#They can bite me tho. I am back. And i intend to remain.

[satans-knitwear]

Hehehe

🔗🔗

[yeoldontknow]

hi kat! i've been following you since 2018 and i can't remember if you've ever done a drabble game while i've been here. this is really exciting for me and the first time i'm requesting something from you! can i have hero ! chanyeol and blind date au? hero is my favorite story of yours. it's the first thing i've read!

eee hi anon! im so happy to hear you love hero! i love it so much too ;~~; and wow! 2018 is a long time! this makes me so happy! 

send me a chanyeol + a prompt!

Verse: Hero + Blind Date Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female (not hero tho T^T) Rating: R Warnings: sexual themes; dark themes; oral fixation; angst; chanyeol is way way way too hot for his own good why did i make someone so powerful Word count: 1.3K

Resting your chin upon your hand, you slump into your seat as you twirl the base of your wine glass against the smooth table. Everything about your posture is certainly unflattering, the fabric of your dress straining against the shape your spine has contorted into, but you don’t really have it in you to care. 

This wasn’t your idea, your inability to say no to your overly supportive friend on top of your aversion to men - all men - making for a deeply uncomfortable evening. Perhaps, you think, you would have moved past this odd sense of unease if he had been on time, but one look at your watch and you’re starting to think thirty minutes spent idly waiting is plenty enough. 

You at least had the decency to be on time.

For the third time this evening, the waitress comes to stand beside your table, casting you a solemn expression as she refills your water. Feeling this pathetic doesn’t really look good on you, but you gave up an evening of true crime documentaries, popcorn, and soft blankets for shoes that make your heels hurt and lipstick that leaves darkened marks on the rim of your glass. The red smears fade from crimson to dull burgundy the longer you wait, tracking the passage of time just in case you had forgotten to check your phone. 

Falling back against the chair with a frustrated sigh, you tap your phone to check the time once more. Two more minutes have lumbered by and you offer her a smile, hollow, empty, grim. She smiles back, sweet and soft and pretty, and you wonder if she’s ever been stood up. 

‘I’ll bring you some cake,’ she says quietly. ‘Dresses like this deserve to be indulged.’ 

With a wink, she turns away and moves towards the kitchen. Folding your hands in your lap, you smile, softened by her kindness and letting a flush of warmth settle in your cheeks. You’d intended to ask for the check, but the cake deserves a chance and, maybe, if you are very lucky, she might stay by your table a few minutes longer to listen to your dejected ranting. Women are always supportive like that, united without needing to know one another’s names. 

Abruptly a man settles into the seat across from you, sliding the chair forward silently before casting you a serious expression. Crossing one leg over the other, he reclines in his seat, all poise and power, the light from the ceiling putting fire in the red and orange strands of his hair, and you feel your stomach drop into your groin. 

The collar of his fitted shirt remains unbuttoned, leaving a tantalizing patch of skin from his neck down to his collar bones exposed. Even the navy blue suit coat does little to mask the strength that waits beneath his muscles. Full lips drawn into a pout, he knits his brow together and considers you with a darkness that makes your thighs clench. 

‘Hoseok?’ you ask quietly, the silence between you both heavy enough your skin begins to grow tight over your limbs.

The man simply cocks his head to the side, scrutinizing you seriously. Wringing your fingers together beneath the table, you find his expression is akin to a wildfire, gaze roaming over your features with a hunger that makes you want to wither. He roots himself inside your ribs as he looks and looks, taking what he can from your small expression of shock, and you look away, deciding instead to study the shape and curve of his ears. This man pulls things from you, takes things from you, awakens the ugly feelings that live within your belly as though they are pretty, beautiful, worthy.

Looking at him too long has you ready to embrace the intimacy that comes with being ruined, and you want to remember yourself enough to punish him. He was late, you remind yourself, and if he wants to turn you into something monstrous than he, too, shall not be free of your wrath.

At the sound of the name, he merely shakes his head, expression falling into a curt frown. 

‘Chanyeol,’ he says abruptly, and disappointment floods you.

This man is not yours.

Wondrous things are never yours.

The waitress returns once more holding a ceramic plate full of chocolate cake. Eyes widening, she takes in your sudden partner, looking to you with joy. 

‘I’ll bring another fork,’ she says, holding her try to her chest with glee as she looks between you and Chanyeol. ‘Enjoy.’

Chanyeol doesn’t take his eyes off you as he reaches for your fork and cuts through the moist dessert, gathering a large bite. He eats it with vigor, humming in pleasure as he slowly slides the fork from his lips. Cocking a brow, he swallows slowly, seductive, mesmerizing, licking his lips with a smile that says he has an appetite that has never once been sated. Placing the fork back on your napkin, he exhales through his nose and runs his tongue over his teeth, your heart thundering against your sternum. 

What would you give to be tasted like that? To be savored?

‘It’s sweet,’ he praises, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for you to eat. ‘I hope you like it rich.’

On instinct, your shoulders roll back, arching forward to present your breasts, your chest to him, hoping he will place his teeth, chocolate covered and sugar coated, right over where your heart beats. He’s all wrong - the wrong man, the wrong features, the wrong description. Hoseok is sunlight - that’s what your friend said. Hoseok is sunlight and bright smiles and high cheeks that catch the light. He cleans up well, carries strength in his hands, and grows dark only when it is a question of work, sex, and money. 

This man is made of moonlight, skin holding the sun that he has swallowed and carving shadows beneath the bones of his cheeks. His softness is an illusion, a mirage of kindness that once lived and wishes to live again, deceptive in its magnetism. Chanyeol eats the darkness, an inferno boiling in his blood, and you can smell him - the nothing that encompasses him and the musk that seeps from him, a contradiction, an impossible thing, here and gone the next.

If you look away, you fear you might forget him. And so you continue to look, mouth wet, core wet, all of you hoping to drip into his waiting belly. 

‘I’m sorry, who are you?’ You stumble over your words, childish and overcome.

But he does not seem to mind, simply shrugs his shoulders and keeps on watching you, waiting, seething. 

‘I seem to have the wrong table,’ he explains, ‘but you’re all laid out like a rich meal, some kind of magic. Why don’t you dine with me.’

It is not a question, but a statement. A command. Deep in the back of your mind, there is a whisper, a promise of endings becoming beginnings, and you lean into it, finding the fear that lives within your veins. He arouses all of it, the fear that so often gets masked as exhilaration, but he looks at you, sees you, unmakes you. 

You have an aversion to men, but you do not see him as one. Instead, you see him as a beast, a wild thing untamed, and the wild thing has chosen you.

The indecisiveness of your silence instigates his impatience. Uncrossing his legs, he leans against the table and casts you a look that speaks of gluttony.

‘I can smell your heart.’Thoughtlessly, your legs part beneath the table, and he takes in a long inhale, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. ‘It’s hungry just as I am. The way you’re looking at me is a sort of eating that feels limitless.’ 

Taking the fork once more, he drags it through the cake to gather a piece and holds it before the seam of your lips.

 ‘We eat the things we like, don’t we?’ he whispers, the deep rumble of his voice like thunder against your bones. ‘Dine with me.’

Opening your mouth, he slides the cake against your tongue and, at once, you agree.

Your heart is a hunger that turns the world into a spoon, and it has finally found its match. 

[clevercatchphrase]

2020 Year Review~

2020. Pretty unique year, don’t you think? It’s the first year since 2002 to have only two different digits in it. After 2022, this won’t happen again until 2111. Yep. Absolutely nothing more interesting than that.

Anyway! It’s time I reflect on my 2020, look back on my yearly goals and rant about things that happened to me this year. I made a post like this last year, where I went over my 2019 goals and talked about what I accomplished and what I didn’t, and it’s only fitting I do the same again this year. Read more under the cut for a random stream of consciousness ramble!

So, first things first, let’s look at my 2019 goals;

Finish paying off that last student loan

Put more stuff on my redbubble

Illustrate my own fan fics

Sew at least one stuffed animal

Make an enamel pin

Read one new book a month

Write one page a day/Complete at least one new fan fic

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make

Finish fully scripting Ghost Switch

Boost my patreon

 Paying Off My Last Student Loan: Going down the list, I am proud to say that I FINALLY paid off all my student loans! (and not a moment too soon. The last payment I made was literally days before the first quarantine rolled out). It took me roughly 4 years on my part-time paycheck to pay off all my loans, and once I finished, I had no money to my name (literally; I had less than 1k as emergency money in case of car troubles or health issues). Heck, I’m STILL living at home as a save up for a place of my own. Finally paying off all my student loans DID activate my secret 2020 new year’s resolution, which was to adopt a cat! I did this too, literally a week later! She is the best thing that’s happened to me this entire year and I love her so much and she is the snuggliest cuddle bug I’ve ever met. I’m so happy she’s in my life now~

Put More Stuff On My Redbubble: ah ha ha ha… I thought I did this, but then I went and checked, and it turns out-! I did not. I made art I intended to go on my redbubble, but haven’t put there yet. They are all drawings of some OCs from a game I want to make, but because I haven’t progressed on making the game this year, I never got around to putting more stuff related to it on my redbubble. At the time of writing, there are 7 days left in December, so I guess I could go and put it up on my redbubble right now, but without context on where the characters are from, there wouldn’t be much point, now would there?

 Illustrate My Own Fan Fics: Another goal that I was so stoked to actually do… and then just didn’t. Gee, I wonder why I couldn’t find the energy or motivation to do it this year? Truly a conundrum. (Hey, you know what? If Ghost Switch counts as a fan fiction in a visual form, then I am doing GREAT on this goal. 2.5 years in, 1 of ~4 arcs done, and still going steady~)

 Sew At Least One Stuffed Animal: Okay, I have a valid excuse for not doing this one. I even knew which stuffed animal I wanted to make, and had the pattern drawn out and everything, but I had no money for materials because I had just paid off my student loans. And then, by the time I did have enough money again, quarantine was in full effect and I couldn’t go out to the fabric store. I’m still trying my best to stay out of public places even if the rules are laxer now, because I don’t want to catch the plague even if everyone in my goddamn city thinks and acts like the problem is over already. Even if they’re all wearing masks, even if they’re staying 6 feet apart, I still don’t want to risk it. I will stay inside until health experts give the all clear, and when that day comes, then I will buy some fleece and make a plush.

 Make An Enamel Pin: I ACTUALLY DID THIS ONE. TWICE! Halfway through quarantine, I was feeling anxious and depressed about my job and how they were planning to have me work with the public despite climbing infection rates and positive covid cases. I didn’t quit then, but in a desperate move to try and become self-sufficient, I went to madebycooper and made two enamel pins based on some butterfly dragons I drew last year. They’re on my etsy store now! I even went out of my way to open a P.O. box just to start a small business! I haven’t sold a single pin yet, and I’m actually really nervous to sell my first because I don’t trust the efficiency of the postal system thanks to the actions of the GOP that really screwed them over this year! (If you would like to see my enamel pins, click here!)

 Read One Book A Month: I did this! With dragon books I bought a couple years back! In fact, I read FOURTEEN dragon books, and still have more books for next year to read! The 14 books I read this year were:

 The Hive Queen

The Poison Jungle

Wings Of Fire Legends: Dragonslayer

Dealing With Dragons

Searching For Dragons

Calling on Dragons

Talking to Dragons

The Bronze Dragon Codex

The Brass Dragon Codex

The Black Dragon Codex

The Red Dragon Codex

The Silver Dragon Codex

Dragon Strike, and

Hatching Magic

 To be honest, I had read The Red Dragon Codex years ago when it first came out, but completely forgotten what it was about. I remembered liking it, and I knew the reading level was on the lower side, but the whole dragon codex series was pretty good! So far, the Silver dragon codex was my favorite, and black dragon codex was probably the worst! Hatching Magic was also really slow and bad and had plot points that went nowhere, but the book was written in the 80s, so I don’t know what I expected. The Dealing with Dragons series was very charming and great for the most part, save for one line in the last book that really rubbed me the wrong way, and all the Wings of Fire Books go above and beyond in this third arc. The second legends book could be a little tighter, though (sky and wren are the best duo and I want a book solely about them, but I honest to god do not care about leaf and ivy’s stories.)

 Write one Page of any story every day/ complete at least one fic: I… did this? Okay, I kinda cheated near the end of the year. I was keeping up the one page a day thing for the first four months, but then the world went to shit and my schedule and habits got disrupted and I fell off my good track record. I completed 7 out of roughly 12 one-shots I had planned for this year (my goal WAS supposed to be one short a month, but… you know how it happens) I kept trying to catch up on this goal all year, but the days kept piling up…. Until November hit. I managed to write over 250 pages for Nanowrimo, and I consider this goal a win. 365 pages of fiction in total, which averages out to about one a day~. SHUT UP IT COUNTS.

 Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make: Another goal I didn’t have the mental energy to commit to this year. Truly a mystery to where all our willpower went in 2020.

 Fully Finish Scripting Ghost Switch: still haven’t done this one yet! The Snowdin arc is completely planned, but I just haven’t gotten around to getting the other areas. I’m not worried, though. I know all the major plot points I gotta hit, it’s just weaving them together in a way that flows nice is the final task. I’m not too worried though. I don’t expect to finish the Snowdin arc for another year and a half, at the bare minimum.

 And my last goal of 2020, Boost My Patreon. I did this at the beginning of the year, but then very intentionally stopped about a third of the way through. It didn’t sit right with me to tell you guys to donate to me when suddenly EVERYONE was financially strained from layoffs or being furloughed. I told my patrons the same, and if you ever need to stop donating to me to take care of yourself first, then by all means, please do. I would feel much better knowing you’re using your money to see yourself fed and housed instead of given to me (where it is pretty much only used to buy gas for my car, honestly)

 Welp! That was all my goals for 2020! I achieved 4 out of 10 goals plus 1 secret goal! Pretty much the same ratio as last year, but now this time I can blame all my failures on the pandemic! I don’t feel so bad about myself anymore~

 ON TO 2021!

 I have 11 goals for the new year, again some rolled over from this list, and some from even older years. They are, in no particular order;

 Read 12 new books (roughly 1 book a month)

Finish the first draft of 2019’s Nanowrimo project and rewrite it

Script TDV

Finish Scripting Ghost Switch

Build A Comic Buffer

Sew 1 Stuffed Animal

Finish 1 Song Comic

Make another Enamel Pin

Finish 2 short original comics (this one counts as 2 goals)

Finish the 5 remaining one-shot fics

 Now to go into depth on each one, more for my own sake, really. I want to know exactly what I have planned for each goal this year, and sometimes just looking at a short list doesn’t capture all the smaller details.

 1)Read 12 new books. Same as last year! I The only difference is I might not be able to make it all dragon-related books. (I try my hardest not to buy from amazon anymore, but half-price-books doesn’t always have the obscure stuff I’m looking for)

 2)Finish 2019’s nanowrimo project. If you read my 2019 year reflection, you’ll notice I said I wanted to do some original writing. And I did! The story I wrote for nanowrimo back then was a story I’ve been toying with since 2017, but it was only last year I finally got pen to paper. Now, you may find it odd that the keyword says “finish”. You may think, “but isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for nanowrimo?” and to that I say, WRONG! I wrote 50k words for nanowrimo, but the draft was only about halfway complete. I was kinda discouraged about what I had written last year, because I didn’t like how it was coming out, but I did manage to get it half done. Now it’s time for me to bite the bullet and just finish the thing so I can finally revise it and make it into something I DO like. (It’s still gonna be hella long, tho. That’s what I get for trying to write an epic fantasy, I guess.)

 3)Script TDV. TDV is the abbreviation of the game I want to make. I… still need to do so much for this project OTL… In addition to getting the story solidified, I still need to draw art and game assets, and learn how to code for it, both of which are no small task. I keep having some sort of new year’s goal related to this on my list, and every year I just don’t hit this one. Will 2021 be different?

 4)Finish Scripting Ghost Switch. (Or at the very least, get the waterfall arc completely written out). I have a plan to break this down into simpler steps, by focusing on just one arc for a month or two. Every major arc has 2 to 3 parts, broken up by flashbacks, and if I can just finish one section a month, then I should have the entire thing scripted by the end of the year. It’s not a difficult pace, but seeing if I stick with it will be the real challenge, as it is will all my goals it seems.

 5)Build a Comic Buffer: I’m actually working on this one right now! Since I paid off my last loan and got a new job this year, my current Patreon goals are kind of out of date. They had all been centered around me paying off that last loan, and working towards full-time employment, but those are both completed now! So instead, I would love to get to a place where my patrons could read pages at least a week ahead, and to do that, I need to build a buffer. And since I’m working 5 full days a week now, I can’t afford to fall behind. But you can’t fall behind if you constantly stay ahead! I would like to have… a 10 to 12 page buffer. That’s roughly 3 months’ worth of pages to always have on hand in case I get swamped with work, or something. Right now I currently have a buffer of 3, which will cover me for half a January, which is better than not having anything at all, but still not the best. (ultimately, I would love to have a buffer so big, I could queue them up for the whole year. Wouldn’t that be something?)

 6) Sew one stuffed animal: same as last year. ASSUMING the plague gets under control in 2021, I don’t expect to get to this goal until the summer at the earliest.

 7)Finish 1 song comic: I have 7 song comics planned. One is a gift, one possibly for wandersong, one is a collab that’s currently in the works, but I’m waiting on a friend to do their part before I can continue mine, 2 are UT related, and 2 (well, technically 3, but one is the collab) are KH related. It’s one of the UT ones that will probably get finished, if I’m being honest. It’s completely story boarded, and now I just need to ink and color it. I would like to get it done for UT’s 6th birthday, since I made a song comic on the fly for the anniversary this year, and it was fun, and I’d like to do it again! So, look forward to that next september~

 8) Make another enamel pin: I have a dolphin design I’d like to make because dolphins are cute, if not little murder machines. (need to save up some expendable income first, tho. THESE THINGS AIN’T CHEAP TO MAKE.)

 9 and 10) start and finish 2 original short comics: I’ve got some comic ideas I want to do, but I need to get them written out first. I don’t think either would be too long. Each maybe a couple “episode’s” length, if envisioned on a website like webtoons or tapas. They’d both be heavy in allegory, but not overly drawn out (hopefully)

 11)And lastly, Finish the 5 remaining one-shots I had planned for this year but never got around to. I’m going to try to write one every other month. Pure self-indulgent shipping fluff. If I finish these 5, then maybe I’ll ask other people for more prompts and ideas, which I’ve never done before. We’ll see how it goes~

 Also, Like last year, I’d like to look at everything that’s happened to me this year, though to be honest, I’m not sure how much I remember/how accurate it’ll be. God, I don’t even remember what January was like. Who was I back then? Who were we all back then? I guess I’ll start my yearly retrospective in march because, heh, god we ALL know what started happening in march.

 Firstly, I paid off my last student loan! Then a week later on March 18th, I drove half an hour out of my city to adopt a cat and I love her and it was the best day of this year for me. Spring break is just beginning this weekend, but the attendance at the zoo is shockingly low this year. Apparently, a lot of people watch the news, and they’re all taking precautions about social distancing. I wasn’t too disappointed. Fewer people at the zoo, the easier my job is for me. I was looking forward to getting some free overtime on spring break, since I’m broke after paying off that loan, and I’m a cat parent now and have a furry child to feed. Monday rolls around. My manager calls me and tells me that the zoo is going into lockdown until further notice. I worry for the birds I take care of, but understand it’s for everyone’s safety.

