#all i’ve done in the past few days is weep and worry and shiver and ache. i want to go back to something

[one-boring-person]

Play The Hero.

Barney Ross (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: mention of violence, injury

Context: Just a little thing that popped into my head today

Masterlist

"What in the hell happened to him?!" I exclaim loudly as I open the front door to reveal two very familiar figures: Barney, and his best friend, Lee Christmas, the first of whom is currently hunched over in the other's arms. 

Lee shoots me an apologetic look, followed by an exasperated yet fond glance at Barney as he tries to shrug under the man's weight.

"Had a bad run-in with some other mercenaries out in the sticks of Sudan. This asshole decided he needed to play hero." He informs me, shaking his head as Barney looks up at him wearily, his bloodied face carrying an expression of protest. 

"When doesn't he." I have to roll my eyes, stepping aside to let Lee in, the mercenary chuckling at my comment as he limps past. 

He immediately goes into lounge, carefully loading Barney onto the sofa with a sigh of relief, rolling his shoulders to relax them a bit. I follow after him, instantly going to kneel beside him, brushing some hair from his face as I take in the full extent of the damage, wincing at the sight of the gash running along his forehead. A little blood collects on my fingertips, and I sit back on my heels, lips pursed as I wipe my hand on my jeans. Glancing back at Lee, I notice his expression of worry, and his slightly restless stance, a tired smile forming on my lips as I go to speak.

"Hey, you look tired. You should go home, I'm sure Lacy's worried sick. I'll be fine with him." I gesture to the drowsing mercenary, who's turned his head to watch us, his dark eyes lidded and tired. 

"You sure? I can stay and help…"

"It's fine, don't worry. Just go." I reassure him, grinning as I shoo him away.

Still looking a little unsure, Lee hovers for a further moment, chewing his lip until Barney speaks.

"Go, Christmas. She's done this before." His voice is rough and low, but his words are clear enough. Well, clear for his usual slur.

"Alright. See you later, Barn. Goodnight, (Y/n)." He says his goodbyes and leaves, shooting me a grateful smile as he goes. 

As the door shuts, I turn my attention back to Barney, who's breathing heavily as he leans back on the sofa. 

"What am I supposed to do with you?" I murmur, ghosting my fingers down his face. 

He grins crookedly at me.

"God knows." He chuckles, coughing a little as he grips at his side. 

"Apparently so." I reply, moving to undo his body armour, "Come on, help me out a little."

Together, we manage to rid him of his armour and torn shirt, revealing his bruised and scratched chest to the air, my breath hitching in my throat at the sight of him, still loving the sight of him after all the time I've known him. Reverently, I run a hand down the expanse of skin, feeling over the raised scars and lines of rippling muscles, freezing when he suddenly tenses up, biting back a grunt of pain. Mortified, I withdraw my hand, only for him to catch my wrist in his grasp, a soft smile on his lips as I look up at him. 

"I still don't know what you see in me." He mumbles, eyes roaming my face as if searching for any doubt. 

I sigh at this, used to his self-deprecation by now, but still hating it when he says these things.

"I see a brave man who does a world of good and gets beaten up for it." I tell him, smirking as I continue, "I also see a man who needs a shower."

Barney laughs, the sound a little gruff but still as hearty as always. 

"That's true." He grins, looking into my face again.

"Alright, let me stitch you up, then we'll get you in the shower." I announce, standing from my position on the floor to get my first aid gear and a bowl of warm water. Grabbing a cloth, I return to him and sit on the coffee table, opening up the kit beside me. 

Swiftly, I take the cloth and wet it, leaning forwards to drag it over a particular wound, a gaping slash made by a knife of some sort. He hisses as I wipe away the blood, glad to see it isn't weeping any more of the stuff out onto his skin as I take out some gauze and rubbing alcohol. Cleaning the wound properly, I then get to work stitching him up, quickly closing the wound and moving onto another. This time, it's a bullet wound, but there's thankfully an exit puncture, meaning inwont have to pull anything out of him. For another ten minutes or so, I work at cleaning him up, only just catching his little shivers as I stroke my fingers over the clearer areas of his skin, pressing a gentle kiss to his sternum as I finally finish. 

"Is there anything on your legs?" I ask him as I lean back, resting a hand on his lower abdomen. 

"Just a few grazes and bruises, nothing serious." He tells me, smiling thankfully. 

"Ok, good." I nod, before quickly cleaning up the wound on his forehead, "Now come on, let's get into the shower."

With a few bumps and stumbles, I finally manage to get Barney to the bathroom, helping him out of his clothes as I run the shower, waiting for it to heat up properly. He watches me work with the hint of a smile on his lips, dark eyes scrutinising my every movement. The black-haired man steps into the shower, slowly starting to wash himself off, only to start when I join him, helping him to clean off by rubbing his back and legs. I have to fight off the butterflies in my stomach as I run my palms over his skin, keeping my eyes averted as he eventually turns around, looking at me as lovingly as always. 

I squeak as he suddenly wraps his arm around me and pulls me into him, holding me gently against his chest. Looking up at him, I almost melt under his intense gaze, floundering under the weight of the care in it, enjoying being in the circle of his arms. 

"God, I love you so much, (Y/n)." Barney mumbles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my forehead, trailing his lips down the bridge of my nose to my own, bringing up shivers down my spine. 

Humming in pleasure, I kiss him back, smiling into it.

"I love you, too, Barney. Far too much to be healthy." I whisper against his lips, "Even if you do always play hero."

Laughing, he pulls away, turning off the tap as the water gets cool, helping me out of the shower.

"You and Lee, honestly." He shakes his head, grinning.

I chuckle and help him dry off, tugging a shirt and some shorts on as he does the same, before we both go and climb into bed. 

"Do you need anything? Painkillers? Food? Drink?" I ask him as I sit on the edge of the bed, watching him settle down. 

"Some painkillers, maybe, but I have them here." Barney decides, swallowing a couple of pills as I slide under the covers beside him, laying down against the cushions.

After a moment, I feel a muscular arm wrap around my waist, pulling me onto a firm chest, my hands coming up to balance on his pectorals as he holds me close to him. Barney's expression is loving as he gazes down at me, his face open and relaxed where he lies, every muscle in his body loose for once, even if his grip around me is somewhat tight, as if he's worried I'll up and leave him. Smiling, I trace my fingers lightly over his chest, breathing in his scent, which makes me feel safe and at ease, every note - the bite of metal, the fumes of the plane that never leave him, the sweet tang of the shower gel and his usual cigar smoke - registering in my head. It relaxes me and I feel sleep starting to pull at my mind.

"Thanks for taking care of me, (Y/n)." Barney mumbles after a moment, watching me closely.

"You don't have to thank me, Barney. I'll always look after you." I tell him, meeting his gaze.

"I know, and I'll never understand why." He muses, squeezing me affectionately, "I'm old enough to be your father."

I pull back slightly, a playful smirk on my face.

"Lucky it's Father's Day then, isn't it?" I grin, leaning back down to kiss his chin, "Happy Father's Day."

Barney laughs loudly, pulling me back down and tucking my head into the crook of his neck, holding me in place as his body rocks with laughter.

"Should I be offended?" He questions mockingly.

"Nah, it's all affectionate." I reply, cuddling closer to him, careful to avoid his wounds.

"I know, and I love you for it."

"I love you, too."

[powerfultenderness]

The Baker’s Daughter

Title: The Baker’s Daughter 

Rating: T

Pairing: TWM/Reader.

Summary: When the Red Paladins make a stop in town you meet their fearsome Weeping Monk. Only, he might not be as fearsome as they say. 

Word count:  2464

Warnings: cliches and fluff. 

Notes: 2nd POV. Female reader. 

[Masterlist]

Red Paladins. The mere sight of them was enough to make you shiver in fear. Although you certainly had nothing to fear from them. You were human and a good and upstanding citizen of the town. Still, the Paladins behavior and attitude evoked a sense of dread that matched their bloody garb. The most frightening of them all was no ordinary paladin. The Weeping Monk. The only red he wore were the tear stains flowing down his face. Well...that’s what they said anyways. You weren’t sure why the man was weeping blood, or even if that was real or just a rumor. Either way, a man who frightened even the other paladins must be fearsome indeed. 

Your father woke every morning well before sunrise to bake, and though you’d sometimes help, your job was to take the goods to the town square to sale. You spotted the red cloaks just an hour after sunrise. Your father liked when they were in town, as did other artisans, as they often had enough gold to patronize many. So you steeled yourself for some scrutinizing looks (they were always so intimidating!) But there was no preparing yourself for what you saw next. 

There was a  young man walking alongside an elder paladin, a man who you would later find out was Father Carden, leader of the Red Paladins. Not that you were interested in that august man. Instead, as the young man looked at the elder man, you happened to catch a glimpse of his eyes. Even with his face hidden under a hood, you could see that azure. He would have had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen, but that they were devoid of emotion. They did not react to whatever the other man said to him. Perhaps more interestingly, faded streaks of red poured from his eyes. 

He caught you staring at him, you’re certain, for though it was just a second, maybe two, his eyes locked with yours. Whatever he thought of you, no doubt determining the level of threat you offered him (none!), he quickly looked away, hid his face under his hood again and walked away. 

That man had to be the Weeping Monk. Now you knew the rumors to be true: Among the Red Paladins was a man with blood stained tears trailing down his face. 

A woman coughed politely and snapped you out of your reverie. As you filled her order, and those of other customers, you were haunted by visions of the Weeping Monk. Every time you closed your eyes, you would see his: Pools of a sadly dull blue surrounded by a sea of dusty red.

You sold the last two loaves of a hardy dinner bread just around noon. That was the bulk of your father’s business, common folk buying what they needed for dinner. Which made sense, of course, but was also kind of a shame. Your absolute favorite thing to bake were sweet cakes and pies. It wasn’t just the sweetness, but to watch someone’s expression of genuine enjoyment and even happiness that came from biting into something that you made was something else entirely. Perhaps if you baked enough pies for the whole of the Red Paladins, they’d calm down! And maybe, just maybe, even The Weeping Monk’s eyes would sparkle. 

-

You were done with the evenings sales, which usually went by quickly in any case, with some daylight to spare. It was mid summer and with berries at their peak you decided to forage for some wild berries. Sure you could buy some from one of the local farmers, but you figured your father would appreciate your money saving initiative. 

There was a river only a few miles from town, that which the town drew most of its fresh water from. Around its banks was good foraging of mushrooms, tubers and berries. In addition to fishing, one needn’t go hungry in the summer months. So it was that in no time you had half a basket of wild berries. 

You were so busy thinking of what you would be baking (and only half thinking about how the Weeping Monk would react to whatever it was you baked!), that you didn’t notice a couple of men approaching you. Not until a rough hand forced you to turn around. 

Though you were met with two men, the first thing you saw was the color red. Two Red Paladins. You sighed, believing you had no reason to fear them. “Oh sirs, you frightened me. Can I help you?”

The man who grabbed you grinned, a deceptively nice thing of clean teeth and pretty dimples. His friend didn’t have nearly as nice a smile, his was that of a predator. “Aye, little lady. See, our camp’s gone quite cold, we were wanting a pretty local to help...warm us up.” 

Your smile dropped and you tried to step back. You weren’t expecting such a crude response from Red Paladins, men associated with the Church. Although your more cynical friends and family would caution you to be weary of these men especially. 

“Uhm...I would suggest a campfire?” You tried to step out of the man’s grasp again, and again his grip strengthened. 

The man pulled you forward, forcing you to trip over your feet and stumble into his chest. “No. We were thinking something a little more fun.” 

“Were you now?” A deep and slightly gravelly voice interrupted. 

The three of you looked towards the voice and you sucked in a surprised breath along with the two paladins. 

“You! What are you doing here?” The one who didn’t grab you asked, his voice half accusatory and half angry.

“I could ask you the same thing.” The Weeping Monk stepped out of the tree line, lifting his face just enough that his blood stained glare looked even more menacing in the fading sunlight. 

The two men stuttered out some nonsensical excuse as the monk took another step closer. Soon they were gone, not quite running but moving fast enough that even you could see their fear.

“Are you hurt?” 

His gaze met yours for a second time that day and for a second time you could do nothing but get lost in his eyes. 

He sighed and took a step back, not that he was close to you! “I won’t hurt you.”

You blinked as you processed his words. “No! Uhm. I mean. I’m not hurt. Thanks to you, sir. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. So, thank you?” 

Great. You meet the man you’d been thinking about all day and all you could do was ramble. You tried your best to ignore the heat spreading across your face as you picked up the fallen basket of foraged berries. Even as you scooped up a few berries that had taken a tumble onto the ground, you could feel him watching you. 

For his part, the Weeping Monk hadn’t moved from his spot, what little you could see of his expression, for he had moved his hood down, was unreadable. Was he judging you? Angry at his fellows? Or just bored? 

He made a sound, something between a sigh and a chuckle, and turned slightly. “I am heading back to the village.” 

You didn’t miss the invitation to join him, or rather to have him escort you back. “Oh!” You practically leapt to his side. “Thank you, again, sir.” 

He made a humming sound, acknowledging your words but said nothing in return. 

By the time you made it back to the road the sun had fallen completely and you realized just how far from town you had actually walked. How careless of you!

The monk seemed to think you were careless too. “It’s dangerous so far from town.” 

You tried to hide a wince. “I didn’t mean to travel so far. I just got caught up in foraging. And, and I thought with the Red Paladins camping outside of the village grounds, that I’d be safe from bandits and the like...I didn’t expect…”

You stopped when you noticed lamp light illuminate two robed figures on the road ahead. Even from that distance you could tell that the two paladins were not the same that attacked you, but that didn’t stop your instinctual reaction to hide from them. Thankfully the monk beside you was observant enough to notice. He took a sideways step, closer to you. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and close enough that you wanted to slide your arm into his. But you restrained yourself, he was a monk for goodness sake, not a gentleman caller walking you home!

You looked up at him and realized that you didn't even know his name. “I’m sorry, sir, it was rude of me not to introduce myself.” You began and gave him your name.

Again he acknowledged you, this time with a nod, but he said nothing in return. 

“May I have your name?”

He glanced at you from under his hood, only a hint of blue visible in such low light as star light. 

“So that I may properly thank you. Please?” 

He looked back to the road, “They call me the Weeping Monk.”

You gave out a quiet huff of air, half a laugh. “Well they call me the baker’s daughter but that’s not my name!” 

Once more the monk was silent.

“Oh. How long has it been since anyone has used your real name?”

“Many years.” 

“I see. Well then, you shall simply have to respond to “Hey you!” 

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve been called.” 

You chuckled, was that a sense of humor peeking out from under that hood? 

By now you had turned into town and were on the path to your father’s house. While it wasn’t quite late, the house and outside lamps were lit higher than usual. He was a sweet man, a pacifist, and always very worried about you. 

Your father rushed out of the house, yelling your name in both relief and exasperation. “There you are! I’ve been searching for you since sundown! I was about to alert the city guard!” 

You sighed, it wasn’t that long past sundown! And yet, after what you experienced perhaps his anxieties were warranted. “I’m alright, father. This fine monk here was kind enough to walk me home.” 

The Weeping Monk looked up just enough to nod at your father, revealing his face enough that your father could see him in the lamplight. If you had heard about the Weeping Monk then your father certainly had. He noticed the monk’s eyes, or rather the blood stains under his eyes and his distress was suddenly doused. 

“I see. Thank you for seeing my daughter safely home.” 

The monk took a step away from you, either as a way to assuage any unease he read from your father or to signal that he was leaving. You moved from his side to stand beside your father and gave the monk a small bow, “Yes, thank you, sir.” 

The monk returned your bow with a slight inclination of his head. For a final time that day you stared into those haunting blue eyes, the edge of your world dusty red of tears.

-

You spent the rest of the night baking hardy and sweetened traveling scones. As the sweets were cooling you gathered some cloth to bundle them in. Only you weren’t sure which cloth to choose. 

“This one.” 

You jumped, surprised by your father's appearance. 

“Father! It’s late. You should be sleeping.” 

He smiled fondly at you and handed you a simple looking cloth of a dull gray color. Not one of the ones you were considering but it did remind you of the monk’s rather plain color palate. 

“He’s not a flashy man.” Your father reasoned as he moved about the kitchen. 

He took the jar of vanilla beans, the most expensive ingredient and a treasure in its own right. He then poured the beans out onto the cloth.

“What are you doing?”

He wrapped the cloth around the beans, “Let them sit overnight. When he has finished the scones, the cloth will smell of the vanilla. And remind him of you.”

“Oh!” What a great idea!

Your father smiled at you once more, “It is how I won your mother’s love.”

Your face heated up with a blush, “He’s a monk, father, not-”

He chuckled, “Yes, yes. Of course he is.” 

-

That morning was busy and many times you caught sight of what you thought was the gray garbed monk, only to be disappointed. You were beginning to think you would make a lunch of wild berry scones when you saw the familiar gray colors of your favorite monk. He was walking in the opposite direction of where your stall was, so you had to risk calling out to him or miss him for who knows how long. 

“Hey you!” 

The monk stopped and slowly turned. You could have sworn there was a slight smirk on his face when he turned but by the time he reached your stall his face was neutral.

You smiled at him and held up the wrapped package, with a half portion of a scone on top. “For you. To thank you for helping me last night, the fruits of last night's foraging.” 

Gently, almost as if he were afraid to touch you, he took the package and broke a piece off the small offering. As he bit into the scone you could see him contemplating the flavors, enjoying the sweet and tangy berries and the slightly caramelized sugar coating. And a small smile formed at his lips, where he had just a crumb lingering. Most wonderful of all, that smile reached his eyes! A brilliant sparkle glistening among that beautiful deep sea blue. Even the tears that stained his face seemed less sorrowful. 

He inclined his head slightly in thanks, “Delicious.” 

“Thank you!” Not even the strongest of magics could stop the happy warmth that filled you as he finished eating the offered treat with eagerness, especially as his tongue quickly slid across his lips to savor every last crumb. 

“Lancelot.” 

“Hmm? Lancelot?”

He nodded once and, you were so enamored with his smile that it took a second more than you would have liked to realize that he was giving you his name. 

You smiled and glanced down for a moment to cover up your embarrassment. “Well, don’t worry, Lancelot, your secret is safe with me.”

This time the smile that crossed his face was not hidden, though it was short lived, and he returned to his stoic demeanor when he turned around. But you would never forget that smile. 

[zeldanoel]

Why Should I Change? A Mergana fic

Just posting chapter 1 on tumblr. Read the rest on ao3 here.

Fandom: BBC Merlin 2008-2012

Rating: T for angst (can’t think of any particular tws)

Characters/Relationships: Merlin/Mergana, Aithusa

Summary: Merlin, disguised as an old man, saves Morgana and Aithusa from the Pit. Takes place after season 4. There will be... REDEMPTION and enemies to friend to maybe something more

Chapter 1: Escape

The Pit is dark, and cold, but the cold bothers Morgana more than it bothers me. What’s starting to bother me is the smallness of the pit. If I stand on my hind legs I am only as tall as Morgana, but I can no longer stretch out my wings. This worries her, when she has strength to be worried. She has no color left in her eyes, her face. All is black and gray, and she whispers to me distant memories of forests and castles. We are in a castle, I think.

But there is no escaping this castle, this dungeon, this Pit. It is becoming my whole world. Sometimes men jeer at us, yelling terrible words that Morgana repeats under her breath back at them, her lips drawn back in a snarl. They throw down rotten food, and we weep together for hunger. We cannot seem to die. And I will not let us die, because I remember the skies. It was not for this that I saved her life, I repeat to myself. We will find a way out. Morgana will dream us a way out. And I will keep her alive.

Time is roughly measured by how frequently we are shouted at, but even that is not consistent, so I do not know what day or night it is when Emrys finally comes. It is during one of Morgana’s fitful sleep cycles.

“Aithusa,” I hear. It is a name that only Morgana has said to me. Curled around her, I look upwards. A man’s face peers through the grate. He has a white beard. I hesitate. I do not want to wake Morgana.

“I’m going to get you out,” he whispers, and I realize then that he is not speaking in a human tongue, exactly. It’s a language that I understand deep in my heart. I stir, and Morgana begins to wake.

“Thuse?” she mutters as I disentangle myself from her. She follows my gaze and clambers to her feet.

“Emrys?” she says quietly, incredulous.

“Morgana,” he replies. He’s fiddling with something above, and with a quiet scrape of metal against metal, he unlocks a padlock and opens the grate. It creaks, and he glances away from us, but seems satisfied, and he sets it down gently.

Leave the Pit. We’re going to leave the Pit. Excitement sends a shiver of energy up my spine, and I stand on my hind legs, scrabbling to find purchase on the stone.

“Stay quiet,” Emrys whispers, “I’ll help you float out.”

I hold my breath as my feet and tail leave the floor. Emrys is guiding me up into the air, his eyes glowing. I land next to him and peer down, anxious for Morgana to get out.

Emrys hesitates. He’s wearing an expression of worry, maybe fear. Morgana is making the same face back at him. But then he stretches out his hand, his eyes glow, and Morgana floats out, too. They lock hands for a brief moment as Morgana lands unsteadily on her feet.

She snatches her hand out of his. “I thought we were enemies,” she whispers harshly. Her eyes race around the room.

I look around, too. We’re in something like a cold stone amphitheater, no windows. The only light is from the occasional torch placed in sconces around the perimeter. There’s a stairway leading upward, and a few guards dead or asleep at the base of it.

“I don’t want us to be enemies,” Emrys replies. “We’re both on the side of magic.” He looks at me. “I couldn’t stand by, knowing the two of you were locked away.” He hands her a thick hide coat.

Morgana’s jaw clenches, her gaze lowers to the ground. She takes the coat and shrugs it on.

Emrys smiles and jerks his head. “Come on. Sneaking back out won’t be easy.”

We creep through the castle nearly silently, pausing often to catch our breaths. Morgana and I are weak, and Emrys seems to be as well. His back is hunched, which brings his eye level down to Morgana’s, and he has a slight swaying, hobbling gait. But he seems to have a sense for our path, and for whoever roams the halls in the dead of night. Morgana gathers me close to her when we rest, her frame trembling from either fright or cold.

Finally, we come through a long dark corridor to a padlocked, rusted door. Emrys whispers an incantation, and the chains break and the door blows open. The wind howls through, bring freezing snow with it.

Emrys turns back to us. “The storm is still going,” he says.

“Aithusa and I won’t make it,” Morgana cries, “we’re too weak.”

He grabs her shoulder. “You will make it,” he says, “If I have to carry you both myself.”

He turns and strides out into the storm. I stick close to Morgana’s side as we follow, and Emrys gestures to the door--it closes with a bang behind us.

He nearly disappears in the swirling snow, but cuts a path for us that we follow. Morgana stumbles against the wind, her black hair whipping around.

Finally, we reach a line of trees, and the wind drops but doesn’t die. Now we can hear the clamor of bells in the air.

“They know we’ve escaped,” Morgana says under her breath.

“S-stay here,” Emrys says, and walks back a few paces. He holds out his hands and says something I can’t quite recognize, stands there for a few moments, and comes back to us. “Keep moving,” he says gruffly, and we let the forest swallow us.

The air around us begins to lighten before Emrys finally calls for a stop. Morgana leans heavily against a tree, and he ignores her and grumbles to himself, squinting through the trees.

“Are we... lost?” Morgana gasps out.

“No, no--here we are.” He wades through the snow, plunges his hand into the base of a hill, and lifts up. Snow shifts off of what seems to be a sort of canvas, and Emrys waves at us. “Come on, get in!”

Morgana collapses, and I hesitate. My legs tremble from exhaustion.

“I’ll get her,” Emrys snaps, “Get inside.”

I slither in. In the center of the small space sits a gently glowing orange stone, which gives off heat. The room is warm, and the floor is padded with pine boughs. We seem to be bivouacked against a hill. It’s barely big enough for the three of us, especially with the bundles of cloth in the corner. I press myself against the cloth wall as Emrys re-emerges, dragging Morgana. He practically tosses her into the room.

“I need to cover our tracks,” he says, “I’ll be back.” And with a gust of cold air, he’s gone.

Unsteadily, I do my best to use some of the cloths to get Morgana more comfortable, and move her closer to the warming stone.

Emrys crawls back in, panting. “Ah. Well done, Aithusa. We need to make sure she doesn’t have frostbite. Can you get her shoes off?”

Her shoes are partially frozen. I can’t get them off. He hurries over and presses the warming stone against them until they can come off. Her feet don’t look quite right--purple, in some places black.

He hisses. “Damn. Let’s see, what was that spell…?” He hands me the warming stone. “Hold that against her hands, I need to try a few things.”

I am then able to rest a bit as he holds Morgana’s feet, and I hold her hands. He whispers strings of incantations. Morgana’s breathing steadies as she’s slowly warmed up, and color begins to return to her cheeks, though she’s still so pale in the dim light of the glow of the warming stone. Additional pale daylight ekes in sideways through a hole in the side of the tent, providing air to us.

“Ah. There we go.” Emrys finally sets her feet down, hands visibly shaking. “She’s out of danger.” He crawls over to the mussed up stack of cloths, and pulls out a canteen and a hunk of whitish food. “Eat this, drink some water, and leave the canteen by her head in case she wakes up soon. I need… Sarrum’s men won’t find us, we’re very well hidden. I need to rest, and then we can think about real food.” He waits a beat, looking at me. “You should rest, too,” he says pointedly, and I obediently curl up beside Morgana. The food is cheese, but noticeably fresher than cheese I’ve had in the past, and it’s soft enough that it doesn’t hurt to chew.

Sarrum’s men won’t find us. That has to mean we won’t be back to the Pit. And Morgana’s out of danger. We’re not going to die. We’re going to live. I repeat these things to myself as sleep takes me.

I wake up to the sound of unfamiliar snoring. Morgana is sitting up, her back turned to me. She is watching Emrys, or the warming stone. Emrys lies on his back, puffs of breath stir his white moustache. I nudge Morgana’s arm.

She turns and looks at me. Her eyes are a little glazed over, and I gingerly pick up the canteen in my mouth and put it in her hands. She drinks automatically, coughs, and strokes my head.

“You alright, love?” she says softly.

I nod, and then jerk my chin at her.

“Me too. Just a bit sore.” she draws her knees up to her chest, and her healed bare feet poke out of the bottom of her dress.

We gaze into each other’s eyes, and I can see she’s afraid as usual, but there’s a glimmer of hope there. Perhaps a fear of the unknown.

“I’m going to protect you,” she says. She used to say this often, but it’s a phrase that I haven’t heard for a while.

I hand her some cheese.

She smiles.

Emrys wakes up a short time later, and barely glances at us before he starts rummaging through his rucksack.

“Food,” he mutters, and hands Morgana bread and cheese, cheese for me, bread and cheese for him.

“Aithusa will eat anything,” Morgana says cautiously.

“Gonna boil some jerky for him so he can chew it easily,” Emrys says, and gets out a small cauldron, throws a few brown bits in it, and mutters an incantation over it. The room is instantly filled with the smell of cooked and seasoned meat, plus a blast of warmth.

He scoops the meat into a shallow bowl for me and puts it in front of me. It’s delicious, and soft enough for my aching teeth to get a hold of.

“I assume you two didn’t eat much? You look to be skin and bones.” He’s finally looking at Morgana, but his expression is guarded.

“That’s right,” she says, looking at him evenly.

“We need to get some meat on your bones, but can’t do it all at once, otherwise you’ll both be sick.”

“Why are you doing this, Emrys?”

“Honestly?” he leans forward a bit. “I’m hoping to make an ally of you, Morgana. Maybe a friend’s too much to hope for, after all we’ve been through. But that would be nice, as well, wouldn’t it?” he smiles.

She doesn’t smile back. “So, you want to use us. For what?”

“Camelot.”

Her eyebrows raise, and I see an interested gleam in her eyes. The meat is gone, and my stomach is uncomfortably full.

“That is,” he continues, “I want to spread the peace of Camelot throughout the known world. But we’ll never be able to achieve peace if King Arthur continues to fight against magic. He needs magical allies, powerful ones. He needs us.” He gestures at me as well, and I raise my head and exchange a look with Morgana.

Morgana reaches out and runs a hand down my neck. “You’ve done us… an incredible favor. I owe you a debt,” she says. “And I appreciate your candor. But,” her lips curl back, “I hate Arthur. You know this. I cannot change how I feel, and I will not help you, or him, spread the persecution of Camelot.”

