#and not just the pose but the fact he's giving mild duck face as well

[kindahoping4forever]

Ash on IG Story

[the-gay-prometheus]

AU Segment - What’s In A Name (Parts 1 and 2 Combined!)

Oh hey, hi, hello. I finally finished this bit! I’m not sure how I entirely feel about it, but considering all of these segments are still just ‘test runs’ for this AU, that’s kinda to be expected. No warnings needed for these to my knowledge, just wholesome silly stuff and a bit of heartfelt moments thrown in. Just some notes before I share this full segment: 1. You’ll notice that unlike the last segment I posted, the creature is simply called Creature with a capital c rather than “the creature.” There is a reason for this! The narrator, although omniscient, has a bias toward Victor and his point of view about this character. The name of said character changes along with Victor’s view of him - from being a mess of all kinds of nasty things (’beast,’ ‘monster,’ ‘demon,’ etc.), to simply being ‘the creature, then to being more of a formal name ‘Creature,’ and finally to his actual name. In moments where Victor is particularly upset with this character, the title used by the narrator may change to reflect that. 2. This is veeeery very long considering it’s both parts 1 and 2. Knowing tumblr, formatting may get all screwed up, but I’m hoping for the best! 3. Both parts will also be posted to ao3 in their own works, so if you’d rather have links to them there so you’re not endlessly scrolling through a massive wall of text, feel free to ask! 4. I’m still practicing my ‘not-so-angsty’ writing, so some parts may be a little wonky because the wholesome silly stuff is not quite where my skills lie yet 😅 5. Special shout-out to @fergus-reid! The name ‘Percival’ suggested in part two that Victor rejects because it is a ‘name that he heavily considered’ was 100% influenced by his incredible podcast “The Marksbury Incident” - a beautifully written and acted modern/cross-over type AU where Victor is also a trans man (and canonically considered the name Percival for himself)! It’s a really neat story and I totally recommend checking it out! As always, likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are appreciated! Without further ado, I present ‘What’s In A Name?’

PART 1: “How about… hm… Gabriel?” Victor and Creature trekked along the mountain trail, Victor taking the lead so Creature wouldn’t go too far ahead. “That’s a good name, don’t you think?” Creature shrugged his shoulders, pausing to inspect the nearly white bark of a silver fir, tracing along the jagged edges with curiosity. “Is that a no?” Victor asked, somewhat out of breath as he turned to check on his creation. “Yes, that is a no,” Creature mumbled as he looked upward toward the top of the tall conifer. “Oh! I know! How about Luca? It means light!” Creature turned toward him with a disappointed frown. “Perfect, because surely I am the light of your life,” he remarked with clear sarcasm. For a moment Victor was almost impressed; after all, this was the first he had heard him make any kind of obviously sarcastic… joke? Was it a joke? “Well, no, that would be Henry,” Victor replied, turning back toward the trail and motioning for Creature to follow. “But you were born of lightning, so it would at least have some sentimental meaning?” The creation shook his head. “I would rather not be consistently reminded of my origins.” The two continued along the trail, Victor staying quiet as he tried to think of another name that might work. As they walked, they came along a portion of the trail with a steep, rocky cliff that harbored the continuation of the trail on top. Victor, being the stubborn person he was, insisted that he could climb up himself, but each time he tried to scrabble up, he would lose his hold or lose his footing and fall back down. Though he continued to insist he could do it, Creature lifted him up and set him on the top of the stone. Victor shot him a nasty look, brushing off his clothing as if where he had touched him was somehow now dirty, but Creature ignored it and hoisted himself up to the top with ease. “Then how about Adam?” Victor suggested, turning and starting his way down the trail once again. Creature stood at the cliff edge, staring at his creator. “After all, you came up with that one yourself.” “I… I do not want a name that I came up with,” Creature began. “I would much rather it come from you.” Victor gave him an odd look. “What does it matter? A name is a name, right? I named myself and you don’t see me complaining about it,” he retorted, crossing his arms. He glanced off to the side, then frowned. “Well… I suppose Henry technically helped- but I’m the one who chose it.” Creature crossed his own arms and gave him the kind of look that said ‘well, there’s the answer to your own question.’ Victor stared at him, then dramatically waved his arms and spun around. “Fine! Fine. Alright. What if I said I was giving that name to you because I thought it fit you and not because you came up with it? I mean, it is rather fitting considering-” “Then you missed my entire point of what I had said when I brought that name up,” Creature cut him off. Victor looked back to him. “Then what were you saying?” “I said I ought to be your Adam but… that it was not who I actually was to you. It was…” He hesitated. “A painful moment for me, Victor. To come to the realization that everything I should have been was everything I never would have had the chance to be.” Victor sighed, hanging his head. “Well, what if it’s who you are to me now?” he asked, his voice sincere. Creature shook his head. “That makes no difference. Once again it would simply be a reminder of such dreadful memories. I would rather live my life without being constantly reminded of my past simply by someone calling me by my name.” Victor didn’t answer, opting instead to take a step and continue onward. Creature hesitated, but followed all the same. “Gilbert?” Victor called out as he walked. Creature couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well that was out of nowhere.” “But is it a no?” “Yes, it is a no.” Victor made a grunt of disappointment, then looked around, pointing to a tall conifer with beautiful vibrant orange needles. “What about Larch? Like the tree?” he asked. His creation paused, looking at the tree and others of its species around them. “It is certainly a beautiful tree,” he remarked simply. “Though I am not sure it is a good name.” “Come on, it’s a great name!” Victor exclaimed, turning back to the trail and clambering his way up a boulder that blocked the path. “I will… give it some thought,” Creature promised with a slight smile, hopping over the boulder as though it were only a mild inconvenience. “That doesn’t sound like a no to me,” Victor proposed, grinning. “It is not a no, but it is also not a yes,” Creature explained, reaching up and plucking a handful of the orange needles from one of the trees and inspecting them closer. “Then it’s basically a no and I should keep going,” Victor suggested. Far ahead, the trees cleared and open sky above distant ridgeline could be seen - signifying they were nearly home - and Victor let out an exasperated sigh. “I told you I’d have a name for you by the time we got home. You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.” “And I told you that these things take far more time than what one walk will procure,” Creature countered. “Not that you listen to me, of course.” He continued onward, passing Victor, who watched as he walked by. “I don’t listen to anyone,” Victor called to him as he watched him walk. “I thought that would’ve been fairly obvious by now.” “Oh, it is certainly obvious, but that does not make it - or you, for that matter - any less irritating, Victor,” his creation answered from ahead. Victor frowned. “Hey- Hey! Wait up!” He scrambled as he broke into a run, tripping over a stone and nearly falling but somehow miraculously not falling flat on his face. “What was that supposed to mean?” Creature kept walking, pausing to lift a bough that crossed in front of the path and ducking beneath it, holding it away from the trail so Victor could pass without walking into it. “I was simply stating a fact,” he mentioned, letting the branch go once Victor was through. “Hmph.” Victor strode past him, ducking his way through the last tangle of branches before emerging to the ledge where their little hut stood. “Could’ve kept it to yourself,” he grumbled as he straightened his vest and brushed off his coat. “I will keep that in mind,” Creature stated, emerging beside him with at least one twig sticking awkwardly out of his long black hair. Victor looked up at him, staring at the twig in his hair with narrowed eyes until Creature got the hint that there was something there, then started making his way back toward their home with his shoulders drooped and his eyes on the ground. Grumbling something about how ungrateful his creation was, he made his way to the door, reached for it, and then- whack! The door flew open, hitting Victor directly in the face and knocking him backward. He clutched at his nose with a yelp of pain. Creature couldn’t help but chuckle - this was at least the third time this had happened in the past week alone. It was Henry who had opened the door, and who had promptly let out a sharp gasp of surprise upon seeing his boyfriend dramatically writhing around on the ground with his hand over his face. “Good lord Victor!” he exclaimed, dropping to the ground to check if he was ok. Victor sucked in a breath and hissed it out through his teeth, slowly removing his hand from his nose and blinking his eyes back open. Upon seeing Henry, directly above him, he managed a half smile. “You’re lucky I love you,” he sneered, pushing himself up onto his hands. Henry grinned, planting a kiss on Victor’s lips, which Victor gladly reciprocated. As he pulled back, Henry stood, offering a hand to help his boyfriend up from the ground. “I know I am,” Henry answered Victor’s original statement with a smirk. “Not that he poses much of a threat regardless,” Creature quipped from behind them. Victor rolled his eyes and Henry snickered. “Well, threat or not,” he began, wrapping his arm around Victor, “How’d it go? Did you two finally figure out a name?” “No, we didn’t. That one is too stubborn,” Victor complained, pointing to his creation. “I simply did not relate to any of the names you suggested, Victor. That is not stubbornness, that is…” He paused, thinking of how to word it. “Well… I suppose it could be stubbornness.” Henry shook his head. “Not stubbornness at all. A name is an important and meaningful thing, so if you have yet to hear one that you feel fits you, then it just doesn’t fit and that’s all there is to it,” he explained with a kind smile. Victor gave him a side-eyed glance, then sighed. “Alright, sure. Not stubborn. Just irritating,” he retorted, giving Creature a sneer. Creature stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, you did create me, after all.” Henry tried to hold back a laugh, and couldn’t help but let it out as Victor pushed him away with a scoff. “I am not irritating!” he announced, earning even harder laughter from Henry. He spun on his heels to face him, crossing his arms. “It’s not funny! I’m not irritating!” “Pfff- Yes you are!” Henry exclaimed through his laughter. Victor wanted to be angry, but Henry’s laughter was contagious as always and he found himself starting to snicker along. “No I’m not!” he repeated, though much less seriously. “You most certainly are,” Creature mentioned, starting to chuckle a bit himself. “I- I am absolutely not,” Victor reiterated, trying to make himself sound very serious but only making himself - as well as Henry and Creature - laugh even harder. “Yes you are!” Henry teased, reaching out and flicking Victor’s nose. Victor flung his hand up and stumbled back. “Ow! Henry that’s still sore!” he exclaimed reaching out to flick him back. Henry jumped out of the way and took off toward the open land of the ridge just beyond their hut still laughing as he gave his boyfriend a look that seemed to say ‘just try to catch me.’ Victor smirked and ran off after him, shouting “You sly bastard- get back here!” Creature watched them chase one another, his laughter slowly subsiding to a smiling sigh. Name or no name, he felt like he was finally so much closer to the life he wanted - a loving family of sorts, though a strange family it may be. He watched as Henry switched directions and came up from behind Victor, tackling him to the ground. Though he couldn’t make out what they were saying, he could hear as their own laughter turned to quiet words, and then to quiet as Henry silenced Victor with another kiss. A content expression on his face, Creature lay back, sprawled out on the ground, and watched the clouds as they passed through the sky. PART 2: The afternoon was fair-weathered and peaceful, blue sky hardly obscured by a few fluffy clouds with the sun casting its brilliant light evenly over the mountains. Creature had spent just about the entirety of the last few hours still lying on the ground, the first half watching the clouds that passed by while considering each shape they took as they changed with the wind, and the second half so well at peace that he had fallen asleep. That was, of course, until the feeling of something being dropped on his chest caused his eyes to snap open. Above him stood Henry, who was looking down at him with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. Creature managed an awkward smile in return, and looked down at what had been dropped on him. He recognized the small leather bag and gently plucked it off his chest, reaching up to drop it back into Henry’s now waiting outstretched hand. “Fancy a game?” Henry asked with a grin, shaking the bag and causing the contents inside to clink and rattle. Creature chuckled and slowly lifted himself upright. “Of course, though you could have woken me in perhaps a less startling manner,” he replied. “Where’s the fun in that?” Henry joked, tossing the bag back and forth between his hands. “Will Victor be joining us?” Creature inquired as he rose to his feet and brushed the dust and dirt from his cloak and pants. “Begrudgingly, yes,” came a flat voice from behind him. He turned to find Victor standing there, looking almost entirely unamused - almost, though Creature could tell he was actually looking forward to it. Henry was the first to jog over to their typical outdoor playing spot, a fairly flat length of stone close to the edge of the ledge, and emptied the contents of the bag onto the ground. An array of clearly non-professionally made dominos, all somewhat unevenly cut with a yellow-stained tint (the clear sign of being made with real bone), clattered down and Henry quickly flipped any that fell right-side-up over so that only the blank sides were facing. Creature arrived and sat down carefully, knowing the drill by now and beginning to choose his five tiles. Victor flopped himself down beside Henry, faking an annoyed sigh as he started to pick his tiles. Henry caught the fake sigh and snatched one of the tiles Victor was about to pick before he could take it, resulting in the two in the two of them giving each other mock-mad looks before they both devolved into a small fit of giggles. As the two of them continued to pester each other while picking their tiles, Creature picked up his own tiles to see if he had managed to pick up a doubles tile. “All-threes as usual, correct?” he mentioned above their antics. Henry looked up at him with a nod. “Yes, unless you wanted to try something different today?” Creature thought for a moment. “No, I am content with the usual.” “Well that’s perfect,” Victor quipped as he looked at his tiles, his expression brightening. He set one of his tiles down, one with six pips on both ends. “Twelve points for me,” he mused, picking up a small splinter of stone and scratching twelve tally marks down beside him on a bare spot of the stone ground amongst a multitude of other scratched-over tallies from games past. “Perfect for me too,” Henry teased, placing a tile with six pips on one end and none on the other. “That’s twelve points for me also.” Victor shot him a clearly sarcastically scathing glance, which Henry countered with a smirk as he reached for the stone splinter Victor had been keeping tally with to tally his own points. “It seems we are starting this with a tie,” Creature examined, placing a fully blank tile beside the one Henry had placed down before picking up a much larger splinter of stone beside him and carving out twelve tallies for himself. Victor gave him a disappointed glance before checking his own tiles and finding one he could place, though it would earn him no more points. Henry placed his next tile and the turn was passed to Creature, who managed to score another twelve points. “Hey Victor, I think I figured out what name we should give him,” Henry mentioned with sarcasm as Creature scratched down his tallies. Creature glanced upward, listening carefully. Victor didn’t answer, but instead rolled his hand in a motion that meant ‘go on.’ Henry snickered as he placed down a tile of his own. “I think we should call him Victor the Second because at this rate you’re going to lose your winning streak.” “No, I think we should call him Henry,” Victor countered, voice dripping with sarcasm as he played his own next tile and scratched down six points for himself. “I am not taking either of your names,” Creature muttered with a slight smile as he placed his next tile down and etched twelve more points on his tally. “That would be far too strange.” “Fair enough,” Henry replied, checking his tiles and realizing he needed to draw from the free-pile in order to place one down. “How about… Ah! I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. “How about Hector?” Both Victor and Creature gave him an odd look. “Hector?” Victor repeated, raising one eyebrow as he also picked up a few tiles from the free pile in order to find one to place down - which he did, and scratched in three points for himself. “Henry, Victor,” Henry explained, raising one hand with each name. “Hector,” he finished, clapping his hands together. Victor couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter, and Creature chuckled softly as well. “Amusing and sweet, Henry, but I do not think that is the name for me,” he replied, placing his final tile down. Checking over the playing area again, he grinned. “And I do believe that is a win.” Victor shot his glance down. “What?!” He looked at what had been put down. “How? Are you already out of bones?” Creature nodded. “Indeed.” “Ha!! The unbeatable Victor finally tastes defeat!” Henry exclaimed, ruffling his fingers through Victor’s hair - Victor, who flicked his hand away to take a closer look at the spread as if somehow that would make it change. “No, no - not possible. Absolutely impossible.” He looked up at Creature and squinted. “You cheated somehow.” Creature gave him a confused look. “I… do not believe it is even possible to cheat at this game?” “Don’t mind him, he’s just being a sore loser,” Henry reassured him, bumping Victor in the shoulder with his elbow. Victor gave a huff and crossed his arms. “Rematch?” Creature nodded. “If you are both so inclined.” Victor glanced away, trying to hold back a smile. Truth was, he actually was very much enjoying himself. “... Fine,” he said at a length, beginning to flip and mix the tiles. They each plucked their dominos from the pile. “Anyone have a double six?” Henry asked as he looked at his tiles. Victor and Creature both looked at each other as if asking each other the same question, then both shook their heads. Creature looked back down at his tiles, then placed down a double five. “Good enough.” “How about Daniel?” Victor asked as Henry played a tile. “Do you have a reason for that name?” Creature responded as Victor played his next and scratched a new tally of three. “Not particularly. It’s just a nice name,” Victor replied, gesturing that it was his turn. “I see.” Creature placed a tile, and scratched a six for himself, which prompted a quiet ‘scheisse!’ from Victor. He couldn’t help but smile at the reaction. “I would have to say no.” “Does it have to be a name with meaning?” Victor asked as he watched Henry play his turn. “I would prefer it to, if possible.” Victor thought for a moment as he placed his next tile. “Percival is a good name,” Henry suggested with a smirk toward Victor. Victor gave a thoughtful look, then furrowed his brow and gave Henry a look of flat annoyance. “He can’t just have the name I didn’t take,” he muttered. “You had considered naming yourself Percival?” Creature inquired as he picked up a tile from the draw pile and placed it down, etching a twelve in his tallies. “Considered it, yes,” Victor grumbled in reply. “I… do like the sentiment of taking on your unused name,” Creature mentioned, thinking it through more as he watched Henry play his next turn. “Well- you can’t have it,” Victor responded, picking up two tiles and placing one down. “What about Prometheus? I fancied myself to be like him while I was making you, so there would be some meaning to it.” Creature took a moment to think, then shook his head. “I feel I really do not want something that relates in any way to my creation. Not… that I resent being created, mind you, but I have tried to put the past behind me as much as possible, as you know,” he explained as he set down his next tile. Victor sighed heavily, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand as Henry played his turn and scratched a twelve down for himself. They continued their turns in relative silence, until finally as the sun was beginning to set in the sky it was Victor who placed his final tile. Though he felt like he should be celebrating that, instead Victor felt… defeated. He got up, muttering, “Good game, both of you,” before sulking off back to the cabin. Henry watched him go with a concerned gaze. “Have I… said something wrong?” Creature asked quietly, suddenly beginning to worry that he had hurt his creator in some way. Henry sighed. “No, you’re fine,” he reassured him as he began collecting the tiles and placing them back into their holding pouch. “You coming inside?” Creature shook his head. “I… think I will stay out here for the time being.” Henry smiled at him and gave him an understanding nod before making his way to the cabin. As he stepped inside, he set the pouch down on the side table by the door and made his way into what they considered the ‘common space,’ where Victor sat by the fireplace which only softly glowed with a freshly started fire. “Are you alright, love?” Henry asked gently, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around him. Victor heaved a shaky sigh and rested his head on Henry’s shoulder. “I just… I feel like I can’t do right by him,” he mumbled, pressing himself closer to his boyfriend. “Nothing I’ve ever done has been… right.” Henry listened carefully as he spoke, holding him tighter and resting his head against Victor’s. “Well, you’re trying, aren’t you?” he suggested softly. “I think he’s just happy that you’re trying.” “Trying isn’t enough,” Victor stated, sitting upright and staring into the small, flickering flames. “After all I’ve done and all I’ve said, trying isn’t enough.” “Then let’s change our approach,” Henry recommended with a smile, reaching out and gently turning Victor’s face toward him to give him a tender kiss. Victor exhaled softly and leaned into it, then slowly pulled back. “How so?” “We could start by doing what we did when we chose your name.” Victor’s eyes widened. “Oh!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Henry, you’re a genius!” “I’m flattered, but that honor belongs to you, love,” Henry quipped with a grin. “Come on - let’s start reading.” The two of them scoured the collection of books that Henry had brought up with him, picking out names and sounding them off to each other one by one. They went through book after book until the sun disappeared and the sky went dark, either one of them occasionally throwing a new log into the fire to ensure they had plenty of light and warmth. After a few hours, Victor stared down at a page, and uttered, “I think I’ve got it.” Henry looked up from his own book and set it down, swiftly moving over to him. Victor pointed a word out to him. “That one.” Henry gave him a quizzical look. “Are you sure? That’s hardly a name.” Victor looked up at him. “I know, but think about the meaning! It’s perfect!” Henry thought for a moment, then wrapped his arms around him with a smile. “With a bit of tweaking, I think you might be right,” he murmured, planting a kiss on his cheek. “You really do mean it, don’t you.” Victor glanced back at him. “Hm?” “You’ve really come to care for him, I mean,” Henry explained, releasing his grip. Victor hesitated, but then nodded. “I have - genuinely. I just… hope this will be enough to prove it.” “I’m sure it will be perfect.” Creature was sitting out near the edge of the ledge, resting his weight on his hands as he stared up at the stars as they glittered above. Victor took a deep breath as he stepped outside and breathed out slowly. You can do this. It’ll be fine, he thought to himself as he walked over as quietly as he could. He sat beside his creation, and tilted his head back to look upward as well. Creature turned his head slightly to look at him, then returned to his stargazing. “Agape,” Victor said suddenly. “...What?” Creature asked, once again looking over to him. Victor kept his eyes on the stars, but smiled slightly. “Do you know what it means?” Creature stared at him, thinking, then returned his gaze upward. “It is… Greek.” “That’s right.” He thought some more, racking his brain for memories of the word. “One of the… three Greek forms of love, correct?” Victor nodded. “Indeed.” He glanced away as he continued to think. “...If I recall correctly, it is considered the highest form of love. A deep, profound respect. Some define it as… the mutual love between God and man, and between man and God.” Victor’s smile grew - his creation’s intelligence still continued to amaze and fascinate him. “That is also correct. Though… I think I’d like to propose a more general definition.” Creature looked over at him. “What definition would that be?” Victor took a moment, then closed his eyes. “The mutual love between a creator at his creation, and between a creation and his creator.” Creature’s eyes widened, and for the sake of trying not to immediately shed a tear by thinking about that statement, he stared back up to the heavens. “That is… a definition I could approve of.” “How about a name?” “A… name?” “Is it a name you could approve of?” Victor reiterated, opening his eyes and looking over to see that Creature was now once again staring at him, though this time clearly not trying to hide the tears in his gleaming yellow eyes. His silence disturbed him, and he looked away. “...No, no nevermind - forget it. Forget it.” “Victor I,” Creature began, his voice soft and shaken. “That is so much more of a meaningful name than I could have ever imagined.” Victor glanced back at him. “Are you sure?” Creature nodded, smiling wide as tears streamed down his face. “I have scarcely been more sure.” Victor swallowed back tears of his own and smiled back to him. “Then consider it finalized, Agape.” He paused, then leaned forward and embraced him as tightly as he could. “Agape Frankenstein, my first and only…” he paused, thinking for a moment, then smiled contentedly, “son. My first and only son.” Agape didn’t know how to react at first - he was overwhelmed with so many emotions; relief, hope, joy. The most he could do was wrap his arms around his creator - his father - and finally take in what it really meant to be loved.