 For two months I sleep in and watch way too much YouTube. I join a couple writing discords. I have nightmares about my birds escaping their enclosure and I dreamed one of the security guards I really like at the zoo gets covid and has to go to the ER. I woke up really upset.

 I started and finished BBS for the first time. I also replayed and finished KH2 final mix for the first time. It had been about 5 years since I last played KH2 before my PS2 died, and it was like coming home~ I also finished tearaway, and played and beat Ryme for a second time (which I can’t remember if I did that last year, but it was a fun experience regardless)

 Mid-June, and I’m allowed to start going back to work, be it on reduced hours. The zoo is still closed to the public, but I’m loving it! I get to work with full-time keepers and do full-time keeper things. It’s so much fun not having to deal with the public. August starts to creep up and there’s a rumor that the zoo will be opening to the public again, which I’m not stoked about. I don’t want to go back to standing in one exhibit all day, talking to guests who don’t listen to the rules or to me. 2 of my younger coworkers (who had both only been there a couple of months) get chosen for full-time positions, while I get passed up which really pisses me off. My other 2 coworkers quit when they think we might be reopening because they cannot risk catching the virus due to at-risk family. I am now the last keeper in the interactive bird exhibit.

 I keep working, the zoo slowly opens, but with me as the only interpreter in our interactive bird exhibit, we can’t open because I can’t run the entire exhibit by myself. So my exhibit stays closed. September comes and goes, and then October starts. Now there is more serious talk of opening my exhibit before the end of the year because the zoo expects to bring in larger crowds for the Christmas lights event in November/December. I ask if I get hazard pay or health insurance since I’m doing full-time hours until they hire more staff. They say no.

 I immediately start searching for a new job feeling incredibly indignant/hurt/slighted/insulted/used/abused/ALL the negative feelings at my job. I had been there for 4 years, but never got a chance to work full time, while the two newest hires who had only been there 2 months both got moved up. I can’t help but feel they were holding one mistake I made two years ago against me and never wanted to give me a chance. (that, or they knew I was reliable when it came to showing up for work in such a volatile position that sees a lot of new faces, and they didn’t want to bother going through the process of hiring someone new) I don’t want to risk my life working around guests who don’t wash their hands and don’t properly distance. I don’t want to gamble with my health when they won’t offer me health insurance because I’m part time.

 Mid October, I get an interview for a full time job and get hired on the spot. I peace out at the zoo 2 weeks later, literally 3 days before they planned to open my exhibit to the public. It was a close call for me to escape before they opened to the public (and pettiness was only partially the reason I dipped out so close to opening). Sorry new hires who are now in charge of the bird feeding exhibit. I taught you the best I could in the short time I had. If the managers are struggling with what to do with one less person, I can’t say I feel bad. I can only hope they delayed opening/closed you down again for your own safety. You are not lightbulbs. I really hope the higher ups stop considering you as replaceable as one. Will I go back to the zoo to visit? Probably. But not for a year at least.

 I started my new job the very next day after I quit the zoo, and have been there ever since, (which isn’t that long yet, tbh. Christmas day was my 2 month anniversary). It’s full time, but it’s also a small business, and everyone’s hours this year have been on the short side due to the plague. I understand, though. They don’t want us to work if they can’t afford to pay us. Everyone is nice enough, though some people smoke and it’s hard to avoid them with how frequently we have to go in and out, and I really don’t want to get lung cancer, sorry not sorry, please and thank you. Also, with such a small team, gossip is certainly harder to go undetected, so it’s a relief knowing people don’t talk behind one another’s backs.

 I participated and beat my 4th nanowrimo in a row, I made TWO apple crisps on thanksgiving, and made baklava on Christmas and both of these recipes were my first time making them, and they both came out adequately! I voted the first day of early voting, and I did an art trade/collab with two of my friends for my birthday! (normally we would have done monthly “art days” where we get together and do art projects for fun because we’re adults and we can spend our time together however we want, but the plague said otherwise this year) We drew pokemon and it was fun! (hopefully I can show you all the results soon. At the time of writing, I’m still waiting for the last two colored parts to get back to me)

 I reached 100 pages on my undertale comic, and finish the first arc out of…! (im not sure. It’s either going to be 4 or 5, I haven’t decided yet)

 Over all, I managed to stay healthy as far as I know. I wasn’t as productive as I wanted to be this year, but then again, who was? (don’t answer that. I don’t need that kind of comparison in my life right now)

 Will 2021be any better? Honestly? I don’t think so. Not right away, at least. Just because a new year is about to start does not mean the slate is completely wiped clean. The change of the calendar year doesn’t magically make all our current problems disappear. Covid will still be here and cases will still climb when January starts. Small business will still be strained when the month rolls over, police will still go on murdering innocent civilians and getting away scot free, amazon and disney will still be monopolizing all consumer goods and media, and I can’t help but feel like there’s an impending shit show about to go down on inauguration day. I do hope things will get better, though. It’ll be arduous and unpleasant, but I do hope things will improve, because sometimes hoping is all you can do.

 Good night.

[twotonedechoes]

Updates and Thread Drops

//Do I have your attention yet? =} Apologies for the rather ominous title, but suffice it to say I have made the choice to make some cuts. I feel like my rather substantial drafts list was likely contributing to my lack of activity, so I have made the hard to choice cut... most of them. 

All in all, I dropped around 20 threads with various muses, including almost all of the Ascian in the bed prompts. I still like the idea, and I was (and am) so, so flattered by the number of replies it got, but essentially, I ran out of unique ways to respond to you all! I know no one really minds threads going similar ways, or leaning into cliche, but I just can’t keep interest or keep them all straight. If I did not post a reply to you last, then please consider that line dropped with no hard feelings intended. 

I dropped several other threads as well (tho not all!) and will be working on thinning out my remaining drafts in the next little bit. I will NOT be posting a list of dropped threads, since that seems kinda... rude, so if I owe you and you’d like to know if it’s still in the drafts, feel free to send me an ask! I promise I won’t bite, and nothing that was dropped was anything at all against anyone’s writing or muse, it was all on me. 

With that said, I am attempting to get back into active posting, and so if you’d like to potentially plot, please feel free to pop in with any ideas, or just let me know you’re interested, and we can hash things out. As of this moment, Emet and Makara are my active muses. 

[damienthepious]

tuesday time for soft and angst and soft (and kisses)

No More Changes (I’ll Still Love You The Same) [Chapter 4]

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [ao3] [chapter 5] 

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, (tho not THIS chapter certainly), Curses, human!arum, (but not… because he WANTS to be), (it ain’t good y'all), Panic Attacks, Overstimulation, Rilla Is Queen Of Comfort, Damien Does Not Consider The Consequences Of His Words, The Keep Is Best Mom, Body Dysphoria

Summary: Lord Arum and his Keep have fought off curses before, but they have never dealt with one quite like this. They have never dealt with a curse while having a couple of humans around to help them, either… though it remains to be seen exactly how helpful Arum’s lovers will be, in the effort of restoring him.

Chapter Summary: Self-care is vital in times of crisis.

Chapter Notes: We all needed a little soft. And therefore this is. the LONGEST chapter so far. Chapter title from the song Riches and Wonders, by The Mountain Goats. However the song that best fits the general tone of the day is Soft, by Babygirl.

Chapter 4 - Guardians of a Rare Thing

~

Rilla steps through the portal and emerges on the other side in Arum’s workshop. She sighs in frustration, ready to scold Arum for trying to work in his current state, but as she glances around the workshop she realizes it’s empty. Is the Keep really that disoriented by all this? Did it bring her to the wrong room? “Uh, Keep? Where’s Arum? I need to see him.”

The response comes slow, and maybe a little softer than usual, but Rilla can hear the warning in its tone all the same. Of course. After Damien… Of course it would be afraid for Arum- afraid of Rilla, and what she might say to him. If he’s really as upset as Damien said…

“Keep, please. Let me see him. Damien made a mistake. You have to let me see him. Please, he has to know that we’re going to fix this. He can’t think that-“

She cuts off as the Keep lets out a relieved sigh, and she hears the shifting of vines. She watches as the Keep carries a mass of vines and leaves over to her and deposits it gently at her feet. She can see the shape of Arum curled up, nestled and tucked into the bramble. She can just barely see his face through the tangle of foliage, and his (painfully plain) gray eyes refuse to meet hers.

She gives a relieved sigh of her own, setting her bags down and moving closer to the vines.

“Arum-”

"Has he sent you to convince me?" Arum says, low and bitter, only half his face visible through the Keep’s embrace. "To present me with some ultimatum? Some simple human mathematics to bolster his case?"

"Arum, you know-"

"I suppose the numbers add up, when you truly simplify it, don't they? The happiness and convenience of two humans held against the desires of one monster- oh, and the monster's home, as well, but it isn't as if there is anyone left to understand and translate for it, so it does not really matter what opinion the Keep holds on the matter, does it? And besides, I am sure we are all well aware of the relative value placed on the wishes of a monster, anyway. Or- ha, or do my desires count for more, now that I am one of you?"

“No. Listen to me-”

Arum laughs, or chokes, she can’t quite tell. “A more effective curse than even they intended, I would wager. Weaken me, mute my bond with my creator, force me to face the conditional nature of human affection-“

“Arum. Damien is an insensitive ass, and he fucked up.”

Arum’s eyes finally meet hers, then, and it nearly breaks her to see the pain and hope shining there, the redness from the tears already shed, the shine from those that might still fall. Saints, oh saints but he doesn’t deserve this-

“What?” he says, suspicious, and Rilla sighs.

“I’m sorry,” she says gently. “I know- I know that Damien said some just- profoundly callous things to you. He’s- he’s just-” she shakes her head. “I just shouldn’t have left like that. I’m so sorry you and the Keep got stuck alone like this. That wasn’t what I wanted for you.” She pauses, biting her lip. “Are you- are you gonna let me in, or do you wanna have this conversation through branches? That wasn’t a judgment- whatever makes you more comfortable is fine by me.”

Arum looks away again, working his jaw soundlessly for a moment before he mutters something she can’t quite hear. There is a pause, and then the Keep shifts the vines around him, creaking them apart but not away until it opens a little window. She can see him a little better, then, see him shrunk in on himself, curled into an even tighter ball inside the embrace of his home.

She plops down on the floor beside him, because she'd rather die than try to pull him away from the Keep right now, and he tilts his head just slightly, though he does not move either towards or away from her.

"If the Keep is giving hugs, mind if I get in on that? Group hugs with mom are honestly the best," she says mildly, and it startles a weak laugh out of him, and after a moment or two he lifts his arms and the vines part a little more, widening the cozy space inside the tangled thicket. Relieved, Rilla slips in beside Arum, and the steady softness of the moss and leaves around the both of them is almost too comforting for Rilla’s worried mind to bear.

When she’s settled in the small space, her arms safely around Arum, she sighs, her brow furrowing. Arum very clearly doesn't know what to do with himself. He keeps moving his hands, slipping them from her shoulder blades to her arms to her lower back, unsettled and uncertain, and she realizes after a moment that he can’t settle because he wants to be holding her more tightly. He wants to hold her as he usually does, and he can't, now. He only has half the hands he is used to holding her with.

"I'm so sorry, Arum,” she says, and this close she barely has to do more than whisper. “We're gonna fix this, though. If we can keep from killing each other over methodology, we can figure out anything, right?"

Arum sags against her.

"I..." he hisses through his teeth, a pale shadow of the noises he should be able to make. "I intended to say that I have overcome worse. I do not actually know if that is true, this time."

“I mean, we’ve both almost died more than a few times by now, so…”

“And yet,” Arum mutters, his soft blunt fingers fluttering against her shoulders. He sighs. “Amaryllis, I…”

“I’m sorry, Arum,” she says again, steady as a boulder, soft as moss. “I’m here, now. I’m here.”

For a moment, he’s glad he’s slumped into her, that she can’t see his face. The line between crying and not-crying is becoming blurrier, and Arum is so, so tired. He can't even tell, anymore, if he's crying because of the near-pain, or out of relief because he knows that it's going to be okay because Amaryllis is here now and she’s promised they’re still going to fix this, that she understands how hard this is for him, or if it’s because even despite his relief at her presence, his thin belief that they will somehow make this right again, that still doesn't mean any of this is okay now.

"Of course-" he tries to straighten up, but she can feel the way he's trying to accommodate for a tail that is no longer there, and she has to force herself not to wince, not to let the heartbreak show on her face. "Of course, you are the only human whose mind I would trust with a task such as this. Brighter than the lot of your entire tepid species."

Normally she would poke him in the snout for a comment like that. Right now she just scowls, the look in her eye indicating clearly that she knows he's being snarky on purpose. "And you're not so bad yourself, obviously. We'll figure it out. We'll get your real body back."

Arum closes his eyes, sighs, nods against her shoulder.

"We need to get you more stable before you start trying to do science or magic, though, Arum," she says, and he grumbles but he is shaking, just a little, and he knows her stubbornness too well to protest, just now. "And... and then at some point, we need to talk to Damien."

Arum flinches, his eyes flying open, and then they narrow disdainfully. "No."

"Arum-"

"He- Amaryllis, I cannot bear to look at him. I cannot- Amaryllis he looks at this body- this stranger, and his eyes shine, already wondering at all the ways this will fix things, will fix his aberrant affection for such a horrible monster-"

His cheeks are wet, again. Rilla can feel her own heart cracking, and she wishes she could parse out how much of this is just the strange new body, and how much is the hurt. It wouldn't help to know, but- "I know. I'm sorry for that, too, but you know that he loves you, Arum. He does."

"Then why? Why look at me that way? Like he is already living in the future, where his days with a monster are past and forgotten? Why yearn for proper kisses, as if every affection passed between us was some poor imitation?" He scoffs. “He loves me. Perhaps. But it is always in spite. In spite of everything I am. Despite the fact that I am a monster, he loves me."

“Arum,” she says softly.

"He loves me and feels it as a flaw in himself,” he continues, sneering. “He loves me and feels himself broken because of it. That has- that has been thrown into stark relief today, Amaryllis. And I cannot push the question from my mind- if this is how he l-” he squeezes her tighter, and the pressure is all wrong, halved and without the cool touch of claws, and when he tries again, his voice has gone so very quiet that she would not be able to hear him if she pulled away another inch. “If this is the way he loves me, Amaryllis, in contempt of everything I am, is that- is that love at all? Is that anything like it? I have very little practice in this arena, certainly, but it cannot be- it cannot be this.”

Rilla can’t help but press a soft kiss to Arum's brow, not wanting the touch to be overwhelming but unable to clamp down on the need to soothe. "He's still caught up in how the Citadel expects him to be. He does love you, Arum. He loves you so much, just like I do, and he's trying. And when I talked to him he- he knows that he's messed this up. He knows he hurt you. And I know that none of that makes this any better, and I know that you’re really vulnerable right now and he tripped right into that, Arum, but-" she feels her heart clench, "but even if you can't forgive him." She stops again, and dammit she's not going to cry too. She's not. "Even if this is how this thing breaks, I think you owe it to him and you owe it to yourself to tell him exactly how you feel. To tell him yourself how he hurt you, and if he wants your forgiveness he can ask for it then."

He doesn't respond right away. She imagines the ticking rattle that usually accompanies his slow thoughtful pauses and it burns like a hot coal in her stomach, and then Arum presses his face into her collarbone and clenches his jaw.

"Please," she says, just quietly. "We don’t have to do it right now, and honestly it’ll probably be better to let things settle a little bit first, but I don't... I don't think you really want the last things you say to each other to be... to be that."

Arum sighs again after a long moment. "I don’t… understand. You are just as human as he is," he mutters. "Yet you seem as eager as I, to restore my proper body. Certainly it would be freeing," he sneers, "for you as well, to love another human. That is- that is what I find most painful, Amaryllis. The longer I consider his words the more I fear he may be right. I only make your lives more difficult, do I not? My own pain and discomfort aside, would your lives not be so much simpler if I were human? We would not have to hide, you would not have to lie to protect me or yourselves-“

“But you aren’t human.” Rilla scowls, and she feels hot with anger. “It doesn’t matter what they did to you. You are not a human. You are Lord Arum, He Who Rules the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms. You are a monster, and that’s exactly who we fell in love with. Not some human. You. We fell in love with you. We fell in love with Lord Arum.”

Arum sinks further into her embrace as she speaks, his breaths slowing, growing more even.

"Love is always complicated," she continues, voice softer. "And yeah, loving a monster is new for both of us, just like I bet loving humans is new and strange for you. But it’s… harder for Damien, to let go of the way he thought before. I was never like Damien, though. I never wanted to fit into the Citadel the way he did. There's a reason why I'm still 'of Exile', Arum. I chose to keep that, and I chose to be with you. I chose to be with a magical construct with gorgeous scales and four arms and a tail and a bad temper, and I'm not giving you up without a damned fight."

Arum pauses for another long moment, and then he swallows roughly. "Amaryllis... I- you know that I- I love you," he rasps. "Very dearly."

Not going to cry. Dammit. Dammit. "I love you too, Arum." She closes her eyes, pressing her face into his neck, missing his frill, trying to let his arms and the vines of the Keep around them steady her. "I'm sorry we can't seem to catch a damned break," she says with a weak, wavering laugh.

"If..." he hesitates, "if you think I should... speak with him again, I will... I will trust your judgment," he murmurs, eyes downcast. "If you believe he will listen to what I need to say. Truly listen."

"I think he will," Rilla says softly, and then she kisses his cheek and lets herself smile. "And if he doesn't? I'll just go ahead and kick him in the shins, and then the Keep can dump him in the wettest part of the swamp to think about what an asshole he's being for a little while."

The Keep gives a satisfied sort of warble as Arum half chokes on a laugh, and if it sounds like a sob on the back half Rilla's certainly not going to mention it.

She cups his face in her hands. "Whatever happens, I love you and I'm with you, and we'll figure the rest out together. Okay?"

"... Okay." Arum leans up, hesitates, and then presses the line of his mouth against the edge of her jaw, and it's strange and stiff and awkward and she is not going to cry, no matter how much her heart is breaking for the casual nuzzle of a scaled snout. They're going to fix this, so there's no reason to cry about it. "Okay," he repeats. "I believe you. Despite my better judgment."

“Okay,” Rilla says, her hands gentle upon him.

“It’s not as if I could stop you anyway,” he mutters. “I think the Keep can hear you better than it can hear me, just now.”

Well. That hurts too.

“Alright,” she says. “Alright, we’ve done enough collective moping for today, huh?”

Arum makes a noise, and she imagines that he’s attempting to growl. “I am not moping, Amaryllis-”

"No, no, I think we both were, for a minute there. But I’ve had about enough of it, I think. And as cozy as it is cuddled up in here - thank you, Keep, I really needed this too - I think we need to get you a little bit cleaned up, maybe.”

“Cleaned-” Arum hunches, defensive, and swipes his hand across his face again.