“Camelot’s changing,” Emrys says, heat coming into his voice, “We can help that change. I know we can.”

“Arthur would kill us on sight,” Morgana spits. “He’s like his father in that way. You can’t undo all the wrongs that have been done against him. He’ll never trust us.”

“Or, you’ll never trust him?”

Morgana goes still, gazing over my head. “No. I won’t.”

Emrys sighs, and is silent for a long moment. “Very well. I… may yet be forced to kill you, Morgana, in order to defend my King. But,” he holds up a hand as Morgana starts to speak, “That is a future that I hope with all my heart does not come to pass. And to start to undo some of the wrongs that have been made against you, I want to help you. Will you let me, at least, let’s say, for a year?”

She frowns at him. “A year? How?”

“There’s a small hut beneath the shadow of a mountain. Aithusa might be able to take up residence in the caves there, once he’s grown a bit. But I want to help raise him--that’s what I get out of it, you see. I’m the last Dragonlord. Only one other person in the world knows where it is, and he won’t bother us. It’s safe. It’s away from people.”

“And after a year, you’ll leave us there alone, to live in peace?”

He’s silent, watching her. “If you are no longer a threat, then yes.”

“I don’t understand you, Emrys,” she says, “but I accept.”

He smiles with a bit of relief on his face, and she leans forward.

“But at the end of that year,” she says, “I might be the one who kills you.”

His smile doesn’t crack. “That would be about what I deserve.”

I look between the two of them. I’ve gotten better at reading human emotions, and neither of them look wholly afraid. More like, there’s a challenge in front of them, and they’re ready to rise and meet it.

I give a little trill, and hope that they understand that I’m here to help them meet whatever challenge this is.

We travel for many nights in a row, walking quietly as Emrys pauses periodically to cover our tracks. Sometimes the snow is melted enough that he doesn’t need to. Emrys and Morgana carry our food in rucksacks, but they don’t make me carry anything. I get to play in the snow alongside them as they walk, or rather, trudge along. Morgana has me start stretching out my wings whenever we take breaks, but that hurts.

“They’ll get better,” she insists, rubbing at the joints as I grumble, “we just need to keep working at it.”

Emrys and Morgana talk little to each other; there’s a sort of tension between them. So I start reaching out to Emrys, nudging him in a friendly way or chirping at him, just so Morgana knows I like him.

And what’s not to like about Emrys? He saved our lives. And he’s kind, if a little gruff about it. I can’t forget the worried way he looked at Morgana that first night when he was healing her feet. I wish I could tell Morgana about that.

I wish I could speak.

On the fifth or sixth night, we push on longer than usual, and I can feel my strength beginning to flag.

“Emrys, it’s nearly dawn,” Morgana says. Light is beginning to fill the air around us, reflecting off the snow so I can see better than I ever have before. Ice coats the branches of trees--it’s beautiful.

He turns back to us with an excited smile. “We’re nearly there.” He pauses and raises a hand, and the tracks behind us fill in. He gives a little wheezing laugh, tottering ahead. “Not much farther. There! See?”

We’ve broken through the line of trees. In the rising sun, there’s a valley with a frozen lake far below, and huge mountains.

“Pull,” I mutter experimentally. It was meant to come out as ‘it’s beautiful’, but Morgana seems to understand. She rests a hand on my head. Her eyes are shining with some expression caught between wonder and gratitude, but when she sees Emrys grinning at her, she steels her expression.

“It’s nice,” she admits, “but what about the hut you mentioned?”

“Ah, yes. This way.” He steps into snow that sinks him up to the hip, and Morgana gives a little sound of surprise and grabs him before he falls in face-first.

[nalgenewhore]

Too Late To Turn Back Now - Five

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

an: everything will be fine! i promise, just to preface, that everything will be a-ok 😊

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The day was half over already as Lorcan lounged around in Sadirah’s garden with his sisters, him and Aneha doing their best to distract the youngest sister as she worked her garden, muttering in Ozuye about how they were both clod-footed brutes that would ruin all her hard work.

They just laughed and continued on with their shenanigans, sneaking the weeds she pulled from the soil into her hair and flicking dirt across her face. Sadirah had always been the calmest of the siblings, always there to soothe hurt feelings and calm worked-up emotions so no one was surprised that she didn’t react, merely stared at them with a patient look. 

As far as things go, they all got on well, hardly ever fighting. With everyone having their own interest, there was no need to clash or compete to be the best. Sadirah was inclined to gardening and painting – most of the paintings in the house had been done by her, while Aneha was exceptional at music, specifically piano, and had a voice that could make the gods themselves weep. 

Eventually, it became clear that Sadirah wouldn’t crack so Lorcan and Aneha gave up, choosing to lie on the soft grass beside the patch of sweetgrass and white sage, the fragrant air soothing all his worries for now.

The gate opened and Lorcan cracked an eye open, thinking it was his mother, but no. It was Maeve. His sisters remained oblivious as Aneha braided flowers into his hair and Sadirah harvested sage and sweetgrass to dry in bundles and braids. Lorcan sat up, already nudging Aneha behind him as Maeve curled her lip at her great-nieces and nephew. “Lorcan. I need to speak with you.”

Sadirah froze and glanced over her shoulder, wrapping an arm around Aneha as she moved over to her side. Lorcan sighed and stood, leaning down to kiss their heads before stalking out of the garden, leaving his sister’s handiwork alone even as Maeve gave it a disapproving look. She had never liked his hair, but Lorcan refused to cut it, it would go against his faith and people.

“What is it,” he asked once they were out of earshot from the garden.

His great-aunt sighed and picked at her nails, “How long will this continue?”

“What are you talking about.”

“You’ve been in Doranelle long enough. It’s time to come back home so I can show you how to run the business. You’re just a secretary.”

Lorcan curled his hands into fists and his nostrils flared in anger. “I have a law degree, Maeve. Articling is something every law graduate is required to do.”

“And you’ve had your fun. But the family needs you back home. There is no one for me to pass on my business—”

“I swear to the fucking Creator, don’t tell me that bullshit again. You were an investor, and your investment was paid in full a decade ago. Mom is the one who sacrificed everything for her empire and you have yet to release it. You know nothing about how to run the businesses, and I have no interest. Do you understand that I’m a lawyer? Like, I graduated law school. Like the way Elide is a lawyer.”

Maeve’s eyes flashed dangerously and Lorcan knew he would come to regret the words, but in the moment, he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to care. “That woman is no more fit to be a lawyer than you are. She—”

“Insult Elide to my face and we’ll see how that goes, Auntie.”

“She is handicapped—”

“The fuck did I just say? If you want me home, talk to me fairly and speak with your chest.  Elide has worked harder than anyone I know to get to where she is, not that you would understand that. I have half a mind to uninvite you to the wedding, but I won’t. Stay away from my family, Maeve,” he spat. Lorcan looked her  up and down with a disgusted expression and shook his head, scoffing as he stormed away, too angry to begin thinking of the consequences.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide had just come out of the house from the quiet greenhouse when she’d heard terse voices arguing around the corner. Not wanting to interrupt anything, Elide stayed still, close enough to hear everything Lorcan had said. Something in her chest had tightened to hear Maeve insult her like that and then to have Lorcan defend her like that.

She waited another minute before walking out, leveling Maeve with a cold stare as she moved to follow Lorcan.

Only, she couldn’t find him and settled on leaving him alone to cool off. Elide sat on a bench overlooking an ocean cove and opened her book again, wrapping her cardigan further around her without taking her eyes off the page.

Fifteen minutes later, someone cleared their throat and she looked up, seeing Vaughan standing a few metres away. “Oh. Hello, Vaughan.”

“Hi, Elide. I’m sorry that we weren’t more accommodating yesterday. I was wondering if you’d like to go on a quick hike – a forest walk, really.”

Elide internalized her hesitation and nodded, “Sure.”

Vaughan nodded once and they were off, strolling along the cliff’s edge until they reached the trees. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

The man shrugged, “I’d like to get to know you better. Lorcan and I grew up together.”

Elide nodded, “Aelin told me you were cousins. Did you two grow up here?”

He barked a laugh and shook his head, “Oh, lords above, no. No, um, my parents weren’t… the best of parents and Odette took me in as a toddler so I consider her to be my mom and she sees me as a son. We lived on the Ozuye reserve on the mainland. Did Lorcan not tell you?”

She shook her head, the sun flickering through the canopy of pine trees, “No, he doesn’t talk about his childhood often.”

“Ah, well. His father was abusive and hit us all regularly. Lorcan suffered the worst of it,” his voice hitched and he cleared his throat before continuing, “I was smaller than him, so he would take my beatings and he could never stay in place while watching our mother be hurt.”

Elide’s heart clenched and she found herself saying slowly: “My guardian beat me.”

“They did?”

She swallowed past her tight throat. She had never been more keenly aware of her ankle right now. “My uncle. My parents died when I was young and he was given full custody.” The words died on the tip of her tongue and she couldn’t share with him the story of her ankle, not now, not with Vaughan. “What happened to the father?”

“He left after Odette got pregnant with the girls. Never saw or heard from him again. Odette began her first business and then the next and soon enough we were moving.”

They fell quiet and walked in an eerie silence that Vaughan eventually broke. “I’ve never seen Lorcan with anyone other than Essar, so I’m sorry if any of us are being rude. How the two of you act is very different. We all thought he would marry her one day.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. He even proposed.”

“He did?”

“Yeah, but she said no. They were young and they thought they were in love. Essar just knew she wasn’t ready and couldn’t stay with him. So, they broke up a week before they left for college and hardly ever spoke again.”

“Oh. That’s…” Elide trailed off as the path took them to yet another cliff, the water blue and sparkling ten metres below. “It’s beautiful here.”

“We used to come up here and cliff jump all the time.”

Elide’s eyes widened and she peered over the edge, a shiver running through her at the menacing rocks that appeared beneath the surface and the waves that slammed themselves against the rock face. “How did you not die?”

Vaughan laughed, “Run and shoot for distance. Maybe throw up a prayer beforehand.”

Elide chuckled and they sat on the edge, watching a pod of orcas circling a rock island, hunting for food. Eagles circled above in the sky and swooped in to clean off whatever the killer whales had left after the frenzy.

Vaughan stood and helped her up, “I should probably get you back. Wouldn’t want to worry your betrothed.” He winked and smirked as she attempted to smile, hating the guilt coiling in her gut.

When they got back, they found Lorcan at the woodpile, wearing a precariously cut tank top as he aggressively chopped wood, earbuds in. Vaughan made a face, “I’ll let you handle that.”

Elide laughed, “So gracious.” With a little salute, Vaughan sauntered off and Elide turned back to Lorcan who hadn’t even noticed anyone. His long hair was twisted in a loose braid and with every fall of the axe, a flower fell from it. Elide was transfixed by the sight, a filling warmth pooling low in her belly as she watched the cotton material of his top stick to his chest, enjoying the sight far too much.

She was a busy woman and hardly had time for that but when Lorcan looked like… a god, she couldn’t help but entertain the idea before she felt her cheeks flush and she quickly walked away from the scene.

Elide wasn’t blind or stupid either, obviously she’d seen how good he looked over the past two years. It’s not your fault, she told herself, he wears all those… fitted suits and likes to roll up the sleeves of his shirts and he has all those tattoos…  honestly, fuck him for having sexy forearms.

Her cheeks were still bright red as she slipped into their room, walking straight into the bathroom and turning on the shower. As she waited for the water to warm up, she walked to the window, opening them and pushing them as far out as they would go to cool her face.

There was a dull, repetitive chopping sound and she looked down to see that Lorcan was almost directly beneath her, the blade of the axe flashing in the sun as he raised it and brought it down again. She didn’t know that Maeve’s comments had angered him this much. The black ink on his arms that creeped under his top to cover his back seemed to capture the sunlight that made his copper skin glow.

Before she could get too distracted by the sight of him, again, Elide stood up straight and undressed to enter the shower, resting her forehead against the tiled wall as she cursed everything and everyone.

She was in such deep, unending shit.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Music set on the highest possible volume, Lorcan cut firewood until his shoulders burned and his chest heaved, his lungs greedily searching for air. He let the axe fall to the ground with a heavy thump and used the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. The braid that Aneha had made was coming undone, flowers lying crushed on the ground around him and chunks of hair falling free from the constraints.

Lorcan didn’t bother to fix it as he stalked towards the house in need of a shower. Usually, he could exercise massive amounts of self restraint, but somehow Maeve pushed every button possible until he exploded. He didn’t see her as he moved through the house and figured she’d slinked back to the guesthouse she insisted on occupying every time she visited. 

His earbuds were still in and he nodded in passing to the boys who were in the living room, playing some video game. Maybe he’d join them later.

Tapping his fingers against his thigh to the Dead Kennedys’ Too Drunk To Fuck, he entered his room, closing the door behind him and shucking his shirt off to the floor.

He went out to the balcony, flinging himself down on one of the chairs and slinging an arm over his eyes. Lorcan basked in the sun’s rays until it became too hot and he stood up, his music still playing far too loudly as he walked inside and dropped his shorts, tossing them onto the dresser as he turned to the bathroom, completely oblivious to everything. He could’ve sworn he heard something so he turned around, seeing nothing and walking backwards.

Suddenly, something rammed into his back and he whirled, catching whatever it was as they went down.

They fell to the floor and he looked down just as Elide, a very naked and wet Elide, looked up.

They both yelled and jumped away from each other as Elide held her arm over her chest and crossed her legs, “Why are you naked?!”

“Why are you wet?!” Lorcan yelled back, holding his hands in front of his groin.

“Don’t look at me,” she hissed, not moving until he turned and she hastily grabbed a towel from the armoire. Lorcan’s phone had fallen during their abrupt greeting and he bent down to get while Elide yelled again, “Anneith below, can you not?! I can see everything.”

He quickly changed positions and tugged his shorts on, his face bright red as he turned and she demanded, "Explain yourself.”

“I didn’t see you! I was outside chopping wood,” he said, looking anywhere but his boss in a towel, skin gleaming.

“You didn’t hear me?”

“I was listening to music, princess. Why did you jump me?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “I did not jump you. Well, I didn’t mean to. I forgot a towel after my shower and you were just there.”

Lorcan looked down at her suspiciously, “Were you trying to seduce me?”

She rolled her eyes, “Please. Don’t flatter yourself, it’s not cute.”

He smiled cockily, raising his hands, “It’s fine, you know. I get it, I’m sweaty, half-naked, you saw me chopping wood and it made you feel some type of way.”

“You stink. Go take a shower.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Elide just rolled her eyes again as he walked to the bathroom, stopping at the door and looking over his shoulder at her, “Don’t take this the wrong way…” her back was turned to him and he saw her tattoo, a delicate line of script written down her spine, with a mountain range on her right shoulder blade, a wyvern mid flight on her left. He fell silent, unable to form words.

“What?”

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Elide.”

“Shut up,” she said, though when she glanced back at him, her lips pulled into a small grin.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin and Nehemia were near tears after Elide recounted an adjusted version of her and Lorcan’s sudden and wet incident. She got along really well with the both of them and once she remembered that this wasn’t supposed to last, her chest grew tight and she needed to have a drink.

Odette booted Rowan, Vaughan, Connall, and Fenrys from her living room to the patio. They all smiled at Aelin and Nehemia, the bright grins dampening as they saw Elide. “Oh. Hey, Elide.”

She pretended not to notice it and ignored the pang in her chest again. “Hey.”

Vaughan broke the awkward silence by sprawling on the couch next to her, practically crushing her into the cushion with his frame. “Gods, I rule at gaming. You guys wish you had my skills.” That seemed to do the trick and the boys were quick to argue, dissolving into petty bickering.

Nehemia helped Elide push Vaughan off and reassured her, “Don’t worry – they’re always like this.”

“The first few months were unbearable,” Aelin grumbled, scowling at her boyfriend who remained oblivious. “We were all in the same dorm and they fought constantly.”

“What changed?”

“Please, don’t tell the story,” came another voice, deep and rumbling, and Lorcan came strolling out, in a pair of shorts and a band tee. He shoved Vaughan from the couch and sat next to Elide, nodding to her drink as he stretched his arms around the back of the couch, “Whatcha got there, princess?”

Elide rolled her eyes at the nickname, “Gin and ice. What’s this story?”

He groaned, dropping his head back. “I hate this story.” The boys chorused their agreement as Aelin exclaimed, moving to seat herself in Rowan’s lap. Everyone exchanged looks and scooted away from the affectionate couple.

“But I love this story.” Aelin pouted at him and Lorcan caved, waving his hand.

“Let’s hear it then.”

The afternoon bled into evening and then night, the sun setting and bathing Lorcan in golden and orange light. His arm had fallen down around her shoulders and she was tucked up into his side, his arm a welcome weight around her.

They had talked about everything, exchanging stories about everyone in rounds. It was Lorcan’s turn and they turned to Elide, waiting for something. Lorcan nudged her when she didn’t say anything, staring up at him in a soft silence. “El. Your turn.”

“Oh,” she sat up straighter, her side prickling at the loss of contact. He laughed quietly and pressed a kiss to the side of her head, tugging her back down. “A couple months before we got together, I was on this case and I fell asleep in the middle of the night in my office. I don’t even know why Lorcan was still there, but he woke me up and carried me to my car and drove me home.” Elide tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, running her finger over the rim of her copper mug. “And then he carried me to my apartment and put me to bed. It was really sweet and… nice.”

Elide was sure her cheeks were flushed as she grew warm and hid her face in Lorcan’s side as they teased him for going ‘soft’.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

When Elide yawned yet again, Lorcan stood up and picked her up, “Night, guys. Gotta get my girl to bed.” She smiled sleepily at ‘my girl’ and nuzzled closer to him, softly sighing into his neck as they said goodnight and he carried her through the house to their room, gently putting her on the bed. “Princess, where’s your pj’s?”

She didn’t open her eyes, pointing randomly, “Bag. Big one.”

Huffing a laugh, Lorcan opened her bag, pulling out a pair of sweats and crewneck with the logo from her university. As he moved back to her side, he commented, “Always thought you were a satin and lace nightie type of gal.”

Elide cracked open an eye. “You think about what I sleep in? That’s not very professional,” she teased him, a cheeky glint in her eyes as she sat up and took the clothes from him, her movements stuttering as his smile dropped and he took a too-large step back.

“There’s a lot of not professional things about this, Elide.”

Her face fell and she nodded, standing and moving to the bathroom without another word.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Walking out, she found him shirtless, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Elide padded over to him, hesitantly reaching out and resting her hand on his shoulder. “Are you ok?”

Lorcan laughed harshly and moved away from her hand, “Am I ok? What do you think, Elide? You’re blackmailing me and making me lie to my entire family.” He stood up and began pacing as she slowly sat, her hands in her lap. “And, the thing is, we aren’t even in the clear! I could go to fucking prison for you and ruin everything I’ve worked for.”

“I’m—”

“You don’t even seem to care,” he spat, glaring at her. “What, is this just another Monday for you? What is so bad in Terrasen that you can’t move back there?”

Her head was tilted down and she wiped her eyes, sniffling once. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Lorcan, but you’re not the only person who’s had a hard life.”

She felt so small sitting there, her vision blurring. So very small and alone.

The bed dipped as he sat down next to her and awkwardly wrapped an arm around her, nothing like when they were outside with his friends. Elide half-wondered what had changed and as reality crashed down around her, she stood like his touch burned her and moved without word to her side, crawling in and turning on her side away from him.

It had all been for show. 

Gods, she was an idiot.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble​ @the-regal-warrior​ @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere e @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @superspiritfestival @yikesitsmaddie @flowerspringsea @queen-of-glass @sleeping-and-books s @b00kworm @bat-wing-rhys @poisonous00 @empress-ofbloodshed @feyrethedarklady @gorl-power @keshavomit @ifinallygavein let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list!

[shushmal]

Chapter 11: these rivers never knew

The long night grows so frigid that Jon can’t get his bones to warm under his flesh. They spend their hours huddled together, trading heat and touch and sleep, Tormund curled around Jon as if he can shield him from the freezing air itself. Jon’s never been so cold. For a while, winter winds lay so hard on top of them that the Free Folk discard their pride and seek warmth in their neighbors. Jon finds himself living in their hut with nearly half the village on the ground around them, all the children piled on top of the sleeping direwolf in the corner. Ghost barely even stirs.

And yet, Jon can’t sleep.

He lays with Tormund at his back and Mirma under his arm, her tiny body small and cold as she shivers beside him. And Tormund buries his face in Jon’s hair like he does every night, despite the score of other people, many snoring heavily in their sleep, nearby.

Jon can’t help but feel as if there are eyes on him, stomach squirming, and when he sleeps, he dreams of men dragging him from the hut to gut him in the snow.

No one does.

The only time Jon catches someone looking, Hrenna smiles so wide that Jon doesn’t have it in him to be afraid, especially when she winks and tucks Whitebone close to her chest as he sleeps.

-

There are few lulls in the blizzards, and they make good on that time. The more able-bodied layer on their furs and disappear into the darkness to hunt what little food they can find. Whitebone is always among them, and Tormund more often than not.

Jon had healed slowly and painfully without the proper foods to build his strength, and still he feels weakness hiding in his body. He moves gingerly, feeling the way his skin stretches too tight or his muscles twinge angrily. But he moves anyways, itching to do anything but lie amongst a pile of shivering people, unable to sleep.

The day he’s allowed to join one of the hunts is one Jon relishes.

“I can see you going mad already,” Tormund says, teasing. “Won’t do for our little southerner to start foaming at the mouth.”

“I’m not a southerner,” Jon says for what feels like the thousandth time.

But Tormund seems glad to have him out with them, despite how close he sticks to Jon’s side, his torch raised high between them. And Jon doesn’t complain. He hasn’t been allowed in the woods since his fight with the shadow cat, and every dark shape feels like a threat. Jon lets himself walk a little closer to Tormund’s side, following in his wake. After a time, the group begins to split off, and Jon finds himself alone with Tormund picking through dead underbrush to unbury their traps and checking for any caught game. There’s nothing, there never is, but Jon’s too glad to be in the open air to feel disheartened.

The air clings to his hair and beard, freezing to his skin, but Jon lets it fill his lungs, free of the smell of too many people crowded together in one house. His eyes tire easily, trying to peer through the darkness beyond the ring of light, but they walk carefully, their feet strapped to broad snow shoes to keep them above the deep drifts of snow. It had taken an age to pull out the last man who had fallen through a too fresh layer.

Tormund stays close, their shoulders brushing as they walk. They crouch down together, his free hand on the small of Jon’s back as he digs through the snow for a lost snare. Each touch is a spark of fire along Jon’s skin, and he’s not surprised when Tormund finally pushes him roughly against a tree.

Accepting Tormund’s kisses is easier now, filling him with warmth instead of dread. He opens his mouth obligingly, and Tormund licks into him, breath hot between them.

Jon is dizzy on it, almost swept away, until the need inside him becomes too great. He pushes harshly at Tormund’s shoulders, and he goes immediately.

“Jon—” he says, rough and wary, but Jon is dropping to his knees and pulling at the openings of his trousers. “Oh, fuck,” he hisses, because Jon doesn’t waste a breath and takes him into his mouth before the cold can really touch his skin.

Tormund’s fingers immediately tangle in his hair, and Jon gasps around the cock in his mouth.

“You little devil,” Tormund breathes, hips stuttering against Jon’s face. Jon opens his mouth as wide as it will go, taking as much of Tormund as he can, tasting him greedily.

He hasn’t done this before, has only had quick fumbles with Tormund, wandering hands and heated kisses whenever there’s a chance. Tormund’s only put his mouth on him a few times, and Jon tries for the same finesse, to imitate the way Tormund will torture Jon's orgasm from him, but loses himself in his own desires, sloppily sucking Tormund down at his own pace. Tormund seems happy to let him, fingers tugging at his frosty hair, but is otherwise still.

“Fuck, fuck,” Tormund chants. “You little beast, did you want to come out here just for this?”

Groaning, Jon bobs his head a little faster, drool gathering on his tongue as he laps at Tormund’s cock, his jaw aching and his own dick between his legs swelling. He releases there in his pants, mindlessly rubbing at himself with half-frozen fingers, but he’s too focused on Tormund in his mouth to do more than open up his throat and take him deeper.

“God be damned,” Tormund moans and his seed bursts hot in Jon’s mouth.

He chokes, swallowing as much of it as he can. His legs are shaky when Tormund tugs him to his feet and presses him back against the bark, his kiss sloppy and heated and perfect.

When they finally rejoin the rest of the hunting party, the wildlings jeer at them with big grins.

-

Ghost wakes up after nearly eight months of hibernation, bright-eyed and thin, and disappears for several weeks despite the storms and snow. Sometimes Jon will close his eyes and dream on four legs and eyes that see through the dark. When Ghost returns, he’s a little fatter and dragging behind him a still-kicking boar. Tormund slaughters the beast, the whole while praising the direwolf like he would a child.

“The best hunter among us!” Tormund booms, laughing, and Ghost’s tail wags back and forth in blurring arcs. “We’d make you chief if you didn’t piss on everything.”

“I’ve seen you piss on more trees than Ghost has,” Jon says. He runs his hands along Ghost’s snout and over his vast head, thumbing along the edge of the wolf’s one ear. “If that’s what puts you out of leadership, I’m afraid you’ll have to step down.”

Tormund waves the bloody point of his knife at Jon. “He’d have to fight me for it!”

“Ghost would win.”

Flopping down across Jon’s legs, Ghost yawns wide, rows of red teeth shining in the fire light. Tormund scowls, eyeing him warily.

“Forget sometimes what a monster he is.”

Jon snorts, his hands now scratching along Ghost’s back, and Ghost wiggling in Jon’s lap for more. “Don’t worry, Tor,” he coos, grinning at him. “I’ll keep you safe from the big bad wolf.”

“Watch it, boy.”

“He’s just a big puppy,” Jon says, snickering. “No reason for the great Tormund Giantsbane to be scared.”

Ghost jumps up just as Tormund lunges, dancing around the two men as they go tumbling, Jon laughing as Tormund shoves handfuls of snow down his shirt.

-

Time carries on like that and Jon lets himself get lost in the endless night in ways that are gentler and softer than he probably deserves. Even as the world sleeps beneath a blanket of cold, Jon feels like he’s waking up. It’s a gentle kiss, soft and sweet in a way that Jon wasn’t aware was possible, that he or Tormund were capable of. Tormund is a good morning kiss upon waking, hi, hello, I’m glad you’re the first thing I see when I open my eyes, the person I search for through the day, and the body I lie next to at night.

It’s a hard life still, but it’s simple. And Jon finds himself comforted by that.

Eventually the winds die, and with them the storms and the snow. They see the stars for the first time in what feels like years. The wildlings are starved and restless, but there is cheer amongst them when the moon’s light hits their buried homes and they spend weeks digging them out again, eager to return to privacy and independence.

When the last of them roll up their bedrolls and carry away their furs, and Jon and Tormund are finally alone, they waste no time, falling onto their bedding tangled together.

Tormund’s kisses are hot on Jon’s neck, the scratch of his beard and the bite of his teeth sending heat through his veins, pooling low in his belly where Tormund’s hand massages him over his breeches. Jon bites back the breathless moans in his throat, clutching tightly to Tormund’s shoulders as he unties the belt at Jon’s waist, slowly stripping him, his hands greedy with every inch of bared skin.

He grinds down on Jon’s thigh as he goes, the thick line of his cock hard against Jon’s jumping muscles.  Nibbling along his collar, Tormund pulls Jon’s pants over the curve of his ass and past his aching dick. Jon’s barely paying attention, too caught up in Tormund’s kisses when he leans up to capture his lips, letting Tormund lick into his mouth with an adventurous tongue, tasting and being tasted in turn.

Gasping, Jon arches up into Tormund when he feels a slick finger in the crack of his ass.

“Tell me to stop,” Tormund rasps, the tip of his finger circling Jon’s hole gently. “And I’ll stop.”

Jon swallows, head spinning because everything with Tormund feels like magic, warm heat and bliss, and Jon would give him this on that alone, no matter the pain. “I trust you,” he whispers. His voice trembles.

