steve mumbles, kicking at dead leaves as he continues.

===

You have no idea how literal children are handling this situation better than you, but they are.

El never really struck you as the superpower type, but you watch as she helps the portal open just slightly for you. Mike is completely unfazed, of course, like he’s watched this happen one hundred times. You stare at both of them with your jaw slightly agape before nodding. “Thank you.”

“You need a nickname,” Mike says. “For the transmissions.”

“Who is going to intercept this transmission, Mike?”

“Just -” He sighs loudly. “What should we call you?”

“I don’t give a shit,” you mutter, climbing onto your knees and looking into the portal with uncertainty.

Mike makes a noise of annoyance. “We’ll call you Athena.”

You genuinely couldn't care less, but anxiety pools in your gut as you continue to stare. El takes a small step forward. “Axe first.”

You throw it through to the other side and look up at her and Mike as you touch your waistband for the walkie-talkie you had. Your bandana is secure around your face and the goggles from the science room fog up slightly with each breath you take. If this was a prank, it was a very elaborate and good one.

“I’ll call you,” you say.

“Good luck.”

No one says it’ll be fine, or it’s really not that bad once you get in, or haha this is a big prank and we totally got your ass!. It’s just a somber good luck, with El wringing her hands and Mike clenching his fist.

Still, you continue. You have to find Steve.

===

Steve really does not like being alone in here. He doesn’t like being alone anywhere, but certainly not in the Upside Down. Any noise that he thinks might not be his makes his blood pressure skyrocket. His bat is constantly out in front of him, ready to strike at any second. His knuckles twist the bat tightly, making his fingers go numb.

About thirty minutes pass since he’s left Hopper, and he cannot seem to locate the portal he entered through.

Steve’s starting to get really scared now. He pauses his movements to think hard, eyes taking in the continuous scene of navy and black. Nothing looks familiar, but that’s probably because everything is cloaked in toxic particles and some kind of mucus that makes Steve shutter.

“You’re okay,” he mumbles out loud, taking a small step forward. “Jesus, you’re okay.”

Another small step. Then another.

A clicking sound emerges behind Steve and his blood runs cold. He can suddenly feel a presence behind him, and it sure as shit is not human. The clicking mixes in with a high pitched chittering and Steve’s knees nearly give out, but he turns and swings with the last of his strength.

He thankfully hits the Demogorgon, but the bat gets stuck in its thick skin. Steve pulls back, and pulls back, and pulls back, and he swears the moment before it swipes him it laughs at him.

He hits the ground with an audible thud and groans before rolling, narrowly avoiding its claws again. The bat is stillstuck, sticking out of the Demogorgon’s neck. For the first time, Steve curses his weapon for being useless

He jumps to his feet but is thrown down again. The claws reach him this time, swiping through his jacket and shirt and piercing the skin of his ribs. And Steve screams. He can usually grit his teeth and bare it, but the feeling hurts more than any punch he’d ever encountered. He feels bile rising in his throat and he pushes up, trying to scramble backwards. The fresh blood only motivates the monster, who comes for Steve slowly, chittering and clicking sickeningly.

Somewhere off in the distance, you hear Steve’s scream, and your heart drops to your soles. You take off, sprinting after him, too scared to shout for him. As you get closer to the sound you can hear something else, an unsettling clicking noise, and goosebumps rise on your skin. You still run, though, zeroed in on finding and saving him.

Steve’s pretty pissed. He’s been through a hell of a lot, and this was how he was going to go out. He’s a seasoned survivor and he’s about to die at the hands of the first monster that he ever defeated. And he’s pissed because he’s never going to be able to save those kids, or save the Party, or tell you that maybe he kind of sort of loves you.

Still, he braces himself, figuring that it can’t hurt any more than the pain in his ribs. He squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to think about sitting on that large rock with you at the swimming hole, feeling your soft and warm skin on him again.

Instead of hearing his own screams, though, he hears the Demogorgon let out one, a shrill and painful shriek. Steve opens his eyes curiously and his mouth drops.

You slice through the Demogorgon’s back, exposing a black interior. You pull back with a shout and slam the axe back into it, this time aiming right by the bat stuck in its neck, and it cries out again. It tries to twist back but in a complete moment of fury at the sight of a wounded Steve, you slice it’s head clean off.

The body slumps, but the head rolls, still shrieking. You march towards it and slam the axe into it over and over until it completely stops.

Steve’s never been more in love in his life.

You pant down at the head before looking back to Steve.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey, Steve.”

You pause for a moment longer before running for him, dropping your axe and kneeling beside him. He winces and hisses, moving his hand to his rib cage. You push it out of the way and examine him, moving back the blood soaked layers to assess the damage. It’s not as bad as you’d thought, but he’s losing a good bit of blood. You help peel his jacket off before tying the arms tightly around the wound, making him cry out.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, tears forming in your eyes. “God, Steve, I’m sorry - so sorry for everything.”

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching for you, resting a blood soaked hand on your cheek before removing it. “Ah, shit -“

You grab his hand and lace your fingers through his. “Steve. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up - I should have trusted you -“

“‘s okay,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, too. Should’ve just told you.”

“I get why you didn’t,” you laugh sadly, running a hand over his cheek. Your eyes well with more tears as you’re hit with the overwhelming sadness of his situation. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s still a kid. And he’s had to live with this for years.

“Don’t cry,” he says, furrowing his brows. “‘m okay.”

You shake your head and bring it to rest against his, forehead against forehead, eyelashes fluttering together. “I’m just so sorry.”

“Think you made it up to me,” he smiles - or maybe it’s a grimace. “Now I’ve got to make it up to you.”

You push him back down when he attempts to stand, but he shakes his head, brows furrowed in concentration. “Gotta get up.”

“You’re hurt,” you say, and he sets his jaw.

“Have to help,” he pants. “Need to save the kids.”

You’d almost forgotten about them in the excitement. Your shoulders slump at the reminder and you have some serious doubts that they could have possibly lived through a hell like this.

Still, you help Steve up. He moves slowly, planting his feet and taking a few shaky breaths once he’s up. He walks towards the corpse of the monster with his back hunched and rips the bat from it’s flesh, wincing a bit as he does. He shakes it to get some excess flesh off before swinging it over his shoulder gingerly.

He looks very good like this, you think.

“Why are you here?” he asks suddenly. “How did you -“

“The kids told me,” you explain, grabbing your axe. “They told me your walkie had gone out and they needed help.”

Steve’s mad for a second before realizing he would have done the same if he was a kid with no other adult to go to.

“Demogorgon broke ours,” he explains. “Well, actually, I broke it -“

“A what?”

“Demogorgon,” he says, nodding towards the body on the ground. “Monster.”

“Like from Dungeons and Dragons?”

“The kids had a theme when naming everything,” he says. “C’mon, we have to go find Hopper.”

“Is he okay?” you ask, following after Steve, who stumbles and moves a lot slower than he had before.

“Who knows,” he mumbles. “Hope so.”

He stops walking for a moment to reach for you, grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers through yours. He gives a firm squeeze and looks to you with a sad smile, but you squeeze back in reassurance.

It’s all that needs said.

“Athena to… whatever the hell - I got Steve.”

A cacophony of noises erupt softly from the walkie until Dustin says, “Is he okay?!”

“Doing great,” you lie, trying to not scare them. “We are going to find Hop-”

“Stache,” Steve corrects, only because Mike has yelled at him enough to make him remember.

You stare at Steve in annoyance but Mike also cuts in with, “He’s called Stache.”

“I do not care what the names are. We are going to find him and then we will look for the kids. Okay?”

“Over,” Steve says, and Mike says, “Over,” and you almost have a mental breakdown between the technicalities and the anxiety.

“Over,” you hiss, and turn the walkie off.

You and Steve follow the footprints that he had pointed out to you, hands clenching your weapons tightly. Steve realizes that he’s probably leading a trail straight to the two of you with the blood dripping from his ribs, but he knows he can’t back out of this. He won’t back out of this. He needs to save the kids and put a stop to this.

Eventually, you find Hopper, who’s a bit rugged but otherwise okay. Hopper stares at you for a moment, confused with why you’re here, but Steve simply points to the walkie. Hopper nods and steps towards Steve, suddenly noticing his wound. He examines Steve with worry laced in his brows, touching the fabric over the wound gingerly. “Got you pretty good, huh?”

“Hurts,” Steve mumbles, his fingers still tight around the bat.

Hopper looks to him with a newer expression, one laced more in fear than worry. “It likes blood.”