“First thing you did in this body was to fall in the dirt, Arum, and your hair has literally never been washed before. And, yeah, I think you’ll feel better if you can wash your face, too.” She smiles, as best she can. Little things, just little things until she can shift her focus to fixing the one big thing. “That sound good?”

“I don’t need you to- to coddle me,” he mutters, but he makes no move to push her away.

“Look, it won’t fix anything, but you’ll feel better if you’re not all grimy and stuck in robes that don’t currently fit you.” She shrugs. “If you wanna call that coddling, fine, but I just want you to be as comfortable as possible right now.”

He considers that.

“Fine, fine. Keep,” he pauses, mouth pressing awkwardly closed for a moment. “Keep, can you… hear me?”

Another pause, perhaps a little shorter than before, and then the Keep sings around them, light and attentive, and Arum exhales in obvious relief.

“Prepare a bath, if you would,” he asks, soft, and the Keep chimes a clear affirmation, the leaves of their small shelter shivering around them. “Good. Yes. Th-thank you.”

Rilla holds Arum gently for another moment, then releases him so she can press her palms against their shelter, and the tangle surrounding them slowly creaks outward until they can clamber out. Rilla carefully helps Arum back to his unsteady feet, making sure that he’s leaning safely against her as she leads him through the new portal the Keep has provided to the washroom. It’s heartening, that the Keep is stable enough to do so without explicit instruction.

“Alright,” Rilla says as the enormous cupped-leaf basin that serves as the Keep’s bathtub fills with gently steaming water, “get your robes off, and then when we’re done I’ll find something that fits you a little better for the moment.”

Arum- flinches, clinging to the soft purple cloth covering his unfortunate new frame despite the way it still overwhelms his senses. “I- but-”

“Arum, I’m a doctor, I’ve seen like, hundreds of naked human bodies. It’s not even close to a big deal.” She glances away, and then back towards him with a painfully understanding look, and she does not say that she knows he does not want to look at himself like this, not bare and vulnerable, but he knows that she knows, all the same.

He huffs, but then he rolls his eyes. “I suppose that makes sense,” he grumbles, and then he steels himself and starts to pull the robes off, wincing as he goes, gritting his teeth as the cloth slides over his sensitive skin, shuffling it down and baring a decidedly uncomfortable amount of this soft terrible skin to the open air.

“Oh- dammit, Arum, hold on-”

Arum blinks and freezes as Rilla comes close, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and angling the limb so she can see his forearm. With no small degree of bewilderment he sees a distinct scrape, speckled with grit and purpling dark with bruise beneath the redder parts of the wound.

“I- when did-”

“Probably right when you first changed- when you fell,” Rilla says, her brow furrowed with irritation. “You must’ve hit a rock or a root or something, and you didn’t notice because of all of the rest of it.”

Arum huffs, gritting his blunt teeth together. “Ridiculous fragile body cannot handle a fall of a few feet? Absolutely absurd-”

“Hold still, would you?”

Her medical bag is still at her hip, and she starts methodically pulling out what she needs to treat the injury as Arum stands and scowls and shuffles his feet. Now that he is aware of the wound it feels sharp and strange, much more present than a similar scrape would have been on his scales. That would have merely been superficial, and certainly this must be as well (humans cannot possibly be fragile enough to take permanent damage from so small a mishap, they simply cannot), but regardless it feels so vivid. To feel an injury this much in his proper form, it would need to truly pierce his scales, not- bruise him.

There is a safety in the look on Amaryllis’ face as she attends him, though. A familiarity. In matters of healing her focus is always unwavering, a universal force he trusts without needing to even consider it. By the time the bandages are safely wrapped around his new skin, his new injury (do bandages always itch on human skin?), he feels reassured for more reasons than just the treatment of the wound.

Amaryllis solves problems.

Foolish as it may be, he trusts that she will help him fix this one.

“There,” she says, voice soft and steady, and instead of letting go of his arm, she simply slips her hand down to take his, brushing their fingers together with barely any pressure at all. “Now. Let’s get you in the water, okay?”

Her grip on his hand is a bit tighter as he dips his toes in, and it’s a good thing, too, because these damned feet have no grip, no claws or scales for traction, and he nearly slips on the edge. She keeps hold of him, though, and with no major incident and only muted grumbling he settles into the mellow warmth of the water. It is still… somewhat overwhelming, but less so than the cloth of his robes, and at least with the water in the way he doesn’t really have to look at his current form. He cups his hands in the water first, then, and splashes his face, as if one sort of water can pretend away another. He does… feel marginally better, after even just that little bit.

Rilla sets her bag aside and settles to sit by the edge of the basin behind him, taking the basket of soaps and other mysterious jars and oils that the Keep dutifully hands to her with a smile, and Arum tries his level best not to feel like a damned helpless hatchling, forced to rely on Amaryllis and his Keep for something so very simple as bathing himself.

The frustration must show on his face, though, because Rilla’s expression goes infuriatingly sympathetic again, and she sets the basket down and reaches out, gently nudging him forward.

“Lean back for me?” she says, soft, and he gives her a suspicious look. “Gotta get your hair wet before anything else,” she elaborates, and Arum works his jaw stubbornly, still feeling so unutterably humiliated for a tense moment before Rilla exhales sharply. “C’mon, you’ve helped me wash my hair before, just- let me do this for you. I want to do this for you, Arum.” She pauses. “Please.”

Arum looks away from her, his throat feeling tight, and then he leans into hands, allowing her to dip his head into the bath, the bizarre sensation of warm water on his scalp making him shiver.

“Okay,” she murmurs when he’s up again, and then he hears her uncork something, and then she says, quite seriously, “You have to let me know if it feels like too much, Arum. Okay? Last thing I want right now is to make anything worse.”

He grumbles something wordless, not really wanting to acknowledge the idea that a simple touch might push him past some limit, but she does not touch him yet.

“Promise me you’ll tell me, Arum,” she says behind him, and Arum is absolutely certain that he has never in his entire long life done anything to deserve this degree of care.

“Fine, Amaryllis, fine, I will inform you if this pathetic form is overwhelmed by soap, are you happy?” he gripes, and he is satisfied to hear her laugh lightly at his back.

He sighs, settling an inch or so deeper into the water, covering his shoulders, and then he feels her hands, just light at the nape of his neck, slipping up into his unfamiliar mess of hair, and Arum’s eyes slip closed without a thought.

It feels-

It is intense, certainly, especially when whatever soap she is applying starts to foam, and when she starts to work her careful fingers through the tangles, attentively working them out, her blunt nails dragging along his scalp, he understands why his humans- why Amaryllis enjoys it so, when he runs careful claws through her own hair.

“So, obviously, this whole situation is rough,” Rilla says suddenly, without preamble, and Arum scoffs at the understatement as he pulls his knees towards his chest, curling into a more awkward ball. “I'm not going to pretend that it's not, Arum, and I don’t expect you to be happy about any of it. That being said, though… you know, it doesn't have to be all misery and gloom. You've got a pretty unique opportunity, here!" She grins, pulling a hand from his hair and rinsing off the soap so she can touch his shoulder, stroking her thumb over the crook of his neck and watching the way that makes him shiver. "We'll get your body back. Obviously." She shrugs, as nonchalant as she can manage even though he’s still facing away, even though he can’t see her. "But in the meantime, you get to have, just, a bunch of unique new experiences that it's unlikely that any other monster has ever gotten to have!"

"Such as... what, precisely, Amaryllis?" He glances at her suspiciously over his shoulder, but he is leaning towards her as he resumes his former position, allowing her hands back in his hair and obviously more curious than he wants to let on.

Which. Saints bless. It's been so hard to see him this unsteady, this upset, and if she can just draw back some of the fire in him- well, he deserves to at least have some good in this horrible ordeal. Plus, gauging his reactions to new stimuli might turn out to be helpful in figuring this mess out, too. Rilla is a big fan of tasks with multiple purposes.

"Like... right now, like how you’re getting first-hand experience in how it feels when you play with my hair." She grins, and Arum’s posture goes a little stiff, his face a little blank, because it feels as if she has plucked that thought from his very mind. "You can see how it feels to us, to touch things with our fragile human skin. I can show you how kissing like a human feels, just for comparison." She pauses, and he glances over his shoulder again to see the slightly awkward tilt of her smile. “If- if you would like that, I mean.”

“A-ah.” He flushes dark. She misses the frill pretty acutely, for a moment, but it's interesting to have confirmation of her perpetual suspicion; Arum blushes easily.

Her smile softens again, and she cups his cheek very, very gently in her less-soapy palm. "We'll fix this sooner rather than later, so you'd better see what all this being human stuff is about before we change you back, right?"

“If… if you say so, Amaryllis.”

“I do say so,” she says, and he assumes that the smugness in her voice is a veneer. He can respect that. Her hands scrub across his scalp with just slightly more pressure and he- he cannot give the gentle throaty rumble he wishes he could, but he can sigh, at least. “Lean back for me again?”

He does as instructed, indulging the herbalist with a mild frown, and when his hair is submersed her careful touch works to rinse the soap out, and even if it feels just on the bare edge of overwhelming it is the most pleasant sensation he has felt in this body so far.

Damien always loves to say that their herbalist has healing hands. Arum abhors hyperbole, but at least in this assessment, Sir Damien speaks with precision.

He lifts out of the water again, and Rilla works something new into his hair, something smoother. Then she holds out a cloth over his shoulder, for him to take. “Here. Help me multitask and we can get you out of there before the water gets too cold.”

Arum takes proffered cloth from Amaryllis, but as she hands him the bottle of soap he fumbles it. His grip is all wrong, he no longer has to accommodate for sharp claws, and so his loose grip and stubby fingers are not strong enough to hold the nearly full bottle. It falls into the bath with a loud splash, and he snarls automatically and flinches away from the water that splashes up into his face. This- this absurd body, these hands. The frustration- the frustration he cannot even find words for, of trying to reach, trying to catch with limbs that are no longer a part of him, and he feels so useless as Amaryllis gently reaches around him to pull the bottle up out of the water and pour a bit of soap onto the cloth for him.

He bites back a snappy remark about how at least she trusts him with a cloth, if not a soap bottle, because she’s… trying. This is difficult and frustrating for him, but that doesn’t mean he has any right to take it out on her. She’s trying so hard to make this better for him. He knows she’s not… judging him for this. He hates feeling pitied (Damien’s voice in his mind, overly saccharine and indulgent and eager: I am sorry you have been so maligned, darling, but no curse could ever-) but Rilla doesn’t make him feel that way. Of course she’s sorry for him and he knows that, but she never makes him feel uncomfortable. She’s always rational and logical, never overwhelming him with emotions like… well.

He shakes his head to clear that thought and focuses on the feel of Amaryllis’s hands in his hair again, slow and easy. After a moment, he takes the washcloth and begins to run it over his arms. As he runs it over his left arm - careful to avoid getting the fresh bandages wet - he notices the skin there, just above his elbow, is unmarked. The scar that he’s… grown accustomed to, since his first meeting with the little knight, is gone. As if it never happened.

It’s… fitting, he thinks bitterly. He can almost imagine what Sir Damien would think of this new development. You see, my love, just as this new form brings a new kind of freedom to our relationship, so, too, are the old injuries and mistakes erased.

He bites down a laugh he would be unable to explain to Amaryllis. How Damien would thrill at the idea of that old injury merely ceasing to exist. How happy he would be, to know the harm he had caused could simply vanish from the world as though it never occurred. The harm, yes, and also- also the erasure would absolve Sir Damien of his heresy, that blasphemous mercy his Citadel would only ever condemn him for. As if it never occurred.

It would never occur to Damien that the mark he left on Arum would be… significant. A reminder of exactly why he lo- of where his interest in Sir Damien began. A single act of mercy, and with it a promise. A promise that Arum’s monstrous nature was not enough on its own to condemn him to death. A promise that Damien wanted him, a monster. Wanted him alive, if nothing else, and then more than just that.

Now even that simple, meaningful mark is gone. Just as Damien-

Well. Amaryllis does not wish for him to wallow in misery in gloom, does she? Why he is even thinking of the poet now- it’s ridiculous. He is being ridiculous, and all the while Rilla is steady behind him, hands holding him as safe as he can be in this form, and he should allow himself to enjoy that, shouldn’t he? He cannot say how much longer he will be allowed it, after all.

Because even if Amaryllis is correct, even if they can overcome this, even if this time tomorrow Arum is wearing his own skin again, he cannot say what will come of his- his relationship with these humans he has allowed into his home. Into his- into his heart. His two partners were intertwined long before they knew him, after all. If he breaks from one of them-

How could he expect the other not to break as well?

Arum feels his throat clench again, feels the tension in his chest that he is unfortunately becoming quite familiar with.

Arum- Arum needs to let her know. To let her know it’s okay. She has offered so much- so much gentleness and care, more than he could possibly deserve, and-

He may as well say it now, he thinks. He may as well say it while her hands are upon him, while he needs not look her in the eye. He does not think he would have the bravery to say this, otherwise.

"I know you have promised, Amaryllis, to... to assist me in this. To help restore my form." He pauses, and she doesn't, her hands steady and soothing in his strange new hair, working some mysterious softness through his dark locks. "But… but I will understand, if Sir Damien and I cannot reconcile-" he swallows, and forces himself to continue. "I will understand if you and I must part as well, in turn."

Her hands finally stop moving, and she pulls them away to rinse off in the water before she tilts his face back towards her, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "Arum. What?"

"I would not ask you to part with your betrothed," he says, and he still cannot meet her eye because if he does he will dissolve again to nonsense, because all he wishes to do is draw her closer and closer until she can never leave, because he is selfish. "If he and I- if we cannot endure this together, I do not expect that you will humor me alone after you are finished with the task of restoring me to myself. I would not ask this of you."

Her breath catches, and it doesn't sound quite like a laugh. "Arum. Do you really think that I would just-"

"There would be a symmetry to it," he murmurs, very suddenly unwilling to hear her confirm his suspicions. "A symmetry- you came into my life because I needed you to heal my Keep- if we parted after you helped to heal me- yes, it would be a rather logical arc-"

"I'm not going anywhere,” she says, her voice thick, and when he glances to her in surprise her eyes take on a determined glint. She pushes closer, lifting her leg over the edge of the basin and slipping into the warm water beside him fully clothed, despite his surprised yelp of protest, and she wraps her arms around him, squeezing tight. "I'm not giving you up, you absolute idiot."

"Amaryllis- I- I know you feel the need to- to comfort me,” he says, his new voice shivering wild like an aspen in a light breeze, “and I- I admire your kindness, you commitment, but-"

"Idiot," she hisses. "I don't know how things are going to work out between you and Damien, Arum, and yeah, I'm not going to pretend that doesn't break my heart. I'm not going to pretend it's not going to be hard, no matter what else happens. But I love you," she presses her face into his neck, the pads of her fingers digging sturdy and solid into his shoulder blades. "I love you. And I already told you, I'm not going to give you up without a fight."

"Amaryllis this… us. It's all so new, and difficult, and... Damien and yourself- you fit together so perfectly already, as though you were made for each other. I do not… I do not belong with you the way that he does."

"I don't believe in fate, Arum. I believe the choices we make create our fates. And I chose you, just as much as I chose Damien."

Arum squeezes his eyes shut. Why she chose him, he’ll never understand. After all he did to her, after what he almost did to all of them-

"And... to be honest, Arum? If... if Damien can't see how much he's hurting you-" Rilla pauses, and Arum can feel the tension in her frame, can feel that she's holding herself rather tightly. "If he really has convinced himself that this could be better for you, somehow, if he's really willing to be that selfish, and that cruel… I have a hard time believing he's still that deluded, but- if he really is... I don't know." She exhales, her shoulders drooping. "I don't know. I- it would be... hard. It would be hard to- to be with him, after that. I feel like I would need some time- that he and I would need some time away from each other, at least. To figure out how I feel about that."

“But-” Arum’s mouth hangs open for a moment, “I-” he pauses. “And if- if Damien and I- if we cannot reconcile, and Damien remembers that he does not wish to share you with some- some monster any longer?”

She scoffs, her expression going wry. "Frankly, Arum, I don't respond all that well to ultimatums. If I actually felt like I was in a position where I absolutely had to-" she makes a noise that's not really a laugh, "to choose between the two of you, I don't have the first clue what I would do with that. I love both of you. I love both of you so much, I don't know how I would- how I could possibly-" she pauses, inhaling sharply and visibly centering herself. "But. And honestly I very much doubt that Damien would ever do this, but if for some reason he thought he could come and try to twist my arm in some tacky "it's him or me" scenario- well, let's just say that I don't think that would end particularly well for him."

Arum cannot speak, not for a number of breaths after that. Rilla doesn't speak either, but her silence feels more deliberate. "A-Amaryllis," he says eventually, uncertain and unsteady. "You- you should not be forced to toss aside your bond with Damien, not for my sake-"

"I wouldn't be," Rilla says, and her own voice is even, now, her cheek resting easy on his shoulder. "I’m not saying I’m gonna snap my fingers and say goodbye, but depending on how this breaks- I might need some time to think about whether or not he’s the person I think he is. And- and if that's the way it works out, it will be a choice I make for myself."

There is no response Arum can give to that. He can hold her, though. He can hold her, even if it feels like a half-measure, less secure with two less limbs, as if she could slip from his grasp with barely any effort.

She does not want to, though. He reminds himself of that.

“You’re gonna get all pruney if we stay in here much longer, though,” she sighs, squeezing him and then pulling back enough to meet his eye. “Did this help? Even a little?”

“You helped,” he mutters, glancing away and feeling strange heat in his cheeks. “You always help.”

She makes a noise, and when he looks towards her again, she-

There are tears in her eyes.

“Amaryllis,” he breathes, and she laughs strangely, lifting her hands and brushing the heels of her palms beneath her eyes.

“I know, I know,” she says in a thick sort of voice. “I’m sorry, ridiculous human emotional whatever, I’ll have a handle on it in just a second-”

“Amaryllis,” he says again, and he draws her closer, lifting a hand and almost, almost touching her cheek. “No, no apologies, Amaryllis. You-”

She has been holding herself so carefully, he realizes. Spine straight, hands gentle, smile sturdy. And she has been doing so for his sake.

“No,” she says, sighing as if the tears are an irritating sort of imposition, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, just gimme a sec, here-”

“I love you,” Arum says, helpless against the tide of it, and her breath hitches as he cups her cheek and thumbs away a tear and he- he hates this curse all the more, that it is hurting her, too.

She looks up at him (less up than usual, but still), her lips tilting wryly, and Arum-

Arum sways towards her.

He is accustomed to brushing the thin, inelastic line of his mouth across their lips in request, accustomed to allowing the humans to lead a ‘kiss’ as they desire it, but this time when his mouth meets hers he has even less idea what to do than he normally does.

He understands the fondness they have for the act, though. Why this gentle human curve is so intensely sensitive is beyond his understanding, but the strange sharp tingle of even this unpracticed, unsure kiss is like some sort of wildfire. Skin. However humans manage not to collapse from the intensity of every touch is a mystery.

He also realizes, with some mortification, that he does not know at all what to do next.