[migeviellardi]

Out Of Comfort

Genre : Adventure, Action, Humour, Hurt/Comfort

Summary : 2 years after the 'you-know-who’, Donnie struggles to adjust with the new way of life. The precarious science blocks are back haunting him, putting him in total stress while he tried his best to keep up with the new team play and co’ord.

Chapter 2 A New Start

Welding felt relaxing, the sound of tiny sparks are like a music to Donnie’s ears. It might not be a real music, but it’s melodious nonetheless. Donnie lifted up his googles, leans back to catch a break. He almost done fixing the hover shell, not the one from yesterday, the one that he kept fixing and fixing away, despite there’s nothing wrong with it.

The one he used last night was a prototype of a new model. It still looks the same as the old ones, but he did made a few upgrades on them. It was definitely frustrating when it got busted. He’s planning to use it more since it felt lighter than the old one. But, now he needs a new shell to wear on a patrol.

He looks at the battleshell charging station. What left there was his worn down Spider-shell. Below it was none other than his wrecked and broken shells that he hadn’t repair, yet. He let out a sad sigh, he looked around him to find that his lab are somewhat cleaner, much cleaner than he remembered. Usually the lab was littered with piles upon piles of inventions, blueprints, scattered metal parts, and energy drinks. 

Now, it seems as if it was untouched. The sleek metallic purple walls with LEDs are still looks fresh and new. The floor was free from dust due to the roombas roam freely without bumping into any tech pieces. And the workbench,....empty. Only his old battleshell that he kept tinkering that are currently there. Also, a cup of coffee.

Donnie about to take a sip when he realized it was ran out. He inspect the glass and saw small coffee drips down the mug got frozen in place due to a long time exposed to the AC. How long have he been there without refilling his coffee? Does he been getting the science block again?

Putting down the mug, he rubbed his tired eyes in frustration. Was he being unproductive on purpose? What is he doing here? Why can’t he finish anything? 

“Hey.” the voice made him jumped, he looked back to see Leo stood on the doorway. “Whoa, it’s okay. Just a little old me.” Leo held his hands out. Donnie frowned, he turned back to his hover shell.

“What do you want, Leo?”