“I know,” Steve says, shifting. “We - we’ll be alright.”

Hopper is not so convinced, and neither are you, but there really isn’t much of a choice here.

“Have you found anything?” you ask quietly.

Hopper shakes his head, but points off into the distance. “But I bet we’re close.”

In the distance, you can see the buildings of the Camp. Well, this version of the buildings - dilapidated and overgrown.

“You think they’re there?” you ask.

Hopper nods, continuing to look at the buildings. “Will was….”

Your heart drops, remembering the story that the kids had told you. Steve looks sick as well, but everyone moves forward, weapons at the ready once more.

You come upon the main buildings - the cafeteria and the classrooms. The cabins are off in the distance, but Hopper is sure that if the kids were anywhere, they’d be here. He remembers where he found Will and Barb, in a sort of nest at the heart of the city. He reckons if the Demogorgons were going to have a nest, it’d be in one of these buildings.

Your heart leaps to your throat as you approach the buildings, and you stick as close to Steve as you can. He moves slowly, hunched over, but adrenaline keeps him moving. You look at him with concern, but Steve looks straight ahead, trying to act unfazed.

Hopper enters the school building first, raising his rifle and flashlight as he breaches the entrance. Steve ushers you in, looking around the outside before falling in behind you. Hopper looks around at the numerous hallways, before turning to you and Steve. “Somebody want to lead the way?”

Steve looks at you expectantly, and you narrow your eyes. “Come on, we’ve been here for weeks. Do you really not know the layout of this building?”

Steve shrugs innocently in reply and you sigh loudly, pushing past him and Hopper to lead the way. Your knees shake with each step you take, but you force yourself to stay upright. Steve moves in front of Hopper to be close to you. It’s not that he didn’t think Hopper could save you; he just wanted to be the one to do it.

The first few rooms are clear, although some are a bit more decayed than others. You have the fleeting thought that you wished you had brought something to take samples with - but who would ever believe this, anyway? The three of you pushed on, looking into each room slowly, straining to hear any signs of danger.

When you get to a new hallway, everyone splits up, checking the rooms separately to cover ground quicker.

You find the first missing camper.

The room is decayed beyond repair. Vines tangle over the concrete floor, and the same slime-like membrane covers the room and it’s inhabitants. It looks almost like a nest - cocoons on the walls, membranes with web-like appearances attached. But there were undoubtedly bodies in the room, and you stepped one foot over the threshold cautiously. You couldn’t breathe - refused to - as you took another step into the room. Your shoes stuck to the membrane on the ground and it took a bit of effort to keep moving. It felt almost unreal - the atmosphere, the scene before you. Like you were in another world completely - which, you were - but it felt like a nightmare.

Brent Albright was twelve and skinny. He disappeared first. You recognize his body immediately.

Shaking, you knelt down. “Brent?”

There was no response - no stirring, no signs of life. You reach for him and shake his arm, your own shaking violently. “Brent!”

It took every effort in you to not throw up.

“C’mon,” you whisper hoarsely. “C’mon, Brent.” You grab his wrist and feel for a pulse, but find nothing except ice-cold skin and veins.

You try to scream, but nothing comes out. Soon, Hopper and Steve notice your absence, and they find you kneeling on the ground, shaking your head as you stare at his body.

Steve’s knees buckle but he pushes himself forward, following Hopper to kneel beside you.

“Gone,” you whisper.

Hopper reaches to feel the boy’s pulsepoint in his throat, but he knows once he feels his skin that he’s not there. His head droops and he sits his rifle down, cursing under his breath.

Steve shakes so hard that it feels like his organs are vibrating. He stands, takes a sharp breath in, and then strides to another room to vomit.

The scene hurt everyone, but it hurt Steve so much that he felt like he was drowning. He could always save them - he could always be the hero. He thought he’d be able to find the two campers and bring them home, safe and unharmed. But he failed them. He couldn’t bring them home. He couldn’t keep them safe, couldn’t get to them fast enough. And if he couldn’t do that, what could he do?

Steve remembers what Nancy told him about Barb. That El had found her in the Upside Down. Dead. He can’t help but to look around the room and realize that this is where Barb was when she died. Alone and lost and scared, just like Brent. And no one could save her, either, after she was ripped here right in his own backyard.

Will was here, too. Will had to deal with this. Will was probably in the same position - apparently nearly dead when he was found.

Steve digs his nails into his chest, trying to use the pain to ground himself. His head spins and he collapses to the ground, putting his head in his hands, wincing at the pain in his ribs. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.

It feels like he deserves to be next.

In the other room, you and Hopper examine the walls for any other signs of life, but find nothing that’s remotely distinguishable. Everything was flesh and bone.

Hopper rests his hand on your shoulder and sighs heavily. “There’s still a kid out there. We have to find them.”

You nod weakly. “Steve.”

“Go see if you can calm him down,” he says.

You nod and move to where Steve is, the room across from this one. He shakes alone as he curls up in on himself, and you rush for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“It’s all my fault,” he whispers brokenly.

“How?” you ask.

“I couldn’t… I shouldn’t have waited.” He shakes his head and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Jesus, I should have looked for them sooner.”

“How would you have found them here?”

“I don’t know!” he snaps. “But they’re gone, and I couldn’t - I couldn’t do anything.”

Steve understands so deeply how Nancy felt in 1984. And he had brushed her off, terrified that they’d get hurt if they talked about it. He understands how helpless she must have felt, and it makes him feel like there’s a boulder in his stomach, cold and rough.

You wince when you hear him start to cry, and you press him deeply into your side. You feel sick and upset too, but you know you need to be strong for him.

“Steve,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

It makes him cry harder. He doesn’t know if he wants the pity or not, but nonetheless, he feels small and scared and he just wants to go home.

“There’s another kid,” you say gently. “And he needs our help, too. We have to keep going.”

Steve nods and swallows hard. He takes another deep breath - which really isn’t that deep - and sniffles, then stands, grabbing his bat and moving from the room. You follow him, frowning, tears brimming your eyes, too. But you push them back and grab your axe, setting off to find the other.

===

Fred Perkins is found just a couple of doors away. This time around, the kid is breathing.

Hopper finds his pulse, which is faint and slow, but there. He must have been recently dragged in, as he was relatively unharmed, but seemed to have hypothermia or something similar. His lips were blue and his face was paler than anything you’d ever seen - you were surprised he wasn’t a corpse. But you checked his pulse as well, and it was there.

“Fred,” you say, pushing his hair out of his face. “C’mon, buddy. Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t even stir.

“We need to get him back quickly,” Steve says. “I don’t know how much longer he can be here.”

Hopper nods, but you pause. “Isn’t the nearest portal the one that’s almost half an hour away by foot?”

“Do you want to leave him here?”

“No,” you snap. “But it’s not going to be easy, and your ribs are already messed up -”

“We can do it,” Steve says. “We have to do it.”

Your eyes linger on him for a moment before you look back down at Fred. You wish you’d brought a blanket or an extra jacket for him, but there’s nothing you can use. “Hop and I can carry him. Steve, just keep an eye open for us, okay?”

Steve stiffens, irritated, wanting to help. “But -”

“Steve.” Your voice is quiet and sincere, and he drops it.

“What about Brent?” he asks. “We can’t leave him here.”

Hopper sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We don’t have much of a choice.”

Steve nearly becomes belligerent at this. “Leave him here? You want us to just leave him here? All alone?”

“Steve, it’s too dangerous. We can’t.”

“We can come back for him later,” you say, although it’s a lie. Eleven needs to close the portals - there’s no coming back. “We need to worry about Fred right now. Okay?”

Steve takes a slow, deep breath and nods, gripping his bat tighter. “Okay. Okay. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Hopper really doesn’t have much of an issue carrying the child, since he’s small and skinny and had very obviously lost some weight. As he carries Fred, you call the kids back at camp.

“This is Athena, can you hear me?”

“This is Paladin, what’s your twenty?”

“We found Fred,” you say. You think it’s probably best to leave out Brent’s fate. “We’re coming back to the portal to get him out of there. It’ll take us a bit, but stay on the lookout. Have you seen anything on your side?”

“No,” Mike answers. “But El keeps having to reopen the portal. It keeps wanting to close.”

You share a glance with Steve and Hopper. “O-okay. We’ll move as fast as we can. Over.”

You clip the walkie back onto your waistband and follow closely beside Hopper, your axe over one shoulder. You pay more attention to Fred than to the woods around you, but Steve is luckily very aware of everything. Every crunch makes you all halt, looking around like prey before continuing once no threat is made obvious.  The walk feels like an eternity, and there are times where Hopper needs to rest and adjust; he still refuses any help, which irritates you, but only for a moment. You’re not sure if you could really help much.