“I’ll make it good for you, love,” Tormund says. He shifts, so he’s kneeling between Jon’s legs, bracketed in the grasp of Jon’s thighs as he kisses down Jon’s front, quick teeth and gentle tongue. Jon trembles, watching as Tormund kisses past his belly button all the way to the weeping end of his cock. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

He swallows Jon down to the root, his throat working around Jon’s length, and Jon can feel Tormund’s smirk around his cock when he buries his fingers in that wild hair. Tormund doesn’t let up even for a moment, sucking him well, and Jon nearly shakes apart.

The next touch to his hole is like lightning up his spine. Tormund’s fingers are thick and blunt, but he moves with such sweet care, oil-slicked touches as he slowly eases one digit inside. Jon groans like he’s been stabbed.

“Tor,” he near sobs, twisting his hold in Tormund’s hair. “Tormund.”

Tormund hums, pleased, his tongue flat along the underside of Jon’s cock and his finger leisurely pumping in and out of his ass, stoking the growing fire in Jon’s belly. The second finger burns, but Jon is so lost, back arched and moaning, that he barely notices.

“Don’t stop,” Jon begs when Tormund’s touch goes a little deeper. “Tor, please.”

And Tormund doesn’t, mouth hot and wet around Jon’s cock, his touch insistent on Jon’s inner walls, searching, pumping in and out of him until Jon can’t take another second of it, can’t hold back, and he comes hard down Tormund’s throat.

“You did so good,” Tormund says, his voice fucked out and destroyed when he lifts his head from between Jon’s thighs.

Jon pulls him up by his hair, still shaking, and kisses Tormund hard. He can taste himself on Tormund’s tongue, and he swallows Tormund’s moans when he takes Tormund in hand. He spills into Jon’s hand almost immediately, across Jon’s stomach and chest. They collapse to the ground, a sticky mess of loose limbs and lazy kisses.

“Will you fuck me next time?” Jon asks, half asleep as Tormund mouths at his ear.

Somehow, Tormund’s cock stirs again at Jon’s hip. “Do you want me to?”

He thinks about it for a moment, at the warm ache at the base of his spine, imagining Tormund above him and around him and in him.

“I do.”

-

The air feels less icy, kinder to his lungs when Jon steps out of the night air and into the hut. Ghost barrels past him before collapsing half on top of Tormund where he’s already sleeping by the fire. Tormund wakes with a shout, cursing and shoving Ghost off of him.

“Ghost,” Jon chides, and Ghost immediately bounces back to his feet, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Tormund snarls as he wipes the drool from his face, scowling when Jon practically sits himself in his lap.

“I miss when he was just a big furry cushion to sit on,” he grumbles, hugging Jon around his middle and pulling him under the blankets.

Jon laughs, letting himself be man-handled into place. “Well, I missed having someone quiet to talk to.”

“I can be quiet!”

“Can you now?”

Grinning handsomely over Jon, Tormund leans in to capture his lips, a kiss spun of warmth and light, and Jon can feel it warming him from the inside out. By the time Tormund draws away, Jon is breathless.

“See?” Tormund says, eyes crinkling with his smile. “Quiet as a mouse.”

Jon smacks his shoulder, laughing. “I suppose you were, for once.”

“I can’t say the same for you though, moaning like you were.”

Jon hits him harder and Tormund roars, the two of them wrestling over the ground and nearly into the fire. They tire quickly from it though, and tuck themselves into the blankets and furs, curled around each other like rabbits in their burrows.

“Mirma asked me to hunt again on the moon,” Jon says, lazily running his fingers through Tormund’s hair.

Tormund hums, his eyes closed, a pleased rumble filling his chest as Jon’s fingers scrape along his scalp. “Won’t be going with you this time,” he says lowly. Jon’s hand pauses, stuttering to a quick halt, and Tormund opens his eyes, weary but gentle. “I trust you.”

Jon swallows and continues combing his finger through Tormund’s hair, trying to tame the wild length of it.

His scars have long healed and grown pale, though they cut a gnarled path down Jon’s face, turning his lip down into a permanent half frown. And Tormund has since never let Jon near the woods without him.

“Will you sleep tonight?” Tormund asks, his voice quiet in the already quiet night. Outside the snow is falling a little slowly, burying them a little deeper in the cold. Jon doesn’t answer him, just huddles a little closer, burrowing himself a little more into Tormund’s warmth, his fingers still and tangled in Tormund’s hair.

Tormund sighs. And then he begins to sing. It’s a lilting, rolling song, some far northern tune that Jon’s never heard before, but he listens closely, committing each word, each breath to memory, knowing he’ll want to think of it later, when the day comes and Tormund isn’t there to sing him to sleep.

Tormund’s voice is deep and gravelly, and sometimes so gentle that Jon could close his eyes and listen until spring comes home again.

-

The forest feels different. Beside him, Ghost scents the air, his great head raised high and chest puffing. Mirma and the rest of the hunting party are standing warily at his back, gathered together with their torches raised high.

Before them, the weirwood is bone white and leafless, the old gnarled face looking down at the with unseeing, wooden eyes. There is blood long dried and browned on its trunk. Jon just barely remembers laying against it and bleeding on its trunk.

And just at eye-height is a deep, fresh cut in the bark.

“Anyone been this way?” one of the hunter growls, eyeing everyone as they shake their heads.

“No one,” Whitebone confirms. No one has left the village without him. “None of us would be foolish enough to cut the gods’ tree.”

Jon hums quietly as their voices raise together, arguing, and he reaches out to drag his fingers along the mark. It’s was heavy blow into the tree, but not made with any sort of axe, but what he guesses is a long sword made of good steel. It wouldn’t have been forged well, the blade is too thick and a little bent.

Turning, he raises his torch a little higher, picking his way carefully over the snow, eyes searching. Ghost shadows him, nose flaring.

And there it is, nearly fifty long paces away, south from the village, another heavy cut in another tree’s bark. If Jon follows it, he’s sure he’ll find another.

“Looks like the Night Watch is out for my head, after all,” he says to Ghost, his eyes lost in the southbound darkness for a long moment, before he turns back, making his way home.

[thestarkerisobvious]

The Ghost Of Peter Parker

inspired by the amazing art work by @starker-sorbet​        

A snugglefic for @mrstarksbabyy​

With great thanks for the betaread by @mrstarksbabyy

It was a strange idea, that in March, Peter was still embarrassed by getting an erection around Tony.

Now, on the first day of April, Peter longed to worry about something so simple.

He clung to Tony’s neck, weeping in relief that he didn’t have to decide whether or not to kill Mr. Lovelace.  That decision had already been made by a scolding he had given Tony when he was 15.  He didn’t even know Tony had been listening. 

Tony held him close, not even feeding, rocking him and smoothing back his hair.  He sang very softly, something that might have been Portuguese.  But when he

 tried to kiss Peter’s tears away, Peter objected.

“Don’t take my sadness, I don’t want to forget this.  I need to remember what we’ve… what I’ve done.”

“There are many ripe berries on this bush, sweet Master.  Let me pic a few,” Tony murmured. 

For a while Peter thought he might never want to move.  He was being cradled in Tony’s arms like a baby, being held close, his face kissed.  But as time passed he began to feel silly, so he pushed his way out of Tony’s arms and wiped his face dry with the back of his hands.  “Okay, so killing him is out.  What are we going to do?” Peter asked calmly.

Letting Tony take the edge off his guilt and panic helped quite a bit, Peter realized, as he and Tony strategized, Peter leaning against Tony’s chest, Tony feeding from the vein in his wrist.

“There are at least 4 more cats in the barn, if you can catch them.  I think they know they’re food now…

“They cannot escape me,” Tony said, looking up from Peter’s wrist with an eerie smile.

“…and at least three owls in the barn, maybe four.  But they’re very small.  If I feed you now, and you get to them the moment it gets dark, is that enough for this?”

Tony shook his head and looked up, kissing Peter’s hand.  “I cannot tell,” he said, keeping his lips next to Peter’s fingers.  “First, give me permission to sleep in the ground if I must, and I will return to this room when I am able, but I may needs rest in the darkness for many nights.  Mayhap I may speak to you in dreams.  But if you feed me every night, the way you fed me at Mabon, it will suffice.”

Peter sighed.  “I’m going to have to join 4H and start raising goats, aren’t I?” he mused as Tony went back to sucking on his wrist.  “Wait that probably won’t work – I’d flunk 4H if all my goats mysteriously died.  Rabbits.  I’ll have to convince May and Ben we can really raise rabbits.  Then just act surprised when they turn up missing…”

Tony’s smile was unreadable.  His eyes wandered down Peter’s chest.  He lifted his mouth and he looked as if he were about to say something, but changed his mind, and returned to feeding.

“Look Mr. Lovelace killed his wife with his 44, that’s what Miss Drury said Missy said.  He has a 44, his gun from the army, a long hunting rifle he was taking walks with.  And we already know he can kill a dog from 40 feet away with the rifle  That’s how John Wickam’s dog died.  Mr. Lovelace denied it, but the Wickam’s saw it happen.  That man is crazy, but he’s a damn good shot.

“Miss Drury called Aunt May to let me know Missy was okay.  She was surprised that I didn’t know about it… Miss Drury is, I mean.  Missy said she saw me last night.  She said I didn’t even talk to her, but pointed her to the road she was to meet Miss Drury on.  When she said she was scared to walk down it I held her hand until we saw Miss Drury’s Rabbit’s headlights.  She said I must have been sleepwalking because I never spoke.  Miss Drury said it must have been her guardian angel.  All I know is Aunt May spent the next 20 minutes explaining how no one in our family sleepwalks…”

Tony licked a long, slow stripe up Peter’s wrist, then kissed it tenderly, meaning he was finished feeding.  Then he turned and looked into Peter’s eyes, bringing their foreheads together.

“You told me to take her fear.  You told me to consume it completely.” 

“It was you?”

“She fled to Chimney Hill.  She has no fear of that place.  She has forgotten the story of Tom Dylan, but she remembers that Laura Foster once lived on Chimney Hill.  Then, from the hill to the dead oak, and from the oak to the lake, there was full moonlight.  She no longer fears darkness.  But past the lake, under the trees, she was blind.  She was afraid.  I took it all.  But when she came in sight of the house, she feared to pass.  She still fears the house.  I met her at the path to point her the way.  I knew what you wished.  I showed her nothing frightening.  I showed her you.   

“But she would not take the road east.  She said she was too afraid.  She asked if I was the ghost of you.  But when I smiled at her, and held her hand.  My hand was warm.  She came with me down the road.  Pardon, Master, I know you do not wish her to wish to hold your hand…”

Peter took Tony’s face in both hands and kissed him.  A real kiss, without feeding.  Tony did nothing, at first.  Only opened his mouth a little bit, tilting his head a little bit until Peter let him go.

“Thank you,” was all Peter said.  It was all he could think to say.

“I have served you well,” Tony whispered, and now his long arms were wrapping around Peter and Peter relaxed against his shoulder as Tony kissed his face.  This was normal Tony-behavior, and Peter gave himself a moment to enjoy it.

“I will serve you most masterfully tonight, and you shall make me your beloved.  You shall see all my skill.  If an enemy of the family meets me in battle, the seals of Evorá, what is left of them, will feed me.  I shall make him lay down where he stands, even in the middle of the road, he shall not rise until morning…”

“Wait, that doesn’t sound good.  Isn’t that what you did to the pigs?  When you made them lay down and die?”

“They laid down and died because I ate them.”

Peter shivered a little at Tony’s wicked smile.  He knew he had to be very specific, now.  He knew Tony was proud of his work.

“Well, don’t make him lay down in the middle of the road, he might get run over.  What else can you do?

Tony ran a strong hand over Peter’s thigh, and then over his calf.  Peter might have relaxed and enjoyed the touch under different circumstances.

“These… these are still called muscles?  And what is this now called,” he said, his fingers tracing over Peter’s knee.  It was a lovely feeling, and Peter made a mental note to get Tony to touch him there again when it was all over.

“The cartlidge?”

“The sinew, that which is not meat,” he indicated “meat” by firmly stroking Peter’s calf muscles again.  “The sinew that connects the muscles to each other…”

“The ligaments?” 

“There is light in these,” Tony explained, stroking Peter’s calf muscle with a firm but gentle hand.  “When that light is gone, a man is not inclined to walk very far.  And when the light is gone from this,” he stroked his hand under Peter’s knee, indicating the ligament.  “A man is not inclined to move it at all.  Although Mr. Lovelace is a man accustomed to a great deal of pain.  That alone might not dissuade him.”

“I can take the light from the bone, but if I do, a man will surely die.”

“Don’t do that.  And don’t make him lay down somewhere dangerous, like in the road or something.  Wait, if you did that to his arms, could he use his arms?  It’s important he not be able to shoot.  Can you make his arms not move?  If he couldn’t shoot, that would be something.  He’s still huge though…”

Tony moved his hands and, slipping them into the small place between their bodies, placed both on Peter’s chest. 

“There are two of these,” Tony said, caressing Peter’s chest in a way that was very distracting, even under the circumstances.  “When the light is gone from one,” he whispered, moving one hand away and leaving the other in place,” a man is not inclined to walk very far.”

“What… you mean the lungs?”

“And there are two of these,” Tony said, sounding almost hungry.  He moved his hands and placed them firmly on the Peter’s lower back, indicating, Peter assumed, his kidneys.

“When the light is gone from one, a man is not inclined to do anything.”

“But… you mean… for a while, right?  The light comes back, doesn’t it?”

Tony looked disappointed.  “That is tricky work, but it can be done.”

“Tony, can you make Aunt May be not-so scared?”

Tony smiled sadly.  He looked down at Peter’s chest again, even reached out to stroke Peter’s chest with his knuckles, directly under his left nipple, but he never said why.

“If I could be two places at one time, yes,” he said with a wry smile.  “But I am no longer that strong.”

Peter and May stayed up all night playing yahtzee and dominoes, finally sitting down to watch TV.  For a while Uncle Ben sat in the car with his rifle, while Peter walked back and forth each hour to wake him up.  Finally it was agreed that the whole family would be safer in the house.  A tearful Aunt May complained that they left New York City because of the violence.  She apologized to Peter, who only smiled, threw up his hands and attributed it to “fate.”   

May and Ben discussed how miserable Peter had been when they first moved to Devil’s Holler, how he had cried almost every day for weeks.  Peter tried to keep up his end of the conversation, but, in truth, he was wondering if Missy’s life would have been better, or worse, without him.  At least the girl got to walk down a gravel road in the moonlight, holding Peter Parker’s hand.  He wondered why Tony could make the girl forget about Tom Dylan, but not about Laura Foster.

In the early morning hours both May and Ben fell asleep on the couch, allowing Peter to watch more interesting shows on their late-night channels, his eyes wide.  He was wondering how he could wake up in the middle of the night to enjoy these shows in private when he heard something at the door.  

He opened the door without hesitation to let Tony in.  “Good job,” he whispered.  The vaguely kitten-shaped bundle of fur made a small, vaguely catlike noise before dissolving into smoke and disappearing into the floor.  Then he took his place back on the couch in front of the television.  He knew there was no point in telling May and Ben to go to bed, even though he knew the danger was over.  So he spent the rest of the night combing through old TV guides, looking for more information about the shows he was probably to chicken to watch.

It was amazing, what they could get away with on HBO.

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

Master Post (not THAT Master Post, the big list)

as always please direct comments, questions and constructive crit to @witchwayisright.  

[flyflynnfly]

Hatchling - a gift fic for Crapitskizaru

The cacophony of students’ voices behind him, mixed with the squeaking of his whiteboard pen, and the bright early light invading from windows of his classroom was beginning to give him a migraine. Last night’s hangover added to his discomfort, but for that he had only his own weakness to blame.

His own, beautiful weakness. Said weakness was sitting in their seat, looking radiant and upbeat, idly playing with the plastic trays full of alligator babies. The recent hatchlings had been an unexpected boon for Drake’s Reptilian Zoology class that he taught at the local university. The tiny toothed babies peeped like laser beams, eager to climb all over each other in search for chin scritches from those brave enough to offer them. 

And certainly they were eager for [Reader] to give them a bit of love. They had no issues allowing the sweet little monsters to climb up their hand and partially up their arm, keeping still, with a sweet smile on their face. The image brought a warmth to Drake’s heart, a warmth the blossomed more when the sun was caught up in their hair, framing a gentle, familiar face and illuminating their features. Their soft mouth curved upwards, a mouth Drake knew intimately, head tilted to the side in contemplation of the baby alligators, hair curling around a long neck that he so loved to bury his face in… just as he had done the night before.

Lost in his silent adoration of his student, he hadn’t realised he had been staring for so long until the object of his contemplation looked up at him, warm eyes crinkled in amusement. They looked at him through their eyelashes, removed their hand from the plastic tub (much to the dismay of 4 little alligator babes who cheeped in protest), and sent him a small wave, hidden from their peers.

A stab of heat lanced through his body, from groin to chest when a pink tongue came out and gave those lips a slow swipe, followed by a sensual smirk. Drake felt his face flush incredibly warm and turned about face to hide the proof of it from his students. Their relationship was taboo, forbidden, not for age ([Reader] was of age, thank god) but because of his position as teacher and [Reader]’s as his student. If they were found out…

“A-Alright class, that’s enough for today. Remember your papers are due next week on the proper care for amphibians in captivity. And again, extra points for mentions of proper conservation methods.” Drake tried to get himself together as he pushed himself through the familiar paces of ending the class, unwilling to turn around and reveal the unfortunate side effect of having been so turned on by [Reader]. He did not want any rumours of his apparent perversion circulating around the university.

Students filed out of the class, leaving a mess of papers, chewed pencils, and a few alligator filled tubs. Drake huffed out a sigh of relief that he would be able to escape with his dignity intact, when a familiar voice raised up behind him.

“Professor Diez, I’ll help you put them all back in their tank. It’ll be faster for them, they’ll need their UV light time, I think.”

Cheeks aflame, Drake nodded in agreement, still not daring to turn around till the rest of the students had blessedly decided to just go away. He walked in the opposite direction of [Reader], not daring to look at them, and especially not show them how affected he was from the bloody sun lighting up their damn pretty face! What was he, a randy teenager?? He was a 33 year old man, for Christ sake!

Once the babes were popped away in their home, all scurrying to playfully fight for the favourite warm spot on the warm rock under the warm light (such a simple life, Drake thought), Drake busied himself with packing away his papers at his desk, still not looking at [Reader]. The quiet behind him made him wander if they had left without saying goodbye, the thought making him rather upset.

That is, until a set of arms wrapped around him from behind, settling with warmth around his waist, hands bunching in the fabric of his shirt, a warm body he was intimately acquainted with plastering itself to his back, a pair of heated lips pressing themselves to his neck, the act sending a shiver through him, and pulling a soft moan from his throat. He couldn’t help it, he melted back into the embrace, momentarily forgetting where they were.

The moment lasted exactly that, a moment, until the realisation of their location came barrelling back into his mind, fear lancing though him as he tried to pull away from [Reader].

“We can’t be like this here, [Reader]! People are going to see!” Drake yelped, but [Reader] has always been very strong, and held him in place with little effort.

“Don’t worry” [Reader] said with a soft laugh. “I locked the door, and there’s not another class here for the rest of the day. Nobody is coming to see. Besides, I’ve been wanting to do this since you looked so delightfully cute during class.”

“Still… it’s not proper…” He mildly protested, his excuses sounding weak to his own ears.

“No sir, not proper is what you did to me last night.” [Reader] giggled into his neck, pressing another kiss behind his ear to mark the point.

Aaaaaannndddd… that did it. Drake took hold of his love’s wrists, breaking the hold and allowing him to twist around. He fiercely took [Reader]’s face in his hands, and kissed them to shut up that gorgeous, dangerous mouth of theirs. [Reader]’s arms came up to wrap around his back, pulling him deeper into them, mouth parting to give Drake access. Drake took little time to dive right in, escalating the kiss, and allowing himself the privilege of running his hands down [Reader]’s back, cupping a pert bottom that, frankly, he cherished more than most things in his life.

Squeezing that tight behind teased a gentle groan out of [Reader], who slipped a long leg between Drake’s, applying pressure to the his arousal. Drake reached back behind him to hold on to the edge of his desk.

“Oh fuck!” Drake exclaimed, clapping a hand to his mouth a little too late, barely muffling his cry. “Oh fucking fuck…” he groaned, tipping his head back as he felt a pair of hands drag down from around his neck, to down his chest, applying pressure to his chest through his shirt, then skirting down past his waist and settling on the buckle of his belt. It didn’t take long for [Reader] to have his belt undone, his slacks open, and for a practiced hand to venture past the elastic of his boxer briefs.

When that hand resolutely settled on his cock, Drake felt his knees give a little, and set himself back on his desk, more than content to allow [Reader] to do whatever they wished. At this point there was little in the world beyond that hand, that was attached to that body, that belonged to that person, that made his heart pounce like a wildcat, and set his body on fire.

[Reader] plastered themselves close to Drake, bringing their forehead to his, and gave him one of their patented “I am amazing at this, sit back and enjoy” smile. [Reader] pulled their hand up and down his length, picking up a measure of precome to lubricate the motion, alternating in pressure and speed, leaving Drake at the mercy of their whims. He felt the muscles in his legs twitch with the cadence of [Reader]’s hand, the powerful muscles there jumping at the chance to come into action and overpower [Reader], turn them over the desk and having his way with them. But he held back, mesmerised by the pleasure [Reader] has always managed to lovingly coax out of him, no matter him mood or the situation.

[Reader] kept their hold on his length that perfect mixture of delicate and firm, the warmth of their hand and the pressure steady, even as the tempo wavered to keep him guessing. The tip of [Reader]’s thumb flicked out, dragging across the slit of Drake’s cock, picking up more precome that seemed to weep out of him like the pleasure did. It slickened the motion, adding an added share of lewdness to the sounds that came out of Drake without restraint. [Reader]’s face had slackened with lust as they followed Drake’s body, salaciously draped as it was over his desk, face red and body bucking. [Reader] licked their lips again at the sight in front of them, proud and incredibly turned on at the sight of the serious and somewhat taciturn professor lost in lust right in front of them, and only for them.

Drake had his eyes closed, a hand gripped tight on the wood of his desk, the other wrapped in the fabric of [Reader]’s clothes, which meant he hadn’t had the chance to see the movement on [Reader] going down on their knees in front of him, only felt a pull forward as said hand attached to his love pulled him down and over [Reader]. He opened his eyes in slight confusion, which was replaced by an absolute inferno in his belly when he saw and felt [Reader] wrap those beautiful lips around his cock.

He was suddenly wrapped in intense warmth, the feel of [Reader]’s hot and wet mouth enhanced by the pressure of a tongue dragging down his length. [Reader] started with a steady pace, hands now digging into the meat of Drake’s thighs, desperate for something to hold onto as they upped their pace and pressure, fighting back their gag reflex as they took in the frankly impressive length of their boyfriend.

Drake doubled over his partner, digging his hands into their hair and holding on tight, desperately trying to not plow his way into their mouth. One had to still be a gentleman, even when one’s student lover had one’s cock in their mouth in the middle of class. He felt his peak approaching, unable to stop the tell-tale twitch in his thigh that meant he was damn well close to coming.

[Reader] knew the sign, and kept going, doubling down on their efforts to make the usually reserved man come as hard as he could.

“[Reader], se-seriously… I’m going to come… fuck I’m going to come…” Drake moaned out, hands gripping hard in soft hair.

The two hands that held to his thighs squeezed in answer, and Drake took that as his permission, and just let go. His body seized, a faint ringing sound in his ears as he squeezed his eyes shut and his body went rigid, bliss taking over and unwrapping the coils of pleasure in his gut as he came, long and hard. It took him half a minute to come back to the moment, and loosened his grip from his lover’s hair, smoothing the mess he had created away to reveal a happy, brightly smiling face still kneeling between his thighs.

“Enjoyed yourself Sir? Consider that payback for last night.” A wicked grin took over that lovely face, and Drake couldn’t take it anymore. He kissed [Reader], absolutely not caring about his own taste in [Reader]’s mouth. Those clever hands helped tuck him away, zipping him up back to society’s propriety standards, and then wrapped themselves around his waist again, leaning into the kiss with abandon.

“I have to say, you’ve outdone yourself [Reader]…” Drake murmured with a small amount of embarrassment.

“I do try Sir.” They returned with a bright smile. “ Though I do think we may have traumatised the hatchlings.”

Drake turned his head to the reptile tank and was greeted by the sight of twenty or so baby alligators staring wide eyed at the couple, chirping what sounded like frantic concern at the situation. He let out a loud groan, and buried his head in [Reader]’s neck.

—

A03 LINK - https://archiveofourown.org/works/20759306

[somuchbetterthanthat]

i’m highly embarassed at a misread I’ve made of a post, so now i’m just distracting myself by diving into @sceptiqueveille ‘s challenge for me (sorry love, it’s three not five). 

This story is very much about Jon being pinned to walls. 

[warning for absolutely not-discussed-properly-unealthy-bdsm-practice/kinks-in-the-middle]

“This is such a bad habit and you know it,” Georgie tells him; 

She’s a little bit drunk, and it takes her several seconds to light up Jon’s cigarette; Jon takes a puff and leans against the wall; Georgie puts the lighter back in his jacket, and then keeps her hand right there, seeking some warmth into his pocket. He offers her the cigarette. She takes it, hums around it more than anything, and then she repeats: “A terrible habit. You’re quitting tomorrow.”

“Right until Harry’s next monologue about his incredible adventures in the States,” Jon agrees dryly, and Georgie snorts.

“God he’s awful, isn’t he?”

“I could smoke my whole pack of cigarettes and I’m sure he’ll still be on and on about the freedom and peace that comes with endless deserted roads.”

“Mmm.” Georgie leans in and lets her other hand rest of Jon’s stomach, warm and firm. “You could do something so much more pleasant than smoking, you know.” 

Jon’s eyes flutter as she stares up at him, her lips curled into a teasing smile that he’s learnt to read as flirting over the past few months. He feels his heart skips a beat; it’s not new anymore, Georgie and him being a thing, but it still randomly hits him that he loves her, and that for some absurd, uncanny reason, she seems to like him back. 

“Is that so?” he asks, and tries to keep his tone cool and collected, as though he could manage to hide anything from her. 

“Mm-mm,” she nods, and steals the cigarette from his fingers; she crushes it before he can protest (those things are getting expensive, and he’s not even nearly done -) and throws it with rather exceptional precision into the bin a few meters away before bringing back her hands, both of them this time, on Jon’s chest. 

She pushes him lightly, without any proper force in it, but he lets himself fall more against the wall and bends his head obligingly as she gets on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her lips are warm and sweet and familiar; Jon closes his eyes for a moment and raises his hands to put them on Georgie’s hips. Before he can do that though, she moves herself and grasps his wrists, pinning them back to the wall. 

“Georgie,” he breathes out against her mouth, flushing brightly. 

His heart has skipped another beat, for a whole different reason. She laughs as he hisses ‘we’re in public’ 

“Do you feel indecent, Jonathan?” she grins up to him, her thumb gently caressing Jon’s wrist. 

“I - I mean, you can’t just -”

“I thought we said I could,” she sing-songs. 

“We’re in public,” he repeats, faintly. 

“Relax, Jon,” she tells him; she presses another kiss on his mouth, and he does, instinctively, eases up into it. “I’m just kissing my gorgeous boyfriend. Nobody can be shocked about that. Besides, they’re all riveted by Harry’s stories, remember? Or drunk out of their minds.”

She steps closer still; her hands are firm, but her grin is bright and happy and soft and Jon forgets to worry, because he really wants to kiss her some more. 

“Okay,” he says and his cheeks are a bit pink when she laughs again and says you’re so easy for me Jonathan Sims. He doesn’t try and deny it, just grins back against her mouth and lets himself be kissed.

*

Jon doesn’t expect Elias to get up; to be fair, he’s past any fancy idea of Elias doing anything at all, apart from sitting at his desk and listening to him rage on with a mild and patient air that makes Jon even angrier. Today is in no way different, only there’s something thrumming in Jon’s skin, skittering at the edge of his brain and he can’t bear to be down at the Archives where guilt eats at him every time he crosses path with his assistants, and there is usually something satisfying about yelling at Elias about his uselessness. 