In his own body, he would-

He parts his lips, nipping Rilla’s bottom lip with these odd blunt teeth, and she laughs in surprise, pulling away just enough to meet his eye before she dissolves into laughter again.

That is like wildfire, too. Her laughter. The brightness it kindles in his own heart. He smiles when she collects herself, and she shakes her head at him.

“Ridiculous lizard,” she mutters, breathless, and Arum can’t help but laugh along with her.

[apurpleaddledbaker]

==> :o* (you can do that now)

(( in which the clown wanted to be kissed >:) ))

@gunsandshipsandtheradio

Gamzee

You are Gamzee Makara and it's been a few days since Eridan up and revealed his loyalties to the city, a few days since your diamond reacted all kinds of not the best, but that's fine. You're currently in the hideout, leaning on one of the counters in the kitchen. You've got coffee, it's basically just coffee flavoured warm milk and honey at this point, and sandwiches and you're just fine, no body's forgetting no self care in here today, no sir.

Eridan

Your name is Eridan Ampora, and  it's been a few days since you went up in flames and decide to go up and fuck it up for everyone. You haven't  beat yourself down enough. Lies, you have, not that you will stop. You go up and out of the kitchen just because you are hungry and hey, stress eating in the place where the food is basically always there is in your top 3 preferences. You look slightly messy but nothing telling. And then there he is... Gamzee.  And the fluster of emotions that you have forms and collapses in 3 seconds of less. Fuck emotions. "Gam..." You nod and well huh. What are the leftovers for today.

Gamzee

"Yo Eribro," you return the nod and look him over a minute, feeling a curling of something in your own chest, before you nudge your untouched sandwiches towards him. "Want some?" Yes you are sharing food you'd made just for your own self, or you're trying to. Offers there if he wants it. "Holding together, alright?"

Eridan

"Yes I would."  You kind go over and reach one of them, and then wolf it down because fuck manners, you are tired. "Pretty good."  Alright so. That isn't a good question for you. "Yes you could say that, like of course there is trouble but you know is whatever for me, Bec has been good of aid, how about you, how have you been?"

Gamzee

You shouldn't be as pleased by that acceptance as you are, or the words you get from it afterwards, but you are so keepin that good feelin in your chest now, is yours. Then he gives you a lot of words to pick over and you blink at him, figuring out what you wanna say. "Not as bad as you obviously," yeah, you're not gonna tell him about that shit, he's got enough for his own things to be worrying over. "Bec's a good woofbeast for stress times, he's good soft."

Eridan

"Well, that's alright I suppose." You are grabbing another one, you are taking another sandwich.  You kind of  use that as a excuse to scoot a little closer "Say Gam,... " Now think of something good and interesting. It's not that complicated. "So hows the stuff I got for you?" Well that went poorly. "I would expect you to find it pleasurable in some way or I'm afraid we might have to get more if I dared to get you things you don't like."

Gamzee

You'd cocked your head at him, shifting towards him in interest when he'd said your name, only to snort an amused noise at the question he gave ya. "S'good, s'all good stuff don't you be worrying none about how I'm liking them," please give ya a lot more time before bringing ya anywhere near that store again, the first trip was long enough for you, it don't need  repeating yet. "I'm even using it all consistent like, yeah? They's good, ya did good with 'em."

Eridan

"Ah of course, of course I'm that good at this stuff. Makes all sense  honestly. Why would I ever make such mistakes, you are lucky you have me". That is a huge flip flop from your previous statement and you know this which is why you just focus on eating instead. Your grandeur theatrics heavily go against your worried. Aw fuck .You make a bit of a face. "I'll be the judge of that." You get closer, kind of just to get the smell of him. Does he smell like broke this time?

Gamzee

"I am aren't I?" Ya teasing him a little bit, you're being honest a little bit, s'good. "Messiahs know I ain't knowin no thing about it." You're fine with him gettin close enough to smell you, cause you smell like expensive clean and it's a good smell. "See?" You smile for him, a small proud thing. "Gots me smellin all nice, don't ya?"

Eridan

"The luckiest." You tease back.  You did kind of expect that, his hair looks great, better than other days, you can already tell without the needing to smell, but you do anyway. "Just what you deserve Gam, you are a nice thing that deserve lots of nice things. You are quite delectable."

Gamzee

"Well... a body did say I had ta try ta 'relish the now', yeah?" You're all kinds of referring to those horoscopes he did a bit a time back, yes, yes you are. "S'a good thing I ain't minding bites none then, else there'd be some trouble there, wouldn't it?" You think that's what that word means anyways, pretty sure.

Eridan

That gets you to snort and give him a smile, the sort of your face smile which isn't really a smile but you know. You are very amused.  You take back your space again just so you can shove more food in your mouth. "I can't believe you listened to that mess, and here I thought I was smug." Wink. You did kind of say all of this with food in your mouth. Swallow.  Oh GOD  NOPE CHOKE A LITTLE. What a bastard. That took you by surprise. WHEEZE. Okay okay, you are fine this is fine, smug smug. Pick it up. "..." Nope.

Gamzee

You had been about to tell him that of course you'd listened, you always listen to his show, why wouldn't you? But then the little choking and concern and you've set down your mug, hands flittering and not quite touching but concerned all the same. "Ya alright there, bro? Wouldn't do no one good if ya got got by some bread and meat, yeah?" You're watching him close, had that last bit been too much for him?

Eridan

It wasn't him, it was what YOU thought when he said it.  Literally going out there to hit yourself in the confusion. You take another bite of whatever is left of the sandwich while making eye contact mostly because you need to leave one thing clear for him and for yourself. "Bold of you to think I  can get got ever, by anything. Not even you would be able to."

Gamzee

Confused honk here. "Alright?" Your head's cocked all puzzled woofbeast-like again, your hands shifting back out of his space now that he's ok. "Sure, that's good? Yeah," you blink at him, shifting where you stand as you continue to consider him, maybe... maybe now wouldn't be a good time for that after all? No, no, no if ya didn't soon ya wouldn't ever. "Can I... be askin a thing of you?"

Eridan

"Yes." That was ridiculous. Why do you keep fucking up so much.  Well could be worse. "Well, what would that be?"

Gamzee

You're here now, time to get your confidence together to keep going, you can do this. You step back towards him, close again so you can lean down, giving him all kinds of time to pull away and stop all of this, ta send ya both off on your ways if that's what he being preferring. "Can I kiss you?" you ask all quiet-soft, waiting, waiting for his decision.

Eridan

Oh.  You were wondering were it was going to go around that. Wow Hm.  You blink a couple times  and your fins go up and down. "... Of course Gam." So what did you want with him again? Right, quadrants are starting to go on your head again. No pitch but was it flush? 99% flush for sure. RIGHT RIGHT. Do something. "Can I wash my teeth first tho? I don't want to go in our first kiss with my breath smelling of meat" NOT THAT.

Gamzee

It's really motherfuckin hard to be nervous when you're laughing, like really motherfuckin difficult ain't no way to do it. "Nah, nah ya good," you tell him around the genuine thing that being pulled out of you. "If ya said ya couldn't handle a kiss when I smelled broke then I think I can be good with this." You have permission now so you're gonna take it, a gentle-kind thing as you press your smile to his lips.

Eridan

There is that soft violet on your face now. If that is any indication of anything. At least you made him laugh with your antics, not what you intended but understandable. "Fair." And that is a kiss. One soft gentle kiss One that you have to lean into to be able to get well. Your hands get to his chest and by that point even if its the first with him you melt right into it.  There is something about flushed kisses that makes you die on the spot.  Even when it's done you might be leaning on Gamzee, there are no words to cover the experience, and to be fair you don't need them for once.

Gamzee

He leans into ya and that's the best thing ya coulda hoped for. Sure he's got his hands on your chest and there's instincts telling ya that that's where your organs are ain't safe to be allowing others near, but it's all good, he's a safe one to let near ya like that. One of your own hands is around him, keeping him steady when ya feel him melt and the others keeping him turned up towards ya until you pull away and end the kiss. Pumper racing and stuttering with all of the good feelings you've got right now. You're just gonna keep a hold of him a while s'a good thing going on right now, straight up most motherfuckin blessed a miracles.

Eridan

"Quite the gentletroll are you." You are glad he is holding you up because otherwise you would probably be a mess down on the floor. You just kind remain there both because you like it there and because you haven't noticed how exhausted you truly were until you were asked to show weakness for 5 seconds and you aren't ready to let go yet so you just put your head on Gamzee's shoulder. "...This is a good place."

Gamzee

“If Imma be anything,” you woulda shrugged there but he’s getting himself all settled and ya don’t wanna be disturbing that none. You’re all kinds of good with him staying there for a while, the weigh of him’s nice against ya. “Ya can stay for a bit then, I won’t make ya move ‘fore you’re ready to.”

Eridan

"Don't tempt me Gam, I'm a sniper, I can sleep standing or in any position you know?" Truth actually. You could sleep there if you really wanted to but no. That's asking for people to see you like... like that. Weakness is for Gamzee at this moment. You make sure you fin's brush his face softly as you stand back properly. "There are better places to rest around, I hope you know that. And to kiss around but that is besides the point"

Gamzee

“Skill for for ya ta show me later, then,” you make a soft little thrilling-chirp at the ticklish feelin of fins brushing against ya skin and let him stand himself back to his feet. “I could say I do, or I could ask ya show me, which would ya be preferring?”

Eridan

"Well, since you initiated how about you get to pick this time, not every time of course that would just be unnecessary."  You make sure to at least accommodate all clothes or hairs that might have gotten crooked by that, real quick. There we go polish once more. "Take the lead." Just once.

Gamzee

"If ya gonna be kind enough ta let me motherfuckin choose," which you're pretty sure it's unlikely to happen often but that's more than motherfuckin fine, choices can be all kinds a difficult a times. "Then we could go somewhere else so ya can get some rest on, yeah? Ya seem like ya could use it." Maybe also kiss him a bit more, maybe yeah.

Eridan

"You are very much welcome deary." Yes you have started with the awful pet names. You won't be stopped now, and if someone tries to stop you they have over the office of 'i dont care'. "Well lets go then" Fuck it, you catch his hand as many times before and give him a nudge.  Lets go, slinky.

Gamzee

Oh, oh pet names, oh, oh now there's purple on your skin, most of it's not visible but there's visible colour on your neck. A weakness. You need a moment before your words come back to you, by then he's got your hand, hand holding is a good thing, you're here for that, and you're being nudged along. Yes good let's be going, time to go get him his restin on.

[notecardio]

Moira / Mercy

Here is a rough draft I’ve been working on! Moira is working late in her lab when she receives an unexpected call from Mercy. I’ll finish this soon & post it on my AO3 but I’m so lazy! Here’s what I have so far tho!

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

Overwatch is making budget cuts. No surprise there. Their reputation is almost as bad as my own, and it’s been a pleasure to watch their slow descent into public scandal. Every time I glance through the press releases, I am delighted to see Jack Morrison and his dutiful teammates attempt to appease the angry masses, to assure them that Overwatch isn’t corrupt or dangerous. As I sit in my own lab funded through Blackwatch channels, I can’t help but laugh.

No, none of this is a surprise. What is a surprise is when, on an average Tuesday night, I get a call from her.

I almost didn’t answer, but pure sentiment took hold. Some human weaknesses I can’t seem to edit out of the genome, and admittedly, I had to know if she sounded the same.

“Angela, this is a surprise,” I say, tapping the communicator in my ear, allowing my hands to continue cleaning the remaining Erlenmeyer flasks from today’s work. “It’s been a while.”

“Can I use your lab for a moment?”

I can’t help but laugh. “You certainly don’t mean immediately?”

“No, I mean now. It’s rather urgent, a-and I don’t have clearance to fly back to Zurich until tomorrow.” Her voice is the same. Lovely. I hate it. “I wouldn’t ask unless it was truly necessary. You’re the closest scientist I know who I can,” a pause, “trust.”

“Angela, as always, you’re delightfully transparent.”

“This is extremely confidential work.”

“Then how could you possibly share it with such a... oh, how did you put it? Ah, yes, an ‘obsessive, unethical monster’ such as myself?”

“Moira, please.”

Well, that’s it, then. Those two words from her, and I’m finished as always, and she knows it.

“Do you know exactly how to get here?”

“No.”

“I’ll send you the directions. Should I prepare anything? Or is this just a wonderful ruse to come see me?”

“Hardly. Perhaps preparing an operating table would be helpful.”

After some vague details, she hangs up. I am infuriatingly intrigued. What could possibly make Angela desperate enough to see me? It must be serious. The last time we met, she swore we’d never see each other again.  

I repress any foolish notions to retrace the failings of a workplace romance turned sour over something as malleable as morality. Luckily, the entire mess with Angela reminded there is room in my life for only one love, and that, as always, is science.

I ruminate instead on Angela’s potential reasons for seeking me out while I go about the lab, tidying here and there, although there isn’t much out of place to begin with. Around ten minutes elapse, and then the intercom buzzes.

I adjust my tie and sigh. I walk to the back entrance, the one that is only for me and emergencies. After the door slides open, in walks this particular, unwanted emergency.

Her body is slightly damp from rain, and her nimble figure is engulfed in a large, wet raincoat. The few stray strands of blonde hair that escape her tight bun stick to her face. She wipes them away with free hand, but the movement causes her to grimace.

“I may have made a mistake,” she says.

“I never thought I’d hear those words,” I laugh back, but she isn’t smiling. She briskly walks further into the lab and right up onto the operating table at the center. She peels off her coat. And I gasp. I wasn’t expecting this at all.

“Good God, Angela. What happened?”

Underneath the bulky jacket, Angela is wearing the Valkyrie swift-response suit. Normally the frim black and white material covers her lithe form with an almost perfect, heavenly strength. She always looks glorious in the suit - one of the most incredible feats of technology I’ve ever experienced - but now the armor is broken all over her. Broken badly.

The front breastplate is scorched and misshapen. Cracks emanate from the center of her chest where some kind of blow must have landed. The metal frames of her wings hang broken and limp behind her, and the hard yellow light is powered off. She looked like a shattered vase, wet and cracked. She bites her lip.

“I was… I was trying to get away. There were reporters. They were absolutely inescapable, and I decided to run, but it was so dark. Someone was there in an alley, but it’s all such a blur and I was alone. It was supposed to be just a business trip, but someone attacked me, and I was a fool to think I was safe. I was a fool,” she says. Her words come out in a nervous and shaking rush. I feel my hands clench. What kind of imbecilic moron could’ve hurt her?

“Overwatch has many enemies,” I say. “You came to the city alone?”

“Yes, just to meet with some partners who are ceasing their financial support to Overwatch. I was demonstrating the suit’s improvements and trying to persuade them, but,” she shakes her head. “Whoever it was that attacked me, they must just be sending a warning. They ran off before I could do anything. I have to get this fixed, but I don’t want to worry the team-,”

“You’re too proud. Can’t you just leave now? Get on a plane and go?”

“I certainly can’t last long enough in this condition to fly.”

“Then call one of your doctors to come here.”

“We don’t have that kind of funding to just jet people around the globe, Moira.”

Foolishly, I still had some Overwatch scandal pulled up on one of the computer displays mounted on the wall. Angela glances at it and sighs. “Overwatch is dying.”

“Clearly. It’s falling apart. And so are you.” I move towards her. She seems to reflexively step back, but after a second she takes a step towards me again. I try to ignore any emotional implications of such a minute movement.

It’s obvious that we have to get this broken suit off of her. It must be painful. The metal is pressed inwards at her chest, but the mechanisms of the suit still hum with energy and light.

“Ah,” I say when I realize the problem. “You can’t get this off yourself.”

“Obviously. And this technology is too important and,” she swallows, “dangerous, for any average doctor to handle.”

“Without a doubt. This suit is so high powered, it could kill you if you take it off incorrectly, Angela.”

“I’m aware of that, Dr. O’Deorian.” She stares at me firmly with those unbearable eyes. “Don’t misinterpret this situation. I will be abundantly clear. You know this technology. You are close. That is why I’m here.”

I take a deep breath and run a hand through my hair. “I’m flattered you think I still have the emotional capacity to possibly care about you, Dr. Zeigler. I never pass up a chance for some scientific inquires. A little late night research is all that drives me.”

“Surprising. Usually you’re driven by more base desires.”

I laugh. “Very snarky for someone who needs me to remove hazardous biochemical weaponry from their body.”

“It’s not a weapon. This suit is built to save lives.”

“Well, it’s not saving yours at the moment.” She doesn’t break eye contact. “Oh, you’re like a petulant child. Fine, sit tight. I’ll get my better work gloves and put on something more suitable for atmosphere.”

I walk over to the record player, one piece of archaic technology I can’t seem to part with, and choose something appropriate. David Bowie’s “Look Back in Anger”, or any of his work from his Berlin era, always had the intended effect. Angela groans.

“Need I remind you, doctor, that I am at risk of being electrocuted at any moment? To subject me to your obsessions-,”

“I’m sorry, dear. You must recall that I do my best work to music.”

Angela scoffs.

I try not to think about any situation where she and I were engaged in some other activity alone together with music. Not in her bedroom. No, definitely not in mine either. Well, sometimes in the lab. Quite a few times in the lab.

“Anytime, doctor.” Angela says in a huff. She’s trying very hard to hide the fact she is in pain. I crack my knuckles in a satisfying roll.

“Let’s get this off you in some way it can be salvaged, since you and your heroes are so strapped for funds.”

“Thanks. You’re too kind.”

I begin at once. I love a good challenge. The suit could undoubtedly be manually depowered and chipped off like tree bark, but that would make repairing the wiring an absolute chore, and a blunt removal would ruin the adhesive bindings keeping the armor together. Instead, I try repairing the damage on her instead of brutishly pulling it off. This process has the added benefit of annoying Angela.

“I’m not a lab kit. Just get this off of me.”

“And ruin a wonderful chance to see what upgrades you’ve added?  Not a chance.”

“Always stealing my technology.”

“At one point it was collaborative, darling.” I pick at the damaged materials with the small metal tools in my hands. “Brilliant. Centralizing the power supply certainly made the suit lighter and more maneuverable.”

“It did, yes.”

“Actually, it’s almost as if there are no more technical upgrades to be made.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”

“And if the suit is pushed to perfection, the only other thing to alter is your own body-,”

“Moira,” she snaps. “I will absolutely not talk about this with you.”

I shrug while working. “Fine, but I’m not surprised. You’re still so afraid.”

“I still have a sense of morality. Not fear.”

We lapse into silence. While I would love to chase her down this rabbit hole for the umpteenth time, I know she will never break. Neither of us will ever bend. Ultimately, that is the reason she is so perfect and so flawed. Brilliant and confident, but so paralyzed by a rigid, self-enforced code of impossible standards. Infuriating.

I continue working. I get absorbed in the work. It is always easier to get absorbed in science than in something as trifling as emotions.

The hum of machines and the low music fill the dead air. After ten minutes or so, the suit is somewhat repaired enough to be hoisted off her body. Her body sits rigid and tense.

“There. Now it won’t potentially electrocute you. Let’s try to unclasp the wings.”

“I can do it myself.”