Your worry drifts to Steve, who hasn’t said much of anything and whose jaw is perpetually clamped tightly shut. You quicken your pace to walk with him, and you run your hand down his arm in an attempt to soothe him. “I’m sorry.”

Steve licks his lips, sniffles, and shakes his head just slightly.

“How are your ribs?”

“Medium rare.”

You smile slightly and bump into him. “We’re almost back. We’ll get you help.”

Steve nods, but he’s distracted. Though he can’t see anything, he feels some imminent danger that he can’t shake. The woods are dark and too quiet, and the fine hair on his neck stands on end. His hands wring around the bat as he looks around and scans the trees for any signs of danger. It’s so important to him in this moment that he protects you and Hopper and Fred. After letting down Brent, he cannot - will not - let anyone else get hurt. He’ll die to protect you if he has to.

After what feels like a hundred years, you arrive back at the portal you’d gone through. A massive wave of relief runs through you as you approach and you can’t help but to almost skip as you get closer to the portal. You call through to El and Mike who answer immediately, their own relief evident in their voices.

Steve protects you and Hopper as you kneel on the ground. “We’re sending Fred through first,” you say, helping Hopper lay him down gently. “We need to get him back to camp as soon as possible, he’s in really bad shape.”

You help Hopper feed Fred through to where Mike and El are able to grab him and bring him to the other side. You can’t help but to smile widely - you did it. You made it. Steve’s alive, Hopper’s alive, and one kid is alive. You did it.

Something snaps nearby.

Immediately on alert, Hopper jumps up and grabs his gun off the holster. You grab your axe and stand by him, behind Steve, who announces, “Company.”

You hear something wet behind you and whip around - the portal is closing. The portal is closing.

“El,” you call. “The portal -”

It closes.

“Guys.”

“What?” Hopper snaps, eyes trained on the darkness expanding in front of you.

“The portal closed.”

Both men’s shoulders - and weapons - drop as they spin to confirm your observation.

“What the -” Steve starts, but a similar, eerie clicking noise fills the air.

“Demogorgon.”

It clicks in Steve’s head within a split second - they’d been following the four of you this entire time. They planned this. An ambush. They closed the portal to corner you. Steve’s blood left the trail.

Clever shits, Steve thinks, before his bat swings at a Demogorgon that had sprung towards him.

You shout for him, but one emerges to your left. You slice through its arm with your axe, cringing as it lets out a piercing scream. You hear Hopper unloading his gun beside you, but you keep going, slicing at the monster before it eventually crumples and falls to the floor. You jump when something grabs your arm, but it’s only Steve, who quickly pulls you to run from the tree. You hear more snarling behind you and you feel like you can’t breathe with the bandana and goggles fogging up. Steve keeps pulling you though, and Hopper runs beside you, occasionally pausing to shoot back behind him.

What Hopper and Steve know, and what you don’t know, is that bullets don’t do shit to these things. The only time Steve ever saw one of them disappear was when he had set one on fire with Nancy and Jonathan - and even then, he couldn’t be certain that it actually died. It seemed that slicing through them was good enough, but maybe it wasn’t - maybe they could form themselves again. Either way, your chances weren’t looking good, and Steve’s heart plummets when he realizes what he has to do.

Steve suddenly stops running and Hopper goes to help him move along, but he shakes his head and nearly shoves him away.

“What is it?” you ask quickly. “Are - are you hurting? Can you not -”

“Go,” he says, turning around, and walking back the way you came.

You lunge for him, grabbing onto his arm, pulling him towards you. “No. No. This isn’t time to be hero, Steve -”

“They’re right,” Hopper says, taking a step towards Steve. “C’mon, we need to -”

A piercing wail pierces the air. They were getting closer.

“It’s my fault,” Steve says quickly. “It’s my fault. My blood -”

“I don’t care if it’s your fault, Steve -”

“Please.” His voice cracks. “Please. Go.”

“Not without you!”

“Kid, come on -”

Steve shakes his head and cups your cheek with his hand. “Right behind you. I’m right behind you. Go.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, reaching up to your throat. You feel like you’re suffocating. “Steve, please, not again, can’t lose you -”

But he leaves, marching towards the darkness, bat raised and shoulders back. Hopper tries to grab him, but Steve moves with such purpose that the universe itself could not call him back.

Hopper forces you to run, grabbing your arm and pulling you along. You wait to hear any noises of Steve’s certain death, but it’s eerily quiet. Only your breaths and footsteps make any noise.

You soon after land on the camp’s main buildings once more. Your mind races as you try to think of places to hide, but Hopper can see something bright and luminescent at the bottom of the lake. He stops to squint, and realizes that it’s a portal. An odd place for a portal, but a portal nonetheless. It’s your only option.

You’re confused as Hopper pulls you towards the pier, but you quickly understand as your eyes land on the open mass at the bottom. You almost stop running. “No way!”

“Hope you can swim,” Hopper says, and although you can, you’re not so sure you can survive that long - not when your heart hurts from beating, with your lungs on fire, with the absence of Steve cutting through your gut like blades. Not without him.

“But Steve -”

Hopper grabs your shoulders and turns you to face him. “We have to. We can’t wait. He’ll be right behind us, he’s more than capable, but we need to go now.”

Your eyes dart back to the woods, then to Hopper. “Right behind me?”

“Promise,” he says. “I’m right behind you.”

You nod, legs and arms shaking. Your eyes move towards the woods one more time, hoping Steve would emerge, but there’s nothing except silence. You take a deep breath and step towards the edge of the pier, then another, then another. Your lungs contract and expand; your legs feel weak and on fire; and you feel your chest expand one more time before plunging into the water.

===

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[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Crossover Episode 1 Part 3

Hey, once again, Crossover time, with your host, me! Everybody clap your hands!!!

Lightning crashed, and thunder rumbled outside the ominous spire of stone and lost hope that was the Conformatorium. As Luz took in the sight before her, she turned a flat stare towards the smirking Witch next to her. “What was that you said about this place being super fun?”

Ignoring Eda’s chuckle, Luz panned her vision across the area, giving herself a rough idea of the layout for the building, before her eye caught on a poster tacked to a nearby wall. Walking up to it, she yanked it down to see an artistic representation of Eda and King, complete with Bounty. She let out a low whistle at the figure. “Wow, these guys really got the hots for you.”

“Yeah, but they’ve never caught me.” Eda preened with pride, deftly stuffing the flyer into her hair. “King’s got some moves of his own when it comes to giving people the slip.”

“Yeah! Just try and catch me when I’m greased,” King cheered, eager to talk about his skills. “I’m a squirmy little fella!”

“Heh, I’ll take your word for it.” Luz grinned.

Eda smirked, gesturing for Luz and King to come in closer. “Alright, I’ll make a distraction to keep Wrath and his goons preoccupied. You two will make your way to the Vault from above.” She paused to conjure up a platform, the transport they would use to ascend. “I’ll do my best to keep Wrath and the Guards from getting to you, but for that to work, I’ll need you guys to keep your heads down in there. Can I count on you?” She turned a solemn face towards Luz at her question.

Luz made a small show of mulling it over, before grinning brightly. “Don’t worry about it. This isn’t my first time sneaking around somewhere I’m not supposed to be, after all.”

“Ugh, enough with the emotions, let’s just go already!” King complained, eager to get inside.

With a huff of amusement, Luz leapt onto the platform, scooping up King with an indignant squawk, before signalling Eda to send them up. As Luz rose through the air, she calmed the giddy excitement bubbling up inside, letting her face and emotions go blank. She needed to focus, to prepare herself for the fight her instincts were SCREAMING was coming their way.

As the platform reached its apex, just short of the window they needed to get to, Luz dully noted, she once more picked up King, this time with only a slight grumble of protest, and launched them both upwards. As they soared through the window, Luz caught herself in a three-point landing, fist planted in front of her chest, legs spread to catch her weight, a practically superhero-esque look… and then King slammed into the ground next to her with a grunt.

Chuckling sheepishly, Luz pulled the small demon up. As they walked towards their goal, Luz couldn’t help but marvel at the interior; this place may have been an evil den of corrupt tyranny, but she couldn’t deny the place was stylish, in a “step out of line and get wasted” sort of way. One thing that bothered her, though, was how empty it was. Luz had been around the block more than once, and she was fully aware of how much crime could get up to in any civilization, especially one that cared more about preserving things a certain way than helping the people, so the sheer barrenness of the cells was… unsettling to see.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Hey King, where are all the prisoners?”