“It’s training time, Don. Better not coop yourself up in the lab, or I’ll let Raph drag your shell to the Dojo.” Leo ordered as he left towards the Dojo. Donnie sighed heavily, he stood up and followed him. He admit, there’s nothing else he would do, science blocks are the worst and it became a daily routine ever since their Lair was smushed to smithereens. And, the fact that he hate to obey the words Leo told him to.

He wasn’t questioning his leadership skills. If Donnie allowed himself to be honest, the Slider actually knows what he’s doing, good at it in fact. Raph at first had a hard time to adjust, now the former leader putting his trust to Leo, even Mikey approved. Donnie, however, still adapting. 

It wasn’t because that he hate to admit it, it just doesn’t sits right putting the leader role to the one who usually pulled some poor one-liners out of spite and keeps bugging your work with some pranks, jokes and poking on things that could cause explosions like it was some kind of a job, because if it is, he good some pretty good records he might get himself some promotions.

And now, the true color of the team seems to emerge. We got the Leader, The Muscle, The Heart and The Brain. Although, The Brain more likely The Brain-Dead one. Stupid science block keeping him from thinking straight, not much idea that pops out other than upgrading, or upgrading the upgrade, or upgrading the upgraded upgrade.

It might be some improvement for anyone, but for the one with the giant science head-cannon looming inside his head, that’s barely even an add-on. He’s unproductivity hurts him, as if the genius inside suddenly just wanted to stop, no more mad scientist mambo-jumbo. He felt it once again, the feeling that he had gone rotten, expired, outdated.....useless. 

Seriously, what will he be for the team without his big brain? What can he do other than getting kicked in the booty several times that let your little brother saves your sorry butt?

If once again, he got knocked down and having Mikey, of all people saves him, he’s going to lose his mind.

###

“Alright, my sons. Now, let us begin to--Purple, where’s your battleshell?” they stared at Donnie in his bare-shell. He rolled his eyes, dejected.

“I’ll be fine, Dad. I’m not going to hurt myself.”

“Nono, my son. I believe you, it’s just....weird seeing you without one.” Splinter simply said, trying not to offend his purple son.

“Well, it’s in repair, and my shoulders are getting tired. So....” Donnie didn’t have to finish his sentence to earned a nod from his father.

“Verywell, then. Let us start,....now!” as on cue, the whole Dojo became dark. The brothers immediately forming back to back formation, weapons at their hands, full caution. “Hamatos carries essence of life, the Ninpo. Or what most common people called them, mystics.”

Raph sense a movement to his right, Splinter came in with a kick. Mikey saw the offense, he blocked the kick, swung his nunchaku to Splinters head. The rat dodged it with ease. Upon landing, Raph coming in clutch with his fist. Splinter jumps back into the darkness. “Some may think that it is the most essential in fighting.” 

The turtles back to their formation, listening to every sound to pinpoint the next attack. “Others, prefer something else.” a tail emerge from the darkness. Donnie shielded himself with his bo, the tail wrapped around the wooden weapon. Donnie expected the attempt of pulling, he pulled harder, forcing Splinter to show up. Leo anticipated Donnie’s strategy, he swung his sword at the same time Donnie ducked. 

Splinter didn’t expect the timing between the two, but he flawlessly avoided himself from being cut in half. Splinter pulled out a smoke bomb��and threw it onto the ground. The smoke caused them to cough, which means distractions. They have no choice but to bail on their formation.

“There will be a time where mystic powers will do no good.” Leo sense presence near him. He ducked down to escape another kick. “So, you must focus on your own ability.” He tail swipe Leo’s katanas, leaving him unarmed. 

“Agility.” Splinter increases his speed, offering punches and kicks towards the turtle. Leo dodged every attack, seamlessly evading and parrying every blow. He counter-attacked Splinter’s punch, delivering a fist to his face. Splinter caught his hand and kicked Leo away, disappearing into the dark.

“Strength.” Raph blocked a powerful kick out of Splinter, pushed him back a meter. Another tail swipe, Raph let it wrapped on his hand and threw his dad away.

“Speed.” Splinter took a punch from what seems to be Mikey’s fist. Splinter blocked his next punch, only met with a swipe kick a second after. Mikey swung his nunchakus with unimaginable speed. Splinter steps up his game to blocked a series of attacks that his youngest son often called it ‘Razzmatazz’. He manage to grabbed both nunchakus and threw orange from the fight.

“And, Instinct.” Donnie dodged a powerful kick launches towards him. He swings his bo just in time to meet Splinter’s punch. Once again, he disappeared. Donnie waited, trying to hear the footsteps. Behind you! He turns to blocked another powerful kick, this time it was too much to hold, it sent Donnie flying to a nearby wall. He winced and panted, adjusting his weight to his bo.

The lights turned on, Splinter ran towards him. “I’m fine!” his voice sounded a bit too loud. Splinter flinched, he’s unsure if the pain was bearable, but he knows well how stubborn his purple son can be. He decided to let it go, “You did better, my son. If you did not block that last kick, you might get yourself hurt even more.” He thought that he should apologize, but he didn’t think purple would appreciate that.

“Alright, take a break all of you.” he put both of his hands on his back, cracking it forward. “Ugh, while I tend to my bad back, you may have some spar with each other.” he walked away while rubbing his back. 

“Hey, Raphie. Wanna spar with me?” Mikey asked excitedly. Raph smiled, accepting the challenge.

“Sure thing, Mikey.” Raph readied up. Mikey activates his mystic chains and whips the nunchaku to Raph, wrapping his whole body. Raph blinks before he was pulled away.

“AAAAHHH!!!” a lod crash was heard. Leo smirks at the scene. Donnie gathers back his bearings and prepared for the sparring.

“Leo?” the slider slowly turns with his smug face. Donnie’s on his pose, “Care to join?” giving him the serious look. Leo kept his usual expression as he readied himself. Donnie strikes first, jabbing his bo to his head, Leo tilted his head to dodge. Donnie swings, Leo parried them with his katanas. He gave more barraging swings, Leo’s agility gives him the advantage. He dodged, parried him with literal ease. 

Leo still using the same face. “What’s wrong, Dee-man? Can’t catch little Leo?” Donnie frowned. He swung, Leo blocked and kicked him in the gut. Donnie yelped, Leo sent another kick to the face. Donnie fell to the floor, shaking his head from the mild headache. Leo knelled down, “Aww, had enough already?” 

Donnie growled. He swung to his leg, Leo had expected that. He got up and sent more swing barrage, this time a lot faster and more frantic. Leo parried a lot more on this one, but didn’t change the expression on his face. Donnie downward, Leo blocked it. Eyes meeting eyes. “Come on, Don. Is that all? I can definitely fight you blind-folded.” 

Donnie’s patience grew thin. He didn’t have to tell him that. He knows he can, and he might will one day. 

Donnie pushed him back, now anger are definitely involved. Leo step up his game some more every time Donnie pulled off some new combos and new speed and variety. Donnie looked at him in the face. 

Shut up.

He was parried by another sword.

Shut Up!

He can’t beat him.

Shut Up!!!

He’ll never catch up to them.

Shut UP!!!!

He’s not good enough.

“SHUT UP!!!!!”

Leo flinched. Donnie panting hard, hands gripping tightly to his bo. Eyes fixated at Leo, as if he’s ready to kill. Raph and Mikey stunned by Donnie’s shouting. 

Donnie growled for real, this time. The deep reptilian growl filled his throat with his fang showing up menacingly. Donnie engaging his predator side, Leo held out his hand. 

“Okay, calm down, Dee. There’s no need to continue this with violence. Okay?”

“GRRRR!!!” Donnie attacks Leo with full intention. Leo no longer wanting to fight, he dodged every move Donnie makes. It was fast and chaotic, more like trying to hurt rather than spar. 

“Donnie, STOP!!!”

“GRAAAHH!!!” 

Raph blocks Donnie’s bo. “Donnie, knock it off!!!”

“Please calm down!” Mikey plead. Donnie ignored them all, he charged at Raph with blind rage. Raph dodged the jab, throw his fist at Donnie. He didn’t dodge, letting it hit his face. Donnie growled deeply, eyes as sharp as needle. Raph was stunned, he didn’t expect Donnie to accept the hit. He felt guilty for hurting his little brother.

Splinter ran back after being called by Mikey. “Purple!!”

Donnie saw an opening on Raph, he charge in while Raph refused to move. Leo tackled Donnie and pinned him to the ground. He refused to back down and squirmed his way to freedom as Leo gripped his limbs for dear life.

“Donatello!!!”

Leo, Raph and Donnie startled by his father’s voice.

“Enough!” Leo froze for a little while, he let go of Donnie once he felt no resistance. Donnie layed down, panting. He suddenly really exhausted. All that anger took too much energy out of him. He slowly hoist himself up to a sitting position. Splinter approached his purple son. Carefully assessing the damage around the turtle. There’s a bruise on his right cheek, might be caused by his oldest son as when he meets his eyes, he can see the guilt he’s facing.

“Purple? What is up with you?” Donnie refused to talk or making eye contact to his father. Splinter can still feel anger looming around him. Did one of the brothers ticked him off? What provokes him? 

“Donatello!” 

“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY!!!!” he yelled. Splinter jerked up by the sudden loud voice that felt louder to his rat ears. Donnie noticed that he went too much. “I...I just--” Donnie can’t hold back the tears that began to form in his eyes. He looked down to obscure it. 

Splinter was surprised seeing his son cried. The brothers reacts the same way. Devastated seeing their usual emotionless turtle broke into tears.

Splinter held out his hand, “My son,-” Donnie swatted away his hand and ran straight to his lab. Not even the call of his name from his family can get his attention. He closed the iron-forced door of his lab, locking it immediately. Donnie sat under his desk, hugging his legs to his chest as he burst to tears. The lab was eerily quiet, the only sounds that are presence are his and the sound of his family trying to reach for him from the other side of the door. 

He felt vulnerable having to broke down like this, he hates it. The way the others desperately trying to get him to open the door made it worse. He wasn’t supposed to show his weakness at the time, he’s a Hamato, a descendant of heart o’ steel. And steel has a lot influence with tech, his thing. He supposed to be able to control his feelings. 

Now, his meltdown would definitely stuck in the topic for a while in this whole family situation. He knows he’s having trouble, yes he does. And he knows he needs to keep up with the others. He knows, he’s the smart one. 

He tried his best, to keep up, to adjust, to be stronger, for everyone’s sake. But he can’t let his family help him with that, they all helped enough. He can’t let them once again drag their butts to fix his problems for him, no. Fixing is his thing, and he can fix his own problem by himself. Just uh, not now. He needs more time, to figure things out. His family just need to be patience, they can handle the waiting game. They’ve done this before, just like waiting for the drill out of its beta version.

He also, needs to be patience. Everything’s going to be alright, he’ll figure it out. He have to. For everyone’s sake.

###

The rest of the day passes by, quietly. Donnie had refuse to talk or eat, he sent Shelldon to grab some drinkable sustenance for him. He can handle being hungry, but thirst must be dealt with. As he recalled some research he found out that living beings can survive hunger for at least a week as long as they have enough supplies of water. Although, he can’t say the same about coffee, but not like it’s bothering him.

He waited for Shelldon to come back with a drink, his lab door still close but no longer locked. Once in a while his brothers visited him as he succumb to his depressions in his favorite purple hoodie, concealing his swollen eyes as a result from the earlier’s mental breakdown.

They talked, though they tried not to bring up of what happened in the Dojo. Leo, most of all, had a hard time keeping it cool. The red-eared slider guiltily apologized for making fun of him in training. Donnie might not talk about it, but he willing to forgive him. It wasn’t Leo’s fault that he had problems, he needs to stop playing the Blame Game.

“We love you, Don. And nobody can change that.” Leo said.

“I know.” Donnie simply replied.

His thought was broken by the sound of whirring from the purple drone who he manage to salvage, thankful that Shredder didn’t think twice and explode his core memory.

“Yo, Dee. I got the coffee for you.” the drone informed enthusiastically.

“Thanks, Shelldon.” he quietly accepted the coffee and took the first sip before once again continuing his currently favorite activity, staring an empty desk. Shelldon’s cheery attitude turned into worry as he watched his creator’s constant solitude. Slumping his upper body further back into his gaming chair, holding the coffee mug in both hands.

“Dude. You okay?” he asked for what seems like the tenth times by now. The response stayed the same.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Shelldon wasn’t happy with the answer, but he shrugged it off. He took out his lanky robot arm and grabbed something that sitting on top of him.

“Mikey told me to give you this.” he held out a box of pizza at him. “You should at least eat something, Donnie.” he plead. Donnie stared at the pizza then at Shelldon. The look of worry annoyed him. Great, even a robot is worried about him. But he knows better that Shelldon is not just a robot. He’s a family, part of the Hamato, the drone has feelings and conscious of its own. 