But Elias rises up and, more than that, takes off his jacket and takes a few steps towards Jon. Jon - because he has some sort of self-preservation - takes a few steps back.

“What are you doing?” he snaps; Elias hums at the compulsion; doesn’t answer, of course, though his lips twitch with the hint of a smile that Jon refuses to admit makes his mouth dry.

“You’re on edge,” Elias says after enough time has passed that they’re both sure it’s not forced out of him. “You haven’t slept in days, you’re angry and worried and needy.”

“I -”

“You want answers I won’t give,” Elias continues; he takes another step - Jon’s self-preservation battles with his curiosity at the change in their usual scenario. He wavers on his feet. “Fortunately, you’re also seeking some sort of control, and that I’m more than ready to help with.”

“Wha -” Jon begins, but then Elias’ hand is suddenly resting on his throat, firm and heavy.

He doesn’t squeeze, but Jon stills all the same, eyes darting up to meet Elias’; it feels like falling; the intensity of his piercing, burning blue eyes hits Jon like a slap and he gasps; it feels like the entire world is watching them and the pressure is terrifying and - slipping from him, already. His mind arches towards it and Elias offers him a sharp, fond smile, his thumb rubbing over his skin before his grip tightens. Not long nor hard enough as to entirely stops Jon from breathing, but enough that Jon shudders violently.

“Just a tad too soon yet, Jon,” Elias says, almost gentle. “But you’ll get there. And I’m sure it’ll be as magnificent as promised. But for now, we’ve got other matters to address -”

Jon tries to think of something to snark back at him, but Elias starts walking again, his grip of Jon’s throat still strong, and Jon finds himself stumbling backwards clumsily until his back hits the wall; it occurs to him he should fight, raise his hands, or do - something. Anything. But he just watches Elias watching him, studying him, until Elias nods and says: ‘well’ and starts squeezing. 

Jon’s instinctive reaction is immediate; his hand jerks up to grasp at Elias’ wrist but Elias just squeezes harder, and Jon’s mouth opens hopelessly, seeking air and failing to get any; his legs buckle underneath him as Elias’ other hand comes to rest upon his chest, right onto his heart, which is beating wildly and loudly. He doesn’t know how long it last; he knows that Elias’ grip tightens and tightens until he can’t think of anything else but that, until his whole brain screams for air, all other thoughts forgotten or discarded; he knows that even this disappears, until all that’s left is the pressure and the pain and the utter, impossible peace that comes from it; (and, underneath it still, beyond his blurry vision, and the black spots that color it, beyond Elias’ piercing blue eyes he hasn’t stopped looking into, something else is watching, something that’s -)

The pressure decreases; Jon is weeping; breathing hurts as much as being forbidden to; Elias moves closer, his hand leaving Jon’s throat to gently wipes away a few tears, and he lets his forehead fall against his. Jon blindly grasps at his shirt.

“Very good,” Elias murmurs. “You’re doing so very good Jonathan.”

They exhale together the same shaky, reverent breath. 

*

Martin doesn’t push him against the wall, exactly; he guides him there, hands on Jon’s shoulders, firm and gentle at once, and once Jon’s back is against it, he doesn’t move for a while; Jon knows he’s waiting to see if Jon will try to move or not. It happened, before; Jon wants to be good for him, most times desperatedly so, but his will is not - what it used to be. Sometimes, he is too hungry; too on edge; even now, he can still feel it, the bright minds two floors up, full of stories that he hasn’t gotten yet, but he stays very still, because he is downstairs with Martin, and that’s more important. 

“That’s good,” Martin smiles, sounding pleased, and Jon breathes out, tension uncurling slightly in his stomach. “I’m still going to tie you up a bit, alright? Not because I don’t trust you,” he adds, very seriously, raising a hand to gently caress Jon’s cheek. “Just because it sounds nice, right now.”

Jon nods slowly; he doesn’t trust his voice right now; he’s too curious as to what Martin wants to do. Instead he watches him. Martin looks a bit tired, but he always does these days - lots of pression comes with being the head of the Institute’s assistant, as well as, well, Jon’s... manager, if that’s the world for it - but his eyes are soft, his expression calm and confident and that’s always lovely to lean into. Jon wants to pry into his head, wants to know him, understands everything he’s feeling right now, even as his hands slides down Jon’s arms, careful and slow, spinning web around them, but he restrains himself, as always.

Martin doesn’t like that and anything Martin doesn’t like him doing he assumes to be wrong these days. He has to have some sort of moral code. Martin and him both agree on that. 

It’s odd, being pinned to the wall by Martin’s thin strands of web. It isn’t heavy like chains or rope, or even ribbons, but it’s stronger, somehow; Once Martin has reached his hands, Jon gives a soft, experimental tug, and finds he’s completely immobilized. His heart flutters, He licks his lips, 

“Good,” repeats Martin. He caresses Jon’s cheek again, and Jon instinctively leans into it; that makes Martin grin, soft and happy. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Jon breathes out. 

“You know I need more than that,” Martin points out. His voice is still gentle, but Jon can feel the way he pulls at his string; it makes him shiver. 

“I’m hungry,” he says, more honestly. “There’s someone upstairs I need to hear the story of. They’re really -”

“You read a statement this morning, Jon,” Martin comments lightly. Jon wants to protests that it’s nothing comparable, but he knows Martin is already aware of that. So he breathes out, slowly, and says “right.” and it’s worth it for the way Martin’s smile widens again, and his thumb passes across his lips. 

“I’m happy being here with you,” he concludes then, stiff and honest too, and Martin’s thumb stills on his mouth. Jon presses a light kiss on it. He knows he’s supposed to wait but surely that barely counts. 

“You know the rule,” Martin says all the same, almost instinctively, though his gaze is so full of love that Jon’s legs feel very weak. He’s grateful for the web, suddenly. 

“Please,” he manages to say, all the same. “May I have a kiss?” 

“As much as you want,” Martin answers and his hands are tender on Jon’s face when he bends down to kiss him. Jon doesn’t try to go against his bonds again, just hums against Martin’s lips, and it’s already hard to think of anything else than the warmth of his mouth when Martin murmurs, several kisses later: “I’m so happy you’re here with me too.” 

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Unravel, Chapter 11/20

Work Summary: Antisepticeye has a plan to destroy Darkiplier, steal his power, and take over everything - and he might just succeed. What starts with Yandereplier going missing evolves into a messy web of betrayal and grief, of blood and tears, of old wounds and new faces. However this ends, Ego Inc. will never be the same again. Chapter Summary: The egos get new information from an unexpected outside source, compelling Dr. Iplier to reconsider his silence. Warnings: Mild blood and violence, intense emotions ;u;

Read on AO3

Enjoy!

~

A few days later, Yandere is well enough to be discharged from the clinic. As much as Dr. Iplier wants to keep him there, he knows Yandere has made a lot of recovery progress already, and Yandere himself is itching to leave. Dr. Iplier knows, too, that it’s mostly his own fear and concern over his boy that’s making him want to keep Yandere close, and not Yandere’s actual condition. Still, he can’t help but lecture Yandere as he’s preparing to discharge him, insisting that he be careful and take it easy until he’s fully healed.

“Oh, lay off, Doc!” chides Wilford, who poofed in a few minutes ago with the intent to hang out with Yandere for his first day out of the clinic. “He gets it, just let him go already.”

“I’ll be careful, Dad, I swear,” Yandere adds.

“Alright, alright,” Dr. Iplier sighs. “I just worry about you, kiddo.”

That’s an understatement if there ever was one. It’s not just Yandere’s physical injuries Dr. Iplier’s worried about; it’s his emotional hurt, too. After that first night, Yandere hasn’t slept for more than a few hours at a time without waking with a nightmare. Sometimes it’s about Dark, about how he must have felt to be torn apart, and Yandere will cry anew for him, weeping until he exhausts himself back to sleep. Sometimes it’s about Anti, about the mental and physical torture Yandere suffered under his control, and Yandere will wake screaming and begging for mercy, shaking in Dr. Iplier’s arms until Dr. Iplier manages to coax him back to sleep. Even now, standing before Dr. Iplier and begging to be discharged, there’s a sad, tired glaze to his eyes, a difference in the way he carries himself.

None of that has to be said. Yandere’s expression softens and he walks up to Dr. Iplier to hug him.

“I’ll be okay eventually, Dad,” Yandere murmurs, “I already feel a lot better.”

Dr. Iplier’s heart burns. He can’t help but think of the additional two weeks he let Yandere suffer as he tried to figure out what to do about Anti’s plan. Still, he hugs Yandere back, squeezing tight.

“Alright, sweet pea,” he says, kissing Yandere’s forehead, “I’ll let you go. Just–”

“Be careful, I know!” Yandere laughs, stepping out of the hug. “I got it, Dad. I promise I’ll go easy on myself.”

“Wilford!” calls a sudden new voice.

Everyone turns to see Silver Shepherd dashing into the room, skidding on the clinic tile and nearly crashing into a cart. He’s not winded thanks to his super-endurance, but he might as well be. He pants not with exertion, but with shock and urgency.

“What do you want?” Wilford asks, grumpy at his intrusion. Yandere and Dr. Iplier regard Silver much less critically.

Silver holds up a small gadget – not his phone but his communicator; about the same size as his phone but with a much stronger signal, meant only for talking to Jackie on patrols and connecting to police and fire stations and hospitals. Silver speaks before the others can intuit his reason for showing it.

“Jackieboy Man made contact. He wants to talk to us, all of us. As soon as possible.”

The quiet is stark. Dr. Iplier’s eyes go wide, as do Yandere’s. Wilford’s frown deepens.

“Come on, then,” he says brusquely, approaching Silver, “Let’s take it to the Googles, see if we can get–” He poofs himself and Silver away, presumably to the control room.

Dr. Iplier spares a moment of sympathy for Silver getting tossed through Wilford’s void with no warning, but it’s trifling, barely present under the apprehension. What news does Jackie have for the egos? Dr. Iplier can’t help but feel like things are about to get even worse than they already are. The look on Yandere’s face suggests he’s thinking the same.

“What’s Jackie-san going to tell us?” Yandere asks him, trembling just a little.

“I don’t know,” Dr. Iplier says, putting an arm around him, “But I bet we’ll find out.”