“Weh? I don’t know. Why do you ask?” King replied. He wouldn’t openly admit it, but he was kind of weirded out by how empty this place was himself.

Luz’s curious look gained a more serious edge. “Because, no prison, whether the prisoners deserve to be in it or not, should be this level of empty unless it’s abandoned.” Luz’s scanning of the surroundings gained a hint of nervousness at that point. “I just can’t shake the feeling that something bad goes on here. You know, besides the whole “imprisoning for failure to submit to societal norms” thing.” Her frank bluntness would’ve been funny, if the situation hadn’t been so grim.

King glanced around, now feeling far more nervous about being here. “Now that you mention it, a lot of people get dragged here, but you don’t really hear much about them afterwards…”

“Hey kid, how did you get out of your cell?”

Turning their heads in surprise, both King and Luz were mildly surprised to find actual prisoners ahead of them. The one who had called out, a Witch-girl with dusky skin, two prominent canines that bordered on fangs, and an almost sleepy look to her, was beckoning them closer. It made sense, no one liked being in prison, and Luz’s gut wasn’t giving her any warnings about her. So, with that in mind, Luz sidled up to the bars.

Luz cleared her throat. “Not a prisoner actually, also, not technically a criminal.” She ignored King’s shout of ‘Not Yet Your Not!’ “Mind if I ask how you all ended up in a dump like this?” Okay, maybe it was cheesy, but Luz wasn’t gonna not ask how a group ended up in prison; what other time would she get the opportunity?

The prisoner chuckled, a bitter sound, the type you hear from someone who doesn’t really expect to be happy ever again and is just going through the motions. “Never thought someone would have the time or desire to ask me that. I got stuffed in here for writing stories about food falling in love with each other.” She held up a notebook with an image of two vegetables kissing on the open page. “And I know you didn’t ask, but the name’s Katya. You’re the first person to actually care about me in a long while.”

“Same with the rest of us.” Commented the prisoner next to the now-named Katya, a pale-blue fellow with multiple eyes. “I got put in here for eating my own eyes.” He then demonstrated, preempting Luz’s question, popping out one of his eyes, swallowing it whole, and then regrowing it perfectly. It was as fascinating as it was disturbing.

A muffled thumping came from the last occupied cell. Turning to it, Luz saw a small, white, ball-shaped creature that seemed to be a head with arms and legs sticking out of it. A cloth gag was tied tight over what Luz assumed was its mouth, the thumping coming from the creature slamming against things as it furiously clawed and yanked at the gag.

Turning a questioning stare to the others, Luz asked, “What’s going with that one?”

Katya snorted, a tired humor in her eyes. “Yeah, she’s big on conspiracy theories. She ended up annoying the guards so much they gagged her to keep her quiet. Which I thought was kinda lame, she had some fun stuff to say. Also, she really dislikes the government, which probably didn’t help her either.”

Luz was furious. No, scratch that, she was beyond furious. She was so angry, all she could show was calm. King could physically feel the rage seeping off of her. Speaking in a voice so coldly furious, Luz bit out. “So, what you’re telling me, is that you guys haven’t actually committed any crimes, and got thrown in here for being different?”

Katya let out a sad sigh. “Pretty much kid. Wrath really likes throwing anyone he considers “unsuitable” for society in here. And we happen to fit his definition of unsuitable.” She gave a soft grin towards the still irate human. “But hey, at least we got the chance to tell someone, right? Not many get that chance.”

Luz hyper-focused on that last part, instantly trying to process that statement alongside her concerns from earlier. “What do you mean by that?”

Katya gave an ominous stare. “A lot of people come into this place, but it isn’t much of a prison. It’s more a waystop before they get shipped off to the Emperor’s Castle; whatever goes on in there, we don’t know, but some people come out, utterly broken… and others don’t come back at all. Because so few people are actually here at any time, there aren’t many guards, but considering how tough Wrath himself is, it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

Luz's blood ran cold. The details may have been sparse, but what little she had been given painted a rather… ugly picture. There was no way she could leave these guys here. Glancing around, she spotted the lever that would release the cells (she honestly wondered how she missed it at first), and started tugging on it. At the slight motion of the heavy piece of metal, Luz was torn between frustration at how slow-going it was, and satisfaction at being able to move it at all. Just as she felt she was making progress, she paused, the sharp rumbling of heavy footfalls approaching in their direction.

“What are you fools yammering about?”

The voice that spoke was sinister, rumbling, and had a grating edge to it that set every nerve in Luz’s body on fire. Just as the figure was about to enter visual range, Luz gave a leap, clinging to the shadow-cloaked walls above. The amazement the prisoners felt at watching her feat was quickly squashed as the source of the voice pulled into view. A hulking, muscular figure, what little of his body could be seen having a purple tone to it. His body was clad in a white tunic, a triangular badge displayed proudly across his chest; the plague doctor-like mask sent chills up Luz’s spine. There was no doubts, this was the infamous Warden Wrath.

The Warden loomed over his prisoners, an almost palpable ruthlessness bleeding off of him. Glancing down, he spotted what he assumed was the topic of their discussion. “Ah.” He pulled up what Luz could see was a copy of that same wanted poster of Eda she had seen before. “The Owl Lady.” He brutally crushed the paper in his grip. “She escaped me before, but soon, she will be within my grasp.”

Alarm bells began ringing in Luz’s head, and as she looked down and saw King, hidden in the dark corners of one of the cells, the blind panic in his eyes made it clear he felt that fear too. Suddenly a sharp gasp drew their attention. “Aiw!!! I can bweathe again!!” It was the last prisoner, having finally managed to work the gag off of her face. Refocusing on the present, the tiny inmate began a tirade at the sight of Wrath. “The voices of independence cannot be silenced!! We will suwvive, we will enduwe, we will cast off ouw oppwessows!! We will neveh be afwaid of you, you big old cweep!!!”

Speech impediment aside, Luz couldn’t help but feel impressed at the courage it took to speak your true feelings, even in such a bleak situation. That admiration turned to dread, however, when she saw the Warden move towards the lever to the cells. While he didn’t see her, she could feel the air hum around him as he easily lifted what she struggled to even budge.

As the doors to the cells opened, the smallest prisoner gasped in delight. “Hooway, I’m fwee!” Eager to take advantage of her apparent freedom, the conspiracy theorist took off like a bullet, only to be effortlessly snagged by Wrath. As Wrath ruthlessly pulped the prisoner in his hand, the resulting squeak more menacing than humorous as he laughed over it, he calmly stated something that would forever infuriate Luz, even years later: “Remember, there is no place for you in society if you can’t fit in.”

As Wrath wandered off, to where Luz didn’t care, still clutching and tormenting the small prisoner, Luz leapt down as silently as she could, King rushing to join her. As she opened her mouth, hoping to say something, Katya raised a hand to stop her. The light that had been in her and the other prisoner’s eyes? It was gone, that little spark of hope had been snuffed out. Still, Katya tried to pull off a smile. “Just go kid. Go and enjoy freedom for us.”

Luz and King traded sad looks, before walking off. King, he didn’t know what to do with this. He was used to feeling unstoppable, weakened form notwithstanding, so feeling… bad for someone was new to him; he didn’t like it. Luz, she was angry, furious, apoplectic, basically every word you could use to describe being angry she was feeling right now. Before everything happened, she was used to feeling like an outsider, like people didn’t want to be around her because she was different from everybody else, but even at her lowest, she was never made to feel as if being herself, that being weird, was unacceptable on par with the worst of crimes. Luz knew one thing; when this heist was over, she was going to bring this place crashing to the ground.

As Luz and King mulled over their conflicted emotions, Eda ran up, a mischievous grin stretched across her face. “Alright gang, the Warden’s distracted tormenting some tiny creature and- what’s with the long faces?” Her grin wiped itself away at the depressed aura surrounding the two.

Luz turned a nervous eye towards Eda. “Hey, Eda? How often do people get sent to this place?”

Eda blinked, a little confused at the question. “Fairly regularly, at least once a week I’d say. Why do you ask?”

Luz gulped, not liking what she was about to say. “Well, how often do people come back out? And, if people come here so often, why are there so few prisoners?”

Eda paused, considering the question. As the possible answer, or answers, dawned on her, she grew grim, face pale. “Okay, yeah, that’s something I hadn’t thought about before. We need to get that crown, and get out of here as soon as possible.”