Donnie accepted the package, he took a slice and eat it. Shelldon--although not quite visible--beaming away that he had accepted the offer.

“Thank you, Shelldon.”

“You’re welcome, Dee!” Shelldon flew off to the other side of the lab, knowing that he’d done his job. Donnie chuckled quietly as he gone. It’s weird to think that the drone behaving like a kid, which was the intention of installing the emotion-settings in the first place. He can’t remember the last time he acted like one, those days of constant playing, troublemaking and have no care in the world. He said it before; it was messy but gosh, it was fun.

Then, he heard the lair suddenly began crowdy. He didn’t realized that the door was opened, did Shelldon forgot to close the door? How could an AI forget something? Donnie have no mood to stand up or command anything for now, so he let it be. He heard a distant sound of clip-clop from hooves in the lair. The only mutant he knows that is involving hooves is Baron Draxum. What is he doing here? And the sound of chit-chats heard along with it as well, especially some faint female voices and his dad. 

They all having a chat out there. How long they’ve been in this states? Why haven’t anyone informed him about visitors? Then again, he’d been cooped up in this lab and desiring for some temporary isolations, of course they haven’t inform him. 

Not wanting to bother with anything about it, he continued sipping his coffee and chomped down more pizza into his throat. Not much he can do for now, other than listening the distant inaudible voices. Not even bothering to look up to the sound of footsteps getting closer and closer to the lab.

“Hey, big guy. How’s it��going?” April leans her body to the door frame, keeping it cool.

“’m fine.” he answered again, too often now that it sounds more like a chanting spell. April offered a sad smile as she bring herself to sit beside the purple genius. 

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked softly. Donnie sipped his mug as a sign that he refused her demands. “I see. Well, we wanted to hang out together as family to the hidden City.” she told.

“Last time we did that we got thrown in jail.” he bluntly respond.

“Well, yes. But things are different now. Now that we stopped that ‘you-know-who’, they pretty much removed the bounties from our heads.” she added, definitely sounding more excited than before. Donnie still can’t trust the sudden change, although he does agree the treatment for doing so after that horrible incident, he didn’t expect anything from the Yokais but pay some respect for sparing them from the devilish evil claws they called Shredder.

“Still, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Remember that time where we trust that spider lady for taking care of ‘you-know-who’, and look what she did, total havoc, everywhere.”

“Well, at least she did help out with locating the....uuuh....”

“Empyrean.”

“Yeah, that. If it wasn’t for her, we might not be able to save the day and,... You know what I mean.” she reluctantly continued her sentence. Donnie can tell why, he also didn’t want to think of what happen if they can’t find where Shredder had kept their father hostage. Can’t probably sleep knowing if they were too late, Big Mama was indeed offer a huge help even though she’s only can help telling them the location.

Although, the point still stands, she wasn’t a type of person that can be easily trusted. Things happened because of her, and they suffered the most of it. Can’t believe he wished that he should’ve listen to Leo the first time, probably one of the reason why he can be such a good leader.

“Look, I know it’s hard to believe it that way. But I promise, I got some good hunch today. Everything will be fine. You can blame me if anything goes wrong in your way, okay?” And there it is, the classic humble April. The very things he envies the most out of her, dare enough to take the blame and always be there with positive attitude. 

And, yes, April always had a strong hunch, it never failed them and they all knew that. If she thinks everything will be fine, then it will indeed. 

“So, do you trust me?” she stood up with a big confident smile on her face. It somewhat contagious and made him smile as well.

“Of course, you’re the only human that I trust in this world, April.” he responded, with less tense or sad tone.

“What, you still don’t trust Casey?” as on cue, a loud non-feminine female voice shouting in the background, followed by what sounds like his brothers shouting back at her. Donnie grimaced at the behaviour of that girl. Ever since the former Foot-clan helped out with defeating Shredder, the group immediately warmed up to her. Except for Donnie.

He still respected her for saving his father, however he never had any connection with the girl. Her risk-loving-fight-adoring attitude giving his big bulky brother, Raphael a worthy friendly match. She didn’t even flinched by his loud thundering roar, if by chance she roared right back. And her chaotic energy is enough to keep up with Leo and Mikey. 

Donnie didn’t share much with such connections, in which he easily-predicted, the girl hates science. Although, she does find his inventions as cool and awesome, she might thinking about exploding it in place though. Leo would be proud.

Also, she’s terrifying, not as much as April, but she gave him too many goosebumps for the past years.

“In theory, she might be the last person to be trusted when it involves ‘safety’. Please don’t tell her that!” he semi-whispering, not wanting her to charged in and wreck something explosive in his lab.

“Your secret safe with me.” she gestured a zipping motion across her mouth. Donnie chuckles, “Now, come on. Everyone’s waiting. You don’t have to take your hoodie off if you don’t want to.”

Donnie smiled at that, he stood up and let April grabbed his hand leading him to the group. “Thanks, April.”

“Anytime, Dee.” she grinned at him.

[julie-and-the-himbo-ghosts]

Sometime You Gotta Lean On Someone Else: Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is here!! Sorry for everyone who’ve been waiting this whole time, I’m a slow writer lol. But maybe a much longer chapter makes up for it

Words: 3,679

Content warning: mild violence - Willie fights and knocks out a few dudes and it's about half of the chapter so I describe it pretty detailed, so if that's too much for you, you can skip to the line “He turned around to see every single one of the hostages staring at him slack-jawed.” Also some swearing, just like the last chapter.

Read on ao3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Be Gay, Fight Crime

Willie thanked whatever higher power that was up there that the bank had a back alley. There were so many ways it all could’ve gone if they hadn’t had a back alley, but they shook the thought out of their head, replacing it with just Alex, Alex, Alex.

With his bike leaning up against some nasty wall, he emptied the contents of his duffel as fast as he possibly could without dropping them everywhere. Inside: a pair of his good grippy gloves; a baggy hoodie with his little skateboard design on the back; loose black pants; one of those ski masks that only left space for ski goggles uncovered; a big roll of duct tape; and his stickers with the same design as his hoodie. What they affectionately referred to as their “Be gay, fight crime” gear or, if they were feeling basic, just their Spy Bag.

He just really hoped the bank had a back door he could get through.

There had to be someone - some higher power, ancestors, the OG ally the Universe, whoever - up There looking out for him, because somehow he managed to find a backdoor into the bank that was unlocked and unblocked by bank robbers. If he was going to be honest, he didn’t know if he should be thankful that the bank had such bad security or if he should consider suing them for emotional trauma.

Pushing possible lawsuits aside, he silently slipped inside the bank and made his way toward the bathrooms, where he ditched his now-empty duffel bag and slipped his tools into his pockets.

Well, ‘tools’ was being generous, he’d admit. It was really just his duct tape and his little skateboard stickers he specifically made so he could have a Vigilante Signature™, before he was nicknamed the Highland Park Vigilante and was just Willie, the anonymous guy in baggy black clothes just helping people he saw in danger, who was just starting out as a vigilante and wanted a cool signature.

As they crept down the hall, they could hear voices - the robbers, they assumed. They started out muffled and unintelligible, but as he got closer, he could begin to make out some of their sentences.

“Man, let’s go,” One of them said, his voice accented like a guy from those old mafia movies. They decided to call him Jersey. “This is taking way longer than practice; the cops are gonna get here soon.”

It took them a second, but they finally realized the robbers were walking toward him, and he pressed himself against the wall. Shit, shit, shit. One guy they could handle well enough. Two? Two was pushing their luck.

“We’re going as fast as we can,” A second voice responded, and they just barely stopped themself from sighing in relief. It was just a patrol with a walkie-talkie.

“Hurry faster,” Jersey replied.

“Shut up and do your job,” Growled the robber on the walkie-talkie - Radio Man, to them. “We had to tie up more hostages than we expected, and Marv found one in the bathroom, so it’s taking longer than we thought.” Their breath hitched. Marv. A hostage in the bathroom. So the robber who dragged Alex from the bathroom had a name. “Quit whining about the time and make sure no one’s wandering around the halls. And don’t radio us unless it’s urgent.”

“Fine, asshole,” Jersey grit out. The radio went from static to silent, and the sound of their heartbeat filled their ears. Jersey rounded the corner, and Willie waited until he was all the way into the hallway before they sprang out of their position against the wall.

“What the—” They heard the robber start, and they kicked him in the stomach before he could reach for his gun or radio. Jersey stumbled back, but didn’t fall over, and quickly recovered. He swung at them - too wide, they noticed, and too easy to dodge - so he ducked his head back and caught his arm with their own. Before Jersey could take his arm back, they followed it up with a jab straight into his nose. While Jersey reeled back, they swung their other fist into his chin with his left hook, finally knocking him out for good. When he finally slumped to the floor, they snatched their duct tape out of their pocket and wrapped his wrists up securely before ditching him in a nearby closet.

Willie pocketed Jersey’s radio as well, and then took off down the hall, deeper into the bank.

~~~

The bank was practically a maze, he realized, and he added the fact that he accompanied Alex here all the time to the list of things he was thankful for.

Alex. Just the thought of him overtook the adrenaline racing through his veins from taking down Jersey with the cool rush of fear. This wasn’t just any job - there were actual people in danger, Alex included, and - if he was being scarily honest - he didn’t actually know if he was okay. Anything could’ve happened after he hung up the phone, and the thought, the thought, of Alex being anything other than okay made him want to curl up and cry.

But he couldn’t because Alex was in danger, and curling up on the floor didn't help him, didn't help Alex, and didn't help the other hostages in the bank. The only people it did help were Jersey, Radio Man, and their buddies.

He steeled himself and moved faster down the halls and towards the hostages - towards Alex.

~~~

When the maze of halls ended, it dropped them off in a little doorway next to the bank tell counter - close enough for them to duck behind the counter without anyone seeing them, but accessible for customers to use to go to the bathroom, for example.

They rolled behind the counter from the doorway and stuck their head up so they could peek through the glass that would usually separate the tellers from the customers.

The blinds on the front windows of the bank were drawn, and the hostages were all clustered together on the opposite end of the tellers’ counters. About ten of them, they estimated, including Alex, sticking out from the others with his bright blond hair, pink shirt, and black fanny pack. They had to freeze to stop themself from just running over there and releasing him. They had to deal with the robber guarding them first, and then Radio Man, and then any other robbers that might be there.

They couldn’t see the robber guarding them right off the bat, and they must have peeked their head up a little too high looking for him because one of the hostages snapped their head around and locked eyes with them.

And naturally, with their luck, it was Alex.

Alex looked panicked - well, more panicked than he was just being a hostage - and Willie put a finger up his mouth as if to shush him from the other side of the room. Alex, thankfully, looked like he got the message, and he snapped his eyes away from theirs.

With that disaster averted, they continued to scan the room for the guard. With this amount of energy they needed to spend looking for him, his name needed to be Waldo. Waldo was at the front, practically dead in front of Willie, pulling the blind away from the window to look through.

Seizing the distraction, Willie vaulted over the counter - careful not to knock his legs on the glass - and ran silently across the room, and he almost made it.

Waldo turned around when he was just feet away from him, and he swung his gun towards them.

Fuck.

It was a cliche, they knew, but it felt like everything moved in slow motion for a few moments. Willie saw the gun swinging towards their face, the pull of the trigger, the bullet shooting out of the gun. They stopped dead in their tracks and threw their weight backwards. Willie saw the bullet shoot towards them and fly over their face almost in slow motion, as if it was moving through jelly instead of air. The shot was nearly deafening, but the momentum of the sudden stop and throwing their weight back caused them slid on the ground like a baseball player sliding into home base - except, instead of sliding into home base, they slammed into Waldo’s legs and bowled him over. He crashed to the ground, and the gun clattered out of his hands and onto the floor. They rolled to the side and grabbed it, pointing it at Waldo before he could get himself off the ground.

He hoped he didn’t seem as unsure on the outside as he did on the inside, because shit, he hated guns. Just levelling a gun at Waldo - a robber who took Alex hostage and shot at them - made his stomach roil. There was a reason he ran around town as a vigilante instead of joining the police force. Well, multiple reasons, but he didn’t have the time to list every single one.

“Don’t move,” He told Waldo.

“Who the hell are you?” The man just said in response, his voice incredulous.

They recognized that voice.

They didn’t know him or anything dramatic and cliché like that, but they’d heard it before. Only two words, to be fair, but it was a memorable two words.

Waldo was the guy that dragged Alex out of the bathroom.