Sure enough, only a few minutes later the pair each get a ping on their phones for an urgent, immediate meeting.

~~~

Dr. Iplier and Yandere take their now-usual seats at the conference table, and the room fills quickly. People are talking amongst each other, but much more quietly and subdued than normal. One could choose a conversation to eavesdrop on if they so desired, as the other noise in the room is minimal. The wall past the end of the table has a flat-screen TV attached there, similar to the end of Markiplier TV, from what Dr. Iplier remembers. They don’t really use the TV much, but right now, the Googles are working on it via the panel next to it on the wall, fiddling with AV cables. At the other end of the cables is Silver’s communicator. Silver himself is standing close by, nervously wringing his hands. Yandere looks over and catches Chrome’s eye as he works, and Chrome only frowns deeper, something desperate in his eyes.

“Alright,” Wilford says, loud over the whispers of the others, in lieu of the usual gunshot, “The reason we’re all here is that Silver–” Silver lifts a hand in a slight wave, “–received a message from Jackie on his communicator.” The whispers quiet as the other egos absorb the knowledge. “The Googles are trying to connect the communicator to the TV so we can speak to Jackie as a group. Jackie himself has news he wants to share with all of us.”

“Got it,” Google says, just as the TV flickers to life. The screen is still mostly black, but with white around the edge, just as the face cam feed on Silver’s communicator currently is. Google nods to Silver, who presses a button on his communicator.

A loading circle appears in the center of the blackness. The room is so silent that Dr. Iplier can just barely hear Silver murmuring “C’mon Jackie, pick up, please pick up,” under his breath.

After what feels like days but is only twenty or so seconds, Jackie appears on the TV.

Nearly everyone gasps, and no wonder: Jackie looks awful. One eye is nearly swollen shut, the other is open but ringed black and purple. His nose is crooked like it’s been broken recently, his nostrils are crusted with blood. His lip is split, his neck is lined as red as his suit, like someone tried to garrote him. His hood is down revealing his green hair, messy and dull. His suit covers the bruises and cuts that must be on his shoulders and upper chest, but there are some tears that reveal jagged gashes underneath. The worst of it, though, is Jackie’s expression: Normally bright, happy, optimistic, now tired, worn, hollow. His injuries remind Dr. Iplier of Yandere’s before he healed, and his expression is far too close to the look in Yandere’s eyes now, the look of someone haunted.

Yandere must see it too, because Dr. Iplier feels him hide his face in Dr. Iplier’s shoulder. Dr. Iplier lets him, and takes his hand to squeeze comfortingly as Yandere starts to shiver.

“Hey, glad I could get a hold of Silver,” Jackie says, trying for a smile and wave. His accent is there, but the bounce and volume are gone. He doesn’t sound like the same person.

“I could say the same about you!” Silver exclaims. No one looks more upset by the sight of Jackie than Silver; even through his mask his distress is tangible. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days, and the others have been trying to talk to your brothers.”

“I suppose,” Wilford cuts in from the head of the table, putting both his hands on the tabletop, “That you’re here to give explanations to that?”

“Yeah,” Jackie says, sighing. “I needed to tell all of you, it’s too important for just Silver and Dark – well, Wilford.”

Damien is at the table, too, and his jaw tenses at the stumble.

“Look, I’ll just come out and say it.” Jackie heaves a shuddering breath, then seems to steel himself. “Anti’s taken the others.”

The whole room gasps again.

“What??” Bim is the one to shout, “Even–”

“He took Marvin first.” Jackie cuts him off. His eyes are full of pain. “I guess he knew Marvin would be the hardest to defeat, so he wanted to get him first while he had the element of surprise. He took JJ and Schneep next. He probably figured they’d go down easier since he’s puppeted them before. I mean, I guess he was right. He got them, too.” Jackie looks away then, starting to tremble. “I tried to keep Chase and Robbie safe, but Anti took them too before long.” He looks back at the others. There are tears in his eyes. “It only took him a few days to take them all from me. He didn’t need to recharge or recover from attacks. We’d break our backs driving him away and he’d be back a few hours later, fighting us just as hard as before. And the more of us he took, the less we could fight, because we can’t just hurt our brothers.” Jackie breathes in, rough. “I know Anti’s not done. He’s leaving me for last. He’s attacked a few times, as you can tell–” He gestures to his face, “–but I think he’s going easy on me. I think he wanted me to get in contact with you guys. He didn’t let us before, god knows we tried. He jammed our signals, even for my communicator.” His eyes glint. “It’s not luck that I’m talking to you guys now. Anti’s letting me. He wants me to talk to you, let you know about all the havoc he’s caused.”

“He’s sending a message,” Wilford muses.

“Exactly,” Jackie sighs. “And the thing about all this is…” Jackie shakes his head again, like he barely trusts his own memory. “Anti’s not normally this strong. If he always had the ability to do something like this, he wouldn’t have waited so long. But I know he didn’t. The way he controlled the others, how he made them fight…they weren’t mindless, but they didn’t have the normal level of free will his puppets have. They were somewhere weird in between. And I swear they were stronger. The thing that made Anti stronger made the others stronger, too.” His eyes go distant. “Chase was always scrappy, but he was never so fast. Schneep never had the knack for fighting at all, but he threw a scalpel from across the room and gave me this.” He points to a hole in his suit, a hole deep in his skin. “Robbie’s never really been able to control his strength or channel it into aggression, but he was like an animal with Anti controlling him. And Marvin’s magic is stronger, and I don’t know how many times JJ was able to reverse and fast-forward time as we fought…” He sighs again against the memories. “Point is, this isn’t typical. I had a hunch as to how Anti got so strong, and I think I’m right, considering Dark isn’t here.”

“Dark’s aura,” Wilford growls.

Jackie nods.

Everyone in the room is frozen with fear just imagining it all. The ones with a friend or two among the Septics are in tears. Dr. Iplier is horrified. Everything he feared about Anti using Dark’s power is coming to life and then some. Beside him, Yandere hasn’t lifted his head from Dr. Iplier’s shoulder, and his trembling has only increased. Dr. Iplier pulls Yandere into his lap and starts to quietly soothe him, trying to distract them both. Yandere whimpers into Dr. Iplier’s neck. His tears are warm on Dr. Iplier’s skin.

“Do you have any idea about what Anti’s plan is, or was?” Bim asks, crying but fighting to keep his voice steady. “We know he used a potion he stole from Marvin, and he took Yandere and kept him as a puppet for a long time. But he let Yandere go after he got Dark’s aura. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Of course it was a potion from Marvin,” Jackie mutters, suddenly bitter. “I told him a hundred times to stop making shit he didn’t need, but he always said he hid them–” The anger falls out of him in a sigh. “Of course Anti found it. He probably always knew where they were. As for Yandere…”

Jackie glances at Yandere, who doesn’t look up from Dr. Iplier’s neck. His gaze softens as he thinks. He probably remembers weeks ago, when Dark and Wilford questioned him about Yandere’s disappearance, before they knew for certain it was Anti’s doing.

“I can’t say why Anti took Yandere like that, but…” Jackie considers. “If he was able to get into Ego Inc. and kidnap Yandere, logic says that he should’ve been able to sneak in and use the potion on Dark himself without all that preamble. Anti’s just reckless enough to try it, but he’s smart, too. He probably knew that if he failed even once, he’d never get another chance. He had to be absolutely sure he could do it. And it couldn’t have been easy to get the drop on someone like Dark.”

“Dark was hurt when Anti took his aura,” Wilford says, subdued and sad. “He’d gotten in a fight with Infelix and got badly burned.”

“He must’ve been waiting for an opening like that,” Jackie continues. He pauses. “But wait, if Dark was hurt, he would’ve been in the clinic, right?”

“Dr. Iplier was there,” Host pipes up, “And The Host arrived soon after. The Host came too late to know exactly what happened, and Dr. Iplier was in shock and had no memory of what he saw. He still does not know what happened.”

Jackie looks toward Dr. Iplier. Even through the TV screen, Dr. Iplier can feel the burn of Jackie’s intense gaze.

“Really?” he asks, somewhere between desperation and disbelief.

“Really,” Dr. Iplier lies. It’s not the first time he’s told that lie, but it’s the hardest, speaking it to the face of someone who’s lost so much to Dr. Iplier’s decisions.

For only a moment, Jackie’s eyes narrow, and then he sighs and shakes his head. But Dr. Iplier’s heart pounds.

“He knows I’m lying.”

“The piece that doesn’t fit is Yandere,” Jackie muses, “There’s no reason to kidnap him unless he wanted a distraction, or…”

“Or…?” Wilford prompts.

“Or leverage.” Jackie finishes. “Leverage against Dark, or you, or someone else. With a plan this big, where one little slip-up would mean failure, Anti would’ve done whatever he had to do to increase his chance of success. Yandere has to fit somewhere in there. But I can’t say how, I don’t know enough.” Pain filters back into his expression. “All I know is that Anti has more power than he ever dreamed. He’s collecting puppets. He got all my brothers, and I know he won’t stop after he gets me. I’ve gotten some communication from other figments he’s attacked. I think he’s looking for the stronger ones, ones he can turn into puppets, and killing the weaker ones so they can’t band together and stop him.” He stares out at all of the egos. “You guys are the strongest figments around. Anti will come after you, and you have to be ready to face him. If you can’t stop him then nobody can.” He sighs, resigned. “I’m not strong enough to stop him, especially not when he has my brothers to use against me. I won’t hurt them. I can’t. They’ll defeat me and Anti will make me a puppet just like the rest of them. It has to be you.”

“Oh, we’ll stop him alright,” Wilford growls, eyes bright pink. “We’ll rip him to shreds.”

Jackie grins, bitter.

“Good.” His grin falls. “That’s all I have. I hope it was helpful, at least.”

“Very,” Wilford says with a nod.

“I’m so sorry, Jackie,” Silver says, quiet and somber. He’s probably crying under his mask. “We’ll stop him, and you’ll get your brothers back.”

Jackie smiles, sad and tired but genuine. His eyes shine with tears.

“Thanks, Silver,” Jackie whispers, as though suddenly too choked up to speak any louder. “Good luck, all of you.” His smile shakes and falls. “You’re going to need it.”

The call ends.

The TV screen goes black again.

“New rule,” Wilford says, eyes still pink with rage, “No one leaves this building. If Anti’s coming we absolutely cannot risk anyone getting hurt out there. We stay here and stay alert. The Googles–” He nods to them, “–will be monitoring the city through cameras, looking for any sign of Anti. If any of you see something, me or Host has to know.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “We still don’t have all the answers, but that doesn’t matter anymore. What’s important is stopping Anti. You’re all dismissed.”

The room bursts into flurries of muttering as the egos talk amongst themselves, but quietly, still in shock. Wilford storms away with Host following behind, leaving Dr. Iplier sitting in his chair with Yandere still in his lap.

“Did Anti just take me for fun?” Yandere whimpers. “Did he kidnap me and torture me just because he felt like it?? Was it just – just fucking set dressing for his actual plan!?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, stroking his hair.

“I know why Anti took him, I know everything,” he can’t stop himself from thinking.

Dr. Iplier’s phone buzzes. He’s surprised, but he gets it out of his pocket – a feat with Yandere still in his lap – in case it’s important. And it must be, because it’s Jackie’s name that pops up on Dr. Iplier’s screen. He’s had Jackie’s number for a while, in case something happened to Silver while the pair were working together. He opens the message:

You know something they don’t. Whatever it is, you have to tell them. It could help them stop Anti, and even if it doesn’t, they deserve to know the truth.

Dr. Iplier’s heart sinks, because Jackie’s right. Knowing the truth may not help them fight Anti; knowing how Anti got Dark’s aura doesn’t matter for that. But it still matters to the egos. It matters to Yandere, to his recovery. It matters to Host, to the blind spot – in every sense of the phrase – in his visions. It matters to anyone who cares about either of them, anyone who fears being taken in the night and puppeted next. After all the secrecy and hiding, all the paranoia and guilt, it seems inevitable that Dr. Iplier would end up here.

“The question is, will you admit to what you’ve done, or will you hide the truth like a coward?” Anti had asked.

Dr. Iplier cannot be a coward any longer.

But it still takes him a few hours to gather up the strength to go to Wilford, to tell him that he has something important to say.

“Well, go ahead,” Wilford says.

“It…it has to be a meeting,” Dr. Iplier answers, voice shaking. “Everyone has to know.”

It must be the look on Dr. Iplier’s face, or the way he’s carrying himself, or something else about him that makes Wilford nod and send out the notification instead of scoffing at the idea of two meetings in a single day. Ordinarily that’d be strange, but nothing is strange anymore.

Well, not nothing.

The meeting room fills up, again. Wilford sits at the head, again. But Dr. Iplier doesn’t take up his usual seat between Yandere and Host. Instead, he stands at the end, and the other egos are bewildered by it. Dr. Iplier tries not to meet anyone’s eyes, but he can’t help but glance at his loved ones. Yandere is utterly confused, and Host is surprised not to sense Dr. Iplier beside him. Dr. Iplier’s heart is pounding harder than it ever has, he struggles not to hyperventilate. He has to stay in control. He has to turn on his doctor side. He has to be clinical, he has to speak simply, he cannot let emotion get in the way of this.

“We’re here again,” Wilford begins, addressing the room’s obvious question, “Because Doc has something we need to know.” He gestures to him.

Every eye in the room zeroes in on Dr. Iplier.

“Okay,” Dr. Iplier says, trying to keep his voice steady, “I just want to ask before I start that…that no one say anything until I’m done. Alright?”

Wilford shrugs.

“Sure,” he says. Some other egos nod, all continue to stare. Yandere and Host’s brows furrow.

It’s now or never.

Dr. Iplier takes a deep breath and begins.

“I should start from the beginning,” he says, quiet and slow. “A couple weeks after Yandere disappeared, Anti…Anti snuck into the clinic and grabbed me.” The others gasp. Dr. Iplier continues. “He teleported me to his cabin, the place where he was keeping Yan.” Dr. Iplier closes his eyes, remembering. “He showed Yan to me, but he put so much static in Yan’s head that he didn’t register anything around him, except for Anti’s voice. He told me how he could get into Ego Inc. just enough to condition Yandere, and during that storm, he came into the building through a lightning bolt and took Yan away. Anti taunted me, and told me everything. He showed me the same potion Yan saw, told me how he stole it from Marvin, told me how he planned to kill Dark and take his aura with it, and…and…” Dr. Iplier takes in a shaky breath. He can’t go back from this. He opens his eyes, but looks down at the table, unable to look the others in the eye. “And how he wanted me to be the one to use it.”

The room gasps again, and some start to murmur, until Wilford smacks a hand on the table to silence them. Dr. Iplier looks at him, avoiding the gaze of the others. Wilford gestures for him to continue. His expression is dangerous. Dr. Iplier shivers and directs his eyes to the table once more.

“He knew he only had one chance to give Dark the potion,” Dr. Iplier explains, “And Yandere was his means to that end. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sneak up on Dark. At first he thought he could make Yandere do it, but it seemed too risky. He knew no amount of brainwashing or possession could make Yandere hurt Dark, and he doubted he’d be able to hide Yandere’s brainwashing if he sent him back to us. So instead, he used Yan to get to me.” He tightens his fists against his sides, one beat, then relaxes. His hands start shaking. “He told me to take the potion and use it on Dark when I got an opportunity. If I refused, he’d kill Yan, as many times as it took for him to fade. If I told anyone, he’d do the same. If I got an opportunity and hesitated, he’d come and kill Dark himself, and then he’d kill Yan. But if I did it, he’d give Yan back. So he sent me back with the potion. For another two weeks I tried to think of a way out. I…I reasoned that Anti didn’t know for sure what the potion would do, he’d admitted that. I thought maybe it wouldn’t do what he wanted it to do to Dark. And that even if it worked, Anti could never take something as powerful as Dark’s aura for himself. And I didn’t–” His breath hitches, he struggles not to sob. “–I didn’t want to lose Yandere. I couldn’t forgive myself if I let him die. And I knew that even if we somehow managed to find that cabin and get him back, we wouldn’t be able to do it before Anti killed him, and we might’ve lost him forever.” Dr. Iplier shudders, tries to look up but can’t. “So I did it. After Dark got hurt in that fight with Infelix, I…I…injected him with the potion.”

The room gasps a third time, people start to shout, and this time, Wilford fires a round into the ceiling to quiet them. Dr. Iplier dares not look at him.

“It split him apart into Damien, Celine, the DA’s body, and his aura,” Dr. Iplier continues, remembering how Dark fell apart in front of him. “After it happened, Anti came with Yandere. He kept his promise, he released his control of him. Dark’s aura went right to him, he didn’t even have to take it by force. He said…” Dr. Iplier struggles to keep speaking. “He said I didn’t have to keep anything a secret anymore. That it didn’t matter now that he had what he wanted. But when Host came in I just…I froze. I couldn’t admit it. I thought, I feared, but I hoped he’d find out the whole thing by narrating, but he didn’t. And I just couldn’t make myself tell the truth. Not then, not after, not until now. Jackie took one look at me today and figured out I was lying. He didn’t know what I did, but he knew I was hiding something. He texted me after he signed off, he told me you all needed to know. And he’s right. You have to know. All of you. I’m sorry.” He still cannot lift his head, still cannot face what he’s done. Tears start falling, hitting the table one at a time. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

There’s a long beat of silence.

Then the room explodes.

Shouting, crying, screaming out, chairs tossed back, hands slammed on the table. Dr. Iplier finally, finally forces his gaze up to see chaos. Half the egos are arguing with each other, the other half are yelling at Dr. Iplier, all of them talking over each other.

“Dr. Iplier, why on earth did you–”

“You heard him, it was to protect Yandere!”

“But he killed Dark!”

“If it were my kid, I woulda done the same!”

“Letting Yandere die would have been regrettable; however, letting Dark die is already causing much more harm.”

“He should’ve told us, maybe we could’ve found Yandere!”

“Anti would have known, he would’ve killed him!”

“Would that have been any worse than this?”

“He killed one of us! How are we supposed to trust him now!?”

Their arguments go in circles, and they soon get too caught up in them to yell at Dr. Iplier anymore. Every ego is a part of it, even Eric and Oliver are raising their voices with the others, even the Jims are arguing furiously; CJ’s wide, angry signing just as volatile as his brother’s shouting. But Dr. Iplier can’t focus on any of them, there’s other people whose reactions matter more to him.

Wilford has his head buried in his hands, and Dr. Iplier can’t tell if he’s heaving with sobs or if he’s struggling not to completely lose his temper. Damien is making his way through the crowd to help him, his own face white, now that he knows for sure what happened in that blank spot of Dark’s memory, now that he knows what was happening right under Dark’s nose. Host is sitting ramrod straight in his chair, mouth open in shock, staring straight ahead of himself across the table, bandages darkening with blood, hands curled in tight fists. Worst of all, though, is Yandere, sitting hunched in his seat, staring into the middle distance, confused tears spilling down his cheeks, eyes redder than his hair. After a few moments, Dr. Iplier and Yandere’s eyes meet, and Yandere’s expression twists. He gets up and storms out of the room. Dr. Iplier follows him without a second thought, pushing through the crowd to the doorway. Most are so absorbed in their arguments that they barely notice.

“Yan!” he calls, making his way to the hall. “Yan, please!” He sees Yandere stop where he is, still facing away. Dr. Iplier runs to him, gasping with exertion or emotion or both. “Yan please, just hear–”

Yandere turns around and punches Dr. Iplier across the face in one smooth motion. Dr. Iplier is suddenly staring at the floor, struggling to stay upright. His jaw rattles with the force. His mouth fills with pain and something else. He spits a glob of blood and a tooth onto the floor.

“Yan,” he gasps.

“How could you??” Yandere cries, voice strained with tears. “You killed Yami! You killed my senpai! This whole time you held me and comforted me and you were the one who took him from me!!”

“I’m sorry I lied,” Dr. Iplier whispers, still in shock. His jaw throbs with pain, his chest throbs with hurt. “I’m so sorry I lied to you. And I’m sorry for what I did to Dark, you don’t know how sorry I am.”

“You’re still fucking lying!” Yandere screams, “If you were really fucking sorry you wouldn’t have killed him!!”

“I had no choice, don’t you see that!?” Dr. Iplier sobs, “If I didn’t do what Anti wanted he would’ve killed you!!”

“Then you should’ve let him!!” Yandere howls. “I’d rather be dead than live without Yami! How could you do this to me??”

“Son, please–” Dr. Iplier murmurs, aching, reaching out to wipe away Yandere’s tears.

“Stop,” Yandere chokes out, stepping back, away from Dr. Iplier’s hand, “Don’t say that now, just – not now, not now.” He turns and runs, crying the whole way down the hall.

Dr. Iplier stays rooted where he is, frozen, mouth open as every unsaid word congeals in his throat, burning as keen as his jaw. His heart was already broken after days of missing Yandere, days of watching him wake with nightmares, days of holding him as he cried, days of watching Yandere in pain, but now it’s positively shattered watching his – his – well, his nothing anymore, right? – run away from him.

As he stands there, two people – Chrome and Yancy – brush past him, running down the hall after Yandere to comfort him. They don’t give Dr. Iplier so much as a backwards glance. He has nothing left to do but turn and go back to the conference room, trudging through the doors. He can barely feel the tears still running down his face, his neck, off the end of his chin onto the door handle.

The room is still just as chaotic, but the chaos has shifted. On one side of the table, Wilford is storming up and down the length of it, one hand waving his gun in the air, the other buried in his hair, tight, almost pulling. His eyes are wild and pink, his face is stretched in an unnatural grin as he mutters to himself. Damien and Bim are following him as he goes, trying to talk to him, and the Jims are following Bim, watching silently with owlish eyes, unsure of what to do other than hold tight to each other’s hand. On the other side of the table, most of the other egos are giving Wilford a wide berth and gathered around something…someone else.

Dr. Iplier approaches to see The Host, and the pieces of his heart lurch in his chest. Host is curled over himself, hands tangled in his hair. Blood soaks through his bandages, runs down his cheek, dampens the front of his trench coat, puddles on the table, drips onto the floor. He’s already gone pale. He’s muttering so low and so fast that he’s impossible to understand, and he seems unable to stop.

“The blocks in his visions are gone,” Dr. Iplier realizes, “He can see all the futures he couldn’t before.”

Host mutters and mutters until his words catch and he coughs, pulling his hands out of his hair to brace against the table. The puddle on the table sloshes into his hands, into the cuffs of his trench coat, off the table and onto his pants, but Host doesn’t seem to notice. When the cough leaves him, he bows his head, trembling, panting. His teeth are red. When he speaks again, he’s finally audible, voice dark with premonition.

“The egos have hundreds of futures laid ahead of them now,” Host gasps, “All are suffering. Many are death. Reality is flayed open, no one is safe.”

He lifts his head and, even without eyes, stares straight at Dr. Iplier through the crowd of egos.

“Nothing will ever be the same.”

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 25 [70%]

You refused medical treatment, as did Tony. But he left you to fend for yourself with the reporters and photographers, asking what happened, what happened? It was clear as day what had happened. Blind spots were opening up in your vision. Probably from the camera bulbs. The only people you had to lean on were Natalie, who was trying hurriedly to shoo everyone away, and Happy who was trying to play the better part of security.

Paramedics asked one last time before you were allowed to even get into a car to go to the airport- how are you? You had no idea how to answer them.

 Maybe it’s like a muscle.

 Exercising the use of your powers made them stronger- but it also was hurting you. If Tony’s theory was correct. Maybe it really was time to ask Fury what to do about yourself. Your own fate. Because you were suddenly, mostly decidedly, sure that it couldn’t… it just couldn’t be with…

He barely looked at you as the two of you boarded the jet. That was fine. If you started in on him now there was no way you were going to make it the whole way home. It would just be more screaming. Then he disappeared. So you sat in deafening silence until you couldn’t take it any longer and put on the TV. A mistake as it only served to make you angrier and angrier as Senator Stern, all smiles, told the entire world Tony Stark was a liar.

The technology was here. That man had had an Arc Reactor.

How? How could that be? How did that man have that?

You had no answers. So you couldn’t help Tony out- if you had even wanted to. You weren’t sure anymore.

“Mute.” The TV went silent, his voice behind you and you immediately directed your attention out the window. Only briefly letting your eyes shift as he set down a platter on the table and moved to sit himself across from you. Then he lifted the top revealing a very runny but steaming hot omelet. “You need to eat something.”

“I can’t do this with you anymore.”

It came out of you whether you wanted it to or not. It was there now, heavy in the air. And to your own surprise and sadness you meant every word.

He seemed stunned, but only momentarily. “Eat. Please. Then we can talk-”

“No, Tony. We’re talking right now. And this is probably the last time we’re gonna have this talk. Because I can’t anymore. I keep saying I can’t, and then I keep going, expecting you to get it. But you don’t. And I’m done.” Part you wished he had anything to say to cut you off. But he just sat there and took it while your voice lurched and tears slid past your eyelashes.

His burgeoning frown deterred you, for only a few seconds. He looked hurt. Good. “You don’t respect me, you don’t respect whatever this is- and I- I’m starting to think every private moment we have is just you playing make believe with dolls. If you want a different life, then go have it. Leave me out of it. Because I can’t take it anymore.”

You were hurting. Deeply. Cut to the bone. Had his whole plan been to come to Monaco to get in that car? To do what? Drive recklessly down the highway? Or had he known that man was going to be there? And he’d told you none of it, sat across from you not hours ago telling you he loved you- and for what? “You seem like you care one moment and then you rip it all away when it suits you- what- I’m… what do you want from me, Tony?”

“I...”

“If you say I’m sorry one more time I’m going to throw you out of this airplane. And if you say I love you again as a bandaid I’m going to scream-” Your frustrations were at an all time high.

 “I’m dying.”

 Horror.

Panic.

Mortification.

 All doused you heavy like a waterfall.

Oh.

But you’d felt this panic before… only now it was shared.

 You couldn’t breathe. “What… what are you even saying right now?” There was no way he’d say something so drastic to get you to be quiet- right? To get you to stay?

“I’m dying.” He said it again, softer, resigned. But his eyes stayed on you.

Your head began to shake. “I don’t… I don’t understand. What do you mean-”

“You want me to say it a third time for good luck? I’m dying.” It actually seemed like he was getting a bit of cathartic release from letting those words go.

“Tony...” There was no way to even begin to process this. Clearly it was a joke. It was a joke, right? He was… dying of thirst. Dying of hunger. Dying of boredom. Anything- anything, please-

Reaching back he pulled his shirt off forward, exposing his chest and all the blown deep blue and purple veins that outlined his angry red skin. Creeping forward from the hole sitting in his chest where the Arc Reactor was, down his stomach and now starting to briefly line the base of his neck.

A gasp shred your lungs. “Oh my god-” Your hands were on your mouth, terrified. Tears were spilling hot down your cheeks. Eyes closing briefly as he leaned forward to wipe a few away with a gentle brush of his fingers. You pushed your hands to your lap. “For how long…?”

How long had he been sick? How long had he hidden this from you? The whole time since he’d gotten back from the Middle East?

“After the mission with General Ross.” He put his shirt back on before reaching out again. His hand came down on top of both of yours, holding steady. You were shivering. The mission where he’d been used to try and kill people recklessly- and when he’d come home-

“How much longer?”

“Eight days. Maybe nine.” It was like you’d been hit by a car. It all made sense. He’d pushed up the Expo. Sold his art gallery. Made you CEO- and this- Quiet… quiet moments where he seemed like he was fading away… “You were right.” He saw your wheels turning, and you caught the sad smile on his face. “You knew.”

“I didn’t know- I didn’t know this-”

“I didn’t want you to. ...This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.”

“You can’t just not tell me you’re fucking dying, Tony!” Saying this lashed an ache so strong through you that a sob broke free. He was there in an instant, arm around you, head atop yours. You buried your face in the side of his neck. “What is it? I’ll find a doctor- we’ll do something-”

“Palladium poisoning. From the core of the Reactor. There is no cure.” Calm. He was so fucking calm.

You bit back another shudder of a sob, shaking your head lightly. “Then we’ll find something else to sustain the power… we’ll… we’ll run through the elements...” Whining and weeping like a child.

A huff of warm air escaped him. “You’re incredible.” Meant only with every sincere bone he had in his body, awe lacing his tone. “There’s nothing out there. I’ve looked. I’ve tried. I’ve been trying this whole time.”

“Well I wasn’t!” He had given up, dealing with this for so long. You sat half away, reaching up to take hold of the sides of his face. Holding him there. Looking. “You should have just told me- you- we could have been working on this together- we’ll find something- please-”

This couldn’t be it.

He couldn’t just-

“You promised...” Resorting to anything. Childish nonsense. Anything to keep him.

 I need you, too, you know. ...but I don’t want you to die. Don’t worry. I’ve got too much to do to die. Promise? I promise. So long as you stick around.

 Your breathing had become mere wheezing, overwhelmed with the mere idea that he wasn’t going to be with you in the very near future. Some destructive sickness was going to kill him. Take him away. Forever. Something you truly could not contend with.“...you promised...”

You couldn’t lose him.

He put his hands over yours and leaned in to rest his forehead against yours. “Hey- hey… take a breath… please, just breathe...” You only did so at his behest, but it didn’t help the hiccup, or another leak of tears. “The company is yours. You’ll get everything. You’ll be taken care of-”

“What a shitty thing to say!” Breaking free from him, shaking your head vehemently now. “I don’t want your stuff Tony, I want you!” When he touched his hand back through your hair, still soft and even, you broke down again. Your hands went around his wrist. Holding tight. As if you could just keep him there with you forever. “I need you.”

His arms were around you again and you found yourself crying in his shoulder. He was burning hot, even through his shirt. How had you gone so long without noticing? His tone was even, “Please- please… I know it’s difficult- I’ve had… a lot of time to look- and I know there’s nothing out there- breathe, honey, just breathe...”

It was so hard.

You couldn’t do this.

But eventually you found a pattern of in and out, even though the tears had not stopped. In the wake of your silence he spoke again, “I love you. Let’s just… let’s cancel my birthday party. Let’s turn around. Touch down somewhere in Italy. Genoa? Genoa was great...”

 You knew what he was asking.

He was asking to go somewhere and die.

To just be with you in his last few moments.

 “No… no...” You couldn’t let him- was that selfish? Maybe it was. Then so be it. You moved again to be able to look at him. “Please just… just give me some time- you’ve had your chance- just give me a few days to look- please- I’m begging you.”

 Please don’t give up yet.

Please please

I love you…

 That telltale shaky inhale captured him, eyelids fluttering for a moment. “...you’re not playing fair.”

“I didn’t mean it...” You really hadn’t. You were just too emotionally charged to help it. Maybe that’s what it had been the whole time. You uselessly wiped at your eyes. “But this isn’t a game- and please-”

“Okay. Alright. Okay- stop… don’t… don’t beg anymore. I’ll...” He heaved a heavy sigh out. “We’ll go home. But… you have to promise me… you can’t let this destroy you. When you realize there’s nothing out there… you stop. And you come home. And we’ll...”

 Spend the last few moments of his life together.

 You didn’t want to make that promise. Because it was acknowledging that was the ultimate end to this. In some way. You couldn’t do that. You couldn’t bear the thought.

But you nodded anyway.

“Okay.”

Letting him take you again, you rested your head against his shoulder, arms around his middle. The tears still wouldn’t stop.

“You’ve gotta admit...” He said after a long while, voice distant yet with that soft slyness, “As far as excuses go...”

And damn him all, he pulled a watery smile from you. A terrible, terrible smile. “Shut up.”

You wouldn’t give up. You wouldn’t give up on him.

Never.

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

 It felt like there was no rest.

The second you touched down, the story of Ivan Vanko- the man who had attacked Tony, the man who had gotten his hands on an Arc Reactor somehow- had tried to escape prison and had died. Was this good news? ...wasn’t it a little convenient? You wondered. Tony had said he needed to do some research on that one. You just trusted him on it, because you literally had no time to do it. No time…

Right on top of that was half the media arguing that Tony’s wild actions of commandeering his own racing vehicle proved he was unfit to protect the country. Proved that he was unfit to be Iron Man. Something many senators were starting to agree on. The other half were hailing him a hero-

Oh, not only him-

There were shots and clips of you standing with your hands up as if you too had something to shoot from them. Woman of Iron, they were calling you (thinking they were clever… yet hadn’t you heard something like that somewhere before…?), and you couldn’t be more disgusted. Who wouldn’t have jumped in to try and do whatever they could in that situation? Tony seemed like he could have been killed.

Iron Man was not invincible.

There was a man in there.

You would have done it again. Easily. If there had been any slightest chance you could save his life… then of course you would.

Which was why you had to ignore all of that. All of the press and the questions and the noise, so that you could try and schedule a meeting with the only people who would have any hope of saving Tony. It had to have been true that Tony was doing his damn best to save his own life. But what if SHIELD had access to things he didn’t? Shouldn’t they? Being a top secret shadow government organization and all.

However, getting in touch with them after everything you’d been through… everything you’d aided Tony in doing that had pissed Fury off… it wasn’t easy. You only had Coulson’s number. And he seemed to not want to answer you. His mailbox was also full. And that warehouse- his offices- whatever they were that he had taken you to the first time, were completely empty now. No good. No use.

You went to Stark Industries that night to put out a fire, department heads arguing with each other over nonsense, before returning home with nothing. Time was running out. Asking Natalie to escort you home, you put her on the phone in the living room as soon as you got into the manor. She had to do work for you now. She had to, because you were running out of everything.