Luz nodded, a look of concentration upon her face. “Yeah. We overheard the Warden earlier, and the way he was talking? I think this may be a trap to lure you here.”

Eda blinked at that, then facepalmed. “Ugh! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that! Well, we better make this quick then.”

King piped up at that. “Then we better get going! The sooner we get my crown, the sooner Wrath stops being our problem!” With that said, he stomped towards a pair of very impressive doors.

[prismatica-the-strange]

Ugly Duckling | Chapter 2

Part 1 | Part 3

We were running to catch Greg and Tamara, when they opened a portal to God knows where, and jumped in, taking Henry with them.

        "No! No!" Emma shouted while David, her father, stopped her from jumping into what was only ocean now. "We have to follow them! There has to be a way!"

        "Not only do we not know where they went, but Hook stole the last bean!" Regina growled

        "I don't care!"

        "Without it, there's no way to follow"

        "There has to be," I argued. "We can't just let the, take Henry!"

        "They've taken Henry?" Gold asked as he and Belle showed up.

        "Yeah. You're the Dark One. Do something." David threatened.

        "Gold, help us." Emma all but begged.

        "There's no way." he shook his head, 'I spent a lifetime trying to cross worlds to find my son. There's no way in this world without a portal."

        "So that's it? He's gone forever?" I asked, defeated.

        "I refuse to believe that." Regina looked ready to kill.

        "What is that?" Belle looked past us, into the harbor.

        "Hook." 

~~~~~

        "What the hell are you doing here?" Emma asked as Hook stepped off his boat.

        "Helping."

        "Well, you're too late." Regina hissed.

        "Am I?" He raised an eyebrow in her direction.

        "I thought you didn't care about anyone but yourself."

        "Maybe I just needed reminding that I could."

        "Enough waiting around," Regina urged, stepping towards the Jolly Roger, "let's go."

        "Go? Where? I thought we were saving the town." Hook asked, confused.

        "We already did." David scoffed.

        "We need to get Henry." I explained, "Greg and Tamara took him through a portal."

        "Well, I offer my ship and my services to help follow them."

        "Well that's great, Hook, but how do we track them?" Regina asked.

        "Leave that to me." Gold interjected, "I can get us to where we need to go."

        "Well, let's do it." Mary Margaret gave a curt nod and we followed her onto the ship.

~~~~~

        "So, are you done trying to kill me?" Gold looked at Hook.

        "I believe so."

        "Excellent. Then you can live." He magic-ed as weird globe into his hand and pricked his finger, his blood dripped onto its surface and showed him an image.

        "Where is that? Where did they take Henry?" Regina pushed.

        "Neverland."

        Emma gave Hook the bean and he chucked it into the water. Pulling the strap of my Jessenger bag close, I gripped part of the rigging, something told me this want going to be a smooth ride.

~~~~~

        Not long after we arrived in the Never-sea, Gold fricked off on his own. Told us to stay where we were and he'd get Henry and get back.        

        It'd been almost an hour when there was a thud against the side of the ship. The ship began to rock as Snow and David tried to keep it steady.

        "What is it a shark?" Emma asked.

        "A Kraken?" David added.

        "Worse," Killian corrected, taking the helm, "Mermaids!"

        "Mermaids?!" Emma shouted.

        "Yes, and they're quite unpleasant."

        "You think? snapped as one of the mermaids hit the boat.

        "I'll try and outrun them."

        "How many of them are there?!" Emma looked over the rail and the screeching increased.

        Regina managed to catch one and throw a fireball at the water where the rest of them were, effectively scaring them off.

        As the rest of them bickered about what to do, the mermaid blew into a shell, summoning a storm. As the heroes fought, the storm got worse until Emma realized what was happening. The fighting was making the storm worse and to stop them and get their attention, she jumped off the side of the ship.

        Everyone stopped what they were doing to save her since she nearly drowned. Once she was back on the boat the storm had stopped altogether, but the Jolly Roger was too damaged to keep going. So we got it close enough to shore that it wouldn't capsize and waded our way to shore.

        Cold and wet, we clambered onto the beach, and they started going at each other... again.

        Emma gave a small speech and we were off to find Henry.

        We started a trek to a high peak where we would be able to see where Pan's camp was.

        "Jesus, it's hot." I huffed, pulling off my hoodie and tying it around my waist.

        "You alright?" Mary-Margaret asked, falling back to walk next to me.

        "Just a little floored, it's been an exciting couple of hours." I laughed.

~~~~~

        Well, the ridge turned out to be a bust since, in the past thirty years, it'd grown a bit. We backtracked a bit and made camp.

        It was when you tried to sleep on Neverland that you realized it was impossible. The thick air was filled with the sobs and cries of lost boys. Only, the adults couldn't seem to hear it. I pressed my head against the rock I was leaning against and pushed my headphones against my ears. 

        I watched Emma get up, and I gave her a questioning look.

        "Going for a quick walk," She mouthed and I nodded, leaning my head back against the rock and shutting my eyes.

        She was gone for a moment when I felt eyes on me. I glanced around and didn't see anything, then Emma stormed back into camp with a paper in her hand.

        Somewhere on the paper, there was a map that would reveal itself when Emma accepted 'who she really was.'

        She and the rest of the group worked on that while I kept an eye around the camp.

       Maybe I wandered a bit further from the group than I should have, but this was the last thing I expected.

        A sharp yelp bubbled out of my throat in surprise. It was until a few seconds after that I cried out a pained "Shit!"

        A spear was pinning me to a tree THROUGH my left shoulder, and blood was beginning to drip from where it stabbed me. A lost boy stepped out from behind a tree, a dark smirk on his lips.

        "What the actual Fuc-... Ah!" Yelling hurt worse than I thought it would. 

        The fucker started laughing, "Poor little girl! Did I hit you?"

        "Little gi- Bitch you fucking IMPALED ME!"

        "Well, that's what you get coming to Neverland." He got up in my face and before I could slap the smile off his face he grabbed the spear and pressed up.

        A scream ripped through me and I instinctively kneed him in the crotch. He let go and dropped to the ground.

        "You little bitch!" He pulled out a knife and went to stab my thigh when someone caught his arm.

        "What do you think you're doing?!" An unfamiliar voice hissed. They pulled the boy to his feet, turning their back to me as they reprimanded him. "You know Pan wants them alive!"

        "Yea but she-"

        "You wanna piss off Pan?" They, who I assumed was another Lost boy, grabbed the boy by the collar, lifting him off the ground. "Now get out of here, I'll clean up your mess."

           He threw the boy into the dirt and the shorter one scurried away.

        With an annoyed sigh, the new lost boy turned back to me. He was pale, had light blonde hair, and had a club by his side. He studied me for a moment before pressing his hand into my right shoulder.

        "This is gonna hurt." He muttered before gripping the spear and harshly pulling it out of my shoulder.

        "FUCK!" I fell into his chest and the hand that held me still wrapped around my waist.

        The moment his skin touched mine we both went rigged and goosebumps erupted across my body. The world froze.

        He was so much taller than me, I felt so small this close to him. The clunk of the spear against the ground pulled me back to reality.

        I hissed in pain as I pressed my hand to the hole in my shoulder that was now gushing blood. "Shit shit shit shit shit!" My mind was racing, tears falling from my eyes, as I tried to figure out what to do since at this rate I was gonna bleed out, and fast.

        I could barely come up with a coherent thought when I suddenly lifted into someone's arms. I looked up, wide-eyed, to see the face of the same lost boy, his hood falling back. His eyes were such a pretty shade of gray, they flickered to me.

        "What?" He snapped, and I realized I was staring.

       I looked away as it began to pour.

        He cursed and made a sharp turn, heading into a cave in a nearby cliffside. 

        He all but dropped me on the cold ground and went to make a fire, muttering about how this was going to be a while. My eyes wandered my surroundings until everything started to become fuzzy and my head started to spin. I looked down at my blood-soaked clothes and my eyelids began to feel really heavy.

        "Hey!" I felt someone shake me and I struggled to look at them. "Open your eyes damn it!"

        I groaned and went to push them away, but my arms felt like lead.

        They grabbed my face and growled, "Wake up!"

        I managed to open my eyes and met the face of the blonde lost boy, frustration filling his beautifully stormy eyes. I was light-headed and the word 'Pretty' slipped out without a second thought. His eyebrows scrunched and his hand let go of my face, moving to my injured shoulder.