A surge of rage shot through him. He knew it was irrational and unreasonable and downright dangerous, but he was pissed. He’s the reason Alex is in danger.

“Give me your arms,” He growled. He didn’t consider himself an angry person, not in the slightest - he might get irritated, sometimes, but never really pissed. There was a very short list of special offenses that got him pissed.

He could add ‘endangering Alex’ to that list, then.

Waldo - no, Asshole now - put his hands up in a defensive pose. “Okay, okay. Don’t shoot.” He slowly outstretched his arms, fingers linked. Willie reached into his pocket to grab his duct tape - gun still trained on Asshole - and used his teeth to pull up the edge of the tape. They carefully slipped the gun into another one of their pockets - thank God for cargo pants - and started wrapping Asshole’s wrists in tape.

But Asshole had another idea.

Using his clasped hands like a fist, he swung his hand at their face and caught them in the jaw. They reeled back a step from the force of the swing, then shot their elbow out and smashing it into the side of his jaw, quickly following it up with a kick to his stomach and another punch. Asshole collapsed to the ground, out like a light, and he finished wrapping his arms and legs in duct tape.

He turned around to see every single one of the hostages staring at him slack-jawed. Some were incredulous, like they were thinking “What?? The hell??” - not some of their fans, then. Others had more of a shocked, wow-I-just-got-saved-from-a-bank-robber-by-the-Highland-Park-Vigilante look, the one that always made him smile a bit. There were two kinds of people.

Well. Not if they counted Alex (and they always did).

Alex…Alex was a little harder to read; his emotions weren’t in plain view like the rest of them. You’d think he would be the easiest to read, being his completely hopeless crush neighbour, but Willie just could not read tone or emotion sometimes. They were many an English teacher’s nightmare kid - he spent countless free periods and lunches in high school with English teachers desperately trying to teach them, but none ever succeeded. There was a reason he used to be a chemistry major, and it was because chemistry was straight hard facts and not that ‘open to interpretation’ chaos.

Anyways. Alex.

Alex looked shocked like the others, of course, but there was also a hint of admiration - and was that a blush? - that made their cheeks heat up, too. He’d never been more grateful for the mask covering his cheeks.

It might’ve been a little weird, they realized later, the way they just stared at Alex for a bit - okay, a lot - longer than normal, especially as the Highland Park Vigilante and not his friendly neighbourhood he/they.

Sirens pierced the quiet, low and muffled in the distance, and that sent another little shot of adrenaline through his veins. Shit. He had to get out of there and change and get away from the scene, not to mention Radio Man, who was still loose in the building somewhere and was definitely going to start to hear the sirens soon.

They moved to rush out of the room but stopped midstep and went in Alex’s direction instead. As they got closer, Alex’s mouth dropped open slightly with a hint of incredulity that made them smile. Digging around his pocket, he grabbed one of his several vigilante signature stickers that he carried around to leave his mark and pressed it into Alex’s hand with a dramatic wink.

If Alex hadn’t been blushing before, he definitely was now, with that dark pink tinge to his cheeks and his mouth gaping open even more than before.