She reaches her arms around and sucks in a harsh breath.

“Whoever attacked you, they did a number on that shoulder, as well.”

“I’ll heal it.”

She continues to try and contort to reach her back. I groan, pushing her hands down and walking behind her. She astonishingly sits still as I perform the familiar series of unlocking motions to remove the bone-like structures of the wings. They’re lightweight and thankfully not too damaged.

I lay them on the floor. Angela’s shoulders fall in a relieved shudder.

“Next, the halo apparatus.” She nods. I let my fingers slip under the metal around her head, feeling, through the material of the gloves, for a moment, the contact with her neck as I take it away and place it on the table beside me.

“Now, the top shell of the armor,” I say. The instinct to dictate every step is unavoidable.

Usually in the lab by myself, dictating is necessary. I’m speaking aloud for my personal records. But even when we shared a lab space, we would say each step of any procedure to one another. Sometimes even when it wasn’t work, just us, to keep each other informed and aware. Effortlessly easy.

My hands seem too large and uncouth for a moment. I return to the task of removing the white shell.

The suit uncoils in perfected simplicity. It is beautifully engineered to wrap around her body, a tailored glove of power and ingenuity. Even in its fairly broken state, the suit is immensely satisfying to watch unfold off her body. Everything, the flexible breastplate, the hard streaks of white armor that rest on her hips, the orange ombre cloth that seems to almost glow in the light – everything falls away until it’s just Angela.

The last layer is just her black undershirt and tights, lined with stripes of dark orange and umber. Truly, the design makes me feel a rush. It’s a work of genius. She is a genius. I place the armor on the table, get my bearings, and walk around to assess the bodily damage.

“Your chest and shoulder seem burned.”

“The blow from the assailant released some chemicals from the suit. Along with the blunt damage, it did burn a little,” she says back evenly.

“I’ll use one of the regenerative serums. It’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

“Can you take off the boots? Let’s assure we didn’t miss any other injuries.”

She nods. I walk to one of the cabinets on the wall of the lab, finding the proper nanotech medicinal packs to solve this particular injury.

“It looks good,” Angela says. I turn around. She is staring at the suit, lightly touching the plate mail. “How did you fix everything this quickly?”

“I’m a brilliant scientist,” I say with a laugh. “It was simple, really.”

“I’m…” she trails off. “I’m very thankful.”

“You can say it. You’re impressed.”

She scoffs. “You’re so arrogant.”

“My arrogance is earned, darling.”

“Earned through shortcuts and lies, Mory.”

The record needle slips up. The music's over. I use all of my willpower to convince myself that I misheard her. An old nickname. Certainly a mistake.

I walk over, first to turn off the record player, and then to toss her the sealed bag of regenerative solute. She catches it. “Put it on your wounds and try not to waste any.”

She does so silently. Her fingers rub the viscous gel over the burns on her right shoulder and chest. The wounds are not too terrible, and the rejuvenating energy spreads along her skin immediately. The near instantaneous healing has almost a golden aura around it as the molecular structures repair themselves.

“How does it feel?”

“Better,” she replies.

“Good. That’s it, then.” I take off my gloves and toss them onto the counter nearby.

“Oh my God, Moira,” Angela says. “Y-your…what did you do to your…,” she can’t finish. She gets up and walks to me. I didn’t have a moment to react before her hands are around my right arm, gingerly holding the scarred skin with a gentleness I haven’t felt in a long time.

“Your arm,” she finishes. “Oh God, Moira, this looks absolutely terrible. Does it hurt?”

“Old news,” I say. I should take my arm back. I should break contact, but I am failing at doing anything but absorbing the sensation of her skin on mine. “I learned a great deal from it.”

Angela is silent. “You tested on yourself.”

Not a question. It’s a statement.

“Of course. I wanted the best subject for my most important work.”

“You could’ve killed yourself.”

“Oh, please spare me the dramatics. You don’t even know what I was testing-,”

“No,” she interjects. “That’s not the point. Moira, this,” she says, grasping my arm with a slight increase in pressure as her voice rises. “This is exactly why I hate you.”

“Oh, thank goodness, we’re past civility.”

“There are things more important than science for the sake of science. There is your own health. Your body. Your life.”

“Such a hypocrite. Don’t pretend you’re above applying your own science to yourself.”

“I am not a hypocrite.”

“The healing we both do, Angela, is genetic engineering. We fix broken cells. We’re doing the same exact work.”

“No,” she says fiercely, gripping my arm with more strength. “I heal people who’ve been hurt. I cure illnesses. I never risk harming innocent people under the guise of research.”

“I am changing the building blocks of humanity. I am doing nothing but improving a design.”

“You just want to play God.”

“Science makes us gods.”

“You could’ve died, Moira.”

“Fine. Then it would have been in the name of science.”

Angela balks. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re afraid.” I wrap my free hand around hers. She squeezes harder on my scars. Her eyes narrow with determination.

“The only thing I’m afraid of, Moira, is that it might be too late to save you.”

I knock my head back in a laugh. “God, you’re so high and mighty. It’s maddening. I fear you’ll be stuck like this forever, trapped in a moral prison of your own making.”

My hands move on their own, out of habits long unused but never forgotten. My fingers cup her cheeks. Angela seems petrified for a few seconds, staring up at me, but perhaps she’s not just looking at me in this moment.

Perhaps in her mind, like my own, she is seeing layers and layers of old memories peeled back with just a simple touch. Maybe, like me, she is seeing how many memories of those eyes she can recall where everything else was different around us but those eyes are the same. I think about the last time I was close to her like this before we let it fall apart.

“I didn’t come here for this,” Angela says softly.

“I don’t want this from you.”

“Then tell me to go.”

I attempt an even breath and fail. “You can leave whenever you see fit.”

She holds my face in her hands. The mirrored symmetry is excruciatingly satisfying.

“I get tired of missing you.”

She shouldn’t say things like that. No, my ability to forget her is a reflection of my willpower, and- and the moment she presses her body flush to mine and slips her hands into my hair, I know that all I have of any goddamn willpower is broken and gone.

And the satisfying snap of tension, the chain reaction of my lips meeting hers, sends a long-forgotten bolt of energy through my entire body. And I feel incredibly, profoundly alive.

We’re kissing fast, desperate despite everything I tried so hard to conceal. I can’t take it any longer. She’s here like times before, in my arms with all of her delicate strength and rough passion.

I lift her, carrying her back onto the operating table while never breaking contact with those lips.

I lay her flat on her back. As I straddle her waist, she pushes the lab coat off my shoulders and pulls me down by the tie around my neck.

[advernia]

fic: firewater

— there’s the passion of burning flames in those eyes of blue. - role reversal!AU: one of the mornings between the resident red king mikoto suoh and his bartender lieutenant, awashima seri.

Tap, tap, tap, goes the wood upstairs: it's a soft yet still audible sound to his ears and he cracks an eye open to be greeted by a blurry view of dark brown, the mahogany wood of the ceiling. From looking at wood he angles his head to the side a bit so his eye could turn to the window, covered with that cutesy white lace curtain that ought to be burned. Little sunlight poured through the glass panes, faint but nevertheless, still there.

(He doesn’t look for the color of the sky - the curtain and the sunlight that streamed in combined makes it look gray, and perhaps that’s what the sky was at this hour. The lack of noise outside and glaring sunlight tell him that, too.)

Mikoto Suoh closes his eye and drifts away to sleep once more, drowning out the sounds of car engines to focus on the sound of wood upstairs going tap, tap, tap.

    Kamamoto often pointed out that the bar's floorboards were goddamn creaky every time he would walk around, but it didn’t seem so for Awashima Seri’s case - each step she took didn’t induce a squeaky protest from the wood under the two-inch heels on her feet, nor did it leave the soft click clack sounds that Yata would scowl at whenever it would reach his ears.

(Then again, Yata Misaki always seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face whenever she was involved.) 

Once fully dressed, her lithe fingers wrap around her room's doorknob and she closes the door behind her slowly like she had done when opening the door earlier - a practiced motion leaving not even the slightest sound, carried over until she crosses the hall and goes down the stairs, each step she took light and careful. She'd hate to wake her roommate, an adorable young girl sleeping soundly in her animal pajamas.

When Seri's at the first floor’s landing, her eyes turn to the couch at the far end of the rom and a frown pulls at her lips: there he was, sitting at the couch with his gangly legs spread wide open and his arms set behind his head. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips and a half empty bottle was set on the table not far from where he sat - she rolls her eyes then shakes her head before moving across the room to the couch.

Her heels still leave no sound against the floorboards.

When he was within her arm’s reach, she unceremoniously swipes the cigarette from his mouth and turns away, grabbing the bottle on the table on her way back - his eyes flicker open just as quick, and he sees a retreating figure in a cream dress with his cigarette in one hand and a bottle in the other.

(Right - the bottle. How he intended only to drink a few cups of the whiskey last night that turned out to be almost finishing the bottle in one sitting was beyond him.)

… give that back, Mikoto growls lowly.

I'd like you to specify what shoud I return, Seri replies casually.

She’s already going behind the bar’s counter, and she glares at him briefly before storing away the bottle in the refrigerator. A snap from her fingers and hey presto - his cigarette turns to ash right in between her fingers, pieces of white and gray fluttering down to the floor like snowflakes. Mikoto scowls and throws his head back languidly, eyes set back on the ceiling.

You almost finished a bottle of the Hibiki Japanese Harmony, she tells him from across the room, her voice at a controlled volume. Do you have any idea how much a single bottle costs?

There it is: that firm, scolding voice of hers, early in the bloody morning - it’s probably topped off with her narrowed eyes staring him down like a criminal. He brings a hand to his temple and closes his eyes, eyebrows drawing together.

I might as well finish it, he drawls. His response makes her scoff.

You’ve had enough. What did I say about taking bottles from the display?

He blinks. If it's something she set, then it's probably along the lines of 'with my permission' or 'with supervision'.

(Probably.)

… you wasted a good cigarette.

And you're wasting life away by lazing around in my bar, she sighs. Totsuka-kun told me you sat on the couch the whole morning yesterday.

Mikoto clicks his tongue.

(Goddammit, Tatara.)

I was sleeping, he grunts.

You’re always sleeping, she snaps. You smoke three packs of cigarettes in one day on an average, rarely move from a spot that you find comfortable unless needed, and then you take drinks from my display when you feel like it. Your current lifestyle isn’t going to reflect well on your health - do yourself a favor and breathe in some fresh air… if only for just an hour.

Silence. He lifts his head up slowly and their eyes meet from across the room, gazes steady and unyielding.

Lazy amber against gleaming blue - he always found it strange that somehow in those eyes of hers, he would find the intensity of a roaring flame that would rival that of Yata's.

(Or perhaps it was even brighter... sometimes he couldn't tell.)

For what seems like an eternity, he makes the first move - her hands still remain on her hips as she watched him shove his hands into the pockets of his jackets, then he draws out a heavy sigh as he pulled himself off the comfort of the couch.

You’re gonna take a walk too, he says.

She pauses, eyes blinking. Her hands leave her hips to fall to her sides, and she tilts her head slightly.

What do you mean?

Anna finished the milk cartons last night.

She raises an eyebrow at him and frowns.

... There were two whole cartons still left.

He rolls his eyes as he scratched the back of his neck.

… there’s no more anko on the fridge either.

She narrows her eyes at him for a moment, and then she proceeds to open the fridge again for the both of them to behold: she stares and he stares at the fridge with no anko and milk cartons in sight, until she closes the fridge door with a soft thud. Seri glances at him one last time with her hands-on-hips-and-a-frown-on-the-face combination and he shrugs in response, adjusting the jacket on his shoulders.

... Stop glaring. I won't even eat a single piece of your -

- I’ll get my wallet, she huffs.

Mikoto watches her turn around and walk back up the stairs before he exhales a sigh and flumps right back on the couch, listening again to the wood go tap, tap, tap.

        Mikoto Suoh ends up carrying four cartons of milk plus two large plastic tubs of anko all crammed up in one convenience store plastic bag, while Awashima Seri holds a much smaller plastic bag containing six boxes of a cigarette brand that she claimed to have lesser nicotine content than Mikoto’s favored brand (that he could care much or less what its name was). They walk side by side at a steady pace, Mikoto’s gaze set straight ahead while Seri focused on the streets of Shizume City.

A few number of robots roamed the streets, cleaning up trash and maintaining street lights and signs. There were also a few people who walked the streets, either joggers or white-collared workers that could be distinguished by their clothing or the objects they had with them. Cars were few as well and perhaps it was no wonder, it was far too early for the day to begin for most people.

It might be better to take walks this early, Seri says as she turned to Mikoto.

Even with heels, she still has to look up at him while talking. He turns to face her, lowering his head slightly to meet her eyes. His gaze drifts from the expectant expression on her face then lingers to the plastic bag in her hand.

… Too early, he sighs. A yawn escapes his mouth shortly after he spoke, as if to prove a point.

Seri shakes her head, shifting the plastic bag she held to her right hand.

Any time of the day I suggest, you always think it’s early.

Because it is.

Even when I suggested that you and Anna take walks on the afternoons?

Mikoto groans audibly and Seri can only sigh in frustration, her left hand tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

If it’s any consolation… there’s little security in the mornings, so there would be less eyes on you.

… You make it sound like I'm on the run.

For a moment, there’s the sound of rumpling plastic. Mikoto glances at her briefly - at her furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips - before looking away.

That... she pauses to bite her lip for a moment before continuing, ...that isn't what I meant.

Mikoto closes his eyes.

A light breeze rushes in and dances in between them, and he breathes in the chilly air it brings.

... I know.

        ... Cook meat for breakfast afterwards, then I'll consider it.

Seri looks up at Mikoto again, an eyebrow raised. Her hand's about to open the door to the bar but then he spoke, breaking the silence that fell around them for the rest of their walk. He doesn't meet her gaze, too preoccupied with scratching the back of his neck.

Afterwards? she repeats. Mikoto runs a hand through his hair upon hearing her response.

You heard me, he sighs.

Mikoto opens the door and walks right in immediately, heading for the counter.

Seri trails behind him a few seconds after taking in his words.

... I'll determine your portions on the time and intensity of your walk.

He suddenly stops walking, turning around to watch her close the door and walk past him, not even sparing a glance at his face and the expression of dread it held.

You're not serious.

If we're trying to regulate your health, your diet should come with it, she chuckles.

And for the second time that morning, Mikoto Suoh audibly groans.

    1: i remember seeing a tumblr post about a what if: seri was mikoto’s lieutenant and izumo munakata’s and i’m like... nice... that would probably be a fun time lol, this AU has so much potential 2: i am liking my headcanon of mikoto not making it a point to call seri by her name (not even by her family name) and vice-versa. and they’ve been like... friends(???) since middle school. or probably longer, shocker. totsuka calls both of them by their given names tho. communication is strange.

[7fics]

i've been thinking about this prompt for dAYS lol. jjparents when yugyeom(5) watching his youngjae(8) hyung doing everything alone, from bath, choose his own outfit for school and sleep in his own room, and he decide he's big enough to do everything by himself too but when jinyoung feels his little baby has grown up, yugyeom still the maknae that they knew when thunders and nightmare take a visit:) thank you for taking this prompt:)

warnings: none? i don’t think? just copious amounts of cute i suppose!! and 1 kiss between jjp for 1 second!! 

author: joey

word count: 6.5k

a/n: first of all i’m so sorry…sdfdg…rly tooth rottingly cute tho…mostly a lot of jinyoung babying yugyeom and jaebum giving him a hard time about it…also my nephew is only 3 and i haven’t interacted w a 5 year old in a million years so i don’t rly know what they’re like i did my best!!!!!

Truth be told, having a five year old and an eight year old could be equated to having two highly active, untrained, untamable marmosets.

He never intended to not have children, but the days of being an uncle to his sister’s young children seemed to have left a much different impression on him than he had once thought. His sister’s children had always been well behaved and polite, calm and serious when they needed to be but a little wild when they were allowed. The quieter one between the two of them, it had been the ideal for Jinyoung: marry his high school sweetheart Im Jaebum, get a pretty house in the suburbs, and adopt two boys who would be little carbon copies of themselves. It was the perfect plan and even Jaebum had seemed to agree, despite wanting more kids than that, but he had conceded that two would suit him fine. It would be everything that they had ever dreamed and more.

Funny how life works, isn’t it?

“Appaaaaaaaaa,” Yugyeom whines, dragging out the last syllable in his high pitched voice until it’s practically unbearable. Jinyoung feels two tiny hands pushing at his thigh impatiently: it’s 7 o’clock in the morning and despite being dressed for work already, he barely feels awake. He’s standing in Youngjae’s bedroom doorway, waiting for the older of their two sons to get out of bed and lamenting the fact that he’s not in the kitchen watching his husband make breakfast. Presumably shirtless.  

Yugyeom reaches for his bicep, hands up and his arms stretched while he balances precariously on his sock-footed tippy toes. Jinyoung, despite telling him many times that it isn’t going to work, folds his arm into a 90 degree angle anyway and grits his teeth. Yugyeom insists that he’s tall enough to grab onto Appa’s arm and swing from it like a baby monkey, but Jinyoung knows he’s probably still a couple of years out from being able to do it. When he can’t quite reach, fingertips brushing against the material of Jinyoung’s power blue dress shirt, he whines and drops his arms to lean his face against his leg. Jinyoung reaches to ruffle his hair, glancing down and seeing the adorable way Yugyeom’s cheek is smushed against his thigh in defeat.

“Youngjae-yah,” Jinyoung warns, leaning his folded arm down far enough that Yugyeom can latch onto it with both hands. He grunts a little as he lifts him up, ignoring the way his shoulder begs him not to do this as Yugyeom giggles and hangs off his arm. Youngjae, however, seems unperturbed: he remains curled up under his blanket, messy black hair spread across his pillow and eyes squeezed shut against the light.

“Youngjae-yah!” Yugyeom mocks, sing song, planting his feet against Jinyoung’s hip and half standing, half hanging from Jinyoung’s arm. He mumbles a half hearted apology when Jinyoung shoots him a warning look and tries again, “Youngjae hyung!”

One dark eye opens barely a centimeter before it closes quickly, pretending that Jinyoung hadn’t seen it and that he’s still asleep.

He knows he’s not supposed to laugh, so he bites both his lips to hold it back. Them being late to school isn’t funny, per se, but watching his eight year old act like they hadn’t just made eye contact when he’s trying to get him up and dressed is.

“Youngjae-yah, if you don’t get up right now, I’m going to go get Dad.”

Both eyes open this time, blinking sleepily. His heart melts alarmingly fast: the only body part visible is his head, the rest of him covered up by a mound of blankets so that he looks like a little cotton turtle. Youngjae’s staticy black hair fans across the pillowcase decorated with various Pokemon and he wishes more than anything that they could just all stay home and pile up in their bed like they used to.

“Giving him heart eyes like that isn’t going to get him out of bed any faster,” a voice says behind him, and he feels Jaebum disentangling Yugyeom from his arm and hip to throw him over his shoulder. Yugyeom giggles and kicks his socked feet so that both Jaebum and Jinyoung have to lean their faces out of their trajectory.