        *3rd Person P.O.V.*

        He pulled his knife from its sheath and cut her sweatshirt up the middle. He watched as confusion grew in her glassy eyes, the bloodless would kill her if he didn't work fast. He peeled the sweater off her, leaving her in just her sports bra, and tore the, mostly, clean sleeve into a makeshift bandage.

        After efficiently wrapping the wound, he pulled her to rest against him as he tied the bandage off in the back. He went to move away but froze when she made a small noise and nuzzled into his neck. That when he realized the position he put himself in. It'd been a very long time since he's been this close to a girl, let alone one this cute, and half-naked.

        As carefully as he could, he took off his cloak and spread it on the ground before gently laying her on it.

        He sat across the fire from her and watched her breathing as thunder cracked over Neverland. Something inside him hurt like he was missing something he'd never noticed missing before. 

               *Bradey's P.O.V.*

        I woke up on the cold floor of the cave, the events leading up to me getting there a little fuzzy. I noticed my favorite sweatshirt torn up and bloody on the floor, and there was a shirt draped over me. I sighed and sat up, pain shooting through my left should. I winced as I pulled the shirt on, it smelled like campfire, pine, and something I couldn't quite put my finger on, but I liked it. Snatching up the remains of my hoodie, I started back for camp.

        "And where did you wander off too, love?" Hook asked as I trudged back into camp. "And what in the Hell are you wearing?"

        "Long story," I huffed, leaning against a tree to catch my breath.

        "There you are!" Mary-Margret fussed, coming over to check on me. She gasped when she saw the tattered shirt in my hands. "What happened? Where's all this blood come from?!"

        I pushed down the shoulder of the shirt I was wearing to show her the bloodied bandages, "Must've wandered into target practice," I smirked before my knees gave out.

        "Bloody Hell," Hook caught me and sat me on the ground, while Mary-Margret quickly got Regina who started healing.

        "You'll still have a scar, but you'll live," She explained and I thanked her. "How did you already not die? This wound is hours old."

        "I think one of the Lost Boys helped me." I said, "I'm not sure, the details kind of got lost on the blood loss."

        "And that's his shirt?" Hook motioned to what I was wearing.

        "I guess so. It's actually pretty comfy." I admitted.

        *3rd Person P.O.V."

        "So how was your little adventure, playing nurse?" Pan asked, appearing next to Felix, not far from camp.

        "You said you wanted them alive."

        "You're not wearing a shirt." Pan pointed out. "I want them alive for now. Don't go getting attached, Felix."

        The taller boy's eyes narrowed, "I'm not."

        "Keep it that way."

[rwby-grimm-guardians]

RWBY Grimm Guardians Arc 3: Separated Union Ch 9

Side JNPR: Reunions

Welcome back to Separated Union! Here’s the special chapter, Side JNPR and here, Jaune, Nora, Ren, and Oscar talk about the current events and a certain red-head returns.

This takes place a few hours after Side Red III, so it is around lunch time.

As usual, please give constructive criticism and enjoy.

Disclaimer: Still own nothing.

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

(1:38 PM)

Oscar walked into the hospital cafe, sighing. He hadn’t realized how much he had been missing his own mother while he was visiting his aunt. The farm boy also noticed Jaune was deep in his thoughts as well, given how the younger teenager accidentally walked in on the blonde talking to one of his sisters on the phone. Speaking of the blonde, Jaune was sitting at a table by himself, rubbing his eyes. He looked...fairly exhausted. Both physically and mentally.

Oscar sat in front of him, asking, “Maybe a dumb question, but are you...doing alright?” “Not really, to be honest…” Jaune said. “Ruby and her mother’s interactions, as well as your interactions with your own mom remind me how much I’m...missing my own family back at home…” He rubbed his back, “I have a few sisters, as I’m sure you know by now. Also got a nephew...” The blonde chuckled, before sighing, “I know they’re safe right now, but...what if I need to be there for them when they need me the most?”

“The world’s getting more chaotic.” He explained. “More Grimm are showing up, forces that are bigger than us are targeting us and the academies; we are heading into dangerous territory.” Oscar nodded in agreement, before Jaune continued, “I...feel like I...need to be there to protect them. I know they can probably keep themselves safe, but…” “I already...technically lost someone I cared about… Almost lost another. I don’t want that to happen again.” He said.

Oscar knew that one of the people Jaune was referring to was Ruby. He assumed the blonde was also referring to Pyrrha. “How long until…?” The younger teenager asked, before the blonde shook his head. Jaune sighed, “No clue. Ruby and Summer did it to save her and not even THEY know when she’s come out.” He took a deep breath, before sighing again. “Gods, I hope it’s soon. The last thing I want right now is for her to be lonely.” He said. “Especially right now…”

Ren and Nora eventually joined the two, sitting next to both Jaune and Oscar. “How’s Ruby’s progress?” The blonde asked. The ginger shrugged, “Hard to say. She says she’s well, though I’m not sure if Oscar’s mom believes her.” “That’d be accurate.” The youngest of the group chuckled. “She has a way of knowing when people lie about their health.” Ren chuckled, “Yeah, that sounds like a mother… From what Ruby’s been saying, Summer’s also like that.”

“Thank gods…” Jaune sighed with a smile. “Speaking of which, how is Ruby’s mom?” He then explained, “She...seemed to be stressed a bit earlier when she asked for Ruby’s uncle.” The green clad teenager nodded, “She had a lot on her mind. From what little she said, she’s...been having nightmares again. Ruby too.” Ren then explained that Summer had a very important catch-up conversation with Anna. “I won’t ask her what they talked about…” He said. “But I did ask Ruby’s uncle why she needed him.”

“He said ‘She’s talking to Ruby’s dad about herself’.” The green clad teenager said. Oscar raised an eyebrow, “So...does that mean Ruby’s mom doesn’t need to hide her identity anymore?” Ren shrugged, “Hard to say, really. Though...from what could tell, she seemed...happy telling Ruby’s dad. Like her anxiety was dissolved.” The group nodded, before falling into silence. They...really didn’t want to talk about Pyrrha currently. Especially when there was no guarantee that they’d see her in their lifetime...

As if on cue, Qrow then walked in and stood next to the group’s table, saying, “Sorry for the intrusion, but Ruby’s on her way. Thought I’d let you know.” “Just...don’t freak out…” He chuckled, receiving confused glances from the group. “How come?” Oscar asked. “Why are you walking around!?” Jaune asked suddenly, queuing the group to turn towards Ruby...holding Summer’s arm as she attempted to stay standing.

“Dr. Pine suggested that I should walk a bit.” The young leader said with a sheepish smile. “Mom insisted on helping.” Both the blonde and Ren sighed with relief, before tiredly chuckling as Ruby glared at them. “You know damn well I’m not insane.” She said loudly, receiving a laugh from her uncle. “I tried telling her that I was probably not ready.” “To be fair, you are doing quite well.” Her mother said, smiling, only for it to fade as she lifted her daughter in her arms, while Ruby’s legs began buckling.

“Was…” Ruby corrected, giving a slight groan. Summer gave her daughter’s abdomen a quick once over. “Is it from your legs?” She asked, receiving a nod from the young leader. Ruby sighed, “I’m okay. Just weak in my legs… Not sure if they’re numb.” Summer raised an eyebrow, “Can you feel them?” Her daughter nodded, “A bit, yeah. Little chilly though…” ‘Well, there’s a good sign, at least…’ The elder Rose thought, sighing with relief. She then said, “Want me to get you a wheelchair?”

Ruby nodded, “Please.” Setting her daughter down in one of the chairs, Summer went off to find Anna and get a wheelchair. Sighing, the young leader pulled her legs to her chest, saying, “Sorry for making you worry there, but I promise I’m healing.” She took a deep breath, before admitting, “Unfortunately, my sleep patterns are NOT.” “Ah...so that’s why you’ve been looking drained.” Ren stated. Ruby grunted, “It’s been getting pretty bad recently.”

The group went silent as soon as they heard a rattling. Jaune then noticed that his shield had come off and had fallen to the floor...even though he was sure he had it secured to his back. A tired, yet genuine grin formed on Ruby’s lips, “Looks like she’s finally waking up, huh…” The blonde turned to her, “How do we know if Pyrrha will...remember us?” Ren and Nora turned to face the young leader, only to see a tired, regretful expression. “We do not.” She said.

As soon as she said that, a mix of yellow, red, and orange energy, in a form akin to that of fire, burst forth from the shield. It then swirled, forming a human body, hair, clothes, and armor, before stopping as the energy dissipated, revealing the form of Pyrrha Nikos, now on her knees. An uneasy silence settled as Pyrrha opened her eyes, taking a look at herself first, before observing her surroundings. “Am I...alive?” She asked, hesitantly. “Or are you all...dead as well…?”