They let themself revel in the warm, bubbly feeling of pleasure making Alex blush gave them while they jogged out of the room.

~~~

Willie opened the door to the bathroom - the same one he ditched his empty duffle bag in before he took down all the robbers - slowly, checking to see if there was anyone in the hallways before walking out.

He’d found and knocked out Radio Man just as the cops arrived at the scene. Instead of having to negotiate with several robbers with hostages, they found, the hostages walked out of the bank, free and unharmed, as soon as they arrived. He laughed to himself, thinking of the confusion those cops were facing - before they found out he was behind it, of course.

With just their head peeking out the door, he scanned the hallway, looking for any cops or stray people walking around that would almost certainly find some random guy from off the street carrying a duffle bag inside a bank-turned-crime-scene right after a robbery foiled by a vigilante extremely suspicious. So really, he was just on the lookout for anyone.

There was someone moving down the hall, but he didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate for him that the someone was Alex.

He quickly threw his duffel back into the bathroom and walked out of the door as if it was a completely normal thing for someone to be randomly using the bathroom in a recent bank-turned-crime-scene. He could be subtle - on a good day.

With a better view, he could see Alex’s face better; he had that look on his face he always had when he was in a light worry-anxiety combo spiral. But when he locked his eyes on them, it morphed into one much more surprised and relieved.

“Willie?” He nearly cried, and ran up to hug them. “What are you doing here? How did you get in? Why were you in the bathroom?”

Willie let a little laugh escape his throat and he returned the hug, embracing him tightly. Alex is okay, Alex is okay, Alex is okay, his brain repeated like a broken record. “That’s a lot of questions, hotdog.”

Alex pulled away - he immediately mourned the loss of his body heat pressed against him - and they could see a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“That’s not— I was worried, okay?”

They gave his shoulder a little shove. “You were worried? I’m not the one who got taken hostage.” He hoped the light tone in his voice covered up the immense worry and anxiety and fear that had been crushing him since Alex first called him.

“Well, I’m not the one with a history of doing dumb thing things with a low impulse control,” Alex shot back.

Well, I hate to break it to you, but that’s exactly what happened, he thought. Doing dumb things? Check. Low impulse control? Always.

“Yeah, well, I’m not dumb enough to try to take on three bank robbers by myself,” He gave him a little laugh, like Yeah, of course I would never do that, Alex. God, he hoped he wasn’t as unconvincing as he sounded.

Alex gave him a weird, hey-wait-a-second look. “Wait, how’d you know there were three?”

Fuck.

His breath caught in his throat, and he felt his all-too-fake smile plastered on his face.

Think fast think fast thinkfastthinkfastthinkfast—

“Uhh,” They started, and they could feel Alex’s glare on him. “The, uh, the cops told me when I got here. I asked what happened and they told me, and then they let me use the bathroom in here as long as I didn’t ‘mess with the crime scene’.” They cringed internally with how bad the lie was.

But Alex seemed to buy it.

Something in Alex’s hand glinted under the harsh fluorescents of the bank and caught their eye. It was his vigilante sticker he’d pressed into his hand before the cops came.

A little balloon of something bubbled in his chest. He kept the sticker. They didn’t really know what they expected him to do with it, but it still shocked them anyways (and if it made him irrationally happy, then that was no one’s business but his own).

“Hey, what’s that?” He innocently (and impulsively) asked Alex, gesturing lightly to the sticker.

“Oh, uh,” Alex spluttered, looking completely caught out. “It’s nothing, really.”

Willie bit down on his growing smile. “You lying to me, hotdog?” He put a dramatic hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

His stuttering trailed off, and Alex looked at him helplessly. “No?”

They couldn’t help it; they giggled. Alex just had that effect on them. “Oh, come on, spill,” They whined and lightly pushed his shoulder again.

Okay, they were willing to admit that the teasing might have been unnecessary, given that they knew everything that happened down to the last detail, but it was hey, it was fun, too.

Alex gave a big, dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes. “The vigilante who saved us, the Highland Park Vigilante, they usually mark all the places they save people with a sticker. But, uh, since it was a bank and the cops were on their way and everything, they just gave me the sticker instead.”

“Oh my God, you’re blushing.” He definitely was; a light blush dusting his cheeks proved it.

“I am not.” The higher pitch in his voice and the darker pink tint of his blush betrayed him.

“Oh, you so are.”

“Okay, fine, I might be blushing,” Alex admitted, and their grin grew larger. “It was just really cool. I’m in the bank and I’m just thinking ‘oh shit, I’m literally being held hostage,’ and suddenly this guy appears behind the counter, all dressed in black, and literally vaults over the teller window like it was nothing and tackles the robber guarding us. And then, and then the guy tries to shoot at them and they just dodged a bullet like it was nothing. And when you could finally hear the police sirens coming, they ran out of there immediately, but stopped just so they could give me their sticker? And then they winked at me, Willie, they literally winked at me as they gave me the sticker. How am I supposed to not be blushing?”

They could be an oblivious gay sometimes, sure, but he was sure of one thing: Alex was definitely crushing on the Highland Park Vigilante.

He just so happened to be said vigilante and be hopelessly in love with have a big crush on Alex, too.

A small silence following Alex’s rant and his little epiphany hung in the air, as if neither of them knew what to say. Finally, Alex broke their little frozen bubble of silence and pulled his phone out of his pocket, gasping as he scrolled through his notifications.

“Everything all right?” They asked.

“I’m late for band practice,” Alex groaned, “and Luke has been blowing up our band group chat for ages.” He gave him an apologetic look. “Thank you for coming to— Actually, I still have no clue why you came all the way here, but thank you, Willie. Really. I don’t know what you thought you were going to do, but it means a lot to me.”

Now he was the one blushing, his cheeks felt hot, and he couldn’t look away from Alex’s earnest eyes. “It was— It was nothing really.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I told you, I’d do anything for you, Alex.”

Alex’s mouth had been open as if he was going to say something, but no words came out except for the audible clack of his teeth as he shut his mouth. “I—” He paused for a second. “I, uh, I know.”

Neither of them said anything, and once again, a little silence fell over them.

Willie shoved one of his hands in his jeans pocket and ran the other through his hair. What am I supposed to say to that? He thought, overrun with a gay panic.

But Alex spoke again before he could think of a decent response.

“Bye, Willie.” His voice was quiet and apologetic and hesitant, like he didn’t want to leave them there. “Thanks again.”

There were so many emotions swirling around in the mush of their brain as Alex walked away that they didn’t even know where to start to untangle them all.

But as Alex’s blond hair and pink shirt disappeared around the corner, one emotion pushed its way to the surface.

Joy.

This incredible, lighthearted joy that they could only assume came from the relief from saving Alex, from hugging him and knowing that Alex was safe, from the possibility that maybe he liked them, too.

Willie rode the happiness high as they walked all the way down the hallway towards the back alley where they parked their bike, and they couldn’t even fathom anything that could ruin this amazing feeling.

They were opening the back door of the bank when their traitorous brain decided to crush their happiness with the one thing.

Alex is crushing on Highland Park Vigilante, not Willie.

Taglist: @rawwwra, @sylphrenas, @willex-owns-my-heart, @thegaylink, @julie-n-phantoms 

Send me an ask or a dm or reply to one of the chapters to be added to the taglist!

[allmightluver]

First lines meme

Ooo! 😲 thank you for the tag @justanotherfoolhere !!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines. Tag 10 authors!

I’m incredibly shy so if you would like to do this, I tag you!!

Ah I have some old stories from old fandoms (or side fandoms I should say), but as for MHA, most of my stories are just wips right now. I have approximately 5-6 stories in the works right now, however 3 are just thoughts yet, not written out, 1-2 are RP’s with another person that I’m not sure if I have the ability to share yet 😅, 1 is....extremely, well...NSFW 🙈 even the first line asfkgkka I’m not going to do that one, you’ll just have to read it on ao3 when it’s done 😖

However! I do have a massive story that’s been in the works for over a year now (atm it’s around 57,800 words), I’ve actually gotten stuck on it half way through and a friend is helping me by rping those parts with me. If anyone remembers from forever ago, I talked about writing a story about Toshinori actually becoming addicted to his painkillers, and overdosing during class, that’s this story. I have a good chunk of this written, so to make up for my lack of stories, I’ll post a few paragraphs of the beginning! (I hope that’s ok! 🙈)

((I should note, I don’t normally rp, the ones I’ve done are just with a close friend or two))

So, here’s a few paragraphs of what I’ve been calling “Painkiller” under the read more...

Eyelids sluggishly rise. Each blink seems to be getting slower and slower. And he’s still talking. How the soft furred mammal at the front of their table can speak for hours at a time without so much as a break is a superhuman feat. Of course, the principal isn’t human at all, which probably is how he can accomplish it.

Black eyes glance at the clock on the wall across from him. 1:50 p.m. This was supposed to be a short meeting. A quick briefing on the school’s protection and security upgrades. This is also the time to give feedback on how the procedures seem to be working. It had started during their lunch break at 12:30 p.m., and it’s still dragging on. Snipe as well as a few other teachers that have classes to teach at this time are absent, but the rest of the available staff are present.

Shota massages his eyelids, refraining from gritting his teeth against the stinging, and promptly tipping his head back to apply his eye drops. They’re almost gone, he’ll have to get a refill from Recovery Girl. Shota lowers his head once again, black locks falling back over his face.

He’s exhausted. A full night on patrol and then the morning teaching at UA. He’s done for the day after this, and all he wants is to sleep. He’ll still have to check in with Eri to be sure she’s been ok throughout the day, before he can collapse on his bed. 

Eri was still adjusting to living at UA, but seemed to be doing well so far. When he couldn’t be with her, she had another teacher or staff member watching her. Thankfully, there hasn’t been an instance with her quirk going out of control. Yet. He hopes to keep it that way. She’s just starting school, but slowly. She has a lot of learning in just living before she can worry much about academic intelligence. But Shota has no concerns of her being able to catch up to her age and grade level. Eri’s proven to be smarter than they’ve given her credit for. Perhaps wiser in some ways than a kid her age should have to be.

Shota usually teachers her in his spare time. His hero work has decreased due to his stacking responsibilities. Last night was the first in close to a month, and he can feel in his sore muscles that it’s been too long. Thankfully, he can rest tonight, but if Nezu didn’t hurry this conference up he’s going to be pulling another all-nighter. The temptation to pull out his sleeping bag and snooze in the chair he sits is becoming harder to resist.

Shota’s gaze moves across the room at the other occupants.

Mic sits to his right, closest to Nezu. The man’s listening, but one can see the bored expression on his face as he picks at his painted nails.

Midnight across the table seems a bit more focused. Her arms rest on her lap as she listens to the white animal, adding in her thoughts every now and then.

Cementoss and Ectoplasm sit next to her, both relatively silent.

Shota’s eyes flick to the chair next to his left before moving to the closed door at the room’s entrance.

Yagi had been here as well. A few minutes ago, he had politely excused himself from the room and had yet to reappear.

Maybe he made a break for it, Shota thinks with envy. Though he knows it’s a lie.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the Number One Hero to duck out of meetings and public places for short periods of time. No one questioned him on it, assuming he had business calls or the like. He was All Might after all, and surely a very busy man.

But now the Symbol of Peace is dead, and still the brief intermissions continue. In fact, they’re increasing in frequency. Shota has high doubts about the possibility of impromptu hero phone calls from the man’s agency, but doesn’t dwell on it.

Everyone, even All Might, has secrets. It isn’t Shota’s job to nose his way into everyone’s personal life.

His sore eyes blink in mild surprise when the door he had been focusing on slides open, and the man in his thoughts shyly stoops his head under the doorway to enter back into the room. Yagi closes the door again and takes his place beside Shota, moving quietly to attempt not to draw attention to himself. But it’s a wasted effort; whenever he’s present, all eyes immediately are drawn to him. Plus, it’s hard to ignore a 7 foot man.

Shota turns away, attempting to refocus on whatever their eccentric principal is speaking about.

For a while, the meeting draws on as usual, Nezu doing most of the talking and the other teachers providing input as they see fit. The way the conversation is leading, it seems like things are starting to wrap up. Finally. The last class of the day starts at 2:20 p.m. and that doesn’t leave much leeway room for any teachers that need prep time.

Shota leans back with a silent sigh through his nose, crossing his arms. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can go check on Eri back at the dorms, and the sooner he can crash. Thinking about anything other is too hard to concentrate on.

Through his sleepy fog, something moves in his peripheral vision. Instinctually looking over to his left, he notices the lanky man next to him has wilted in posture, much like a plant with no water. The haze in Shota’s brain clears only slightly, having something more interesting to observe.

Now actually taking the time to study the other, Shota notices the haphazard blonde mane looks messier than normal. Yagi’s long, sinewy hands are placed comfortably on his lap, though a subtle tremble is running through his frame. A sheen of sweat is starting to form above his brow. Though his eyes remain fixed on the principal, the unfocused haze in the cyan pools gives Shota the impression Yagi isn’t paying attention. The normally bright irises are dull and almost completely hidden in the surrounding black sclera.

He looks pale. Must be sick. Shota lets his attention drift back to Nezu. Toshinori Yagi is a grown adult; he can take care of himself. If he doesn’t feel well, he’ll go home. These thoughts stubbornly go through Shota’s mind just before another pushes itself in.

He remembers the tall man entering the teacher’s lounge only two days after the Kamino incident. Yagi had been completely wrapped in bandages, bruises and stitched up cuts littering his body, and one arm was in a sling. Everyone had expected him to still be in the hospital, and not back to UA for at least a week, maybe two.

Shota recalls the other teachers chastising the ex-hero and trying to convince him to go home, to rest. Yagi had politely smiled, one that made Shota’s teeth grind at the obvious artificial gesture. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, only present to soothe their worries.  But Yagi thanked them for their concern. Even then, their coworkers had tried to assist him in any way possible. He had always insisted he was fine, respectfully refusing their help. It became hard for their colleagues to accept when it was obvious the injured man was struggling with even the simplest tasks.

Recovery Girl had made frequent appearances, much to Yagi’s dismay. It was unfortunate his body couldn’t handle her quirk, and he had to heal naturally, so she made it her job to monitor him. She didn’t even try to deny she was only there to check in on him, to make sure he was behaving himself, at least to the miniscule level she could except from Toshinori. She was always disappointed, and expressed so outright. But she could do little to sway him in his own self-care habits, and he always waved her off with another deceptive smile.

If he had forced his straining, overworked, body to comply during that time, what’s stopping him from teaching his class in 15 minutes?

More movement next to him puts Shota’s thoughts on pause. Dark eyes flick over to the older man, being as inconspicuous about his spying as possible. With the black hair covering his face, most people probably can’t tell where he’s looking anyway, and he’s not moving his head at all.

One of Yagi’s arms slowly lifts to his face, resting his sharp elbow on the table. The large and scarred hand covers his mouth, baring his bony wrist and too-thin arm as his sleeve slides down a few inches. The pose might be meant to look like he’s simply resting his chin, gaze still locked on Nezu like he’s listening intently. But sitting this close to him, Shota can see how the tremors in his body have increased, sweat starting to run down the deep crevices of his face in tiny rivers. The glazed over look in those black eyes has been replaced by one subtly emitting a fight or flight expression.