Tony was in the lab. As always. But it was easy to look the other way on it now. When you keyed yourself in, he looked up from his work bench. “Hey.” Raising his hands like you had- the image of you plastered on a few of his screens.

“Very funny.” You were so worn out.

“No- do it- put one up for me.” After everything he’d said he still seemed to be going on like nothing had happened. But then again, he’d been sort of operating that way for a while. Maybe trying to pretend like- ...no, you couldn’t think about it now.

Stopping a few feet away you crossed your arms instead. “Why?” The thought we don’t have time for this was not far off- but… there was nothing more you could do tonight. You’d have to try Coulson again tomorrow. And if he was untraceable- then… then…

 Don’t think about it.

 “Please.” Gentle.

Despite the roll of your eyes, you did so, in a mockery to yourself and your false bravery you’d displayed that day. “Here- are you happy now?” He picked a small black lump of metal up from the table, pressed a button on the side, and then threw it at you. It latched on to your hand, freaking you out immediately as what felt like slimy wiring slid slid over your skin. “Eugh-! What is this??”

But when it settled it was very clear what it was.

He stood up, unable to help the laugh at your minor distress. Walking behind you, he stilled your hand which had been swinging wildly as if to shake it off like a bug. Then he guided your arm up, his other arm around your waist. “Like this. Spread your fingers out. It’s got a one-time semi-stabilized ionic discharge.” His voice was warm in your ear.

Did the two of you really have time for this?

It settled an unease in your heart. “Why?”

“So that next time you put your hands up, you have a shot to make it out of there.” I’m trying to protect you. His eyes were straight ahead. “Deep breath, then exhale- if you can remember. And push forward. The sensors will do the rest. Here- try and make sure...” The arm around you moved to your legs, widening your stance. “Try to be as grounded as possible… but don’t lock your knees too much...”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your eyes focused on the white lab wall in front of you. Most of you was terrified- the rest delegated to one small part scared for other more pressing reasons. The other… well, in any other circumstance…

“And then what?”

A little huff of warm, amused air caressed the side of your neck. “You pull back and push forward. Go on.”

Trying to get past your discomfort, having a weapon now attached to your hand, you took his words to heart. Planting your feet, arm shaking a little.

“You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

With that settling you slightly, you took a breath in… then out… and then pulled back only to jut your palm forward again. The blast was quick and slightly blinding, smacking against the wall to destroy the paint and shatter some of the brickwork underneath. It also sent you straight back into him with a whoosh from your lungs. But he held you steady, laugh not too far behind. “That’s it. Easy, right?”

You let him settle you on your feet, knees barely there to stand on, and you turned around. “I don’t like that.”

“Yeah well, a full suit would give you optimized stabilization-”

“No.” You’d already told him this a million times before, but it was very important now. You didn’t want his… you didn’t want what could be his last few moments spent building a suit for you…

“Then this is all I’ve got. It works.” Reaching out he turned your palm over. “To take it off you just pull the lining here...” Demonstrating, the glove going slack as he did. You also let him take it off you, cradling your hand to your chest after. “What? Did it burn you?” Nervous suddenly as he crushed it back up into that black ball it had started as.

“No. I’m just… I don’t want weapons.” Adamant about that.

“This is not a weapon, it’s self defense.” Just as adamant back at you. “You tried to stop him, right?” He had turned away, setting the spent glove on the table again. “It’s a little hazy. But I’m pretty sure- JARVIS freeze frame-” Catching the perfect moment still running on TV. You with your hands up. Trying to talk a verified villain into surrendering. “Right there.” Pointing up.

You just shrugged, feeling intimidated for some reason. Small. Helpless all over again. “I don’t know what I was doing.”

“Yes you do. You saw I was in a tight spot and you jumped out of that car- you tried to do the thing. They might not be able to see that, but I can. And until you… until you hone it… please just keep one of these on you.” For his own peace of mind, he was asking. You knew.

Yet still, “Why? Are we expecting more crazy people to show up and attack us?”

He stared at you silently for too long a moment. Defeat there in his eyes.

 If I can’t always be there…

 “Fine.” You said as quickly as you could to make it stop. “How do- how do I charge it?”

“I’m still working on that.” Turning away.

“Oh. Great. So until then I’m supposed to carry- what- ten of them around in my purse?” You weren’t really mad. You weren’t really anything. Which was the worst part. Life was finally getting the better of you. If you could just hang on for a few more days…

He smiled as you came over, putting an arm around you again to pull you close. You would have liked to stay like that forever. “Maybe more like fifty. That should be enough for everyone I’ve supposedly pissed off...”

Before you could tell him to knock it off or ask if he even had that many, you felt the shift, the immediate drop in energy as an exhale shot out of him. All of his weight went to you, even as his hand reached out to try and catch the corner of the work table and slipped, leaving you shouldering his entire body. “Tony-”

Four beeps at the front indicated someone was coming into the lab and you were terrified it was Natalie come to ask you for something- but instead, “Hey- whoa-” Rhodey appeared out of nowhere.

“Please help.”

“The desk over there-” Tony was weakly directing.

Rhodey took his arm over his shoulder, freeing you from the weight although you stood close. “Yeah buddy, alright. Here.”

“The cigar box- it’s Palladium.” The word hurt you unexpectedly, scared all over again as Rhodey sat him down and you pulled one of the cores from the case.

Tony tried a deep breath, reaching underneath his shirt, something you took a silent cue from, dislodging the Arc Reactor and holding it up. The Palladium inside ejected up, a charred mess. “Is that supposed to be smoking?”

“It’s neutron damage from the reactor wall, if you must know.” Somehow Tony had gained back a tiny bit of control now that he was sitting down, sounding a touch more even. But he was still softly panting.

You took the depleted core from him, setting it aside and watched anxiously as he set the new one and then slid the Reactor back up, lodging it back into his chest, smacking it a few times before the light resumed. Something he took a big gulp of air at.

It at least beat sticking your hands in goo to attach wires to plates, you guessed.

“What can I do?” Needing to just do something. Anything.

“Water. Please.”

Even though Rhodey was most likely wise to the both of you, you resisted reaching out to give Tony an affectionate touch, forcing yourself to turn away to go to the lit up mini fridge at the bar. “What are you looking at?” You heard Tony ask.

Returning when Rhodey had apparently done enough staring to answer. “I’m looking at you. Look- you need to get upstairs and clean up this mess.”

“I’m working on it.” Answered almost a little too angrily, not meaning to but you were under a lot of pressure. And Tony… Tony needed to be left alone.

“Not you but- you, too, I guess. You’re both down here playing house while an intern is taking phone calls from news anchors. It’s a disgrace. I put myself on the line for you- you have no idea how soon the National Guard is gonna come rolling up the PCH in tanks to take your suits.” It really didn’t help anything that Rhodey was pissed.

What were you supposed to do? Squaring up, “First of all, Natalie is from legal. If anyone can handle it, she can.” You were very fond of Rhodey. You were very close to Rhodey. But he didn’t understand.

...nor could he, if he didn’t know the truth of it all. But…

“You of all people- I thought you were smarter than this.”

Shock registered briefly on your face and you might have had a lot to say about that to him, had Tony not stood up and put a hand on your shoulder, stepping between the both of you. “Look- I just need you to trust me. Contrary to popular belief, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Mm hmm.” No one was a winner here. Everyone was frustrated. “What’s that on your neck?”

A chill clipped through you. “It’s road rash.” Tony offered the weak explanation. But that only furthered it. He wanted no one else to know.

“What’s on his neck?” Turning his questioning gaze and commanding presence towards you.

You suddenly felt a sense of deja vu.

 Any other time… any other time you would have made things right. But not tonight. Not now. “It’s from the attack in Monaco.” Quiet as you answered.

God. You really were just like him, weren’t you?

Rhodey just shook his head. “So that’s it then. You two are determined to play Bonnie and Clyde and no one else is involved.” Certainly not me anymore. The afterthought hit you harder than you would have liked, the disappointment and upset seeping through you. Reaching out to the desk, you steadied yourself.

Tony finally caught full control of his breathing, taking a long sip of water. He then looked back at Rhodey one last time. “Trust me, alright?”

“We’ll fix the mess.”

Finally Rhodey put his hands up, turning his back on you both, shaking his head. “You’d better.” Just like that he started marching back out of the lab and up the steps.

You were so fixated on watching him go that when Tony grabbed your hand you startled just a little, but then turned yours over to hold on tighter to him. He looked at you softly. “He’ll get over it.”

“I hope so.”

Because right now you had no time to deal with him. ...or the mess he was asking you to clean up. And soon… soon you’d have no time left at all.

[aithne]

(Illume) From Lady Yukiko's Journal, 9/30/1583: Shade to Light

9/30/1583 Skyhome

My husband, a few days ago, came to me, bringing a mirror wrapped in silk. "A gift," he said. "Lord Akazawa, Tomika's father, procured this for me. I think it is better left in your hands, Yukiko. I hope that it will help with the restlessness."

"What does it do?" I was running my fingers along the edge, curious.

"It is a scrying mirror. It will only focus on people you know well--but as that includes your retinue, I thought it would be better in your hands than mine."

I kissed him as ardently as I was capable of. Such a gift! I have been so very bored, cooped up with only visits from my retinue and Tomika's letters to amuse me. I am assured that one cannot stay pregnant forever, that my time is approaching swiftly, but I am so very, very tired of being pregnant! The child has been spending his time kicking my backbone and lungs, and I am looking forward to finally meeting this being who has been taking up so much space for the past several months.

So, eagerly, I sat down to find out what my retinue was up to. They were (as usual) arguing. On the floor was Taura, the kitsune who used to be Ito, crouched on the floor, shivering and muttering to herself. Reiko was standing nearby, her eyes wide, not speaking. From the conversation which followed, I gathered that Taura had not been quite right since a few weeks before, when she started having nightmares. She was now possessed by a spirit, a fragment of the dark son, and the kitsune that Taura had been was no longer.

Finally, Panda touched her with the dark orb, and Taura fell to the ground, dead. On the body of the kitsune (as I watched, I discovered that my retinue were all gathered in Reiko's small cabin) they found a ring that was strongly magical; under the floorboards, there was another, that would, it seemed, interlock with the one on the kitsune's body.

Reiko was sifting through the spirit box, and said, seemingly to the air, "That's odd. Everything connected with Tsuyoshi is gone..."

Panda flew off, fit the ring together, and nearly fell out of the sky as an image of Arenro appeared before her. "Amaya, report!...Oh. Well, hello, Panda..."

Panda dropped the ring into the ocean, a disgusted look on her face.

Back on the ship, Reiko was saying in a worried voice, "I can't find him! I--Panda, could you look at me with your orb?"

Panda did, and reported that the sigils in Reiko's skin, the bindings that keep her spirits with her and her memories and powers bound, had started to change. The ones that signified Tsuyoshi, her spirit who had helped create the orbs, were changed to binding him so tightly that he could not manifest at all, much less speak.

The retinue decided to go find Lao-tzu, on the off chance that the Chinese tattoo magician might be able to help Reiko. The other possibility was that my father might be talked into helping, but that, obviously, was a last resort.

Lao-tzu was as helpful as one might imagine, but he told Reiko that the perversion of her bindings was spreading, and that she had no more than two days before all of her spirits were so bound--and she would be left without spirits, and without magical powers. He slowed it down so that the deadline was now a week or two out.

Reluctantly, my retinue decided to go speak with the Demonbane, my father. (Odd how I now think of him as the Demonbane, as well.)

A day later, in the Phoenix palace in Sapporo, my retinue (with the addition of Tomika, Jeron, and Edi-lo, Reiko's mother) were ushered into my father's receiving chamber. My father said, "Ah, I see all of my demons have come to visit me today. This is the second such visit I've had."

Funitsu started out with some pleasantries and then got down to the business of seeing if the impasse between Reiko and he could be resolved. Reiko was struggling to keep her mouth shut, but finally took an active hand in talking to him. My father was, though not exactly kind to her, seemingly more well-disposed towards her now than he had been.

Reiko asked, "All right. Akechi told me the last time I saw him that there was something I needed to know about Jeron. What is it?"

He shook his head. "No, Reiko. It will only bring you more pain to know the truth."

"I need to know. Please."

He shrugged. I saw Jeron stepping back, away from the kitsune. My father said, "You have met Jeron a number of times before. He has killed more kitsune than anyone, and has been instrumental in reducing their numbers to what they are today. He bedded Lin to ensure she would do anything for him--including being willing to capture you and take your body. He captured you in Akita. He was the one who held you after I told the villagers they could do whatever they wanted with you."

The kitsune closed her eyes. Jeron was pale, shaking, his eyes on the kitsune. I have known Jeron for my whole life, and I had never seen him show fear. But now, suddenly, he looked terrified. In that moment, I was certain that Jeron loved Reiko, and had been fearing this moment for some time.

Reiko turned to look at Jeron, her eyes unreadable. "You and I need to have a conversation. But later."

Tadaki interrupted. "What do you mean, this is the second visit from your demons you've had today?"

My father smiled. Such a smile I had never seen on his face, so very bleak. "Arenro is here. And in the minutes we have been talking, there has been a slow poison coursing through each of your bodies. It should take effect about...now."

All except Tadaki and Haku folded bonelessly to the floor. Haku was struggling for consciousness, and Tadaki was shaking his head, crouched on the floor, fighting the poison. The Demonbane--for now, I could think of him as nothing but--strode quickly over to Tadaki, crouched beside him, and said, "Remember, Tadaki. You are the staff."

Then all faded.

The next I saw of them, they were waking up in cells, the bars spelled to shock anyone who touched them. Missing were Edi-lo and Jeron. After a bit of muttering, Tadaki simply grasped the bars and was instantly killed by the lightning bolt that was loosed in his cell.

He woke within the staff. The staff was in a room where the rest of the retinue's equipment and weapons were being kept. Arenro was studying the dark orb, attempting to pry some of the spirit fragments out of it, but having no luck. The wu jen looked tired and worn, seemingly decades older than he had been three months ago. Having no luck with the orb, he put it down in disgust and walked away, out the door.

Slowly, Tadaki's body reformed next to the staff. Ensuring that Arenro wasn't about to return, he barred the door and sat down to study his spells. An hour or so later, he found the others, an aerial servant hauling the retinue's equipment behind him. A few dispels and Hiroshi's skill at bending bars later, and the retinue was free.

The question was, what next? Funitsu scried on Arenro and the Demonbane. The former was asleep, and the latter had Edi-lo and Jeron chained to a wall somewhere in the palace.

My father was sitting, waiting.

Much discussion ensued. In the end, it was decided that Reiko would simply go and ask for them back, and if my retinue needed to fight him, they would.

And so it happened that Reiko knocked on the door of the room her mother and lover were held in, and asked for them back.

The Demonbane asked her why she had come, and she answered, "Because I thought it more honorable to come by myself, and ask politely."

"But why? What was the emotion behind it?"

She looked at the captives, and a small smile spread touched her lips. She replied, "Because I love them, Father. Why else would I walk knowingly into a trap?"

"Then they are yours." A wave of his hand, and the chains released, and the captives rejoined the retinue. The Demonbane said, "You should go. Arenro is awake, and coming this way. Soon enough, the palace will explode, and I will do my best to kill him. Stay close by; there should be three spirit fragments coming your way, as he has some of his minions with him."

My retinue all looked at each other, understanding dawning. Panda said, "It's an impossible battle to win."

He smiled, and this time it was a smile I recognized. My father lived somewhere in that smile, the determination to see this through. He said, "I will regain my honor by fighting the only enemy who can give me a fair battle. I may die. I may live. Either way, this will be done."

Reiko said, in a small, sorrowful voice, "For what it's worth, Father, I'm sorry."

The Demonbane replied, "As am I. Daughter." He paused, and looked at her, tiny white-haired kitsune standing alone, apart from the others. "By the way, in a cell beneath the castle are the remaining kitsune, and the few original Thrykreen that there are left. You'll want to go find them, after this is over."

Her eyes were shining with tears as Reiko, and the rest, filed into the mirror. Edi-lo volunteered to carry the mirror and ride Gryphon. But Edi-lo tied the mirror to Gryphon's back, and said, "Go, Gryphon. I'm much more use here, fighting beside my husband."

Gryphon squawked, "What? You aren't coming? But--Reiko will be angry!"

"Just tell her that this is what I chose. And that I may see her again some day."

Gryphon hung his head briefly, and said, "I suppose she'd be madder if I bit you in half to make you stay. Bye, fox lady." And he spread his wings and flew into the sky, and Edi-lo ran back to rejoin my father.

About ninety seconds later, my childhood home exploded.

Out of the flames strode Arenro, and then my father and Edi-lo. And the battle began.

It is impossible to describe the battle that followed, the spells that were cast, the battering that both sides took. My retinue, I knew, were watching on Funitsu's orb.

Arenro disappeared and reappeared behind Edi-lo, and used a razor-thin wire to take her head as she chanted the words to yet another spell. I saw Reiko bury her face in Jeron's shoulder, weeping. My father was definitely losing this battle, but managed to produce a scythe out of the air and take off the mage's leg, and then his head.

Time stopped.

I thought, for one moment, that we had won. But Heaven is not nearly so kind.

Arenro glowed briefly, flashed with a bright light, and then stood, once again whole. And my father was out of spells.

The battle ended swiftly after that, as before my disbelieving eyes Arenro, with the same wire that he'd killed Edi-lo, took off my father's head.

My scream brought Akechi running, as well as all of my attendants. I clung to my husband and cried, all of the difficulties of the past month forgotten as the grief of my father's passing overwhelmed me.

The next thing I knew was Akechi shaking my shoulders gently and saying, "Yukiko, love. Please. There is more to see. This isn't over yet, and we may still lose here. Your retinue is about to do something very brave--and very foolish."

The kitsune was sitting on the floor, holding her head, moaning. Panda was crouched by her, asking, "What's wrong?"

She looked up, those amber eyes glittering. "They're gone. Setto, Miss M, Kei, Tsuyoshi, Jane. They're all gone. And I remember--oh, kami. I remember. Everything--Father?"

I have never been gifted with the spirit sight, but I saw my father standing beside her, the light shining through his translucent body. "Hello, daughter."

Nothing more seemed to need to be said.

And there was a brief but heated discussion, which ended with the decision that my retinue would go after Arenro, under the theory that there would be no better time than now to kill him, when he was running low on spells.

I gasped, "Akechi, we have to stop them! They'll all be killed!"

He shook his head. "There are some things that are fated. This is one of them. Win or lose, the course is set now."

So we watched, as quick preparations were made. I saw Reiko holding Jeron's hands, looking up at him. She said, quietly, "Jeron. I forgive you. And I love you. Remember that."

Looking back, I find it hard to believe that the kitsune did not know somehow what was in store for her. Perhaps she had known it all along.

Around the kitsune and the Thrykreen, others were murmuring the things one does when one is about to go into battle. Panda and Nibori stood for a long minute with their foreheads touching, not speaking, seeming to be communicating without words.

And Tomika, perhaps thinking that this might be her last chance to do so, kissed Funitsu quite soundly, leaving my handsome shujenja looking stunned.

Everyone knew that there was a good chance they would not be leaving the battlefield alive. Still they were determined to go, for the chance that it might work, that we might win here. I had never been so proud of my people as that moment, so convinced that these were the right people to defend us. Win or lose, this would be a battle worth the fighting.

So with one defiant shriek, Gryphon stooped on Arenro, dropping the mirror as he did so and letting it shatter on the ground, spilling out my retinue, who set themselves for battle.

And a battle it was. Many of my retinue fell, some were returned to life, Panda, Hiroshi and Reiko among them. Tadaki became a Celestial T'ien Lung dragon, and a more splendid sight you never saw. Arenro was nowhere near out of spells, which he demonstrated quite amply, and the battle went on for long minutes. Adding to the battle was a thing-- an animated skeleton of some hideous creature, like a dragon but not, that could cast spells!

Haku demonstrated a skill I had never seen before, where he split himself into four copies of himself, each of the copies with a different attack. I saw Tomika fall, I saw Reiko give Jeron a healing potion, I saw Gryphon be killed by a swarm of fire, I saw Arenro falter and then cast a spell I recognized, having taught what that particular one looked like by my father--

A wave of power rippled out from Arenro. Three of four of Haku disappeared. Tomika fell, quite dead. And Reiko, who had been killed and brought back so recently, fell again.

She'd had one life left in her. This battle had taken it. The kitsune was dead, and there was no bringing her back. My eyes stung with tears for my kitsune half-sister.

After that, Arenro fell, Panda and Nibori dealing the final blows together, in perfect synchronicity.

And it was done.

"We've won," I whispered. "Akechi. We've won!"

Quotes:

"I don't usually get to have daft ideas. Can I have a daft idea for once?" --Panda

"You were sleeping with your nemesis!" "I always am." --Haku and Reiko

"You needed double-position floating-point numbers to tell, but leaving him alive has been more advantageous than killing him." --Ray

"I'm bored! Let's go kill something." "That's my line." --Ray and Graham

"I'm going to go rifle my father's...headless...corpse...eeeeeeeugh." --Reiko

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Father." "And it's taken you how many millennia to say that?" "About half a one." --Reiko and Haku

"With the thunder and the critical and the slicing and the dicing and everything...87. Don't piss off the pregnant samurai." --Laura

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

DOTW 34 - full. As requested, a "fluffy" reuinion

Sliding down the bathroom door, Eren buried his face in his hands. He was so fucking angry with Levi, and with himself. He'd trusted Levi. He'd trusted him not to betray him. He'd tried to open up to him. He'd tried and he thought he had been. He'd told him about his mother, and about Zeke. He'd told them before that asking too many questions was dangerous. But no one believed him. No one ever believed him. He'd made a deal to keep them all out of it. He'd forgot the past. He wouldn't tell the police what he'd seen, or who was involved... and they'd let him live. He'd promised Reiner he'd never say he was there... he'd leave his and Bertholdt's name out of everything, and when they finally called on him for whatever they wanted, he'd do it... Levi and Hanji they could both use. They were both medically trained... but if they looked too far into his past... he didn't want them to know. He didn't want them to know he'd let the people who murdered Zeke in. He didn't want them to know that in his post heat haze, he'd thrown himself into their touches... or that he'd let himself be mounted because they promised not to hurt Zeke. They'd promised and broken their promises... they were still touching him when Zeke had come home. His brother furious at the sight. He'd tried to save his brother by spreading his legs, but when Zeke started fighting, they'd bashed the shit out of him. They'd held him down and fucked him... he'd tried to fight. When he realised they'd lied, he'd tried to fight...but they'd given him something. Something had been shoved into his mouth when they came through the door. The promise they made had probably meant nothing. They'd left him to die. Reiner and Bertholdt, whom he'd thought were kind of friends, had left him to die while Zeke bled out. His broken body curling into Zeke's as he tried to stop the blood. Zeke had wanted him to run, but he couldn't run. There was a soft knock on the door behind him. Eren stifling a scream as he clamped his hands over his mouth. In his mind, he was no longer in Hanji and Moblit's guest bathroom. He was there with his brother, and the alpha's who'd hurt him, were coming to hurt him now. The door was locked behind them, but he didn't know how long it would hold. Scrambling across the floor, he climbed into the bathtub, trying to make himself as small as possible. His chest was heaving, his lungs desperately needing oxygen, but his constricted throat refused to allow him to take a breath. They were coming. Levi had met with Armin. They'd made them mad. They had to clean up all their loose ends... they'd kill him, then Levi. Scrunching his eyes closed tightly, his mind conjured up the image of Levi bleeding out beneath his hands. Levi's wet coughs as he told him to run... he couldn't lose Levi. Not to them. He'd been so good. He'd kept his mouth closed. He didn't tell. He didn't tell the police. He didn't trust the police. Zeke had told him they couldn't be trusted. The police had let the alphas who'd tortured him in the basement go... the people who Zeke had tracked down and killed. His brother was a murderer. No. No. They were just trash pretending to be human. They weren't real people. Zeke was good. Zeke was good for him. If he didn't what Zeke said, he was good. No one would hit him. No one would hurt him. He just had to be a good omega. The knocking on the bathroom door became louder. Eren's senses completely focused on the sound. They'd be here any minute. They'd hurt him... they'd tell Levi what he was really like. That he let them have him. That he let them give him drugs. That he'd called Levi's name as they touched him. Even in the basement, they didn't push into his heat. They did everything but that. Fucking between his thighs and getting off as he cried. All because of his father... his father... his father had made a deal with the wrong people... for drugs and medical certificates... until he'd learned his own son was omega. He'd wanted to sell him off. He disowned him. He hated him. No matter how many times he hid in the wardrobe, his father would find and hurt him... scared beyond words, he didn't notice his hand gone from his mouth or hear his own screams for Zeke. He tore at his chest and legs, trying to get their touch off of him. Not even noticing that he'd wet himself in fear. * When Levi heard Eren scream, he was off the sofa in an instant. Running up the stairs, he saw a worried Moblit knocking on the bathroom door with one hand, while trying to jiggle the door handle "What's happening?" "He's locked the door. I can't get it open" Downstairs he could only hear that Eren was screaming, now he could hear that his omega was screaming for Zeke "Move" "What?" "I'll buy you a new fucking door" Moblit barely got out the way in time, Levi driving his boot into, over and over, until the lock finally broke, sending the door flying open. Eren's screams were even louder without the buffer of the door. His boyfriend was huddled in the bathtub "Levi?" "Get your first aid kit. He's hurt himself" Moblit sprang into action, while Levi strode over to the bathtub. Lifting Eren out, his boyfriend tried to fight him, smearing blood across his face as he hit him. Vomit was in Eren's lap, and down his chin, his screaming stopping and turning to the whining calls of an omega needing its alpha. Sitting his trembling lover on the toilet, he grabbed Eren's hands to stop him from continuing to hurt himself "Levi, I've got the first aid kit. What do you need?" "Put it down next to me. His clothes are going to need to be washed, he's thrown up over them" "He's got spare clothes here" "Good. Help me get him naked" Moblit started to stutter something "I need to hold his hands down, or he's going to hurt himself again" Finally moving, Moblit placed the first aid kit down beside him. Together they had to fight to get the sweater and shirt off him. Eren had tried to get the ribbon off at some point, but had tightened it instead. Moblit was careful to remove it, both of them were surprised Eren hadn't passed out from the way he was gasping like a fish out of water "Turn the shower on, then help me get his shoes and pants off" Eren was shivering so hard that his whole body was nearly spasming as they got him into the shower. His boyfriend screamed the moment the water touched him. His chest and legs had been mostly spared by his clothes, so that was something. Leaving him to wash Eren down, Moblit returned with a fresh change of clothes just as Levi was finishing up. With Moblit's help, they got Eren dried and dressed, then into his old bed. Levi throwing the photo album, that had somehow made its way up and into the guest bedroom, a glare. He'd be fucking lucky if Eren ever talked to him again. Tucking Eren in, he slumped down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands as he started to cry. As far as he could remember, Moblit had never seen him cry. He'd seen him distressed over the first time he'd had had sex with Eren, but he'd never seen him break down and weep tears of earnest. He loved Eren. And this... this what he was scared of. That Eren would panic so badly he'd lose control of himself. He'd been so stupid. Just because Eren had been having a few good weeks, didn't mean today was the right time to gift him the album. He shouldn't have been such a spineless coward. He should have sat Eren down and admitted he'd talked to Armin. He should have told him he'd been given the album... not snuck around. He'd betrayed his boyfriend's trust. The boyfriend who loved him more than anyone he'd ever met, or could remember. His boyfriend who's arms were always warm and open. Who'd let him in, and given himself to him. They'd had sex. Eren had gone to so much effort... but when was the last time he'd done something for him?! Something to make him feel special? The bracelet on Eren's wrist seemed to mock him. There was no way he deserved to give Eren an engagement ring... he'd been stupid to think that far ahead. Or to think maybe a proposal wasn't that far away. Who knew how much damage they'd done? Once again they'd made Eren feel like they didn't trust what he said. He wasn't there. He didn't see Zeke's death. He didn't know what was real and what Eren's mind had crafted to explain the situation. What mattered was, that Eren believed it was real. And he should have believed in Eren more. His soft, sweet omega. * Fever stayed with Eren, Moblit or Hanji stayed by his side to nurse him through the next few days. Eren didn't know that Hanji had told Levi to stay away for now, after he'd begged her not to let Levi seen him. He couldn't remember it, so on top of his fever, he felt incredibly lonely. His old room offered no comfort at all. It wasn't his space anymore. It wasn't his bedroom with his soft sheets and blankets that smelt of Levi. Titan wasn't there to snuggle into, no matter how many times he reached out and patted the bed, the Maine Coon never came for cuddles. He was scared. His mind and body felt off, like two gears out of sync. It took three very long days for his fever to pass. Waking up alone, he curled into himself as his emotions got the better of him again. It was like being stuck in his post heat depression, without the heat to trigger it. With blurry eyes, he stared straight ahead, the object of his hatred right in front of him. The stupid photo album. Of course he wanted it... a chance to see his mother's face again. But what he didn't want was to put anyone in danger. The people his father had been involved with weren't the kind to take betrayal lightly. Neither were the ones who'd locked him in chains and left him in the basement... They all had friends. They all had family... if word got out... or if word got back to Reiner and Bertholdt... what he wanted wasn't worth it. He had to forget. He had to forget everything from his past, even the people he loved. But... the album was there. It was right there... if Armin had been asking questions about his disappearance, and nothing had happened to him, then maybe it meant there was nothing incriminating in the things he had. Levi said they'd spent the last decade looking for him, but that was another problem. After his mother had died, they'd... he was sure they'd stayed around the area for a little longer... until he was around 11. He was sure of it, because he remembered hiding in his wardrobe at home. But it was so long ago, and all he really had was then night of his mother's death to go by... and those memories were ingrained because of his nightmares. Reaching out, he pulled the album onto the bed. His fingers wouldn't grip the battered album properly, it slid from the pillow down to the blankets. He wanted his mum. Pawing it closer, he wriggled to curl around the album. It's scents lingering were tinged with Levi's familiar and safe scent. What had he done? He'd yelled at him. He'd yelled at him and ran... he'd lost his head in the shock of betrayal, and now he didn't have a home anymore. Levi had lied... but so had he. Could their relationship even be the same? He was the omega who'd made a deal with his brother's killers. Who'd let them do things to him... and then lied to the police. He was a bad omega... He'd fallen back to sleep without meaning to, he woke to find the album still in his hold. Pulling himself up, he placed the album on his lap. He owed Levi, to at least look at the album. Opening the album, the paper crinkled with age. The first page was a simple white piece of paper, turned yellow. Taking a deep breath as he slid the paper back, his heart ached. The first real page of the album was him. Photos from his birth... when no one knew what was coming. When his mother was alive and his father loved him... flicking through the album, his heart ached, gasping audibly when he finally came across a photo of him with his mother. Her face so much like his, and the smile across his lips pure and genuine. A mother's love. He'd forgotten her smile... and Levi had given that back to him... he wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Levi. His alpha had betrayed him, but he'd done it out of love. Levi loved him. Levi was his home. He missed his home and his love. With shaking hands, he peeled off the plastic off the album page, then slowly peeled the photo free. This was his mum. He wanted to show Levi his mum. Having not left the bed for anything other to use the bathroom, his body felt grimy and stiff... but the need to see Levi was more important. He didn't know what he was going to say... or if Levi would even listen to him. If he'd want to know him. He just wanted Levi to see his mum... and to maybe find the words to tell his alpha he was sorry. Walking downstairs, he had no idea how crumpled and dishevelled he looked. Moblit leapt from his seat "Eren, are you ok?" Sniffling, he nodded shyly, unable to look Moblit in the eyes "I... want to see Levi" "Levi's at work right now... we can call him if you want..." "I want to show him my mum" "Is that what you have there? In your hands?" Eren nodded, letting Moblit come to him rather than taking the few steps closer. Gently Moblit's right hand wrapped around his left, using his left hand to slide the photo out of his hold "She's very pretty. She looks a lot like you" "I want to show him... I want to go home to Levi" "Are you sure? You still look sick. Levi would never let me hear the end of it, if I let you go home looking like that" "But... Moblit, will be let me come home?" His stupid teary eyes leaked fresh tears. Wrapping him in a one armed hug, Moblit nodded, before