Jaune and Ruby both let out a shuddering sigh as smiles formed on their lips, their right hands over their hearts. The redhead raised an eyebrow, concerned as she asked, “Is...everything alright?” “You’re here…” The blonde said, gently hugging his partner. “So yeah. Everything’s fine at the moment.” Pyrrha cautiously returned the hug, as if she didn’t know if this was real or not. “Where are we, Jaune?” She asked. “Mistral International Clinic.” Ruby answered. “I...kinda got screwed up…”

Pyrrha sighed with a smile as she and Jaune stood up, “I hope you’re listening to your doctor and taking care of yourself.” The younger girl nodded, “Yes, ma’am.” The redhead sighed, looking at her friends. “Looks like I have a lot to catch up, huh?” The newly revived teenager chuckled. “A little.” Ruby smiled sheepishly. “Mom will help out with what happened after…that…” Before Pyrrha could ask what she meant by “that”, everyone turned to the door as a chuckle was heard.

“Well, look who’s finally gotten out of bed.” Summer smirked, entering the cafe with a wheelchair. “I trust you’re feeling well?” The redhead nodded, smiling, “I am now. Thank you, Ms...um…” The former STRQ leader chuckled again, “You may call me Ms. Summer if you want. Finally told Ruby about me, so no need to hide it any longer.” She then put her cloak on Ruby, before lifting her and placing her in the wheelchair. Pyrrha nodded as Summer rolled Ruby up to the table, “I see. Thank you then. Both of you.”

She then raised her arm, “If I may ask, what did you mean by…’that’, Ruby?” Everyone froze, before sighing in unison. “Beacon’s been...practically destroyed.” The young leader admitted. “We...didn’t lose, I think. But we definitely...didn’t really win either.” Summer placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, saying, “We had to make a forced retreat.” “From what we know, none of the Grimm got outside of Beacon and the teachers are still active.” She explained.

“So why are we in Mistral…?” Pyrrha asked. “Ozpin had me do some investigating, due to Cinder’s forces being in Beacon.” Qrow explained. “Right now, the trail leads here.” He then raised a hand, “If you are wondering, yes. He’s still alive and currently speaking with Ruby’s doctor, Anna Pine.” The redhead sighed with relief, “That’s one less thing for me to worry about.” An amused smirk formed on Summer’s face, “Nah, you still got plenty to worry about and look after, thankfully.”

“I’d rather worry about a lot of things, instead of blindly think that everything’s going to work out.” She mumbled, unaware that Ruby and Qrow heard her. Her daughter began rubbing the taller woman’s hand as a means to comfort her. The redhead then turned to Oscar, saying, “I see I have a fresh face to meet.” “That Oscar Pine. Met him when we first arrived in Mistral.” Ruby chuckled. “He’s my doctor’s son.” The youngest of the group rubbed the back of his neck, shyly saying, “N-Nice to meet you, Ms. Nikos.”

An amused and flattered smile formed on Pyrrha’s lips, as she said, “Just Pyrrha is fine. It’s nice to meet you too, Oscar.” Summer hid her face in her daughter’s hair as she silently laughed, before whispering, “This kid is too fucking cute. I want to adopt him.” “You could ask Dr. Pine to be Oscar’s godmother.” Ruby whispered back excitedly. “His mom might kill me if I asked.” The former STRQ leader chuckled. Oscar then stood, “I’ll be right back. Mom needs to know that she might have another patient.”

The group chuckled as Summer ruffled the youngest member’s hair as he passed by. After he felt the room, the redhead said, “He’s a cute one. Like a little brother.” “He really is like that.” Jaune smiled. Pyrrha sighed, “It’s good to be home.” She looked at herself once more, noticing that she was armored, looking more like a spartan. She then asked, “Is the...new get-up normal?” The former STRQ leader nodded, “For most Weapon Spirits like us, yes. Arktis...or rather, Willow Schnee is the same.”

“Weiss’s mom, right?” Pyrrha asked, receiving a nod from Summer. “I think it suits you.” Jaune said, observing his partner’s armor. Nora grinned and nodded, “Ditto.” Ren smiled, nodding with a hum. The redhead blushed with a flattered smile, before feeling her partner’s hand holding hers. Squeezing Jaune’s hand gently, she then asked, “Well, would you like to tell me what’s been going on since getting to Mistral?” The group nodded, with Jaune saying, “Sure, though it...might be a little long.”

Pyrrha just chuckled, “That’s perfectly fine with me.”

As Pyrrha began catching up with her team, Qrow looked at Summer, whispering, “Can we talk in the hall? Please?” Raising an eyebrow, his former leader nodded, kissing Ruby’s forehead before following the former bandit into the hall. “What’s up?” She asked. Qrow sighed, “First, I need to apologize. For eavesdropping on you and Ruby last night.” ‘Ah...so that’s who it was…’ Summer thought, before saying, “Well, please explain your reasons and I will.”

Nodding, the former bandit said, “Which brings me to my topic. Firstly, you two need help.” “I’ve spoken to Anna about it when getting the wheelchair.” The taller woman said. “Believe me. I know we do.” Qrow nodded, hoping his sigh of relief went unnoticed by his former leader. “Secondly, you need to see and visit Tai and Rae.” He said. Noticing the tired and annoyed expression on Summer’s face, he added, “Summer, it’ll HELP you. And them as well, if I may add.”

The taller woman raised her hands in mock surrender, “I know, I know…” She then sighed, sitting on  the floor. “There’s one problem with that…” She said. Qrow nodded, “I’m aware. You can only really see Tai, as you know where he lives.” “Yang...might be able to help you with Raven.” He said, only to receive a shaking head from his former leader. Summer sighed once more, “Tai won’t talk to her about her mother.” ‘Of course, he won’t….’ The former bandit thought, rubbing his eyes.

“Do they even want me back?” Summer asked. “I’ve been...technically dead for almost 12 years now.” Qrow sighed, sitting next to his former leader as he said, “You know both of them missed you. Raven wants nothing more than to be by your side again and have us safe.” He felt the taller woman lean against him as he continued, “Tai nearly fell apart when he heard about your....’death’.” “Yang told me...” Summer mumbled. “Also said that you were able to help him get back on his feet.”

“Probably one of the only good decisions I’ve ever made.” The former bandit said. “I know Raven, you, and Tai would argue that I’ve done more good things.” “Because you HAVE.” Summer said. “You’ve realized that your tribe was awful and left. You’ve been a great uncle for Ruby and Yang. Hell, I think you’ve done more for Tai than I ever could...” “You flatter me, even though I don’t think the last two are true.” Qrow chuckled softly.

“Raven would say the same.” The former STRQ leader said. A small smirk rose to Qrow’s lips, “Yeah, she would. Much like how I tell her how many good things she’s done.” “That’s something you two need to work on.” Summer said. The former bandit hummed in agreement. The two sat like in comfortable silence, before Qrow said, “I’d be honored to be your brother-in-law.” A warm smile formed on Summer’s face as she chuckled, “Thank you, Qrow. I’d also be honored to be your sister-in-law.”

Chuckling, the former bandit patted his former leader’s shoulder, saying, “I’m going to get some coffee. Want some?” Summer smiled, “Please.” Nodding, Qrow went back into the cafe as the taller woman sighed with a tired, yet content smile on her face. Ruby then wheeled herself out, saying, “Mom, do you have my scroll? I need to text Yang, Blake, and Weiss, please.” Standing back up, Summer raised an eyebrow, “How come…?”

“I was thinking about possibly setting up a virtual meeting.” The young leader said. “Both as a means of checking up on each other and figuring out what to do next.” Nodding, her mother handed her the scroll, asking, “What time?” “How does the day after tomorrow sound?” Ruby asked. Summer nodded, smiling, “That sounds good to me. Though check with your sister and team first.” Her daughter nodded, before tilting her head. “Your right eye looks different.” She said.

“Like...your iris is silver again, but your sclera is red.” She explained. Summer raised an eyebrow, before Ruby took a picture with the scroll and showed it to her mother. Sure enough, the elder Rose noticed her right eye had changed. It was still Grimm-like, but it had her silver iris once more. ‘How the hell did THIS happen?’ She thought. ‘And when? Not to mention why...’ “I’m going to ask Anna about this later...” Summer said. “Right now, setting up that meeting is more important.”

Ruby nodded in agreement, before sending a group text to her sister, Weiss, and Blake...