Shota frowns. He’s gonna barf. The pro briefly wonders if he should use his capture weapon to grab the trash can in the corner of the room to prevent a mess on the carpet, or worse, the table.

Before he can act, Yagi’s chair abruptly slides backwards as the retired hero wrenches his body up, fumbles with the door handle, and rushes out of the room as quickly as his unstable limbs can carry him. He barely manages to slam the sliding door shut behind him before he’s out of everyone’s sight, the hasty squeaks of his shoes on the tile floor growing more and more distant.

Nezu pauses at the sudden outburst, all the room’s occupants staring at where All Might had disappeared. The feel of concern weighs heavily in the atmosphere.

Although Yagi had often left before, he always excused himself quietly or snuck away when the attention wasn’t on him. Something this dramatic has never happened.

-----

And we’ll leave it there for now! This is still a wip remember, so things may be changed here and there, but I hope this makes up for my lack of other stories!

[set-phasers-to-whump]

“don’t try to pin this on me”

prompt: “don’t try to pin this on me” (alt no.6)

whumpee: neal caffrey

fandom: white collar

back with neal today!! missed writing him :) this is set s3 or 4 ish, well into the show anyway. hope you enjoy!

“I’m missing dinner with June for this,” Neal grumbles, holding the door for Peter. 

“And I’m very sorry she’s missing your sparkling presence,” Peter replies, stepping through the door and flashing his badge to a security guard. “Maybe think about things like this the next time you decide to get yourself arrested.”

Neal spins and looks at him, mock affronted. “Low blow, Agent Burke.”

The two make their way through the apartment of the lobby towards the elevators. Around them, other agents begin coming into the building, overwhelming the poor security guard, who fights a losing battle of attempting to check everyone’s credentials. 

Peter and Neal step into the elevator just as the guard sinks helplessly down onto a bench, head in hands. 

“Poor guy,” Neal remarks, pressing the button for the top floor. 

Peter reaches over him and presses the button marked ‘5’ instead. 

“Can’t we go to the top first?” Neal asks. “I hear there’s a restaurant up there with amazing views of the city.”

“Right, an amazing restaurant that’s part of an apartment building being used to run a massive counterfeiting operation.”

“Still,” Neal complains, “it wouldn’t hurt to just take a look.”

Peter relents as the elevator opens onto the fifth floor. “Fine. After all of this is done.”

Neal seems happy enough about that prospect, and the two of them step into the hallway. 

“Lovely place,” says Neal, stepping over an empty can of paint. 

“This is the only floor currently under renovation,” Peter says, “and apart from the basement it’s most likely to be the center of operation for the entire thing.”

“And we’re here alone.”

“Other agents are coming up in a minute. Besides, these guys already know we’re here, and I’ve dealt with their ringleader before. He’ll run, not fight.”

“Great,” Neal says, not sounding much like he believes this. Apparently, though, he accepts it, and follows Peter down the dimly-lit hall, stepping over various construction materials and ducking the occasional piece of exposed pipe. 

--

Neal’s a few feet behind Peter when the agent steps around a corner, then quickly sticks his head back around it. “Found something,” he says, and Neal hurries after him. 

Peter has indeed found something. Several somethings, in fact, in a hallway that’s curiously devoid of the construction materials that litter the rest of the floor. A stack of counterfeit purses, some kind of large machine that Neal’s seen before in operations like this, and a safe with its door open. 

“Nothing in it,” Peter says, gesturing towards the safe. “And they didn’t take their bags.”

“Or unplug their machine,” Neal adds, as he pulls its cord from the wall. 

“They left in a hurry.”

“They could still be nearby.”

Peter radios this information to the rest of the team as the two of them continue down the hallway. 

“Watch your head,” Peter warns Neal, ducking underneath a metal pipe stretching across the hall. 

They reach the end of the hallway, which splits off into two directions. Neal looks down one, and Peter down the other. 

There’s movement at the end of his hallway, slightly obscured by the reemergence of the construction stuff, but visibly human. 

“Peter,” Neal hisses, trying not to let whoever it is know they’re there. 

“What?” Peter hisses back, coming to stand next to him. 

“Look,” he whispers, pointing to the movement.

Peter draws his gun. Neal keeps his eyes trained on the figure. 

Who must suddenly see them, because they start running. 

Neal takes off after them without a second of hesitation, hearing Peter shout behind him but ignoring him. He’ll catch this person. He will. 

He’s gaining on them slowly but surely, coming within a few feet as the two of them skid around a corner. He’s so close…

He looks back to Peter, several yards behind him, for just a second, to make sure he’s coming, then turns his attention fully back to his chase - 

And, too late, to the piece of metal pipe in front of him. 

He slams into the pipe at full speed, head colliding with a resonating metallic sound. The taste of blood fills his mouth almost immediately, and his ears start to ring as his forehead bursts into an explosion of pain. 

He stumbles to the ground in the shock of it all, the world spinning around him. He blinks to try and clear his head, and then the blurry shape of Peter is crouching in front of him. 

“Hey, you okay?” Peter asks, or at any rate, that’s the best approximation of what he says that Neal’s ringing ears are able to make out. 

Ugh...definitely not okay. He cannot believe that this has happened to him. It feels like something that might happen in a cartoon. He imagines little birds and stars floating around his head, and turns his blurry gaze to Peter’s face, and the offending piece of metal pipe behind it. He scowls at the pipe, wanting irrationally to get up and punch it.

--

Peter had been running as fast as he could behind Neal, who’d been incredibly stupid to just run after a potential suspect like that. Nevertheless, he’d been grateful, considering the lead Neal and the suspect both had had on him. 

The two had turned a corner, Peter hurrying along behind them. Neal had turned around to look at him a second after Peter had shouted a warning about the piece of metal pipe in front of him, and had then promptly run straight into it. 

Which brings them here, Peter kneeling worriedly by his CI’s side. Neal’s looking at him, though his eyes are unfocused, and he’s got this look of utter betrayal and anger on his face that’s definitely out of proportion for the situation, which is both funny and weirdly endearing. It’s also clearly not directed at Peter, he knows, turning around to see the piece of pipe directly behind him, dotted with a few small specks of blood. 

He turns back to Neal, whose gaze has not wavered, but is again aimed in Peter’s direction. 

“Don’t try to pin this on me, now,” Peter warns, grabbing a small flashlight from his jacket and turning it on, shining it into Neal’s eyes. 

“Cut it out,” Neal whines, turning his head away from the light. 

“I need to make sure the concussion that you almost certainly have isn’t too serious before I call for help,” Peter explains, gently guiding Neal’s face to once again look at him. 

Neal scowls again, a less severe version of the look he’d been giving the pipe, this time directed solely at Peter.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, shining the light back into Neal’s eyes. “It’ll just take a second.”

He flicks off the flashlight as soon as he’s satisfied that both of Neal’s pupils are the same size. That, coupled with the fact that he’s conscious, though groggy and grouchy, makes Peter reasonably sure that his head injury is mild, moderate at worst. 

He radios for help, which Neal, predictably, balks at.

“I can walk, Peter,” he says, and attempts to stand to prove his point. 

He’s pitching forwards almost immediately, and Peter shoots to his feet to grab him before he hits the ground and hurts himself more. 

“Sure you can,” Peter replies, guiding the two of them back to the ground. “Just like you can avoid giant metal pipes.”

“Hey!” Neal protests. “‘S not my fault I turned around to look at you. You said something.”

“I said, watch out for that pipe.”

“Oh.”

Peter reaches out and touches a gentle hand to the blood on Neal’s forehead. As with most head wounds, this one is small, but bleeding a lot, and Peter wipes away some of the blood with his cuff to keep it away from Neal’s eyes. Neal winces and pulls away, then looks at Peter’s hand with confusion evident on his face.

“‘M bleeding?” Hands quickly reach for his head, and Peter pulls them away with his non-bloody hand. 

“It’s just a cut, Neal,” he reassures. “Nothing to worry about.”

Neal relents easily, dropping his hands down to the floor. It’s clear he’s pretty out of it, and Peter hopes the paramedics will arrive soon. Right now, Neal’s not feeling the full effects of having slammed into a metal pipe at full speed - he’s in a little bit of a daze, obviously hurting, but not nearly as much as Peter bets he will, once the initial shock wears off. He’d like for Neal to have some painkillers already in him when that happens. 

A minute or two later, a few paramedics come hurrying up to them, bustling Neal onto a stretcher, which he attempts a rather feeble protest at. They push him into the elevator, Peter walking next to him, speaking into his radio. 

“We’ve caught a suspect fleeing the building,” someone says, in response to Peter’s call. “Saw him climbing down the fire escape on the fifth floor. Dressed in a security guard’s uniform, pockets are full of money.”

“You hear that?” Peter asks Neal, as the elevator opens to the ground floor. “They caught him.”

Neal nods. “Knew I’d get him,” he mutters under his breath. Peter stifles a laugh, patting Neal softly on the shoulder. 

“Good work, buddy.”

“Aww, thanks,” Neal replies, with a self-satisfied grin. The paramedics stop them outside the doors of the building, helping Neal to sit on the back bumper of the ambulance, whereupon they begin to do various checks on Neal to make sure he’s not too concussed, and bandage his cut. 

As Peter’d figured, hoped, he’s fine - a mild concussion, treatment for which is a few days off of work, some better-than-over-the-counter pain meds courtesy of the paramedics, an ice pack, and someone to watch over him for 48 hours. 

“That would be me and my wife,” Peter tells the paramedics immediately after they pose the question of who exactly will be watching over him. Neal looks up at Peter from where he’s sitting, like he’s not sure he’d heard him correctly. 

“You’re coming home with me, understand?” Peter asks, offering Neal a hand up and a silently-given shoulder to lean onto. 

“Got it,” Neal says. “Thank you, Peter,” he adds, after a beat, voice soft and a little slurred, leaning into Peter a bit more. 

“Anytime,” Peter says, and he genuinely means it.

thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed :)

[thiswasinevitableid]

#7 with Sternclay, for the prompts?

Here you go!  I went NSFW

#7: I’m assigned to write a piece rounding up all the bad press that you, a famous celebrity, have been getting and you show up in my office and demand me to write a retraction and get the ‘real’ story”

Barclay is so excited; he’s going to be spending two weeks on the Dual Mesa set, writing an exclusive behind the scenes story that’s sure to give the magazine a big sales boost. 

“Ah, Barclay, come in.” Ned Chicane, the show’s director, ushers him into his office, “I assume they told you we will be leaving to shoot on location tomorrow?”

“Yes, I, uh, I’m really honored that you chose Q to run your story; your cast is so diverse, it really resonates with our readers.”

Ned waves a hand in faux-humility, “Why create a show with paranormal elements that simply recreates homogeneity? However, my dear boy, you were not chosen by me.”

“I requested it.” Barclay turns as a tall man with dark hair enters the office, and has the sudden urge to hide under the nearest table. The man currently staring him down with bright blue eyes and a mild-yet-clearly displeased expression is Joseph Stern, star of Dual Mesa and subject of a very unflattering article Barclay published a week ago.

“Look, Mr. Stern, I-”

“Quiet.” Stern holds up his hand, “I asked Ned to give Q a boost by granting access to the shoot because I think the magazine does excellent work. I asked for you to give you a chance to prove yourself.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Your writing is quite good, but clearly your research and fact checking needs some work.”

“Just because you don’t like it-”

“I don’t, but that’s not the issue. You published things that are patently false and easily provable as such. For instance, the claim that I got this role by sleeping with the director has two major flaws; one, Ned is not my type.”

“There’s no accounting for poor taste.” Ned says, clearly unbothered, 

“And two, Mr. Mosche would break my fingers if I tried to fuck his husband.” He points to the corner of the room where a large, tattooed man sits reading.

“Right you are.” He looks up long enough to reply. 

“And anyone on set could have told you that. Whatever your sources were, you didn’t do due diligence. So you’ll be trying again.”

“Look, buddy, where do you get off giving me orders?”

“By being the star they’d have the hardest time killing off.”

“And by raising good points.” Ned stands, “asking for a flat retraction would reflect poorly on the show, as it would look as if we were trying to hide the truth. This allows you to correct misconceptions as well as get exclusive looks at next season.”

“You’re literally a paid actor, how the hell do I know you aren’t faking these two weeks?” 

“You won’t be spending all your time with him; you’ll be interviewing others as well and have opportunities to observe him without him knowing.” Ned pats Barclays shoulder, “but he will be responsible for introducing you to the rest of the cast” 

Barclay glances at Stern, who lifts an eyebrow with a smirk.

“So. Have fun with that!” 

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

The introduction the next day goes as well as trying to light a match in a hurricane. Stern is polite and professional when Barclay arrives, introduces him to the cast and the main crew without mentioning the article. But it’s clear Barclay’s reputation precedes him.

“You really got Joe figured all wrong.” Duck Newton, who plays good-hearted Sheriff Frank Roosevelt on the show, pulls Barclay aside as Stern and co-star Aubrey Little (who plays Lucille, a plucky young woman with a dark past) get ready to shoot. 

“So everyone keeps saying, but I didn’t make that stuff up. It turned up when I researching him.”

“Don’t mean someone else didn’t just pull it out of their ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Barclay sighs, rubbing his forehead. 

“Look, all I know is Joe’s been nothin but kind a professional to me. I’d even call him a friend. Know he can come off as intimidatin and rigid sometimes, but he’s a good guy.”

Barclay hears variations of this sentiment over and over during the next two days. It’s part of why he’s currently sitting inside his motel room not far from the main set, eating dinner alone. Indrid, the costume designer had actually invited him to eat with a few members of the crew.  Barclay demurred. If the bulk of the people on set think he’s a jerk, he doubts they’ll be that open to getting to know him. Plus, he’s kind of humiliated at how little actual evidence he can find for the claims against Stern, and doesn’t want to give the other man a chance to gloat. 

There’s a knock on the door, and he opens it to find the last person he expects, or wants, to see. 

“Good evening, Barclay.” Out of costume, Stern almost looks ordinary. There’s still the unfair symmetry of his face, the way he makes jeans and t-shirt look somehow sophisticated. 

“Uh, something you need from me?”

Stern looks past him to his cobbled together dinner; Barclay’s a good cook, but the damn room doesn’t have anything more than a microwave. 

“The chance to buy you an actual dinner.”

Barclay’s about to point out that he’s not eating in the commissary tent because of Stern when the actor adds, “please?”

He grabs his wallet and joins Stern in the still-warm evening air, following him into the few blocks that make up downtown Sagebrush, the former mining town that makes up much of Dual Mesa’s background. He expects them to stop at the Mizpah, the sole fancy hotel and restaurant, but Stern guides him past it and into a kitschy diner. 

They study their menus in silence, the pleather booths squeaking awkwardly whenever one of them moves. 

Barclay orders the burger plate that comes with a slice of pie and Stern, surprisingly goes for an omelette off the all-day breakfast menu.

“Barclay I, well, it’s obvious we got off on the wrong foot. I want you to know that as much as the article upset me, I don’t want you to be miserable while you’re here. No ones going to shun you for what you wrote.”

“Pretty clear they’re all on your side.” Barclay sips his water, meeting Stern’s gaze.

“There don’t need to be sides; you want to write an accurate profile of what it’s like on set, and I want to not have my name dragged through the mud anymore. Those come out to be the same thing.”

“You seem real fucking confident.” Barclay narrows his eyes. 

Stern’s hackles go up, but then he sets his hands on the table with a measured breath, “I don’t pretend to be perfect, Barclay. I’m aware, well aware, of my flaws. But none of those flaws match what you wrote about me. I’m not asking to look untouchable in your piece, I’m asking to look like myself.”

Barclay looks down, spots him nervously shredding his napkin. As he’s thinking, a teenager in a tricolor tank-top approaches the table. 