kissing Eren's sweaty hair "Eren, Levi loves you more than anything. He's been worried sick about you" "I hurt him" "You two had a fight. That's all..." "He... he still wants me?" "Levi is crazy about you. Here, let's get you showered and dressed. We can go for a little drive back to the apartment, get you settled in before Levi comes home? How does that sound?" "G-good..." "That's it. And we'll put that photo back in the album for now. So nothing happens to it" "O-ok... he... he won't be mad?" Moblit kissed his hair again, before turning and sliding his arm down, holding him up by the waist "If he's mad, I'll punch him in the face for both our sakes" If he wasn't so drained he would have laughed, instead he nodded weakly, and mumbled "Please don't hit him" "I make no promises" * Levi sighed heavily as he scrubbed his face. Not for the first time, since Christmas Day, did he dread walking into his empty apartment. Titan was there, but thanks to his less than stellar behaviour and the throwing of the Christmas tree, his cat wasn't talking to him. He didn't blame the tom. He'd lost control of his temper and alpha, so badly that he'd scared himself. The bathroom mirror had been replaced, as had the TV... which took the full brunt of the flying tree. It was just... when Hanji had told him Eren didn't want to see him... it felt like everything between them was over. Like someone had pulled the rug out from under him, it was all he could do to remain standing. Fishing his keys from his pocket, he let himself in. His gaze firmly at his feet, even though he knew Titan wasn't coming to greet him. Sighing again, he dropped his keys and wallet down on into the bowl, nearly jumping out of his skin when he heard someone clear their throat. He'd been so out of it that he hadn't noticed he wasn't alone. Levi's eyes widened, sitting on the sofa was Eren, Moblit holding the omega's hand. Whispering something to Eren, Moblit stood, walking over to him. Placing his hand on Levi's shoulder, Moblit leaned in "He's a little nervous, but he wanted to come home. I'm leaving him with you. But. If you make him cry again, I will punch you myself" Moblit was a teddy bear and a pacifist. Levi didn't feel particularly threatened, though it did say a lot for the man to be willing to throw a blow. Eren really was special to everyone who met him "Eren, don't forget. If he says anything, you let me know. Ok?" "Thank you, Moblit" Leaving them alone, Levi stared at Eren. He didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to rush over and pull Eren into his arms. The omega looked so vulnerable... and so small, despite his tall frame. Taking a measured step forward, Eren opened his mouth, before closing it... looking down to the piece of paper on the coffee table. He was the alpha. He should make the first move "Ere-..." "Levi..." Their names overlapped. Shooting up from the sofa, Levi caught his omega with practiced ease "Eren, I am so sorry..." "No! No... I'm sorry! I'm sorry" "No. This is my fault, I ignored your wishes" "Because you love me...?" "I do. I do, so fucking much. I'm sorry" Holding Eren tighter, his boyfriend clutched at his jacket "I'm so scared... I don't want to lose you" "No... I'm sorry. This is on me" Eren suddenly pulled away from him, his omega stumbling in his rush to grab the same bit of paper off the coffee table. Catching him by the arm, Eren didn't even seem to notice he'd nearly fallen as he shoved the paper at Levi's chest, before trying to hide back against him. Having to shamefully stand on his tippy toes to see over Eren's shoulder what he was supposed to be looking at, he sighed softly. It was clear the woman in the photo was his mother. The resemblance undeniable "Your mum?" "Mhmm... I'd forgotten her smile... Levi... Levi, I did something bad" "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out" "I promised them I wouldn't tell..." Oh... that... "Eren, you don't have to tell" "I'm sorry... I.. I made them a promise. I promised... I let them do things. They told me they wouldn't hurt Zeke... they lied... they lied and they killed him" This wasn't the reunion he'd prayed might happen. He didn't want Eren to hurt himself again, or to send himself into heat over it all... if Eren wanted to tell him, he'd listen, but only if that was what Eren truly wanted "Eren, no. It's ok... hey, it's ok. You don't have to force yourself" Eren let out a whimper, his boyfriend's knees giving out "I let them... mount me... and they still killed him... I can't lose you. I can't tell and lose you... I love you" Trying to juggle Eren's limp form and not damage the photo, Levi nearly tripped over Eren getting them both or the sofa. Sitting Eren down, he sat on the coffee table, placing the photo down carefully so he could take both of his loves hands in his. His heart was racing. His alpha roaring. Eren said he hadn't been sexually violated... but that was because he thought giving himself to them was consensual. His boyfriend was too sweet to realise the kind of alphas who did such thing, would never keep a promise. Without the presence of semen, and a week to "heal", any damage Eren did have could easily have been explained by him having been in heat. Eren had believed it all his fault so thoroughly, he'd denied it all completely "I don't know who I am anymore. You... you did this to me. All I wanted to be was a dancer... but you changed me. I fell in love with you and everything fell apart... I want... I want you to put me back to how I was... or take responsibility" "You're Eren and you are my omega..." Despite the turmoil inside, Levi's voice didn't waver "... and I wouldn't change you for the world. I swear to you, I will never hide anything from you again... and I will take care of you. Your happiness will be my main priority and responsibility for the rest of my life" Eren's bottom lip was quivering "I'm a bad omega... I told... I told them I wouldn't... I let them make me take drugs and..." Eren hiccuped out a sob "And let them touch me... Zeke was screaming. He was so mad... they said they wouldn't hurt them. Why would they lie? Zeke didn't hurt them... if I'd never been born, no one would have had to die" "Eren, no... no. This is not your fault. You're the most amazing omega I have ever met. You're selfless and kind. And so strong. Even on your bad days, you keep going and you make me so proud" "I just want to be good" Pulling on Eren's hands, he ended up with his boyfriend in his lap "You are. You're so good. I promise you. You don't have to tell me. Ok. I promised I wouldn't ask and I went behind your back to find out" "I can't tell..." "I know... I know..." "Why... why are you like this? I lied... I..." "You wanted to protect all of us. I understand now" "They're bad people. I don't want anyone else to die" Kissing Eren's hair, he nuzzled into the still damp locks. At least Moblit has made sure Eren was showering and taking care of himself "I get it. I won't say anything. You're safe with me" "I don't want to feel like this anymore..." "Like what?" "Sick... I'm so sick of it" "Have you eaten anything?" "N-no... I feel too sick" Nope. Fuck Moblit. The alpha should have at least fed Eren. He acted like Eren's surrogate father, so he should at least know how to feed him "You need to eat. You've been sick since Christmas" "I don't know how long..." "Christmas was 5 days ago..." And he'd felt every fucking second of it "I... ruined everything, didn't I?" "No. No, that was on me. You did nothing wrong. Now, if I make you something to eat, will you try?" Eren nodded, Levi finding himself smiling "Ok... do you want to sit on the sofa? Or the kitchen bench?" He'd told Eren off for sitting on the bench before, but he was so relieved to have his boyfriend home that he was willing to break his own rules "Be.. sofa" "Bench it is" Levi managed to get Eren to eat some heated can soup and half a slice of bread. It really wasn't enough, but it was something. After eating, Eren started acting nervous again. When Levi went to move him off the counter, he apologised for being dirty. Ignoring he comment, he carried Eren back to the sofa, laying back with Eren laying along him. His lover's wide green eyes were staring into his own, clearly wanting to say something "What's wrong?" "Can we look at the album? Together?" "You didn't look at all?" Eren shook his head "Wh-when I saw mum... I wanted to show you her... I forgot her smile... you gave that back to me, and I wanted to show you right away... but Moblit said you were working... if you're too tired, we don't have to" "Eren, I would love to" So something good had come out of this all... Eren had his mother back, or at least the memory of her smile. Retrieving the album, Eren placed it down on the coffee table. Levi was forced to sit up so he could see it. He could see how nervous his omega was, but this was something Eren had to do for himself. All he could do was sit beside him and be there when he needed him. Opening the first page, it was the one he'd seen before. Neither of them spoke as Eren moved through the photos until he hit the page where the photo he'd been clutching came from "You should put it back in the album, so nothing happens to it" "I..." "When we get a proper frame, we can put it on display" Eren nodded quickly, one hand going to Levi's leg as the other carefully slid the photo off the table. Looking to him with his doey eyes, Levi automatically moved to peel back the plastic. The album was old, and probably not acid free. He'd have to buy Eren a new one, and take a copy of the photos with his camera. He didn't have photos of his childhood, not like this and now Eren had a copy, it would be cruel to take that from him. Placing the photo back in its spot, Eren pressed it down carefully, before looking to him "We'll get a frame the next time we go shopping, or we can look online?" Nodding, Eren was still struggling with parting with the photo, even though it meant keeping it safe. They were about half way through the album before Eren sat back, pushing it away from him and drawing his knees up. Sliding the album to him, he stared at each photo until he found what had set him off. Eren in the arms of a tall man, who kissing his cheek "That's my dad" Eren mumbled it into his knees, confirming Levi's suspicions. Peeling the plastic back, he removed it from the album, before placing it face down on the coffee table and flipping the page. The next two pages were filled with photos of Eren and his father. The man had once loved his son, that was clear. But Eren presenting as an omega... he didn't understand how a parent could hate their own child for their dynamic. With Eren being an omega, there was a higher chance of their child presenting as an omega. They didn't even have a child, but he already loved it and its invisible dynamic "Do you want me to check the rest of the album?" "N-no... it... just took me by surprise" Uncurling, Eren nuzzled into his arm until Levi slung it around his shoulder. Lifting the album into his lap, he opened to the next page... to find more photos of Grisha. Removing them, he placed them down in the pile and turned the page again. When they got the photos of Eren, Armin and Mikasa, Levi pointed out who they were to his boyfriend. Even at a young age, Mikasa looked pissed off at the world. Eren didn't ask to know anything about them, so Levi didn't provide the details. Continuing to flick through, they reached the end. Levi didn't know how Eren felt about it all, but he was exhausted. Now that his boyfriend was home, all he wanted to do was cuddle up with him... and track down the fuckers that had dared to touch his omega... though it was safer for everyone if he stayed put. He had no idea what he'd do to them, but he wanted it to be slow and painful, and completely humiliating. Rubbing Eren's arm, his omega sighed softly "Are you ok?" "I feel sick" "No better?" "No... my stomach feels really gross" "Alright. It's bedtime. I still need to take a shower, but there's a fat cat around here somewhere who missed the fuck out of you" "Titan's on my bed... you took the Christmas tree down?" "Uh. Yeah..." It survived being thrown, but was shoved into the spare room. He didn't want Eren to feel guilted over its prone state, and the dead TV. That was, if his omega had intended to come home to break up with him "... I didn't know if you'd come home" "I'm sorry" "No, it's all ok. It's in the past. Right now, I just want to focus on the future" "I foresee sleep" "Does it couldn't since I told you it was bed time?" "It totally counts... um... can you grab a bucket?" "That bad?" "I think it's stress. I was so nervous you'd throw me out" "I would never throw you out. I'm working tomorrow and New Year's Eve. But we can still do something together" "I think I'd like that..." "Good" Carrying Eren in his arms, his boyfriend felt so right against him. Stripping Eren down to his underwear, the scratches he'd managed to inflict were mostly gone. Eren's chest saved by Hanji's ugly as fuck Christmas sweater. Making sure the bucket was within reach, he retrieve Titan for Eren, before heading to shower. He'd have to call Hanji and fill her in on what Eren had said, about the drugs and sex, so as to prevent her accidentally putting her foot in it again... though now knowing his lover had been assaulted, it explained the syphillis and the dirty needle... but it didn't explain the lack of drugs in Eren's system... he had so many questions, but once again, he'd promised not to pry...

[prettyxlittlexwriter]

Meet My Wife: Ch 21

The door is ajar and you let yourself in, calling out his name.

“Bedroom,” he calls and you head in that direction. When you reach the doorway, you are surprised to see a small suitcase laid out on the bed. Sherlock is turning from his dresser, holding a stack of folded shirts that he gently sets inside.

“Leaving?” you tease. His eyes raise to meet yours for a moment before returning to focus on his packing.

“Don’t worry, I will be back in plenty of time to give you your divorce,” he replies. Your heart sinks.

“You got your letter?” you ask and he nods. You watch him in silence for a few long moments, not sure what to say. “Where are you going?” you ask, finally.

“Something’s come up. A case,” he says. “I’ve got to go out of town for a few days.” You frown.

“I was hoping we could spend this last week together,” you say, quietly. “Ethan is gone and by the time he gets back we will be…” Your voice trails off, unable to speak the final word. Sherlock stops packing and crosses the room towards you. Stopping just in front of you, he reaches up and gently takes your face in his hands before guiding your lips to his.

“Come with me,” he whispers. “Come be mine again.” You squeeze your eyes shut, guilt and regret and sadness welling up inside you.

“I can’t,” you say, shaking your head. “I am going to marry Ethan.”

“Ethan,” Sherlock says loudly, and you watch as his whole demeanor changes. His hands drop away from you and he straightens up. “Just how well do you know Ethan?”

“Don’t,” you warn. “Please don’t.”

“It’s a fair question,” Sherlock shrugs. “He’s about to marry my wife. I want to know how well you know him. Do you trust him?”

“Just because we are awful, lying, unfaithful people doesn't mean everyone else is,” you reply. “I don’t want to talk about him right now.”

“We have to talk about this,” Sherlock pushes. “Our time is coming to an end and I need to make sure you know what you are doing.”

“I know what I am doing, Sherlock,” you reply. “In fact, the only area of my life where I am unsure of what I am doing is wherever you are concerned.”

“If you love him like you say you do, you wouldn't be here with me,” Sherlock points out and his comment catches you square in the gut. Anger flares in your chest.

“This is just sex, isn’t it?” you taunt.

“It has never been ‘just sex’ and you know it,” Sherlock counters. “We are so much more than that.”

“We are two people trying to recapture a love that we ruined years ago,” you cry, angrily. “We are living in the past, trying to make up for the mistakes that drove us apart.”

“That’s not us,”he says, taking a step closer. “And you are so afraid of hurting him that you won’t even give this a fair chance.” He turns away, running a hand through his dark curls.

“I don’t want to do it again,” you hiss. “I can’t keep going around ruining people’s lives because I don’t know what I want!”

“Is that what you think happened?” Sherlock asks, spinning back towards you. “That you ruined my life because you weren’t sure if you wanted a baby with me?” You look away, unable to meet his eyes. “Losing the baby....” he starts in a quieter voice, “It just wasn’t the right time. You had every right to be scared, to question our ability to raise a child. Being scared and uncertain doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“I can’t do this with you right now,” you say, your voice shaking as you try to push past him.

“You’re right, you should have done this with me ten years ago,” Sherlock replies, gripping your arms and keeping you rooted in place. “So you will do this with me now.” Tears are falling from your eyes and you can’t speak. “I was not in a good place back then. I was a fucked up mess and for that I am sorry. The miscarriage wasn’t your fault. Finding out that you had considered ending the pregnancy didn’t break my heart. You broke my heart when you kept secrets from me and then left without telling me why. And if you marry him, you will destroy all the pieces that remain.” You are sobbing so hard now you can barely stand. Sherlock gently grips your chin, forcing you to look at him as he speaks. His expression is serious, his eyes are bright with emotion. “I could have been happy either way. I would have been happy to wait for the right time. Or if the right time never came, I still would have been happy because I was right where I was supposed to be.... by your side. You need to forgive yourself. For all of it.” His arms band around you, crushing you against him.

“There were so many times I wanted to come home,” you weep, “I was so ashamed of myself. For losing the baby, for doubting you, for leaving. I made so many mistakes…” He moves, his hands gently cradling your face and tips your head up, his eyes locked on yours.

“And I forgive you for them all,” he whispers before placing a kiss on your lips. “Forgive yourself.” You can taste the salt from your own tears and you know you are a mess but he doesn’t seem to care. He brushes away your tears with loving fingertips, which then trail over your cheeks, down your neck, over your shoulders and move to your shirt, bunching it in eager fists, pulling it up and off. His hands ghost over yours skin, barely touching you, and you shiver at the sensation. Hands press against the small of your back and you feel the stiff material of his shirt against your bare stomach. You ache to feel his smooth, warm skin instead and force your own hands into action, unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it off.

“This is the last time,” you whisper as you fall onto the bed.

“I know,” he replies, his hands still running over your bare skin as if he is trying hard to get his fill. He slides his hands up the length of your arms, gripping both wrists and pinning them above your head. His lips leave yours, trailing kisses down your jaw, the day old beard raking against you and driving you wild. He exhales in the crook of your neck, his warm breath making you squirm as goosebumps prick your skin. He releases his hold on your wrists and you wrap your arms around his neck, wanting him close.

You move together, hungry bodies desperate for each other. His eyes are so bright and clear that you swear you can see all the way through them to his heart. All of his pain, all of his hope is all right there, beneath those long lashes and it’s almost unbearable.

You press your fingertips into his shoulder blades and he responds by quickening the pace every so slightly. Arching your back, you raise your hips to meet his and you are rewarded with a throaty moan.

“Slower,” he pants, “If this is our final time, I want it to last…” And he does make it last, bringing you to the edge of ecstasy again and again until neither of you can sustain another second and you both come apart in each other’s arms.

Even after, he holds you against him tightly and you wonder if he is afraid that you will sneak away again. Neither of you speak, though you each have so much to say to the other. You are starting to doze when Sherlock whispers your name.

“I have to go,” he says gently. “My flight leaves soon.” Opening your eyes, your gaze meets his and this one look says all the things neither of you could bring yourself to speak. He kisses you again before rolling away. You both rise and dress and he meets you at the foot of his bed.

“Do me this one favor,” he says, taking your hands in his. “Think about Ethan. Don’t let your guilt taint your logic. Don't just see; observe,” he says. “When he leaves, how many suits does he pack? How many t-shirts, how many shorts? Is there a lot of dry cleaning when he returns? Or do the suits go right back into the closet? When he sets his phone down, is the screen facing up so he can see in coming calls? Or does he put it screen side down?”

“Please, stop,” you whisper. “I know what you are doing. But Ethan is a good man, he deserves better than me. I can’t undo all the terrible things I’ve done, but I can do my best to make up for them by being a good wife to him.” Sherlock flinches when you say the word wife. You know what you have to do. Slowly reaching up, you grasp the set of rings on the necklace and squeeze them in your hand for a long moment before you tug, a swift jerking motion, and the chain comes apart around your neck. It feels like a weight being lifted off your shoulders and you reach out your hand towards Sherlock. He looks from your balled up fist to your eyes and you see a sadness there that makes your heart break in two. He holds out his hand, palm up and you drop the rings into it. Slowly, he coils the chain around them before his fingers close.

“Please, just be back for the court date,” you say, nodding at his suitcase.

“I already told you I would be there,” he replies.

“Good-bye, Sherlock,” you say, quickly turning and leaving the flat. You did a bit better this time, you think to yourself; at least this time you said good-bye.

[cooperjones2020]

Second City, chp. 2

Betty is a basic bitch and I’m not sorry. 

This fic is quickly spiralling into a love letter to my favorite city. I’m not sorry about that either.

Also, let’s pretend Jughead and Jellybean are slightly more than six years apart, like eight, or even ten. That would make my underachieving ass feel better.

(ao3-->http://archiveofourown.org/works/11409360/chapters/25619850)

(part one)

In which Betty Cooper is a stereotypical millennial who can’t make a phone call

It has been three weeks since Jughead drove her home, stroked her arm, and called her Betts.

She is on her third re-read of The Final Fissure. Her airport copy is now nearly as worn and marked as her hardcover from the first print run.

She could never read it through just once. Each time she picked it up, she went through at least three re-reads. Pencil sketched out her initial thoughts. Blue pen compared Betty’s memories, her knowledge of the case notes, to Jughead’s narration. Green pen underlined the phrases and passages that made her want to weep and shake Jughead. To ask him how he strung together phrases that swept through her like fire, that absolved like the sea. Green pen underlined the places that laid bare the relationship between the man who’d written the words and the boy who’d lived them. The green pen underlined the places where he’d laid her bare.

She is reading on her lunch break, green pen tucked behind her ear, when Cynthia walks in.

“Aren’t you kind of behind the times? That came out over two years ago.”

“Oh I’ve read it before.” She sets the book down and moves the pen to the spine to mark her place. Cynthia sees her annotations. “Jeez, you in a book club or something?”

“What? Oh no, I just went to high school with him.”

“Him. You went to high school with FP Jones III.” She picks up the book and holds the back cover, with Jughead’s headshot and author blurb, up next to her face. Her eyes slide to the picture on Betty’s desk of her and Archie with their parents at their high school graduation. “What is in the water in your town?”

It’s a joke people have made about Sweetwater River before. For years in fact. But, since Betty was in high school, those jokes have centered on murder and corruption and cover ups. They have come perilously close to touching her family.

Cynthia does not know about that. Or, if her background checks have turned up anything tangential to Jason Blossom’s death more than ten years ago, she has been kind enough not to mention it. So Betty just shrugs and gives her a smile that turns down at the corners.

“And how are you settling in?”

“Good, I think! I’m putting the finishing touches on the profile of the independent bookstores in different parts of the city.”

“Great, you can send it to me to look over when you’re done. But I meant how are you settling in in general? Are you getting around okay? Do you need suggestions? A brunch date? A social life?”

Betty swallows the grin she can feel pulling on her face. She loves Cynthia—had missed her when she left New York a year ago—loved that she’d personally reached out to Betty and wooed her to the Tribune right when she was ready for it. But sometimes the woman acted like an overbearing aunt.

“The answer is, still, good. The rest of my boxes finally arrived and I got a Divvy Bike subscription for the summer. And you’re not the only person I know here, Cynth. I had dinner with my ex’s mom a few weeks ago.”

“Well, I’m glad for that, but I don’t think it counts.”

“Hey, it so does! And we have plans to go to a farmer’s market and her boyfriend is getting us tickets for a Cubs game. And I ran into Jughead — FP — while I was there.”

“Again, all good things, but that sounds more like her social life and — Jughead? FP Jones goes by Jughead?”

“It’s a childhood nickname thing.”

“Wait, Betty—you know FP Jones. Like, nickname-level know him.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“You need to interview him!”

“What? Why?” Her heart kickstarts into a merengue.

“Well for one, he has a new book coming out soon so someone from the paper needs to interview him. For two, I hired you specifically for Printers Row.”

Cynthia gives her an appraising look, then continues: “Look, I know this job is downsizing for you. I know it’s less money and I know New York is the center of the writing world. It’s not investigative journalism. You’ll probably have to write more puff pieces than longform for a while. I practically had to promise you my left kidney to get you out here. But I meant it when I said I thought this move would be good for you, that an Arts beat would be good or you. You write better interviews than anyone I know. FP Jones is a rising star. It would be a great opportunity. For both of you.”

“Okay, we’ll blow past the drama queen antics for now. No bodily organs were exchanged in the making of this job contract. Jughead and I…aren’t on the best of terms. We haven’t even talked since high school. We just both happen to come from the same small town is all. We know the same people.”

“Well that could be better! You know—you’ll be able to be more objective about him while breathing life into the background, really telling the story. You can give us another lens on what makes Riverdale tick — that whole seedy underbelly of small town America schtick he’s working with.”

Betty capitulates with a groan. She could see she wouldn’t get out of this without a fight she isn’t ready have while this new on the job.

“Look, I don’t have a way to contact him. But I’ll try. I can call Archie’s mom.”

“Perfect.” Cynthia folds her hands over her crossed leg and cocks her head at Betty.

“You want me to try now?”

“Why not?”

“Okay, fine,” she grumbles. She prays Mary is in court.

Her prayers are not answered.

“Hey Mar! No, yeah I’m good…You?…No sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to ask if you had Jughead’s email address. I had a—a work question.” Her eyes bulge when Mary offers her his number instead, and she quickly looks down to the hand picking at her skirt hem. Cynthia knows her tells. “No, no, his email’s good for now. Thanks. Talk to you soon. Love you too. Bye.”

When Cynthia waltzes out ten minutes later, Betty’s inbox already contains an email from Mary with Jughead’s contact info, so she leaves with a Cheshire Cat grin on her perfectly made-up face.

Betty sighs. She really doesn’t want to do this. It feels like taking advantage of an old relationship. An old friendship. She doesn’t want to make Jughead uncomfortable. But she also doesn’t want to make herself uncomfortable.

She looks at the book on her desk, moving her thumb to trace the curve of his mouth, the slope of his jaw.

It takes her four hours to write the email. Not that she just sits there and stares at the computer screen for four hours. She’s still Betty Cooper. She sends other emails, sets up meetings, finishes proofreading her article. She takes a power walk around the block with the running shoes she keeps stashed in her purse. She does a ruthless purge until she hits inbox zero. She multitasks.

But always in the back of her mind: Dear Jughead? Dear Jug? Dear J?…Dear Jones?…Would ‘Hi’ be better than ‘Dear’? Ugh I hate myself.

Finally, at quarter to five, she shuts her eyes and hits send, then immediately begins packing up for the day.

When she goes to log off her computer, he’s already responded. Fuck.

“Hi Betty,

Of course we can set up an interview. Unfortunately all that stuff has to go through my agent and I’m sitting at a gate at O’Hare at the moment on my way back to Riverdale. If you don’t mind waiting, we can set something up next week. But if you’re up for it, I have a Skype call with him on Thursday and we’re due to talk about my promotional schedule anyway.

Let me know whatever works.

Best,

J.”

He certainly didn’t spend hours stewing and overthinking every damn syllable.

She agrees to set up the call for Thursday afternoon. Cynthia is so pleased with her she gives her permission to work from home for the day.

In Betty’s lexicon, ‘work from home’ means go on a really long run to burn off excess adrenaline and come home with a sugar coma-inducing drink from Starbucks.

So, she stands on the edge of Promontory Point, still shivering a little in her gym shorts in the early morning breeze off the lake. She forces herself through some Ujjayi breaths. One of the biggest differences she’s noticed thus far from New York is the sheer variety of scents in the air. No one leaves their trash on the curb here. There’s a chocolate factory downtown and its aromas waft over the city with the afternoon heat. In the mornings, the lake exhales a melange of algae and minerals as it laps against the rocks.

Today is the first time she’s felt panicky since moving to Chicago. Moving debacles aside, the whole experience had been pretty damn empowering. She found a sublet for her old apartment and a gorgeous new one. She hired a moving van. She made the calls to end and start her utilities. She told Alice Cooper where to stuff it when she tried to make Betty feel guilty. And she ended a relationship that wasn’t making her happy anymore, appearances her damned.

She takes a picture of the skyline across the lake and instragrams it with the skyscraper emoji and the caption “Sweet Home #Chicago.” Then, she tightens her laces and takes back off.

Sometimes she worries that by moving here she’s settling — for a smaller job, a smaller city, a smaller life than she’d promised herself — but then she remembers the other things her younger self used to want and shakes those anxieties off. Maybe people don’t decide whether their lives will be large or small. Maybe life decides for them. Maybe the correlation between size and value is smaller than she’s been led to believe.

And that is okay. She is learning that that is okay.

A few hours later, she sits on the floor in front of the coffee table, her laptop propped on a stack of books, and waits for Jughead’s call. This she can handle. This is business. There will be a chaperone, for god’s sake. She’s purposely made sure she’s in the latter part of their agenda, so there’s no chance Jughead can call her before adding his agent to the call.

So she might be a little bit of a coward. She’s okay with that too.

She almost misses the call thanks to the inanity of her inner monologue. When she answers, she sees a split screen of Jughead and an iron-haired man with wire frame glasses, and hears Janis Joplin’s cover of “To Love Somebody” pulsing in the background.

“Hey Betty — this is David. David—Betty Cooper, Chicago Tribune. She…ugh, give me a second. Those speakers carry farther than I thought.”

He disappears from the frame and the music grows softer, though it doesn’t disappear.

When he returns, they talk through some of the preliminaries — she gives them an idea of some of the questions she’s brainstormed over the past few days, of the pitch she and Cynthia have crafted. “We’re thinking a two-parter — the interview, and then I’ll review the ARC, and color it all with my own background in Riverdale. You know, add some human interest.”

Jughead opens his mouth to speak, but David jumps in before he can.

“That sounds perfect, Betty. In fact, Jughead mentioned you gave him his first writing job in high school — that the character of Betsy Coleman might in part have been inspired by you.” Jughead is clenching his jaw, looking as uncomfortable as Betty feels, so she averts her eyes.

“We’re thinking we’ll run extracts of the interview on J’s blog and the publisher’s website — maybe take out an ad in the Times when the publication date draws closer. We’d love to get some official photos.”

“No.”  She looks up, startled at the vehemence in his voice. He runs a hand through his un-beanie-ed hair. A move that apparently still signals his exasperation. “Jesus, Dave. She just moved here. Give her a chance to build her own life before we start plastering her face all over buses.”

David’s face tells her they’ve already discussed the photos. That he is well-aware of Jughead’s opinion on the matter and is attempting to go over his head. She fights — and fails at — suppressing her urge to help, to fix, to placate.

“Maybe we can revisit that idea if the interview is well-received.”

“As you say. Well, I think that’s all on my end then. Betty, make sure your office contacts mine with the small print stuff. I’ll leave you two to set up the details. J, call me when you’ve looked over the new copy for the book jacket.”

“It’s not a surprise, Jughead,” she says softly when David has left the call. “I have read the book.”

“I know—I know. And I didn’t try very hard to mask the details. But you haven’t read the second one yet.”

“Well, I will soon.” She shoots for light, casual. She probably misses, if Jughead’s face is anything to go by. He’s still grinding his teeth.

The music has been getting steadily louder. “Here, I’m gonna take you with me and go outside. Jelly’s graduation is tomorrow and she’s started celebrating early.”

Of course. The music. Jellybean would be 18 now. When he settles the iPad on what she assumes is a patio table, she realizes that, though he’s in Riverdale, she actually has no idea where he is. It seems like his patio overlooks the woods.

He still knows how to read her face. “It’s—uh—a little house off Pine.  For Dad and JB. The down payment seemed like a good use of my first advance.”

She feels her expression soften. It’s exactly the kind of thing he would do.

He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lights one up. “Look — I’ll be back on Monday night but I have some things to take care of. Would Wednesday be okay for you? Say around 8?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great.”

“Thanks. I’ll think of a good place and get in touch.” Then he looks up at something beyond the screen. “Jesus Christ. Her friends have arrived. They’re heading for the fire pit.

“I’ll talk to you soon Betty.” He’s gone before she can say goodbye. She makes a half-hearted attempt to wipe the sappy grin from her face before she calls Cynthia.

[aliciasqinnet]

All That I Am ; An Elucien Fanfiction — Part 1

a/n: so i just randomly got the idea for this fic and decided to start it. it’ll probably be 3-4 parts in the end. i’ve never written elucien before, so i hope that this is okay! thanks so much to @sarahviehmann​ for helping me edit and giving me constant support, i love you!

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,813 

Part 2 / Part 3

No one is there for Elain. Not with Nesta standing by, in all her loud, violent glory. Nesta screams for days, until her voice is hoarse, even after that, and Elain doesn’t know how anyone can bear to be around her anymore. But then one day, she stops. Elain is there to watch her, sitting on a bench at the edge of one of the many terraces in the House of Wind. Angry tears drip down her sister’s chin, her face contorted. She’s holding onto the metal railing, the only thing keeping her from vaulting herself over the edge. And then it melts beneath her touch, just like that.

Nesta pulls back quickly, staring at her hands as if they were something foreign. Elain thinks that maybe they are. A flicker of a flame dances across Nesta’s fingertips and she yelps. One of the warriors comes running when Nesta stops screaming, worried she’d been hurt, but Elain doesn’t care enough to see which one it is. All she sees is him leading Nesta back inside, talking excitedly about her new power, and a glimpse of Nesta’s teeth as she smiles. Elain is left alone. Forgotten. Ignored.

After a couple of weeks, Nesta no longer resents herself. Elain’s sister, proud and stubborn to the bone, knows that she was never at home in the human world. She was too strong, too rugged for their liking. But here, in Prythian, she thrives. Feyre’s court flutters around her eldest sister, never leaving her alone for more than a few minutes, but no longer to monitor her, but because they enjoy being around her. As it all turns out, that damned Cauldron was the best thing that could have happened to her.

Elain only shrunk away more and more. She took her meals alone in her room; no one came to join her. She’d always thought that the one thing she could count on, if nothing else, was her sister. Nesta had been her rock ever since they’d been children, taking care of her, watching her, protecting her. Theoretically, Elain didn’t need protecting anymore. Her new Fae body had elongated her legs and the shape of her face, taking her from faintly beautiful to a striking, dangerous, inhuman creature. It was almost impossible to hide her ears, the tips of each coming to a devilish point.