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And that’s it. I REALLY tried to make this good. I really did. I had plans on bringing Pyrrha back, but this was hard to do. Though I hope it was worth it in the end.

Pyrrha’s new appearance is INSPIRED from this lovely artwork by Razenix-Angel on DA: https://www.deviantart.com/razenix-angel/art/Pyrrha-Nikos-armor-guide-581087124

Anyway, next will be the end of Side White, where Weiss becomes VERY vocal about her decisions.

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Bodyguard 3

The battle rages on and gets a little messy.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Chapter 27

           Nestle backs away nervously as Jack stands over him, grinning darkly. Then Nestle gets some nerve and squares up.

           “I will not be intimidated!” he barks and fires lightening out of his hand. It poofs harmlessly against Jack’s chest.

           “Is that it?” Jack asks as Nestle deflates like a popped balloon. “My turn.”

           Jack pulls back his fist and punches Nestle right in the face. Before he can fly back from the force, Jack grabs his shirt and backhands him then knees him in the gut. Nestle doubles over, letting out a choked gasp.

           A few flights down, Fiona, Sasha, and Vaughn watch the beating, bewildered.

           “You guys are seeing this too, right?” Vaughn asks, to which the sisters numbly nod.

           Rhys watches too from where he hangs off the broken stairwell, almost too stunned to remember his predicament. But he’s quickly reminded by his aching fingertips and his fear of heights. He grabs onto the railing, giving himself a better grip, and manages to pull himself up. Then he continues racing up the stairs.

           Meanwhile, Skies is having the time of her life. She slices through the Guardians with her newly acquired staff, knocking them down like weeds, and dodges their attacks with swift ducks and sidesteps. And the whole time, she has a wide, unsettling grin on her face.        

           Timothy sticks close to her, covering her back and finishing off any Guardians who linger after one of her attacks. As he shoots one that clings for life on the ground, Skies turns to him.

           “Thanks, Tim Tam,” she chimes.

           He chuckles awkwardly and smiles back.

           As the battle rages on, the sound of heavy footfalls and trees falling cannot be heard over the din of the gunfire. That is until Mordecai’s voice rings through everyone’s ECHO communicator.

           “Heads up!” he warns.

           Skies and Timothy look up as a couple trees break down around them, just in time to see a giant, metal foot coming down.

           “Whoa!” they exclaim and dive out of the way. Many Guardians are not so lucky and get squished like bugs.

           Overhead, Gortys has shoved the Prototype halfway across the island. But finally the Prototype pushes back, stopping her in her tracks. It pulls her off its midriff and they begin to mercy wrestle.

           “Wowzers!” Axton exclaims as everyone stares up at the giant robots in awe.

           “Hey!” Lilith barks into her ECHO communicator. “Shouldn’t you guys be keeping your fight on the other side of the island?”

           “This isn’t so easy to control, Lilith!” Athena retorts

           The Prototype’s eye lights up and Gortys barely manages to duck beneath its laser eye as it slices through the treetops.

           “Yikes!” Timothy squeaks, covering his head from the falling branches.

           “Dammit! Could someone help us deal with that laser eye?” August demands.

           “Dibs!” Skies exclaims and runs off.

           “Uh, Skies, wait!” Timothy calls and chases after her.

           She quickly climbs a nearby tree as high as she can go, Timothy following close behind.

           “Hey, August, can you bring it down to its knees?” she asks.

           “Hang on,” he replies.

           With August in control, Gortys grabs the Prototype’s shoulders then kicks out one of its ankles, forcing it down onto one knee.

           “That’ll do,” Skies replies.

           “Hurry!” August orders.

           Skies and Timothy leap off the tree onto the Prototype’s nearby shoulder. But as they do, it shakes off Gortys’ grip and stands back up.

           “Whoa!” Skies and Timothy cry as they rise into the sky, barely clinging to the robot’s shoulder.

           “Didn’t you say you’re afraid of heights?” Skies asks.

           “Don’t remind me,” Timothy whimpers, keeping his eyes pointed up.

           As Gortys and the Prototype continue to smack at each other, Skies and Timothy shimmer across its shoulder to its head. Then they both climb to the top. The Prototype doesn’t even seem to notice them.

           “Hold onto my jacket; keep me steady,” Skies orders. Timothy holds onto the metal plating with one hand and the hem of Skies jacket with his other, holding her steady as she slides towards the robot’s forehead. It just barely catches a glimpse of her peeking into its line of sight before she lifts her staff and drives it through its eye.

           The Prototype lets out a crackling screech as a shock travels from the staff through it eye and its red glow dies out. It stumbles back, disoriented, and fitfully shakes its head.

           “Whoa-aaAAAHHHH!” Skies and Timothy cry out as they fly off and into the trees. They crash through the branches, plummeting quickly towards the ground far below.

           “Tim!” Skies shouts, reaching out her hand. He grabs it and she pulls him in, holding him tight and covering him with her robotic arm and leg.

           They smash into the ground and Skies prosthetics take the brunt of the force, shattering beneath them.

           They both lie in the dirt, groaning painfully. Timothy rolls off Skies, shakenly gets up on his knees, and looks over himself. Other than lots of cuts and gashes, he’s pretty okay.

           “You…saved my life,” he breathes, stunned as he looks at Skies.

           “Pshaw,” she scoffs, “I just made sure you didn’t lose any limbs…like me.”

           She groans as she rolls onto her back, the shattered bits and pieces of her arm and leg poking through the sleeves of her coat and pants.

           “Oh! Your arm and leg!” Timothy cries.

           “Ah, it’s not a big deal,” Skies grunts, waving away his concern with her one good hand. “Just-just a sec.”

           She slips off the right sleeve of her coat, revealing the wires of her arm still connected into her shoulder. With one quick grunt of exertion and pain, she rips them out and shakes the remaining bits out of her sleeve. Then she reaches into her pants and does the same with her right leg.

           Timothy kneels nearby, watching her. “I’m…sorry.”

           “Ah, don’t be,” Skies scoffs, “it sucks that I can’t get back to the fight though. I’m of no use to anyone like this.”

           “I’ll take you back to the hideout,” Timothy says and starts to reach for her, but hesitates. “Uh is it okay if I carry you?”

           “Well, it’s either that or drag me through the dirt. But whatever works for you,” Skies replies.

           “I’ll just carry you.”

           He carefully lifts her up and cradles her bridal style. But just as he starts to walk off, they hear the bushes rustling and turn to see Mick Scabbers emerging with a couple of his bandits.

           “Handsome Jack,” Scabbers snarls, “finally, I will have my revenge.”

           “Ugh, I am so sick of these guys,” Timothy snaps. He carefully rests Skies against a tree and she watches him with surprise as he faces them.

           “You want Jack?” he barks and reaches into his cloak. “I’ll give you more Jack than you can handle!”

           He pulls out what looks like a kind of watch and slaps it onto his wrist. When he presses the display, two Jack digi-clones appear behind him.

           “Wow,” Skies gasps.

           “Get ‘em, boys!” Timothy orders.

           “Hell yeah!” the clones cheer and race forward, firing their guns at the bandits. They try to fight back, but they’re dealt with quickly while Scabbers scampers out of the way.

           “Hey!” Timothy barks and fires his SMG, but Scabbers disappears back into the trees before he can be hit.

           Timothy glares after him but lets him go, sighing heavily. He taps his watch, calling back the clones, and turns to face Skies.

           “Wow,” she says again, smiling at him. “Will you ever cease to amaze me?”

           He chuckles and starts to reach for her.

           “Wait,” she orders and he stops. “You gotta go back to the fight?”

           “What?” Timothy questions. “But what about you?”

           “I’ll be fine,” she sighs, “but they need you. There’s still a ton of Guardians and they could use the help of your clones. Besides, you need to take out that nut sack, Scabbers.”

           Timothy leans back, hesitating, then nods. “Alright. But I’m not leaving you here.”

           As he stands back up, he activates his ECHO communicator. “Claptrap.”            “Huh-yes?” Claptrap replies.

           “I’m sending you Skies’ coordinates. She’s hurt; you need to take her back to the hideout.”            “What!” Skies exclaims and paws at Timothy’s leg. “No, no, not Claptrap! Anyone but Claptrap!”

           “On my way,” Claptrap chimes.

           “I change my mind! Screw those guys! You save me!” she begs.

           Timothy smiles at her apologetically. “I’ll see you soon,” he says before disappearing into the trees.

           “Noooooo!” Skies cries echo after him.