With a sharp look, Jinyoung glances over his shoulder at Jaebum; despite the teasing smile on his face, Jinyoung is never not awed by his handsomeness and even this makes him soften, too. “I am not giving him heart eyes. You couldn’t even see my face, because you’re behind me.”

Jaebum wraps an arm around his waist and rests his chin on Jinyoung’s shoulder. Yugyeom seems to notice that his parents are being lovey-dovey and screeches eeeeew in an almost perfect imitation of his cousin Bambam.

“I’ve known you since our freshman year of high school. Do I have to be standing in front of you to know that you’re soft-hearted and don’t want to get him out of bed?”

Red faced and embarrassed like they’re still just teenagers, Jinyoung shoves his elbow backward into Jaebum’s bare stomach and grumbles under his breath when his husband just laughs. He half turns, holding his arms out and silently waiting for Jaebum to deposit their five year old wiggle worm into them. He’s still in his jammies and even though it is pretty cute that there’s a picture of Pikachu on each tiny butt cheek, it’s time to get dressed for school. He sighs: he didn’t think having kids, especially two hyperactive ones, would make him such a sap.

He’s not surprised, though, and he’s sure Jaebum isn’t, either.

Regardless, Jaebum smiles at him and dumps Yugyeom across Jinyoung’s outstretched arms. He immediately lets go of his back, almost dropping him until he’s got a good grip on both of his ankles and is holding him upside down. Yugyeom just screams laughter and if that’s not enough to get sleepy-eyed Youngjae out of bed, then he isn’t sure what is.

Jinyoung starts to walk Yugyeom down the hallway on his hands while Jinyoung holds him up by his feet, waiting in the doorway to his room while Jaebum quietly reprimands Youngjae for not getting up when Jinyoung had asked him to. He smiles softly when Youngjae throws off the blanket, sitting up and rubbing his eyes while waving Jaebum off like a tired parent. Jaebum slowly closes the door when he’s sure that Youngjae is up and at ‘em before joining Jinyoung in Yugyeom’s room.

“Breakfast is ready,” he says, folding his arms and leaning in the doorway while Jinyoung rifles through Yugyeom’s closet to find something to wear. The little boy leans on his leg impatiently and whines unintelligibly about God only knows.

“Thanks, honey,” Jinyoung says, finally finding a shirt and yanking it off the hanger. He orders Yugyeom to spin around with a circling motion of his finger while he looks over at his husband still watching them fondly from the doorway. “Yah, stop looking at us like that if you want to get everyone out of the house on time.”

He laughs, holding up his hands defensively before winking at him and leaving the room. Jinyoung rolls his eyes even if he doesn’t see it, helping Yugyeom to take off his pajama shirt and pull on the clean one Jinyoung had picked for him. Down the hall he hears Youngjae’s door open, and both him and Yugyeom glance up to see him heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

When Yugyeom’s head swivels back around, he looks much more glum than he had just a few minutes ago. Jinyoung waits until he buttons his pants and pulls on clean socks before scooping him up again; he wonders if he should ask what’s wrong or if it’s just another morning that he’s sad to leave Jinyoung and Jaebum behind. With a sigh too heavy for his little body, Yugyeom wraps his arms around Jinyoung’s neck and leans their heads together, now uncharacteristically silent as they wander into the kitchen for a quick, pre-school breakfast.

As Jaebum is getting the plates down, Youngjae comes into the room and yawns sleepily. He shuffles over to where Jinyoung is sitting in one of the higher chairs at the island and leans his head against his side. “Do I have to go to school today?”

Jaebum raises an eyebrow. “Of course you do. Why don’t you want to?”

He replies miserably, “I want to play Pokemon.”

Jinyoung again has to bite his lips to avoid laughing, and he makes eye contact with Jaebum at the sink where he’s doing the same thing. Both of their faces split in a smile and they look down in unison as to not give themselves away.

“You can play Pokemon after school and after you do your homework,” Jaebum says, much better at dropping the smile, and hands Youngjae a plate. “Maybe we’ll even call Uncle Mark and Uncle Jackson to see if Bambam can come over and play with you.”

This seems to cheer him up, and he brightens considerably. He smiles at both of them, a little checkerboard line of white and black where some of his baby teeth have finally gone. Youngjae takes the plate from Jaebum and steps up on the stool to carefully pick and choose between all of the breakfast items Jaebum had prepared to arrange on his plate. While he does, Jaebum reaches over his head to grab another plate and nods at Yugyeom.

Looking over, he can see that Yugyeom is still quiet and watching Youngjae intently. He’s slumped a little in his chair, lower lip pushed out and corners of his mouth turned down in an exaggerated pout like a humanoid grouper fish. He watches Youngjae as he makes his own plate for breakfast and sighs another little heavy sigh.

“Yugyeom-ah,” Jinyoung says softly, and feels a bit dismayed when Yugyeom doesn’t look at him. “If you ask Dad extra nicely, I think he’ll give you an extra strawberry.”

“Daddy, can I have an extra strawberry, please?” he asks, but it’s lacking in that usual Yugyeom fervor (as in, he didn’t scream it at the top of his lungs, so now neither of them are sure that he meant it) and they exchange a worried glance across the kitchen.

“Sure, kiddo,” Jaebum says, and turns around to pile more strawberries than he would usually get onto a small plate. Jinyoung rubs his back comfortingly and starts to worry about him being under the weather.

The rest of breakfast goes by uneventfully: Youngjae tells them about what they’re doing at school today with his mouth full, which earns him another reprimand from Jaebum; he does so with a grin on his face because he thinks it’s funny when Youngjae does it, despite knowing that Jinyoung thinks it’s rude. Youngjae just laughs and turns red to mumble an apology when Jinyoung shoots Jaebum a glare across the table. Which is, of course, just met with a grin and a kiss blown to him that, much to Youngjae’s amusement, gets pretend karate chopped out of the air. Normally Yugyeom would laugh, too, but he’s barely even picked at his strawberries. Jinyoung frowns.

“Ah, Jinyoungie, the kids’ bus comes soon,” Jaebum says suddenly, pushing up from the table. “Youngjae-yah, take Yugyeom and get your shoes and jackets on. It’s time to go to the bus stop. Hurry, or you’re going to miss it.”

All three of them turn at the same time to look at the clock perched on the kitchen wall right above the stove. Youngjae’s bus comes in ten minutes and though the bus stop is just at the end of their street, Youngjae has a penchant for pulling out his Gameboy and getting distracted. The next couple of minutes are a flurry of activity getting their boys shooed into the front room while they race to pack their lunches and grab their backpacks. By the time Jinyoung is coming back from both of their rooms with their school bags in hand, Jaebum is already waiting with them by the door to help them strap on and get ready to go. The both of them stand side by side on the doorstep and watch their kids run to the bus stop down at the end of the street, in just enough time that Youngjae is pulling Yugyeom by the hand up onto the steps and to their seats.

Left alone now in the silence, Jinyoung leans in to Jaebum’s shoulder and hums when he wraps an arm around his waist. They go back inside once the bus is out of sight, and Jinyoung sits down heavily at the island again with his face in his hand while Jaebum leans on his elbows across from him.

“What’s the matter?”

“Yugyeom seemed unhappy today.”

Jaebum clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Yeah, I noticed that, too. Was he feeling sick? Did he say anything about feeling sick?” Jaebum’s thick eyebrows furrow worriedly. “Should we have kept him home from school?”

“No, I don’t think he’s sick,” Jinyoung says, sighing. He reaches out for comfort and warms a bit when Jaebum takes his hand to run his thumb back and forth across his knuckles. “I think he’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” Jaebum stands up straighter, letting go of Jinyoung’s hand to come around and stand next to him. “Jealous of what?”

“Of Youngjae. Because Youngjae gets to do ‘big boy’ things, and he doesn’t.”

Jinyoung looks up and his heart contracts at the way Jaebum softens exorbitantly. It’s a wonder, Jinyoung thinks, that he could see such a softness in him when in high school he had been, for a long time, all razor edged angles. Dating had melted him a bit, though, and marriage even more so; during their wedding he thinks that Jaebum must have cried more than his mother did. Jinyoung didn’t think that Jaebum getting any softer was possible until they adopted two kids.

The hand that had been rubbing across his knuckles comes up to cup his chin and tilt it further so that Jaebum can kiss him sweetly before leaning away.

“He likes being babied, especially by you. Maybe he was just tired today, huh?”

Jaebum’s curled fingers bump his chin in encouragement before they wrap themselves up in his silky tie and yank suggestively. Jinyoung checks the clock again and is thankful that he’s the boss so that he can make his own work hours, and he lets himself be pulled to his feet by the promise of a good time lined in his husband’s devilish eyes.

“Don’t stress so much, Jinyoungie,” he purrs, “and let’s go back to bed.”

Despite Jaebum’s alluring words of comfort, he worries about it all day.

The hours stretch on in his office as he tries not to think about how sad his son had seemed that morning, even after waking up happy and getting to climb all over Appa like a jungle gym even though he usually doesn’t get to. He wonders when exactly it happened, and if the change had come even sooner before but him and Jaebum had been so preoccupied that they had missed it, because Jaebum was right: Yugyeom adored being babied. He loved getting scooped up and held in either of their arms, leaning his head against theirs when he was tired, or curling up in their laps as they read books, or nestling between them on their bed when he was supposed to be tucked away in his own. He had his moments of independence but for the most part he still adored being treated like the toddler that he is (even though Mark and Jackson think they’re maybe spoiling him a little too much, but hey, Jinyoung and Jaebum both ended up being too soft for their kids) and it bothers him that, somewhere along the way and fairly recently, it had changed without him noticing.

In any case, he’s exhausted from overthinking it by the time he gets home from work. He comes home and braces for the impact of Yugyeom tearing around the corner and careening into his legs screeching at full volume, but the house remains suspiciously quiet. The television is on in the living room and he’s about to get worried when he finally hears the familiar voice of his nephew ribbing Youngjae over video games. Jaebum must be outside with Mark and Jackson, then, so he goes into the kitchen to start dinner.

Their routine continues as usual, even with the minor disruption of Mark and Jackson coming over and bringing Bambam to play with Youngjae. The boys all stay in the living room until dinner time, when Bambam and Youngjae set the table and make their plates while Jinyoung calls Yugyeom to his side to make his for him. Jinyoung is disheartened to see that Yugyeom’s morose mood from earlier that morning has not dissipated, and it continues all throughout dinner. His uncles make an attempt to engage him, but they get quiet, half hearted answers that have all four of the adults sharing worried glances across the table.

After dinner, Jaebum tells Youngjae and Bambam to wash the dishes while the rest of them go into the backyard to sit on the porch and chat a bit. Yugyeom, normally content to sit in Jinyoung’s lap and doze off while they talk with his uncles, insists on sitting in his own chair and complains loudly when Jinyoung tries to pull him up into his lap.

“No, Appa, I don’t want to,” he says, voice raised in a whine, and he pushes Jinyoung’s outstretched hands away roughly.

Jaebum, who sees all of this, makes a noise against his teeth. “Yah! Yugyeomie, you don’t talk to Appa like that. Say you’re sorry.”

Jinyoung’s heart breaks. Even in the fading navy of dusk he can see that Yugyeom’s cheeks are red and his eyes are wet. His little hands curl into fists and he takes a deep breath before muttering an apology. He doesn’t wait for it to be acknowledged, instead spinning around and marching across the patio to climb up into one of the chairs. There must be a look on his face, because he feels Jaebum’s hand slide onto his thigh and search silently for his hand.

The next thirty minutes go by with Jinyoung watching Yugyeom swing his legs in his chair with a heaviness in his chest and Jaebum periodically squeezing his fingers for comfort. Mark and Jackson decide to call it a night; they need to get Bambam home and into the bath before they all watch a movie together, and the rumbling off in the distance gives them a good idea that a rainstorm is coming. Yugyeom leaps off the chair as soon as they stand, racing over to bury his face in Mark’s legs and murmuring something like take me with you.

If anything, it just makes him feel like a bad father. As Mark, Jackson, and Bambam make their way from of the house with Jaebum walking them out, he can’t help but wonder: did he baby Yugyeom too much? Did he actually hate it? It seems a little absurd to assume that a five year old would be smart enough to realize that it makes Jinyoung happy getting to baby him a little bit and therefore just pretending to like it to make him feel better, but nothing is impossible. He watches as Youngjae goes down the hallway to the bathroom of his own accord to start the bath while Jinyoung just sits heavily on the couch with his eyes closed and wonders where he went wrong.

A few minutes later there’s a warm hand on his cheek, and he opens his eyes to see Jaebum leaning over him with a pouty Yugyeom leaning against his leg. “Youngjae’s done with his bath. Do you want me to take Yugyeom, or do you want to do it?”

He blinks rapidly, aware that he had maybe dozed off a little bit, and stands up. “I’ll do it. Go tell Youngjae he has thirty minutes to read or play Pokemon before it’s bedtime.”

With a nod, Jaebum leaves Yugyeom standing in front of Jinyoung with his eyes on the floor. Jinyoung stares at the shock of messy brown hair on the crown of Yugyeom’s head and sighs. “C’mon, kiddo. Bath time.”

A sigh, one that matches his unfairly, follows as Jinyoung leads him to the bathroom.

Following their usual routine, Jinyoung sits next to the tub with his back against the bathroom wall and reads to him from Yugyeom’s favorite book. Yugyeom doesn’t goof around like he normally does; the humid atmosphere of the bathroom is unusually quiet and somber as Yugyeom sits glumly in the warm water and splashes at it listlessly. By the time Jinyoung is instructing him to rinse the soap from his hair and pull the drain plug, he’s so frustrated he’s going to explode.

Yugyeom steps into his Superman undies and just waits as Jinyoung drapes the hooded towel shaped like a bear over his head. Jinyoung crosses his legs and starts to dry his son’s hair as he says,

“Yugyeom-ah. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Appa.”

He stops his hands but keeps them placed protectively on Yugyeom’s head. He turns his face up where it had been tilted toward the ground and looks into his eyes seriously. “Don’t lie to me, Yugyeom-ah. You know it’s bad to lie, right? Especially to Appa and Dad.”

Yugyeom nods and looks like he’s ready to cry. He opens his mouth like he’s going to deny it again, but then his little nose scrunches up and he wails, “It’s just…It’s just not fair!”

Jinyoung is taken aback by the sudden outburst. “What’s not fair?”

“Youngjae hyung gets to do everything by himself and I don’t get to do anything! He gets to pick his school clothes, and make his own plate at breakfast, and, and, take baths by himself, and––” he sniffles, tears starting to flow the more he talks. “I’m not a baby anymore, Appa, I want to do stuff like Youngjae hyung!”

Jinyoung feels stunned. Yugyeom sniffles again and wipes his arm across his eyes while Jinyoung just lets his arms fall into his lap. So he had been right then, in thinking that Yugyeom was getting jealous. It breaks his heart a little more to know that his baby doesn’t seem to want to be his baby any more.

Quietly, Jinyoung keeps his hands folded in his lap and asks,

“Do you want to be able to do stuff alone like Youngjae hyung?”

Another sniffle, bottom lip pushed out. He nods.

“Do you want Dad and Appa to let you do things on your own tomorrow?”

Repeat. Sniffle, pout; a brief hesitation, then a nod.

He sighs. “Okay. Tomorrow, we’ll let you do it on your own.”

The next morning starts off with their new routine: Jinyoung gets dressed while Jaebum sits on the edge of the bed and watches him, finally deciding that he’d had his fill of a morning ogling and goes to start breakfast. Where his morning was normally occupied by Yugyeom, he finds it strangely empty and boring when all he has to do is stick his head in both of their doors to turn on their lights to wake them up.

He joins Jaebum in the kitchen, doing his own sort of ogling while Jaebum cooks in just a tank top. There’s the distinct murmur of both boys in the bathroom, the sink running and the low chatter of their voices as he presumes Youngjae fills in his role and shows Yugyeom how to do things he usually doesn’t do by himself. There’s a slight pang in his chest that maybe Yugyeom really does want to grow up, after all.

The feeling is short lived, though, as a couple of minutes later he hears Youngjae’s loud laughter from down the hall. Yugyeom makes an audible noise of fear and then suddenly he’s coming around the corner with his shirt stuck on his head and halfway on a shoulder.

“Appa,” he cries, obviously frustrated that he can’t pull on a shirt (that is much to small for him now, which would explain why he couldn’t get his head through the hole) and he has to shoot Jaebum a glare when he hears the older male stifle a laugh under his breath. “Appa, I can’t get my shirt on.”

“Big boys don’t need help with their shirts,” he says lightly, but he still reaches down to pull the shirt off Yugyeom’s head. “This is one of your baby shirts. Your big boy shirts are on the other side of your closet. Do you need Appa or Dad to come help you?”

“No,” he says glumly, but he hesitates for a moment like he’s going to say yes.

Jinyoung feels a little triumphant. Just a little.

The next incident comes thirty minutes later, when Yugyeom is trying and failing to tie his own shoes.

He looks up, face red and blowing his long bangs out of his eyes with a defeated huff. “Appa, I can’t tie my shoes.”

“Youngjae hyung can tie his shoes,” he says, and feels a little more validated when Yugyeom looks like he just wants to hold his foot out so that he can do it, instead.

But their kid is determined, because he turns away to Youngjae and asks him to show him how to tie his shoes, too.

After they come home from school and wash up for dinner, Yugyeom slides into his seat at the long oak table while the three of them stand in the kitchen and make their plates. They all sit down with their food and suddenly Yugyeom looks jilted.

“Where’s my dinner?”

Jaebum points at the stool pushed up by the countertop and the empty plate by the pan. “Your plate is right there, Yugyeom-ah. You have to get your own dinner.”

When bath time comes, it’s obvious that Yugyeom is getting frustrated now. After multiple mishaps over the course of the day where he’d needed someone’s help anyway, Jinyoung wonders if he’s getting tired of being told big boys do that by themselves or you can do that on your own, can’t you, Yugyeom-ah? It’s such a departure from his own routine that Jinyoung is amazed he’s not disoriented from it all.

But, even though he’s frustrated, he still doesn’t give up. He helps his brother wash the dishes while Jinyoung snuggles up to Jaebum on the couch. They let the boys watch television with them for a while, before Jaebum is toeing at the back of Youngjae’s head and telling him it’s time to take his bath.

After he goes, Yugyeom looks up over a tiny shoulder at Jinyoung where he’d been sitting on the floor next to Youngjae. “Appa.”

“Hmm?”

He feels Yugyeom’s hand pulling on his pant leg, so he lifts it and looks down at him. “Are you going to start my bath for me?”

“Well, normally big boys start their own baths.”

Jaebum nudges him with his shoulder and laughs in his ear. “He’s only five, Jinyoung-ah.”

True, and it’s not like he was going to let Yugyeom potentially lock himself in the bathroom in a tub full of water by himself, anyway, so he nods in the direction of the bathroom when Youngjae announces that he’s finished. Elated, Yugyeom gets up and sprints to the bathroom for the first time in…well, ever.

Jinyoung sighs, disentangling from Jaebum and standing up to stretch. “He seems happier. I think he likes doing stuff on his own.”