A few weeks into their stay at the Night Court, Elain tried to cut them off. She put a towel in her mouth and brought a knife she’d found in one of the training rooms she’d followed Nesta to up to her ear. The knife wasn’t sharp enough, it was too difficult to cut through the cartilage and by that point, she was already crying and screaming against the pain. She gave up and her ear healed quickly. This made her cry even more.

She curled into her bed, a pillow held against her stomach and let herself weep. Elain had never cried as much as she did in the weeks after her transformation. She wept for Graysen, her love that now could never be. She wept for Nesta, a sister she was losing, slowly, but still losing. She wept for Feyre, too, angry at the role she’d played in all of this, sad that Elain had never been the sister Feyre deserved. But most of all, Elain wept for herself. She wept for the body that she’d loved and cherished and was forcibly taken from her. For the loss of her home, her father, her family. Elain cried and cried and clenched her fists so hard they broke the skin. No one came to see her, to check on her, make sure she was okay.

Elain had always been the gentler sister, kinder, more accepting. Of course, if Nesta had found a way to live in her new body, to thrive in it, Elain had, too. No one paid attention to her silent screams, most didn’t even notice she had holed herself up in her room.

Nesta had come in one afternoon to invite Elain to train with her and Commander Cassian. Her elder sister had smiled, actually smiled, and held her hand out. Elain had told her she hadn’t slept well the night before and wasn’t feeling up to it, but maybe next time. Nesta pressed a silent kiss to her sister’s forehead and left. Once the door had shut, Elain heard her sister already talking animatedly to the commander.

Elain had not discovered any powers yet. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or not. Nesta’s powers had completely changed her outlook on her new body, new species. Elain had wished for days that she would wake up one morning with the ability to manipulate water. The more she thought about it, the more the thought made her feel sick. What kind of abomination could manipulate things the way the Fae did? Not to mention that it seemed Nesta’s powers were different from the other High Fae.

No, Elain did not want powers. She was enough of a monster already.

~

“We’ve made the decision. Tamlin has demanded you two be… returned to him,” Rhysand scoffed at the word. “He’ll have no idea what hit him. The two of you are much more powerful than he could ever imagine.”

Elain fought the urge to scream that she was no such thing.

“You’ll have to be careful,” Cassian said, his eyes trained on Nesta, as they always were. She glared back at him, though playfully. “He’s not expecting you to fight back. You must do your best to keep it that way. If Tamlin suspects anything at all, we’re all screwed.”

We’re screwed anyway, Elain thought bitterly. Of course, she wanted to help Feyre, but she knew she would be of no use. She wasn’t as smart as Nesta, wasn’t as powerful as Nesta, wasn’t as daring as Nesta.

Her sister was saying something to the group assembled, but Elain didn’t process any of it. Her mind was back in their small town, back in Graysen’s house with the iron wall around it. She now knew that iron would do nothing to deter her, but it was the intention behind it that mattered. Elain would never be loved again, not in this body. How could anyone love a beast?

She thought of the tight-lipped smiles Lord Nolan had given her when Graysen had first shown her the house. Graysen had led her first to his bedroom, then to the chambers that would be hers once they were married. He’d held her hand the whole time, his dark skin in deep contrast with her fragile, pale hands. When they’d reached her future living quarters, his hand had glided up her arm lightly as he pressed careful kisses to both of her cheeks, then her nose. Elain’s cheeks were burning with blush by the time he’d reached her mouth.

He had loved her. And she had loved him. She did love him. Graysen hated the Fae as much as his father, but he had always been gentle with her, gentle with everybody. The servants of their household adored him, his younger sisters always crowded around his legs. When his mother was sick, he’d been the one to make her stay in bed and tend to her.

Elain missed him ferociously. Yet she knew that if she ever took a step anywhere near his estate, she would be killed. Rightfully so. She was a monster. There was nothing to keep her in check, no way for her to not be dangerous. And that was without any powers.  She shivered, thinking what Graysen would say if he saw her now.

“Elain?” Nesta mumbled, her hand pressed lightly to her sister’s shoulder. Elain snapped out of her daze, smiling faintly and sweetly up at her sister. Nesta relaxed, falling back into the familiar understanding that Elain was fine and happy. Beneath the table, Elain’s fingernails pierced the skin of her palm. She hid the blood with her other hand.

Azriel spoke. Sweet, kind Azriel who Elain had thought to find a friend in. Thought that he might notice her absences, her lack of concentration and care.

“You leave tomorrow.”

~

Elain felt more like herself again. They’d given her clothes much more familiar to her, minus the layers of petticoats. Her dress was a stiff material, but soft. In the human realms, she would have worn a corset under it, but the High Fae had told her it was unnecessary and not in fashion in Prythian.

There was a floral design coating each plait of fabric, falling all the way down to the floor. Her hair was braided into a careful crown around her head, wisps of curls escaping to frame her face. Unfortunately, her ears were on full display in this hairstyle. She tried desperately to pull the tight braid down, force it to cover the fact of her abomination, but Mor had done her work well and it would not budge.

She held on tight to Nesta’s hand as Mor took hold of them both, abruptly winnowing them into the Spring Court without so much as a goodbye from the other members of Rhysand’s court. Elain lurched out of Mor’s arms the second they touched down, doubling over. Winnowing was an odd sensation, and one she’d only felt once before. Winnowing out of Hybern had not been a pleasant experience, especially after the trauma of the day, and the feeling of going from nothing into something set her off balance.

“This is where I leave you,” Mor said. They’d agreed the day before that it would be too dangerous for Rhysand to winnow them into the Spring Court, and just as dangerous for Morrigan to take them all the way to Tamlin’s estate. “The manor is less than a mile past the top of this hill. You two can walk directly North and you’ll find it. Follow the tree line. Good luck.”

Elain thought she saw Nesta give the female a hug out of the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t be sure. She was too consumed with the landscape around her. The air was slightly brisk, but not uncomfortable. She could smell pollen and the mixed fragrances of flowers and pines in the air. Elain closed her eyes. If she didn’t think too much, she could pretend she was standing in her garden back at their manor house. Nesta had helped her replant it when their fortune had mysteriously returned, something that she now knew was her sister’s ex-fiancé’s doing.

Elain hated him with a passion that she’d never felt before. It was his fault she was like this, even more than it was Feyre’s, but she couldn’t deny how grateful she had been for their lives to return to normal after so many years crouching in the hovel they called a home.

Mor left them in less than the blink of an eye. Nesta immediately began trudging up the small hill in front of them. Elain followed obediently, doing her best to keep pace with her sister.

Nesta had been training for months now and her body had gotten strong. Where both had previously had sharp corners from their near starvation, Nesta now had steady curves of muscle following each stretch of bone. Their months in the Night Court, as Fae, had healed them both better, but Elain had rarely left her room. She wasn’t weak—it was impossible to be as a High Fae—but she wasn’t nearly as strong as her sister. Nesta forged ahead, covering the mile in less than twenty minutes. Elain did her best not to show her exhaustion.

When they reach the outskirts of the manor, Elain’s mouth almost dropped open. The grounds were covered in the most beautiful gardens she’d ever seen. Roses and hyacinths and water lilies and hydrangeas. A small pond to the left of where they stood held lily pads that seemed to move across the surface of the water. The scent of the flowers was even stronger here. Elain fought the urge to rush into the middle of all the flowers and run her fingers along them. She wouldn’t have minded if a rose bush pricked her.

Elain was so happy to find some sense of normalcy, some aspect of her old life here in this strange new world that she didn’t notice her sister running through the double doors towards them. Feyre crushed Nesta into a hug first. Nesta hesitated, but eventually gave in, burying her head into Feyre’s shoulder. Nesta would never have showed that she was scared for her sister, worried about her, but Elain had known better. She knew that Nesta stayed awake some nights, wishing that Feyre was safe, her door locked against any of the vile males in her presence.

Nesta did her best to protect her family in whatever way she knew how. Elain could only imagine what she would do if harm were to come to either of them now. Burn the world down, likely.

Feyre muttered something in Nesta’s ear that Elain couldn’t decipher from where she stood, still looking longingly into the gardens.

Her younger sister found her next. Elain hadn’t felt so comforted in a while. Silently, she cursed herself for wanting protection and comfort from anyone, but she melted into Feyre’s embrace anyway, clutching onto her sister for dear life.

Maybe Feyre would see what was happening to her. Maybe she could help. Elain cast the idea out of her mind. Feyre loved being High Fae. It was who she was meant to be. Elain saw that in her now, just as she had the first time Feyre had come back to their manor to ask for a meeting place. Elain shrunk away from her embrace and Feyre looked into her eyes. Elain saw a hardness there that she hadn’t noticed before. Months in the Spring Court had not been kind to Feyre.

Elain looked up and saw Tamlin traipsing about the gardens, leisurely making his way towards the three sisters. He looked wary. It had been too easy to get Rhysand to agree to send them to him. When he finally stood in front of them, Feyre turned and plastered a smile on her face.

“Thank you, Tam.” His eyes softened as he looked down at her. In some twisted way, he did love her. The thought made Elain shiver. She was sure Nesta was thinking the same thing. Elain moved towards her and grabbed her sister’s hand, squeezing lightly to reassure her. Nesta was at a constant risk of exploding, and that would only blow their cover now. As much as she hated herself, Elain loved her sisters more. She would do anything to protect them.

“Anything for you,” he said, pushing a piece of hair behind Feyre’s ear. Elain didn’t know how she fought a flinch.

“Thank you, High Lord,” Elain said finally, curtsying. Just because she was a beast now didn’t mean she couldn’t be polite. He nodded at her in acknowledgement. “Come, we’ll get rooms set up for the both of you. You’re family now.” Elain shivered at the thought.

Tamlin led them through the garden’s paths, guiding them into the manor. Elain looked to her right, trying to survey the gardens, and she saw a Fae male watching her cautiously. He was standing a good distance away, but his red hair gave him away. The long locks were braided and thrown over one of his shoulders and his metal eye glinted in the sunlight.

When they’d first met, he’d told a room full of both enemies and friends that she was his mate. She felt nothing to indicate that what he’d said was true. She didn’t even really understand how the Fae notion of mates worked. He kept his distance. Elain was grateful.

She hurried into the house after her sisters. The marble floors were beautiful. The whole house was beautiful. It was a place Elain would have been able to picture herself living, under different circumstances. She loosed a sigh and began climbing the stairs. Tamlin gestured towards her bedroom. It was right next to Nesta’s, which comforted both of them a little bit.

Tamlin told them that he’d let them settle in. Dinner would be ready shortly and he’d have someone come to retrieve them. The sisters eagerly escaped into their rooms.

~

Elain didn’t want to go to dinner. A servant stood at her door, waiting for her to pull herself out of the bed she’d been given. Elain’s chest was tucked tightly under the plush covers, her hair frizzy and askew from the fitful sleep she’d been in just moments before.

Begrudgingly, she tugged herself out of bed, carefully brushing off and straightening the thick fabric of her dress. She nodded at the servant and the stout female led her downstairs. She ran her hand along the bannister as she descended the stairs. Everything felt like it was thrumming with life in the Spring Court. Elain silently wished it wasn’t enemy territory.

The hall they were to take their dinner in was larger than any single room Elain had ever seen. It was at least three times the size of her bedroom. Elain wondered why anyone would need a room so magnificent. The table in the center of the room was already mostly filled when she got there, only two seats left empty. Nesta sat to Feyre’s right, who sat to Tamlin’s left. Elain took her seat across from Nesta.

The table was already heaping with gorgeous plates of food: roasted chicken, pureed cauliflower, a tureen of some sort of vegetables mixed together. Elain’s mouth watered. This food looked familiar to her, though she knew that the taste would far surpass anything she’d eaten in the mortal realms.

Everyone was silent. Nesta was clutching her fork so hard that her knuckles were turning white. Feyre’s hand was tentatively set in the palm of Tamlin’s, and Elain knew that the touch made her sister’s skin crawl. Tamlin held Feyre like he was afraid to let go, like taking a finger off her would cause her to revolt, to destroy something. He was gentle with her as much as he was forceful. Though Elain assumed that he wasn’t treating her sister much better than before save for showering her with gifts and allowing her a somewhat free reign of his estate. He’d allowed her outside that day, to meet them in the gardens.

The doors clanged open and Elain heard footsteps crossing the floor, a sword clacking against something metal, servants shuffling to make way.

“How was it today?” Tamlin’s voice echoed through the hall.

“Same as always. They’re staying off our borders, for the most part.” Elain knew the man with the gruff voice behind her was Lucien. By now, she thought she would have been able to recognize his voice anywhere. She had nightmares about that day often, when she had been forced into the Cauldron. Every one ended with his voice uttering the same words. My mate.

Elain’s body tensed as Lucien sat down beside her, the only open seat. It was no coincidence that she was sitting next to her supposed mate. She looked up from her plate at Nesta. Surely she’d planned this, or Feyre had. Nesta glared back at her. She could hear what Nesta’s words would be. Gain us the advantage, Elain.

Elain didn’t feel comfortable manipulating this male into telling her enemy secrets, but she knew it was what had to be done. They’d talked about it for a couple of weeks now. He deserved it, she told herself. He’d contributed to her demise. He’d helped steal her from her betrothed, her beloved. She fought the urge to kick him under the table.

He didn’t acknowledge her. Elain had to admit, it hurt a little bit. He was supposed to be attracted to her or in love with her or something like that, right? But all he did was slide his jacket from his shoulders, sling it across the back of his chair, and start serving himself.

The rest of the table dug in as well. The only noise in the room was the clanking of metal against china as they each piled food onto their plates.

~

Elain had been right; the food was divine. She had to stop herself from taking second helpings of everything. When everyone had finished, she politely excused herself. Elain found her way to the gardens. The sun was still setting, a perk of it always being spring here, and the flowers were painted with oranges and pinks of the most brilliant shades.

She let herself walk around for a while, naming the flowers she knew as she passed. She found a batch of tulips that looked a little dry, so she searched for a servant to try and ask for some water for them. There was no one around. Elain let out a short huff of frustration. She just wanted to be able to control something as simple as flowers. She realized that she was even less important here at the Spring Court than she was with Nesta in Velaris.

“Looking for this?” The deep voice rumbled behind her and she shivered. It felt extremely odd hearing the voice of her nightmares while she was awake. She turned to see him holding a metal watering can. She nodded and stood to retrieve it from him, returning to the flowers as quickly as she could. She could still feel his presence behind her.

“I like the gardens, too,” he muttered. It was as if he felt uncomfortable talking to her. She surely felt uncomfortable talking to him.

“They’re… comforting.” It was silent for a minute as she tipped the water into the flowers, careful to make sure it spread as evenly as possible. Her hand reached to touch the petals. It felt like home.

“I could ask Tam to section off an area for a garden of your own,” he said. “Only if you want.”

Elain smiled a little to herself.

“That would be very kind of you.” She turned to face him. The tips of his pointed ears were turning red. It was strangely endearing. He was being careful with his words, making sure not to scare her.

“Maybe you’d let me help you?” His hands tugged nervously at the tips of his long hair. Though she wanted to say no, she knew it was her duty to her sisters, to everyone, to say yes.

“Tomorrow?” She said, smiling faintly at him. It wasn’t a real smile this time. He nodded at her and turned to go back inside. Elain sat in the garden for hours, until everything was pitch black and she could only smell and touch the beautiful bulbs of tulips.

[randochris]

Persona 4 Bonds of Reality Prologue

“Dammit, what’s taking so long?!”

Yosuke Hanamura flopped onto his futon, staring daggers into the clock that hung on his bedroom wall. The time read 10:14 a.m. but for Yosuke, every minute that passed was complete agony. He had been awake since six in the morning, counting down each minute that passed.

“Aww, turn your frown upside down, Yosuke! I know Sensei is just dying to get here as soon as he can!”

The would-be picker upper happened to be Teddie, out of his bear suit. Teddie slept longer than Yosuke but his blonde hair was already perfectly styled and he was trying on different winter-friendly outfits to wear to meet “Sensei.” The chill of December could be felt even with the heater going on in Yosuke’s room.

Yosuke himself was still in the sweatpants he wore to bed but had changed into a long-sleeved tee with the emblem of Yasogami High School on the right chest. Yosuke didn’t really dress properly until it was time for him to leave the house for school or hanging out with his friends.

“Do you think Sensei is going to bring anybody along with him? He said he had a surprise for all of us. Ooh! Maybe it’s some of the beauties of the city!” Teddie swooned at the mental images running through his mind of countless girls, each more bustier than the last.

“Dude, I doubt he’s bringing girls along with him. There would be a bloodbath all over Inaba, courtesy of a certain idol,” Yosuke mumbled, feeling his body shiver.

“Aww, but they don’t have to be girls who are into Sensei! Maybe he’s bringing us some hot dates to melt all this snow!”

Would they really? Yosuke rested his head on his arms, memories of failed attempts to pick up girls bombarding him rapidly, ending with the most heartbreaking sound he ever heard in his life. A sound that would never fade…

“My motorcycle…”

Before Yosuke started to openly weep about how, even with the repairs, his scooter was never the same, the muffled chirps of a cell phone came from his pocket. He answered the phone in a low mumble without checking who was calling.

“Hello? Wassup?”

The responding voice was very loud and frenzied, belonging to a certain girl.

“Yosuke, Yu’s train got stopped! There was a snowstorm out where he was and the train can’t go any further!” Chie Satonaka sounded like she was almost out of breath like she had been running.

Yosuke sat up, his body now tense. “What?! Is he okay?”

“He said he’s fine but…but…I can’t stand around doing nothing! I’m meeting everybody at the train station right now to see if-!”

Teddie suddenly elbowed Yosuke’s ribs to butt into the phone call, cutting off Chie.

“Did something happen to Sensei?” Teddie panicked, his voice already breaking.

Chie explained the situation again. Once she was done, Teddie grabbed Yosuke by the arm and hoisted him to his feet.

“Come on, Yosuke! Sensei needs us!” Teddie heroically declared, zipping up the jacket he now put on and ending the call.

“G-Gimme a sec, you dummy, I need to get dressed!”

 Damn it! I hope he’s okay! Yosuke’s mind was racing with thoughts on anything he could possibly do to help his friend, the one he calls his “partner.” The snow on the road was way too slippery for his scooter so he and Teddie hurried on foot, trying to keep from sliding and falling. It didn’t take too long before the two reached Yasoinaba Station, where most of the gang were waiting.

Everyone were all together, talking to one another in hurried voices. Rise looked visibly worried with Naoto trying to calm her down. Yukiko was trying to summon her Persona, even as Chie kept insisting that it wasn’t like the events in May. Kanji was distracted, playing with his black hair until he noticed Yosuke and Teddie approaching.

“Hey! What took you guys so long?!” Kanji said.

“Yosuke was reading his dirty magazines before you called, Chie. I was beary disappointed in him,” Teddie scolded.

“What?! I wasn’t doing anything! I’ve been waiting for Yu all morning!” Yosuke snapped.

“I just want to look good for Sensei! You weren’t dressed, Yosuke!”

“N-No, I didn’t mean YOU, I meant…” Yosuke sighed and grimaced, choosing to stay mum for his own sake.

Naoto muttered under her own breath, “I’m surprised it’s not until now that Senpai’s name caused an exchange like that.”

Rise, still flustered, pouted with her cheeks puffed outward. “I can’t believe that now, of all times, before Christmas, Senpai’s stuck out in the middle of nowhere!”

Yosuke folded his arms and looked at the others. “Have any of you heard again from him since you called me, Chie?”

Chie shook her head, digging her hands into her coat pockets. “All that he said is that the train isn’t going to be back for a while.”

Yosuke closed his eyes and sighed to himself. He wondered if Yu had already contacted Ryotaro Dojima or Nanako. Or if he wasn’t able to…

“Naoto, you have Dojima-san’s number, right? Have you contacted him?” Yosuke asked.

The detective nodded. “Dojima-san has already been notified of the situation.”

“Yosuke, I’m sure Yu-kun is fine. Just imagine that he’s right behind you,” Yukiko chirped, almost looking unfazed by their leader’s predicament.

Yosuke raised a brow at Yukiko, confused. She sometimes says odd things but Yu’s “right behind him?”

That’s when Yosuke felt a sudden rush of cold.

THUMP!!

A huge snowball hit Yosuke on the back of his head, the snow falling inside his jacket and shirt, making him shake from the water running down his body.

“Wh-Who the hell-?!” Yosuke began, turning on his foot angrily. But Yosuke’s anger didn’t last long. He was greeted by the warm smile of Yu Narukami, holding another snowball in his hand.

“Hey there, Yosuke. You look surprised to see me so early,” Yu joked.

Yosuke glanced at the rest of his friends, who all burst out in laughter, even Teddie.

“What? Why are you all laughing?” Yosuke said, scratching the back of his head to try and get some of the loose snow out.

“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning, Yosuke-senpai! Did you have your phone turned off?” said Rise.

“Wait, you were calling me? I didn’t get any phone calls! …Wait…”

Yosuke dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Immediately, he noticed what was wrong. He wasn’t holding his orange-colored cell phone, rather, a small white one made for children.

“Teddie, did you take my phone to play your mobile games again?!” Yosuke seethed, taking his phone back.

“I can’t manage the crops in Teddieland on my phone, Yosuke! My phone isn’t as fast as yours…”

Ignoring Teddie, Yosuke turned back to Yu. “So, when did you get here?”

Yu joined everybody else, fixing his bowl-shaped hair. “About two hours ago. There really is a snowstorm going on out in the country so I took an earlier train just to be safe. It was the last one that would go before they began the delay.”

Rise wasted no time wrapping herself around Yu’s arm, rubbing her cheek on his bicep. “And not a moment too soon! The wait was un-BEAR-able!”

The pun only drew a laugh from Teddie and Yukiko while the others groaned quietly, though Yu only smiled for his own sake.

“I think it’s about time we let a certain someone know Big Bro’s home for the holidays,” Yosuke said, his usual smile returning to his face.

 The group all headed off to Dojima’s house, catching up with Yu on what he had been doing in the city. The sound of snow crunching underneath their footsteps was the perfect ambience. For Yu, it felt good to be back in Inaba again. As he went through the downtown area with his friends, he noticed there was something different about it this time around. There were more decorations stretching across the street sidewalks, everything shining around the town. The local vendors were still selling their handmade goods, the most popular stand selling scarves, gloves, and knitted hats. Kanji had a huge grin on his face as they walked past…

As everyone approached the Dojima household, there were two figures out front, busy building a snowman. Ryotaro Dojima, now sporting a slightly thick beard, was adding black rocks to form the snowman’s smile while Nanako made sure the stick arms would stay up. Upon a closer look, the snowman’s head was styled to resemble Yu, complete with hardened eyes and bowl-cut.

“Wow, I didn’t know another me was staying here,” Yu chuckled. Nanako’s head turned in an instant, eyes widened in complete joy.

“BIG BRO!” Nanako hurried over and jumped to Yu, hugging him tightly. He petted her hair, still as long as it was the last time he was there. She had even grown a little bit taller too.

Dojima gave a hearty laugh. “It’s about time you got here. She’s been non-stop all day, keeping an eye out for you.” Dojima gave Yu a firm pat on the shoulder. “Everything been all right back in the city? School going fine?”

Yu nodded and added, “Top of my class, as always, Dojima-san. Though I’ve had some intense study sessions just before the break.”

Yosuke grimaced. “Ugh, if it wasn’t for the new laptop, I swear…”

Dojima’s brows furrowed. “’New laptop?’”

“Oh, yeah. Junes has been getting a lot more sales in our electronics, thanks to all of the Hashiba laptops that are out now. I managed to save enough to get a decent model. It’s easier to help Yu study,” Yosuke explained.

With what seemed like an understanding nod, Dojima added, “Right, because those…instant message chatroom something or other. I haven’t had much use for a computer outside of work.”

Naoto couldn’t help but suppress a laugh, though no one seemed to notice.

“How about you, Nanako? How’s school?” asked Yu.

“It’s been a bit tough but I’m working hard!” Nanako cheerfully pumped her fists. “Dad’s been helping me study all the time!”

Dojima scratched the back of his head, smirking. “Usually after a few cups of coffee.”

Everyone now laughed together and headed inside. Everything was still the same as Yu remembered from before. Hot chocolate was already prepared, with bags of marshmallows on the kitchen table. Yu and Nanako sat next to one another at the kotatsu, with Yu’s friends scattered about the living room, watching television while Kanji and Teddie were arguing how many marshmallows are acceptable.

Naoto was off to the side, talking with Dojima.

“…Yeah, right now he’s just been reading in his cell. He made some kind of personal challenge to read as much books as possible before his trial date,” muttered Dojima.

“As long as it keeps him occupied.” Naoto’s eyes looked downward for a moment.

 The hours quickly passed into the early moments of night before Dojima received a phone call. There was an emergency at a home at the other side of Inaba, where vandals were throwing rocks at someone’s windows and scattered after the police appeared.

“Now, remember what we discussed, Nanako. Stick close to Yu, okay?” Dojima hurried to get his coat on.

“Mmhmm. Stay with Big Bro!” Nanako gave her father an encouraging smile. Dojima nodded and promptly left.

The TV channel was changed to the premiere of a Christmas themed special, a few minutes away from starting.

“I can’t believe it, my first true acting gig!” Rise was gushing with excitement, kicking her legs.

“So, uh, what the heck is this supposed to be about anyway?” Kanji sipped at his hot chocolate, Rise already looking annoyed at him.

“It’s a beautiful romantic story where a young girl, alone on Christmas, gets to spend it with the man of her dreams! It’s not a hard story to understand!”

Kanji frowned. “I can get THAT. You just never told us because it was supposed to be a big secret. Besides, I prefer stuff like Rudolph.”

Chie looked over at Rise from the other side of the couch. “How much creative input did you have with this movie?”

Rise shrugged. “Not that much as far as the story goes. Why?”

“I’m just preparing myself for ‘Rise Kujikawa Presents: Christmas With Senpai.’”

“What’s wrong with that? Wouldn’t you try to model the perfect boyfriend after Yu-Senpai?”

The heavy silence that came over the living room just then was something Yu had never experienced before. It was no secret Rise was into him but Chie usually had a comment afterwards. The girls all looked at each other, back to Yu, and then back to each other.

Naoto was the first to speak up, in her usual calm tone. “I think it’s a bit unfair to use Senpai as the highest standard possible to a significant other, as well as that person having to be ‘perfect.’ While we would like a perfect relationship, especially when it comes to romance, that’s just not possible. And…to be honest, perfection leads to stasis within the relationship.”

Yukiko nodded in agreement. “I know what you mean. Every day when I’m with Chie, it either feels like a new adventure or a learning experience. Even if it’s something mundane. Although…” Yukiko rested her chin on her hand, closing her eyes, lost in thought.

Yosuke, Kanji, and Teddie looked visibly confused, mostly from the fact that this was a conversation actually happening. Yu’s face was actually a little bit red.

Chie leaned over to Yukiko. “So, wait, are you saying everything about me, good and bad, makes every day fun…?” She said in a hushed whisper.

“Big Bro’s really nice so I can understand why you’d want boys to be like him, Rise-chan,” interjected Nanako, still having her big smile.

Rise fiddled with a strand of her hair. “It’s other things too but…you are right.” She turned to Yu. “I’m sorry, Senpai. I didn’t mean to embarrass you like this.”

“It’s no problem at all, Rise, really.” Yu waved his hand dismissively, though his expression told a different story. His eyes quickly glanced at Nanako.

Teddie was the first of the guys to finally speak up. “No need to be so modest, Sensei!”

Kanji folded his arms, with a teasing smirk. “Unless you already found a girlfriend and didn’t tell any of us.”

Yosuke shook his head, quickly cutting off Kanji to prevent the topic from stemming off into something undesirable… “Nah, Yu’s not the kind of guy to hide stuff like that.” Though none of the girls didn’t look put off by the idea.

“I really care about Senpai, but I want him to follow his heart,” said Rise softly.

“Ack!!” Chie suddenly yelled out loud, startling everyone. “THE SPECIAL’S ALREADY STARTED!”

Everyone looked at the TV, which thankfully was only in the opening credits. The special was following Rise’s character around the snowy city streets of Tokyo, admiring the decorations much like Yu did earlier. The golden lights shined in her eyes and everything around her was grand.

But suddenly, the broadcast went to static. No weather warning or anything indicating a technical error appeared on screen. Yu pressed buttons on the TV remote but no other channels appeared. Out of instinct, he checked the time and it was nowhere close to midnight…

Suddenly, a very faint image started to appear, silhouettes walking around. Crackling voices could be barely made out but none of them said anything coherent.

“…stop them…interfering with…shape…the world…” said a cold voice.

“Big Bro, this isn’t the special, is it…?” Nanako asked, though she looked like she already knew the answer.

The lights in the Dojima residence went out, while the glow of the TV screen became brighter. The living room started to shake with a faint wind pushing towards the TV, pushing the kotatsu.

“E-Everyone! Outside!” Yu yelled, helping Nanako up and hurrying towards the front door. However, the front door suddenly flew away from the pair. Looking around for anything to hold onto as the wind started to pick up speed, Yu clasped onto the edge of the kitchen sink, Nanako wrapping her arms around his chest.

“What the hell’s going on?!” Yosuke grabbed the other side of the sink, Chie hanging off his shoulders. Yukiko then jumped onto Chie, while Kanji held onto the fully stocked refrigerator with his long arms. Naoto and Rise hung off both his biceps and Teddie clutched onto Kanji’s hips, almost making him fall over.

“T-TED, THAT TICKLES!!” Kanji tried not to laugh, keeping his grip on the refrigerator.

The wind started to violently knock things over and pick everybody up from off the ground, pulling them towards the television. Something about the wind made it feel like the small TV was going to accommodate everyone if this was heading where Yu believed it was. Everyone still held on with all their might, but the refrigerator door opened, violently jerking Kanji to one side. Desperate, he grabbed Yu’s legs by the ankles.

“S-SORRY, SENPAI!” Kanji bellowed.

“D-DON’T LET GO, KANJI-KUN!” Naoto yelled.

Right besides Yu, Yosuke yelped. His side of the sink deteriorated away and found himself hurling towards the TV. Chie and Yukiko screamed in fear, digging their fingers into his shoulder blades. Just like a knee-jerk response, Yosuke managed to grab Teddie by the back of his jacket, though it was too loose to keep steady.

With a loud yell, Yosuke, Chie, and Yukiko flung towards the television, disappearing into the light. Nanako cried out in fear, while Kanji’s fingers were slipping.

“S-SENPAI, I CAN’T HOLD ON!” Kanji’s fingers brushed against Yu’s feet and now he, Naoto, Teddie, and Rise found themselves pulled into the light.

“Big Bro! I don’t want to die!!” Nanako held on as much as she could. But everything near Yu’s hands had disappeared as well. All he could do now was hold Nanako close to him.

“Whatever happens Nanako…I’ll protect you!!”

Everything around Yu’s eyes was enveloped in light.

He felt weightless. He could feel Nanako’s face still pressed against his chest.

This was not the sensation of death. It was similar as to when Yu and his friends entered the TV world.

But wherever Yu and Nanako were going, along with the rest of their friends, there was no guessing in what awaited them.

 Yu was blinded by a very bright light before everything around him turned a vibrant blue. He realized he was once again within the Velvet Room. His heart was at ease as he sat across the inhabitants of the Velvet Room, or at least two of them. The bizarre looking old man with a very long nose known as Igor and his assistant Margaret, whose elegance continued to radiate as strongly as ever, gazed straight at Yu.

“Welcome to the Velvet Room. This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter…as I am sure you remember,” said Igor, in the same tone and rhythm as Yu had heard before.

“It is a pleasure to see you once again.” Margaret bowed her head.

“As an esteemed guest, you are always welcome here. It has been quite some time since your last visit. The strength of your bonds were tested heavily, and you were able to display unwavering determination at preserving them. You are most likely wondering what brings you here once again.” Igor maintained his usual smile, with his hands crossed together.

“Your destiny extends far greater than the boundaries that your world possesses. That also includes the threats that may come upon your world. The wind that whisked you and your comrades away from your world was not of anything you have come to know in your previous quests. A strong power, elsewhere, has become drawn to you. You will soon be entering a new reality that is both closely similar and radically different to what you’re used to. What you do once you arrive is entirely up to you. Your choices from hereon will determine what comes of the multiple planes of existence that you may or may not have thought about.” Margaret finished her explanation with a small chuckle. “It will be interesting, to say the very least. While the new world you will arrive in is not closely tied to the Velvet Room, you will be able to return, if you require assistance.”

Yu, who had not been able to feel any words forming in his throat, could only watch as Igor and Margaret become enveloped in the same light, once again…

So, I’m trying to get back into writing once again. Forewarning, this story will feature my OCs. Not OCs specifically built for Persona so I’m not going to be destroying any ships. But this is just to help motivate me to do something. Please give me feedback and share if you like it!