Jaebum laughs. “Are you kidding? He might seem happy, but I can tell he misses getting everything done for him. Just watch the look on his face next time you have to tell him that big boys do that by themselves. It’s hilarious.”

Clicking his tongue against his teeth in annoyance, Jinyoung nudges at Jaebum’s knee with his own but Jaebum just laughs more. “You’re terrible.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, I do,” he says, and softens.

Jaebum smiles at him, all kissable plump cheeks and handsome edges, and pats his butt. “Go keep an eye on big boy Yugyeom so that we can get them both into bed.”

In a normal continuation of their routine, Jinyoung sits next to the tub with his back against the wall while Yugyeom splashes around in the water. Bath time is more manageable when he lets Yugyeom have fun for a while and despite his insistence upon being a big boy now, he doesn’t get too invested in the idea and still makes cute little action noises with his mouth as he drags toys around in the soapy water. Jinyoung just observes quietly, head leaned against the wall as he watches his son get lost in his imagination. Though the few times he had proved that he wasn’t quite ready to grow up yet, even as Jinyoung watches his sweet, cherubic face he knows that the sand in the hourglass of time is slipping by more quickly with every day. He may want to be a big boy now, but he isn’t quite yet; however, Jinyoung realizes with a little pang that, just like Youngjae, he will be soon. And indeed he misses the time when Youngjae needed him, too. What will he do when neither of his children need him at all?

“Appa,” Yugyeom says, and Jinyoung blinks out of his stupor to see that the water in the tub has calmed with the lack of Yugyeom’s pretending. His dark brown hair curls against his face and his cocoa colored eyes are large in his chubby face.

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to read to me?”

Jinyoung smiles. “I didn’t bring your book with me. And besides, big boys don’t read in the tub.”

“Yes huh,” Yugyeom argues, his lower lip pushed forward in a pout. Water rushes away from him as he lifts his arms to cross them across his chest. “You read all the time in the bath, and you make Dad bring you glasses of that red juice that Dad says is yucky.”

He hadn’t been expecting his five year old to make such an accurate and compelling argument, and he can’t help but laugh a little. Yugyeom’s eyebrows furrow indignantly, so he just reaches for the pitcher on the edge of the tub and dumps it over his head to rinse off the soap. Jinyoung stands and waits with his back turned as Yugyeom grabs his own towel, lifts the bear hood up over his head, and steps up on the stool at the sink to brush his teeth. The entire time he can feel the sigh building up in Yugyeom’s chest: normally Appa or Dad participates in this with him, standing next to him or playfully drying his hair but rubbing the bear towel hard and fast on top of his head while he squeals with laughter. But the bathroom is oddly empty of Yugyeom’s glee now that he has to do it the grown up way.

Jinyoung looks down when Yugyeom tugs on his pant leg. His bear towel has been hung back up, and he’s dressed in the pajamas that Jinyoung had brought for him. Now that his teeth are brushed and his jammies are on, it’s time to go to bed. He looks distantly reluctant to tell Jinyoung that he’s finished.

“Appa, I’m all done.”

“Okay,” Jinyoung says, and he drops to one knee to give Yugyeom a hug. “You have thirty minutes to play Pokemon or read one of your story books before you have to turn off the light. Youngjae is going to come check on you to make sure you’re in bed after the thirty minutes. Okay?”

It is undeniable how satisfying it is that Yugyeom looks disappointed. But he is the child of Jaebum and Jinyoung and he will not show his face so easily, so he just nods and lets his wet bangs fall in front of his eyes before he marches down the hallway and into his bedroom. The house falls into its usual bedtime hush as Jinyoung pads in the opposite direction toward their own room at the end of the hall.

Jaebum is already undressed and laying across their bed with an arm under his head and a book held above his face. He glances over when Jinyoung enters, eyes lingering as Jinyoung strips out of his clothes but going back to his book when he realizes Jinyoung is just going to pull on a shirt and some sleep shorts. He flops down on the bed next to him, head resting on the arm holding the book up over his face to close his eyes.

“So?” Jaebum asks nonchalantly, lifting his head to use his other hand to turn the page and not disturb Jinyoung’s resting. “How’d it go?”

“I can tell he’s getting sick of it. He looked so disappointed when I told him that Youngjae was going to make sure his light was off.”

“You’re not even going to read to him? We even read to Youngjae sometimes still.” Jaebum laughs. “Harsh, babe.”

With a whine Jinyoung digs his fingers into Jaebum’s ribs, which makes him choke on a laugh and drop the book on his face. Jinyoung tries to roll out of the way but he’s in between Jaebum and the wall so once Jaebum pushes the book to the floor there’s nowhere for him to go. He laughs quietly as Jaebum reaches out for him, grabbing his hip and pulling until they’re slightly wrestling and giggling like teenage boys. Jaebum finally wins, both of Jinyoung’s wrists in his hands to stop the tickling and leaning down to softly kiss him on the mouth.

As Jaebum’s tongue parts his lips, distant thunder rumbles and rolls outside the window. Jaebum sighs happily, kissing him again before he drops down to his side and wraps an arm around Jinyoung’s waist.

“He doesn’t like thunderstorms,” Jaebum says, nudging him to turn off the light without saying so out loud. “The forecast said it’s supposed to rain tonight.”

Jinyoung slides back into his arms after sitting up to turn off the lamp by their bedside. From the crack underneath the door Jinyoung can see the illumination of a single bedroom light down the hall that goes dim followed by the soft sound of feet on the carpet. A door closes quietly and the house once more goes still. In the darkness of their room, Jinyoung smiles into Jaebum’s chest.

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it.”

But he can’t.

Sometime in the middle of the night, even Jinyoung is woken up by the echoing crack of a thunderclap close to the mountains. His heart jolts in his chest as he sits up, blinking in the milky, desaturated glow of the moon from their curtains as harsh rain pounds the windows like fists. Jaebum turns restlessly, half awake when Jinyoung sits up in bed. So far the house is quiet underneath the storm, but with how violently it’s raging he knows it won’t last much longer.

As expected, the door to their bedroom opens a few moments later. Yugyeom’s face is already streaked with tears, and more are falling as he rubs his fists into his eyes and makes his way to the foot of their bed.

“Daddy…Appa…” he hiccups, and Jinyoung’s heart bleeds. Though he hadn’t known that a storm would occur tonight, it had been on the cusp of becoming for days. He feels terrible that he had allowed his youngest child to suffer alone in his fear under the guise of letting him keep his pride.

“Yugyeomie…” Jaebum says sleepily, lifting his head and digging the heel of one hand into his eye. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m…” his voice quivers, as though he’s trying with all of his might not to cry but unable to hold it all in. Another crack of thunder makes him jump and utter a little terrified noise. “I’m really scared.”

Jinyoung opens his arms and immediately Yugyeom is climbing onto the bed to bury himself in them. Yugyeom’s soft hair tickles the bottom of his chin as he nestles his head right underneath it, arms wrapped tight around his neck and sniffling away the last of his tears. Jaebum leans up on an elbow to rub his back, singing softly under his breath the same way he had done to both him and Youngjae when they were babies. In the washed out light of the room, Jinyoung rests his cheek on Yugyeom’s head and aims his smile toward the rainy window so that Jaebum can’t see it.

Though Yugyeom had come to them for the comfort, Jinyoung finds that he himself is comforted in the way that his youngest son had still sought him out. He had been afraid that he was being a bad father by babying him a bit more than he should at five years old, but he misses the time that he had been able to do it with Youngjae and he feels as though he is trying desperately to hang to it as long as he can with Yugyeom. If he could freeze them right now, he would never let his babies grow up, and he would keep them all here in this room with him, arrested in this moment forever.

Yugyeom grows more and more tired as Jaebum rubs his back and sings quietly to them. Jinyoung feels the fluttering of his long eyelashes against his throat as his eyes slip closed, and just before he does, another little body is slinking in their doorway to stand meekly in the shadow of the dresser.

“Youngjae-yah,” Jinyoung whispers, still smiling softly. “Are you scared, too?”

He nods, even though he isn’t. Youngjae has always loved the sound of thunder, but he had likely woken up earlier as Jinyoung had and heard his father singing to his brother. Jinyoung lets go of Yugyeom for just a moment to pat the spot between him and Jaebum that opens as he scoots over just a little bit.

When their other son climbs in bed and settles down, Jaebum’s voice gets softer and softer until he falls asleep himself. Youngjae is next, head on Jaebum’s arm and leg thrown over Jinyoung’s thigh. Yugyeom curls up in the space between Youngjae’s hip and Jinyoung’s ribs, growing taller by the day and yet still just small enough to fit perfectly in the dip of Jinyoung’s armpit. His eyelids flutter as he fights sleep, and Jinyoung gently brushes off the hair from his forehead as he mutters one last thing before giving up:

“Appa, I don’t want to be a big boy anymore. Okay?”

He smiles even though he’s the only one who knows it. “Okay, Yugyeomie. You don’t have to be a big boy anymore.”

♡

[howterrifying]

+sherlolly because...mycroft is love

I think it's no surprise now to those of you who know me that I love Mycroft. This story is basically 90% Mycroft, or what I like to call 'Mycroft-centric', but set to a background of blossoming Sherlolly. It ended up Mycroft-centric because I've always had an issue with the way Mycroft was always made fun of regarding his weight and this rumoured love for cake. I got so fed up that I decided to write this to subvert all the things that had been said about him. I love Mycroft but I also particularly love writing Molly and Mycroft having a sort of real kindred affection for one another and a deep understanding between them. What can I say, they're my ultimate brOTP. :) Still has nice Sherlolly moments tho. So if you've come to read this, thank you so much! xx

:: CONTAINS SERIES FOUR SPOILERS ::

Hunger  ( also on FF.net and AO3 ) The cake place, as Sherlock had called it, was a simple cafe that Molly had picked for its low human traffic and of course, its delicious cake. The three of them, Molly, Sherlock and John, were halfway through their little birthday-do for the detective when John received a call from Mrs Hudson regarding little Rosie.

“It seems she’s running a fever,” said John, returning his phone to his pocket, “Sorry guys but I’d better dash.” After settling his share of the bill with Molly, John rushed out of the cafe and hopped into the first cab he could find. At this hour, the cafe really was quiet. Now that John had left, the number of patrons reduced from three to two. “So, how do you find this…cake place?” asked Molly, smirking slightly at him. “I appreciate the lack of humans,” answered the detective, “So you’ve chosen well again, Molly.” “Are you saying I’m not human, Sherlock?” Molly remarked in mock indignation. “No— No, no, I just meant—” “Relax, Sherlock,” said Molly with a laugh, “I know what you meant.” Sherlock smiled. Of course she would know what he meant. Sometimes, Sherlock was sure she knew him better than he did. He wanted to tell her he particularly appreciated the lack of humans because it meant there was nothing to disrupt his concentration on his time with her. Perhaps he would tell her another time. “I considered inviting Mycroft,” said Molly, taking a bite of cake. “It’s a good thing you didn’t,” Sherlock remarked swiftly. “Why? Would he spoil the mood of this invigorating party?” she said with a laugh. “In a way. For starters, there’d be no cake left,” said Sherlock, smirking as he sipped his coffee. “Food has always been my brother’s weakness. Molly stopped to ponder what Sherlock had said and something did not sit right with her. “Hang on.” Molly said, putting her fork down, “Are you implying Mycroft was greedy as a child?” “Well, obviously. I never imply.” said Sherlock. “You should’ve seen him then.” “I have, actually. He’s shown me pictures.” “Since when?” asked Sherlock, frowning slightly. “Your brother and I have a good friendship, Sherlock,” remarked Molly with a smile. “It’s what saved you that afternoon of your fall, you know?” “As you both never cease to remind me,” said Sherlock, rolling his eyes. “You never cease to forget,” Molly shot back. A tricky silence fell between them for a moment. Sherlock, sensing that he had been callous again with what was clearly a very serious subject matter, poured Molly a fresh cup of tea, intending it as a peace offering. He pushed it gingerly across the table to her, softening his expressions slightly to convey his apologies, causing Molly to laugh. “It’s fine,” she said, accepting the tea gratefully, “I am genuinely curious though, why would you say that about him? I cannot see Mycroft ever having been that way.” “Are you sure you saw the right photos? Because if you had, you would definitely see why,” explained Sherlock, “He was always eating, for as long as I can remember, guzzling everything like his life depended on it. I don’t even think he was hungry when he ate sometimes—” “Ah.” “What?” “You’re absolutely right there,” Molly remarked thoughtfully. “Sorry?” “That he wasn’t always hungry. And certainly not greedy,” continued Molly. “Do you know why he was, as you say, guzzling all the time, Sherlock?” Sherlock paused to look at her, trying to see where she was going with this question. He started thinking back on all his memories of Mycroft polishing food off his plate and constantly reaching for food. “What did your mummy always use to scold you about?” Molly asked quietly, as though coaxing the memory out of Sherlock. Sherlock blinked hard at the question that certainly was not hard at all. There were many answers to that, but what was Molly driving at? “The usual, I suppose. Not wiping my muddy wellies from when I would play pirates at the beach… Or dissecting any dead rats I’d find in the traps using her steak knives…” “You don’t remember, do you?” asked Molly, leaning forward with a curious gleam in her eyes. “Remember what?” “You see, Mycroft did such an excellent job you never got chided for it ever again.” This was a puzzling statement and the detective frowned in response. Knowing Molly was going to continue, Sherlock stayed quiet, knowing that now was not the time to act smart or make possibly inaccurate deductions. Clearly, there was something she knew, and he did not. “Look down at your plate. How many bites of cake have you had?” The detective followed her instructions and stared down at his plate. Depending on the angle one took to look at it, no one would have suspected the slice of cake had had a bite taken out of it. “I ate the cherry. And I had a corner of cake. I might have another bite, seeing as sugar is the only high I can afford now—” “And what would your mother say,” Molly interjected, “if she could see your plate now?”

Memories were a funny thing. Sometimes, they remained buried with no chance of recollection whatsoever. Yet, in some cases, they sprang back to the forefront of the mind once the right switch was turned on. The memory played in Sherlock’s head like a perfect piece of cinematography. All the sights and sounds and smells came rushing to him as he suddenly recalled one particular night at the family dinner table. He could not have been more than four years old, but Sherlock was brilliant after all and had a vast store of memories from a very early age. Dinner had been served and while he had been hungry after a full afternoon playing outside in the garden, he had refused to eat a single morsel of his food. Sherlock’s brilliance had a setback, and that was the frequent and immense sensory overloads he would experience. The great speed at which he processed things was directly proportional to the tremendous sensitivity he felt towards his environment. Suddenly, Sherlock was acutely aware of how repulsed he had felt that one evening at dinner; how the creamed spinach felt too wet; how the boiled potatoes were too yellow; and how the carrots and gravy seemed to merge into the same colour and it just did not feel right. In his attempt to make his food palatable and not disturb him so much, Sherlock had tried prodding at it, rearranging it, mixing the colours or mixing the textures to find a combination that did not send his hairs standing. Then, a huge sharp pain had interrupted his rearrangement of his dinner when Mummy tapped the edge of a wooden spoon against his tiny knuckles. In an equally sharp voice, she had asked him sternly why he had not taken a bite of his food and chided him for being fussy and for playing with his food. The rude shock of her harsh voice and the slight throb in his knuckles had caused tears to well up in the eyes of young Sherlock. He remembered the tears and the frustration behind them because he had truly been hungry at the time but simply could not bring himself to eat the food before him. Such a struggle was something Mycroft had also been all too familiar with. After all, were they not of the same make? An infinitely more brilliant mind like Mycroft’s had dealt with the same battle of his senses and how they affected his experience of life. Everything that had plagued Sherlock as a young genius had also affected him before, except now, with seven years ahead of his younger brother, Mycroft had learned to manage. Whether it was the noise, the people, the food, the scents - Mycroft had learnt to manage. As tears had continued to spill from Sherlock’s eyes, he did his best to obey his mother, not wanting to risk hearing her terribly hard voice or another rap to his knuckles. Reluctantly, Sherlock had begun lowering his fork into what he perceived as neon yellow flesh of the cut potatoes on his plate. However, just as the silver prongs were about to poke through the powdery cube of potato, Sherlock remembered seeing Mycroft deftly reaching over, switching plates with him. Sherlock had stared in shock at the empty plate in place of his, while Mycroft had begun quickly devouring what Sherlock could not.   “He couldn’t have been hungry…” Sherlock murmured as the memories continued playing in his head. Molly merely lowered her heard and smiled. She could tell he had ventured somewhere obscure in his Mind Palace and did not want to disrupt this particular trip down memory lane. Once dinner time had been over, Sherlock was starving but relieved that his brother had saved him. Mummy had seemed pleased that all her children had finished their meals and had cheerfully cleared their plates. Mycroft, knowing that his brother would have been absolutely ravenous by now, had stolen into the kitchen and nicked a few ginger nuts from Mummy’s cupboard. There you are, Sherlock, Mycroft had said to his little brother. Nice and dry, these. And I picked the least lumpy ones of the lot, just the way you like them.You mustn’t go to bed hungry. It seemed this first memory then triggered a whole deluge of similar incidents. All of a sudden, Sherlock remembered not wanting to eat the honey on toast at tea time one afternoon because the honey had not felt ‘ready’ and its colour was all wrong and so had refused to touch it. His piece of toast had gotten so cold that the honey spread on top of it had almost turned to glass. Again, Mycroft had swept in and grabbed the toast off his brother’s plate, leaving it empty before Mummy could return to the dining room, sparing Sherlock another shelling from her. In these memories, Mycroft was still always eating, always stealing biscuits and cake  and stuffing his face with tremendous speed and almost with a sense of desperation. Except, it was neither hunger nor greed which motivated those responses. “You’ve spoilt my appetite now, Molly…” muttered the detective, as his recollection of his childhood slowly began to clarify. “Because now you remember how much Mycroft loves you?” teased Molly. There came coughing and choking sounds as Sherlock reached for his coffee and took a big dramatic sip, as though it could wash the thought away. Molly suppressed a chuckle but continued to speak.

“I know it’s hard for you, but I just— could not sit idly by and have you think he was some greedy, food-obsessed child,” Molly began. “He merely wanted to protect you. And still does.” Sherlock raised a cynical eyebrow before taking another slow sip of his coffee. “Are you about to suggest I do something about this?” he asked, eyeing Molly suspiciously. “I know that look in your eyes.” “Well, you could just call him, tell him you love him,” joked Molly. “Are you trying to kill me?” asked Sherlock with a smirk. “Would it?” Molly asked swiftly in return. “Would it actually kill you?” Her question was a weighted one, and it made Sherlock sigh quietly. He picked his fork up and took another bite of cake, chewing it slowly and thoughtfully.

“Maybe you should practice,” said Molly with a gleam in her eyes. “Practice?” he asked. “Hello, Sherlock,” she began, smiling at him. “Uh, hello…Molly,” answered Sherlock instinctively but a little unsure. “I would do anything to protect you,” she declared, “Because I love you. Now, what would you say in return?” He glared at her incredulously, amazed at how she was able to say such words so easily. How did she make something so heavy appear so light and effortless? Sherlock shook his head and chuckled softly. “He would never say that to me, you do know that right?” said Sherlock with a laugh. “It’d kill him.” “That is true,” Molly replied, “But you never know, Sherlock. One day, you or Mycroft might find yourselves literally at gunpoint and you’ll wish you’d done something.” Sherlock paused to reflect on her words. He certainly could not deny that his memory of Mycroft had been incomplete, resulting in the present-day misjudgement of his brother. Mycroft had never been greedy, had never enjoyed the taste of honey, and would have never taken more than he was allowed to. It frightened Sherlock that he had gotten something so fundamentally wrong about his brother, about his own history. He shook away the even more terrifying thought that there might be more he could have missed about their childhood. Sherlock made a note not to delete things from his memory too impulsively anymore. “I think you’re right, Molly,” said Sherlock at last, looking up at her. Molly smiled and gestured to his plate. “You going to finish your cake then?” she asked. “Yes, I think I will,” Sherlock replied, smiling as he picked his fork up. — The air was cold and daylight had yet to break. Sherlock stood outside the large mahogany doors and waited. Right on schedule, the doors opened and out stepped Mycroft, decked head to toe in his black running gear and wearing a look of surprise on his face. “What are you doing here?” asked Mycroft, “Has something happened? And why are you in running clothes?” “Same reason you’re wearing them,” answered Sherlock. “What, you’re here for a jog? At five in the morning?” Mycroft exclaimed, still somewhat in shock at seeing his brother, “Aren’t you usually at the morgue trying to show off to Molly Hooper or something?” “She does the day shifts now,” Sherlock answered without missing a beat. “And then you take her out to dinner in the evenings?” joked Mycroft. “On occasion, yes,” Sherlock replied unflinchingly, secretly relishing the look of surprise in his brother’s eyes. “Well, good for you…and good luck to her,” said Mycroft, “Now, if you’ll excuse me—” “Mycroft.” “Yes, Sherlock, what?” Suddenly, Sherlock could not articulate why he had come to see his brother. Perhaps it had not been clear to him either, but after everything Molly had made him realise, he knew he had to do something. “Mind if I joined you?” he asked. “We won’t have to chat, will we?” said Mycroft, raising an eyebrow. “These grounds are quite large and I should like to concentrate on conserving energy for my run, if you don’t mind.” “No chatting, just running,” said Sherlock with a nod. “Then I don’t see why you can’t,” Mycroft replied, nodding in return. It had been a quiet run, the two brothers side by side as they made their way around Mycroft’s entire estate. They returned, panting slightly as they stepped into Mycroft’s equally palatial kitchen. The older Holmes brother opened his refrigerator where its only contents was a single glass decanter of freshly squeezed juice. He poured himself a glass, knowing his brother would not be interested in any. To his surprise, his brother came to join him, pouring himself a glass too. “I brought you something,” said Sherlock, after he had downed half the glass of juice thirstily. “Whatever for?” asked Mycroft with a laugh. “Here,” said Sherlock, tossing a dark brown packet to his brother. “What’s this?” asked Mycroft. “Breakfast,” said Sherlock. “They’re ginger nuts,” said Mycroft. “Exactly,” Sherlock said with a quick smile. “I used to have them for breakfast, remember?” Mycroft paused to look up at his brother carefully. His puzzled frown soon softened into a small, warm smile. Mycroft looked away and stared out of his kitchen window into the green of his estate. “The bacon looked like twigs, you’d said. And the eggs were like ‘monster eyes’,” Mycroft recalled wistfully, “You were so small and frail.” “And you were the opposite.” “Yes, I was,” said Mycroft. “Mycroft.” “Yes?” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Both brothers turned away, both unaccustomed to any such displays of emotion, but were smiling secretly in the knowledge that the other was not looking. Their silence was interrupted by the crackling sound of a plastic packet being opened. “Fancy a ginger nut?” asked Mycroft, holding one out in his hand. “For old times’ sake.” “Seeing as I haven’t had any breakfast…” answered Sherlock, taking the biscuit from his brother. “Yes, I will have one.” Mycroft reached into the packet and took one for himself too. The two brothers stood where they were in the kitchen, quietly crunching on their biscuits. “Remind me, will you, Sherlock?” Mycroft said, suddenly. “To do what?” he asked, gesturing for his brother to pass him another biscuit. “To thank Molly Hooper,” answered Mycroft, hunting for a ginger nut with a texture agreeable to his younger brother. “Of course.” “Maybe I’ll take her out to dinner,” joked Mycroft, eyeing his brother. Sherlock stared back icily at Mycroft, inciting a laugh from him.   “I jest,” said Mycroft, offering his brother another carefully selected biscuit. “I certainly hope you are.” “Well, I wouldn’t want to undo what’s she's managed to accomplish.” “Hmm. Yes.” Mycroft smiled as he put the packet of biscuits down and walked casually to the sink to wash his hands. As the sound of running water filled the quiet kitchen, Mycroft thought about everything that had transpired that morning and could not help but smirk to himself. When he was finished, he turned the tap off and the kitchen went quiet again. “That said, brother mine,” Mycroft remarked, sauntering over to dry his hands on a small towel, “While it’s taken you about thirty years to offer me biscuits, I don’t recommend you take the same amount of time regarding Molly Hooper.” “What, to offer her biscuits?” said Sherlock, scoffing slightly. Mycroft laughed. Sherlock really was the idiot. “I believe it is words you have to offer her,” Mycroft said with a knowing half-smile. “Say them while they still mean something to her.” “Are both of you trying to kill me?” Sherlock exclaimed. “Believe me when I say, Sherlock, that if you didn’t,” Mycroft explained, “That might kill you first.” “Are you speaking from experience?” asked Sherlock, scoffing. “Perhaps,” Mycroft answered coolly. Sherlock stared at his brother, perplexed at his words. What frame of reference did his brother have that he did not? Was there more that he had missed from their childhood? Their adolescence? “It was from my time at MI6,” said Mycroft, answering the question in his brother’s head, “I’ll tell you another time when you feel like we need another…breakfast.” “Hmm, yes.” “Now, please, just take my word for it and go,” said Mycroft, waving his little brother away. With a smirk, Sherlock stole one more ginger nut and turned to leave his brother’s colossal home. With his free hand, he took his mobile phone out and began to text. To his surprise, she had texted him first. How did it go? - M It was fine. - SH Oh, that’s wonderful then. - M Where are you now? - SH On my way to the Bart’s refectory, why? - M Mind if I joined you there? - SH What? For lunch? - M Yes. Lunch. - SH But you never eat. - M It seems I have to once in a while. - SH What made you change your mind? - M My brother said it might kill me if I didn’t. - SH He’s right, there. - M So, the refectory? - SH Yes. See you soon then. - M See you. x - SH !!!!! - M :) - SH

[actually-sorey]

Siege of Lady Lake

    A bridge stretches out in front of me, long and straight, leading to the city on the lake. It sits on the water like swan, it’s pennants and banners flashing bright blue against the dull stone. It is the center of it’s nation, a beacon of power and prosperity, or at least it had been once. Then the blight came, and the storms, earthquakes, and flooding. And now the war.

    I tear my eyes away from the shining towers and gentle waves to look to my old knight master. Boris is crouched, as I am, in the undergrowth some ten yards along. Beyond him are two more of our company, surveying the road below and it’s guard. We have been posted here, screened from view in the bushes for the last two hours. My legs are cramped and my knees sore from kneeling so long but our observations are important. We have watched the city closely since we arrived two days ago, the army will catch up to us tonight and we will take the city under the cover of darkness.

    To my right Boris signals the return to our camp. I let out a quiet sigh of relief as I carefully crawl backwards into the thicker brush at my back before standing. I can hear the pops and protests of my joints and bite back a groan. The four of us creep carefully up the slope, not daring to speak until we can be sure the trees muffle us from the soldiers below.

        At dusk the army arrives. We are not a large force, not intended for the large scale land battles of Lohgrin in years past. Our force was designed to creep through Hyland quietly without alerting the enemy until it was too late. Tonight would be that time.

Setting camp is a hasty and minimal affair, time is of the essence and there would be more of it once tonight’s battle is won. The generals convene and Boris is called to pass on our observations. Had we more time we would have sent spies to asses the enemy more accurately but Hyland is no empire. Their military must be small and stretched thin from disasters across the kingdom. They stand no chance against us.

Night has fallen. Our men assemble, the other knights and I at the front to lead the charge on the city. It’s lanterns glitter on the calm waters of the lake and not for the first time I find my heart resting heavy in my chest. If only I could see this city without the impending battle to sour the mood.

The leading general raises his arm in the signal and as one we move. Hooves beat on the hard earth of the road and then louder, clacking on flagstones, as we cross the bridge. My heart and boots beat in rhythm with the general’s horses leading our charge and the world seems to narrow. Shouts can be heard from the wall, they call out to close the gates, but it’s too late. I catch sight of archers on the wall above us letting loose a volley at the men behind me before I’m through the gate, running up the wide streets towards the highest point, the palace. Hyland’s soldiers pour out from their posts to meet us and the battle starts in earnest. Blades flash in the torch light and their ringing cuts the air. Cries of pain and shouted orders grow loud and it’s not long before the smell of death begins to reach my nose.

I stretch my senses and try to breath calmly as we press on into the city. I reach an open air market, it’s stalls quick to fall in the turmoil. Blue and red flicker across my vision and the air becomes thick in my lungs. Breathing is difficult and the men around me are acting more erratic now. The battle sickness the older soldiers had told me about must be taking hold. Some of the men almost look as though they sprout fangs before my eyes, their faces contorting to be nearly animal like. The press of the crowd is driving me slowly away from the main force no matter how I fight to rejoin my comrades. I find myself standing in front of a great cathedral, it’s windows dark and watching like the eyes of a great beast.

As I stand there on the steps, catching my breath as the siege wages on below me, I hear a voice. It carries none of the anger or pain of the other voices on the air. Instead it is high, feminine, and fearful. I cast my eyes around urgently. My honor as a knight will not allow me to let a civilian be harmed without reason, even if she is a Hylander.

I see her then, in the shadow of the cathedral door, her hands clutched to her chest as she watches the battle in horror. She calls for the bloodshed to end, she yells for us to stop fighting lest something worse happen. Her words are not quite clear to me and her form is hard to make out in the darkness. I move closer, squinting through the dark. I should return to the battle and fight for my country and my pride but there is something about this woman that draws me to her.

    “Please! Stop your fighting! If you do not stop malevolence will overtake you! Why can’t you see what is happening?!”

    Her voice was becoming more urgent, frustration mixing with her fear. Her hands ball into fists as she gazes out at the once peaceful market plaza. Against my better judgement I find myself calling to her as I reach the top of the stairs. I rush forward as I speak and she looks at me in shock. Of course an enemy soldier rushing towards her would not be a welcome sight.

    “Lady, you should run from here! Someone like you shouldn’t be tangled in this mess, please hide until this has been settled!”

    She stands, seemingly frozen by fear as I draw close. I find it hard to meet her eyes, as if I was trying to look at mist itself rather than the things it obscures. My eyes refuse to focus on her, perhaps a blow to the head earlier was messing with me.

    “You can see me?”

    Her question doesn’t make sense. Of course I can see her and I tell her so. I realize that what I took for fear is more surprise than anything.

Suddenly she takes my wrist in her hand and drags me back through the door where she stood. I stumble behind her as she leads me at a run through the columns to the end of the hall where she turns to face me. With the doors closed against the sounds of fighting a calm sets in around us, my breath comes easier. Before I have the chance to ask what’s going on she’s speaking.

“If you can see me that means you must have a very high resonance indeed! We don’t have much time. What is your name young man?”

“I’m Sorey. What’s going on? Why did you take me here?”

I cast my eyes around the dark hall, seeing the huge brazier at the top of the dais and the sword embedded in the tier below. Why would someone set a sword into an altar like that?

“I don’t have time to explain everything but I can tell you some. I am a seraph and the bloodshed your army is creating out there is causing some of the men to become hellions. Terrible beasts born of malevolence that feed on those around them and attack any who stand in their way. So many lives will be lost, both soldier and civilian. The city will be filled with them if this battle continues. The malevolence it brings is choking. It infects the whole world, born from the negative emotions of humans. It grows stronger day by day until it is so thick that no good can survive it’s taint.”

I remember the animal snarls of the men around my only minutes ago, how the air stuck in my throat as I struggled to breathe and I shudder.

“Is there any way to get rid of it?”

“The power of purification is not my own to wield as I choose. Without a Shepherd I have no hope against it. If it were not for the sacred blade as my vessel I too would be overtaken by malevolence.”

“A Shepherd…”

My mind shifts to memories of my childhood, long nights spent pouring over the Celestial Record, reading tales of the Shepherds of times past. The book had inspired me to pursue my dreams and entranced me with it’s legends. Now here I was speaking to a seraph. It was like a dream.

“You have enough resonance to see me on your own, that is extremely rare. It is a quality of the Shepherds.”

My heart skipped a beat. Could she mean what I think she means?

“Do you mean... that I could become the Shepherd?”

“It is no simple burden to bare. You must be prepared to abandon the people you hold dear, live alone, isolated by the decisions you make. The people will not trust your power. You will hold the weight of the world on your shoulders. Do not accept my offer without fully understanding what it is you agree to.”

My mind races as I take in her words. Something clicks and I nod to myself, meeting her eyes.

“May I ask your name?”

“Oh. I am Lailah.”

“Well then, Lailah, my name is Sorey. My dream is to travel the world and see all of it’s wonders. I wish to explore ruins all over the continent and learn as much as I can of the people who used to live in them. I am a knight and I have my duty to my lords but my heart longs for adventure. If things are as you say and malevolence and hellions fill the world then the best way I can achieve my dream is to become the Shepherd.”

“Sorey…”

“What must I do to gain the power of purification?”

Lailah nods and leads me up to the altar.

“Draw the sword to form the pact and you will become my new vessel. I will dwell inside you and you will have the ability to use my flames of purification.”

I nod, taking the hilt of the sacred blade in both hands. At first I meet resistance but a warmth seems to flow into me, rolling up my arms and throughout my body. The sword comes free and the mark of the Shepherd glows on hand.

“Thank you, Sorey.”

A voice sounds in my head, like a hot summer breeze or the warmth of a fire in the cold of winter. The heat swirls in me for a moment before it dissipates and Lailah appears before me, smiling sweetly. I can look at her clearly now, no strange distortion causing my eyes to skid away like a stone skipped on an icy pond.

“It is done.”

“So can I purify those hellions out there now? I don’t know how.”

“Don’t worry, I will guide you. We will do what we can for those outside but you must leave behind your loyalties to Rolance. The Shepherd must remain neutral in the dealings of humans, for any side you take is sure to find victory.”

“I see. So even though I would help my friends doing so would give an unfair advantage and change the course of history.”

We talk as we approach the great double doors of the sanctuary. The battle outside has shifted, monsters fight among the soldiers and Hyland’s forces seem to outnumber those of Rolance. Did we underestimate their ranks?

“Now, Sorey!”

We dive into the fray, focusing on the hellions. Paper flies through the air beside me, igniting the hellions it touches in flashes of blue. When the light dies it leaves unconscious soldiers where the hellions had been. I swing sacred blade, my own sword in its sheath by my side, and I feel gentle fire coursing down my arms as I slash at hellions. The men around us fall back, eyes wide with fear as flames dance around us.

We work our way deeper into the throng, bodies pressing in around us. It becomes harder to tell hellion from human as we fight. I hear Lailah call to me but her words are lost over the crowd. Suddenly I feel the comforting warmth from earlier and I hear her voice closer, sounding in my mind.

“We must retreat! There are too many for us to take with your lack of experience and the malevolence is too thick. Make for the city gates, run!”

I move without question, my body used to following orders from my years as a page and squire. I fight my way to the gate, soldiers in red and blue falling away from me as I continue to cut and burn the hellions intent on my demise. They seem drawn to me, as if they know I’m their natural enemy. The streets are filled with the dead and injured and the bridge beyond the gates is painted red. I look up to see archers in every crenelation of the wall, far more than the generals had accounted for. They had picked off the Rolance charge easily at the bottleneck created by the gate. I grimace, my gut twisting as I run over what had once been my allies. So much bloodshed, and for what?

Thankfully the archers on the walls seem more occupied with the enemy inside the city than a single fleeing knight. Only a few arrows chase my heels before I’m out of range, running for the end of the bridge and the road beyond. I stop as I reach the cover of the trees, falling to my knees and panting. Running in full armor is no easy feet.

“We mustn't stop here, there are hellions in the wilds that will search you out and you cannot fight in this state.”

She urges me to my feet and I stumble on.

“Where should I go? My camp is nearby, we could stay there but when the others return they’ll brand me a defector.”

“I know of a place but it will take some time to reach.”

“Alright. I have a horse at camp, he should ease our journey.”

I make my way to the Knight’s camp and hastily pack my saddlebags. My brown gelding is picketed with the other horses on the far side of camp, most are asleep. He wickers softly as I approach, recognizing me. I pat his side as I saddle him to keeping him from waking the other animals. I untie his lead and swing up into the saddle with ease, taking the reins as the warhorse shifts beneath me.

“Where to, Lailah?”

We ride for hours, the sun rising above us as we climb the mountain. Our passage is slow on the narrow, winding track, and my body screams for me to lie down and sleep. I am forced to dismount and lead my horse on foot in places where the path has become overgrown. The sounds of hellions shuffling in the brush dies down as day breaks and we move higher on the slope, beyond the treeline. I sway in the saddle as I ride, my head spinning as I fight to remain conscious.

Eventually we near the summit, and a tingle runs down my spine. The air feels charged as though I were riding through a thunderstorm rather than the clear mourning around me. Lailah tells me we are almost to our destination.

Ahead of us rises a strange arch, it’s huge pillars rising far above me as I ride beneath it. Beyond is another arch and through it a lush meadow, dotted by a few boulders. As I draw closer I can see brightly dressed figures among the wildflowers. They notice me as well and I draw to a halt beneath the second gate and Lailah appears before me, facing the small crowd that’s gathered. I dismount heavily, leaning against the gelding for support as my vision blurs. The figures in front of me dim and there is a rushing in my ears as though I stood under a waterfall. An old man steps forward, his stilted shoes doing little to add to his small height, and Lailah addresses him.

“My greetings, Zenrus.”

“Lailah, it’s been a long time.” The old man’s eyes watch me suspiciously. “What brings you to Elysia?”

“Lady Lake was attacked, I was forced to flee, as was my companion. This is Sorey, the new Shepherd. We seek sanctuary so that we may rest and prepare for the journey ahead.”

“The Shepherd…” His brows furrow and he clasps his hands behind his back in thought. “I can see we have much to talk about.” He turns to me again. “You can hear me Shepherd? You are welcome here as long as you need to recover your strength but know that you are in the sacred home of the seraphim, treat it and my people with respect.”

His words are muffled to my ears, as if they’re plugged with cotton. I nod and instantly regret it as the world spins around me. Someone is calling to me, a woman’s voice far away, and then the world goes black.