“Um, sorry, but are you Joseph Stern? The guy who plays agent Hooper?”

Stern smiles, genuine and reassuring, “I am.”

“Could I, uh, get a picture? Like a selfie?” 

“Of course.”

Barclay watches Stern pose with the kid and compliment his pride shirt, before waving goodbye as he scurries back to his table to show his friends the photo.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

Stern shakes his head, “It happens pretty often, especially in town where most people know what I look like in my street clothes, so I’m used to it. Besides, for a lot of these kids there’s more than just the celebrity angle. I can count the number of gay, trans, Asian-american actors on T.V when I was kid with one hand,” He holds up a fist to indicate a zero, “if the price of being that person for kids now is posing for some pictures, I’ll pay it any day.”

Warmth blooms in his chest, the sincerity making him want to trade a truth in return, “Yeah, I remember looking for guys like me and not seeing them. I’d just pick a character I liked and kinda projected. Except the X-Files; then I just had a huge fucking crush on Mulder. Oh, thanks.” He smiles at the waitress as she sets his food down.

“I know that feeling. Somewhere there are pictures of me dressed as him for a Halloween party.”

“Heh, I haven’t dressed up for Halloween in ages.” Barclay munches on a fry, “Last three times I went as Bigfoot. It was an easy costume and kept my face hidden.”

“That’s a shame for the other party-goers.”

Barclay coughs, choking on his fry, as Stern blushes, shoves a piece of toast into his mouth, and changes the topic to books. 

The next day, when Barclay arrives on location and everyone is milling about getting ready to shoot, Stern pats the chair near his own and talks with him until he’s needed on camera. Over the next week, Barclay finds himself next to Stern more often than not, comparing notes on the mystery novels they’ve been passing back and forth, or explaining his job moonlighting as a cookbook editor, or listening to the actor describe his travels to the locations of famous cryptid sightings. What surprises him most is how charming he finds Stern when he’s nowhere near a camera. On set, in character as Special Agent Alex Hooper, he radiates the quiet charm that makes his character so beloved. When they’re alone it’s different, a little less polished and little nerdier, and rather than captivating him it makes Barclay want to protect him.

It turns out that slips of the tongue happen to Stern a lot, at least when he’s around Barclay. “Sec” routinely becomes “sex” and comments about Barclay’s size and strength come often, Stern always sheepish afterwards. As if his attention is something Barclay may not want rather than something he craves like a four-course meal. 

When he starts daydreaming about asking Stern back to his motel room after one of their now-regular dinners together (that Stern always pays for), he knows he’s in trouble. 

“Helllloo?” 

He jumps, chuckles in surprise as Aubrey finishes waving her hand in front of his face, “Sorry, was thinking about dinner.’

“I was saying thanks for coming out while we shoot this. I know how hard it can be to pull away from your ‘muse’.” She wiggles her eyebrows and Barclay feels the blush overrun him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll let him figure it out on his own.” Aubrey winks, the groans, “aw fuck here he comes.”

Robert Hayes, who plays the recurring role of Hooper’s supervisor, appears in the grove where they’re shooting a scene with just him and Aubrey. Barclay steps out of frame, Aubrey hissing “don’t leave me” as he does.

“I can’t believe Ned is letting Indrid do more alternative looks for you.”

“It works for Lucille.”

“It would work better if she was more conventionally attractive.”

Barclay growls under his breath; how dare this guy talk to his friend that way?

“Well, obviously not, because the audience likes me like this. And they have opinions worth listening too.”

The tension remains throughout the shoot, Barclay tensing every time Hayes opens his mouth. He pretends to be busy when the actor comes over to join him. 

“I’m glad you’re planning on expanding your take-down of Stern.”

“I never said that. I’m writing about the new season of the show.”

“If you want more information about what he’s really like, I’ll be happy to chat with you in private.” The older man pats his shoulder and heads off to his trailer. 

Barclay waits until he’s gone, then goes to look for Ned. He has a hunch the director might like to know about Haye’s offer. 

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

“...guess Ned put him in his place.” Stern finishes adjusting his tie as the scene sets up, “Sounds like he wanted his character to become the eventual lead, and thought shit-talking me would be the way to go.”

“I’m glad it’s sorted out.” Barclay pretends to be studying his notes so he doesn’t stare too noticeably at Stern’s ass.

“Me too. Thanks, Barclay.” Stern steps onto set, and as Ned begins running through the scene with Stern and the actor playing his (unbeknownst to him) alien lover, Bee, Barclay wishes he’d chosen to be elsewhere. Because this is a sex scene. With Stern. That he will be watching. 

No, damn it, he’s a professional. His butt is staying in this chair.

He makes it through the several takes of the dialogue just fine, starts sweating a little when he kissing begins. Stern’s kisses strike a balance between tender and passionate, perfectly in character, and Barclay would give his right arm to trade places with Bee. 

The action moves to the bed, Stern caressing his lover as they unbutton his shirt.

Okay, now he’d give his right arm and leg to be the one beneath him. 

He reminds himself this airs on TNT, not HBO, so it can’t get much more explicit.

Sterns whole body drips with soft dominance as he pins Bee to the bed, cooing that he’s never seen a finer sight.

Fine, his right arm, leg, and any non-vital organs, he’ll trade them all in a second to hear Stern say that to him, even if it’s only pretend. 

He doesn’t make it through the second take of the bed scene, hurries away as quietly as unobtrusively as he can. There’s no way he can make it to his motel like this, cock pressing so hard against his jeans he’s afraid he’ll end up with a zipper mark. And the bathrooms aren’t exactly private. He does have the key to Stern’s trailer, the actor having given it to him in case he needed somewhere air conditioned to rest from the heat. The trailer that is very nearby.

Does he dare?

The question hardly registers before he’s at the door, unlocking it and ducking inside before anyone sees. He leans against the counter with a groan, unzipping his pants and praying the pre-cum that immediately streaks his hand hasn’t made a noticeable spot in the denim. 

He fumbles around to find some tissues, not wanting to face the humiliation of Stern walking in to find him cleaning cum off of his cabinets (he does actually want that humiliation, and badly, but not without Stern’s consent).

The strokes are hard and fast, his eyes shut so tight he sees static as he imagines Stern behind him, saying how much he wants him, how needy he is, how he’ll take care of him. He grits his teeth, breath leaving him in faint hisses and stifled moans until the temptation to say Stern’s name overwhelms him. 

“Joe, Joe, fuck, Joe.”

“Yes, big guy?” A voice purrs in his ear as hands bracket him against the counter. 

“Fuck” He tries to freeze, finds he’s shaking too much from want and worry to do so. 

“You forgot to lock the door, silly boy. I, however, did not.”

“I’m, I’m sorry, I just needed to, fuck, I didn’t mean for you-”

One hand leaves the counter, strokes the base of his neck and toys with his hair, “what about this suggests I’m angry with this, um, development?”

Barclay whimpers, feet unwilling to turn and look Stern in the eye.

“Should I stop?” The tease goes from his voice.

All he can do is whimper again and shake his head.

The hand leaves his neck, slides down Barclay’s arm to rest atop his hand on the counter. The other takes it’s time snaking down his stomach and hips.

“Poor Barclay, no wonder you had to leave.” His hand nudges Barclay’s aside, takes it’s place around his cock, “you can probably see this thing from space. I’m taking this as a testament to my acting skills.” A laugh as he kisses Barclay’s neck, stroking him slowly. 

“Please don’t say this is acting too.” 

“It’s not.” A kiss to his cheek, a twist along his cock, both making him weak-kneed, “do you know what I was thinking about during that scene? I was thinking about you, what you’d look like if I fucked you. It’s only a quirk of anatomy” he grinds against Barclay’s ass,  “that means I didn’t have a noticeable reaction on camera.”

“Fuck, Joe, more, please I need more of you, all of you, I’m so fucking close.”

The hand on his cock pulls away, “not just yet, big guy. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Uhuh.” He whines, pushing his hips forward to bump his cock along Stern’s hand. 

A light smack on the ass, “behave. Take everything off and wait for me on the bed.”

“Uh huh.” He turns, only for a hand to firmly grasp his chin and force him to stay eye to eye with Stern.

“Try that response again, big guy, with better manners.”

“Y-yes, s-sir, I, I understand.” 

He’s yanked into a demanding, possessive kiss, Stern stroking his cheek approvingly when he releases him, “Good boy. Is this alright?”

“Yes, yesyes, Joe, please, I love it, don’t stop.”

“I won’t, unless you say so. Promise you will if you need to?”

“I swear, cross my heart, babe, please.”

A loving laugh, coupled with a peck on the lips, “bed.”

Barclay strips so quickly he loses his balance, landing on the bed as he fights to pull off his pants. He tries to calm himself by folding his clothes and setting them aside, certain that if he gets more excited he’ll become the first confirmed case of human combustion.

“Hands and knees, please.” 

“Oh fuck me.” 

Stern is standing by the bed, naked from the waist down save for a strap-on, but still in his special agent clothes from the waist up. 

“Do you like the suit, big guy?”

“Yessir.”

“Good to know. Maybe next time I’ll wear the whole thing while I fuck you. Now” he climbs onto the bed, “try to relax for me.”

A condom-covered finger presses against his ass as soon as he’s on his hands and knees, Stern working him open efficiently yet gently until he’s begging for more. Stern ruffles his hair, and then the toy is pushing into him. It’s narrow, so the stretch isn’t too bad, and for a moment he wonders if it will even do much for him. 

“Let me see, if I just-”

“FUCKfuck”  The curve of the toy finds his prostate.

“That’s part of why this is a favorite of mine, it’s so effective” he thrusts harder, “at finding the right spots.”

“Mhhhmmmmm” Barclay bites the pillow to muffle his moans and growls, wiggles his hips as Stern finds his pace. 

“The other reason I like it…”

“SHIT, babe, baby, ohfuck that’s good.” The toy vibrates, sending heat all through him, “fuck, I’m gonna come in like th-thirty seconds from that.”

“Thirty seconds? Let’s see if you’re right, big guy.”

“GaaAAHfuck, Joe, yeah, yeahyesbabeyes.” He gives up on being quiet as the actor rams into him, drops to his elbows when the intensity makes it impossible to anything other than moan and and grunt and take it. 

“That’s it, good boy, let’s see just how hard you are for me” Stern pants as he reaches around, teasing the head of Barclay’s cock, “perfect, you’re doing wonderfully, fuck” a groan of gratification as Barclay spurts across the bed, “messy, god I love making you come apart, even I might make you clean that with you tongue later.”

“Oh god.” Barclay moans, drool staining the pillow, as Stern loops an arm tightly around his waist and grinds, the toy still bumping and rumbling inside his ass.

“Nnn, Barclay, yes, hold out just a little longer, let me get off on this perfect ass.”

Barclay whines, sensitivity overloading his circuits and driving him wild.

“Just a little more big guy, fuck, fuck, lord almighty I’m close, c’mon, you can handle it, you can be good and take me as long as I need.”

“Yes, yes, wanna take you, wanna be yours, wanna serve you.”

“Fuck” Stern doubles over, hips working frantically, “that’s it, good boy, if you’re in this bed you, fuck, your only job is to please me.”

“Yes” Barclay sobs just as Stern moans into his shoulder. When he pulls out, Barclay flops, limp, onto his side. 

“You with me, baby?” Stern wiggles out of the harness, lays so they’re face to face and cups Barclay’s cheek.

“Mmhmm. Fuck” he pulls Stern into a hug, “I can’t believe we just did that. That was fucking amazing.”

“Didn’t take you for the sub type.”

“Everyone always wants me to be big ‘n dommy. Don’t wanna. Wanna be someone’s good boy.” He’s slurring, mind still a bit foggy. 

“You can be mine. In, um in not just a sex way, although it can be just a sex thing if you want it to.”

“Nope” He cuddles him closer, then it hits him, “you’re asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“Please?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes” He kisses him after each answer, making them both laugh. 

“It won’t fuck up your work?”

“I’ll ask Mama what she thinks, we might need to transfer the rest of the article to Thacker. Uh, maybe this is silly but, uh, can I take you to dinner? My treat?”

Stern kisses him, stars in his eyes and a hundred watt smile on his face, “that sounds perfect, big guy.”

[ducktracy]

161. ain’t we got fun (1937)

release date: may 1st, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: mel blanc (cat, old man, elevator operator), billy bletcher (mobster mouse), berneice hansell (mice), tommy bond (taunting mouse)

the last cartoon we saw, which was another tex cartoon, was the behemoth porky’s duck hunt, which revolutionized the fate of looney tunes. pretty big shoes to fill after the fact! unfortunately, the shoes aren’t filled all the way. nevertheless, we’ll explore why. as the old saying goes, when the cat’s away, the mice will play (which is coincidentally the title of a 1938 tex cartoon as well!)

the opening shot is a homely multiplane pan across a sleepy, snowy landscape at night, underscored by a comfortable piano accompaniment. hone in on one house in particular, where a cat lounges in an armchair, positioned right in front of a roaring fire. another long pan across the household, where we meet our antagonist.

though this is a blue ribbon reissue, thus covering the credits, chuck jones and bob clampett get the animation credit for this one. chuck jones’ work is noticeable right away as we spot his animation of the old man, shuffling along the vicinity of the house, the newspaper in his fist shaking from the old man’s tremor. “yeah, there’s nothing like a good ol’ easy chair when a body’s tired.” 

our old man displays his endearing, warm-hearted charm as he approaches his cat, abusing it by smacking the cat repeatedly with the newspaper, ordering the cat to “git!” the poor cat settles on a rug for comfort instead, nestling down for the night. then, tex displays some succinct timing as a book is thrown out of nowhere, konking the cat right on the noggin. 

perhaps the only one who enjoys the cat’s suffering more than the old man is a mouse tucked away in the safety of its mouse hole, peering into the living room with glee as it tinkers around slyly. carl stalling’s accompaniment in conjunction with the mouse’s furtive footsteps create a combination that we would be seeing in many a cartoon, but primarily in friz freleng’s cartoons (the ever sly genius sylvester comes to mind). with the cat asleep, the mouse boldly takes a few strides outside its territory, waving its little paw in front of the closed eyes of the beast. no reaction. the mouse skirts back to the hole, not taking any chances. now sure that the cat is out like a light, the mouse gleefully grabs a paper and pencil and scrawls “the cat’s asleep”, fashioning the message into a paper airplane.

quite an impressive shot as the mouse tosses the airplane inside the mouse hole. we’re met with an elaborate vertical pan, showcasing the structure and inter-workings of the household. one mouse catches hold of the plane at the other end, opening it up. his mouse buddies crowd around to read the message. can it be? berneice hansell’s giggles overlap the underscore of the title song as a slew of mice stream into the mouse hole tunnel, arriving to the lookout mouse. the eager chattering ceases as the guard mouse shushes the crowd, indicating for everyone to move in slowly. 

tex experiments with shadows quite a bit in this cartoon, spicing up an otherwise slightly tedious routine. the mice creep along the walls, their shadows dramatically enhancing the risk they’re all taking by being out. a clever avery-ism as a cuckoo clock chimes, threatening to blow the cover of the mice. the mice shush the cuckoo bird, and the bird, understanding, pulls out a clock of its own and showcases the time around to the invisible crowd.

freleng-esque trepid footsteps in conjunction with a minor key arrangement of “ain’t we got fun” transforms into another avery-ism as the mice suddenly whoosh past the sleeping cat. the cat wakes up, shivering from the draft left behind, and closes the open window, returning to its slumber.

now, the mice are free to roam and play as they please. the swarm all pack into a collection of mousehole elevators, an elevator operator ushering them in. in the elevator, they make various stops in the pantry to gorge on some foods. “first shelf: cheese, bananas, groceries, and jams. second shelf: candies, donuts, breads and pies. third shelf: things and stuff.” a relatively mild gag, moreso cute than funny. nevertheless, the gag redeems itself with a kick: all that’s left in the elevator is a polite, elderly woman and the operator. a bit of gallows humor as the granny inquires “could you tell me where i can find the mousetraps, please?” the operator is rightfully horrified.

the mice gorge themselves silly. one mouse chews his way through a loaf of bread, marching along with his gigantic belly. one of the more clever gags involves a gang of mice playing pool, a slice of bread as the tables, peas as the balls, and the open mouths of the mice as the pockets. one spare pea is left, and a mouse “breaks character” to slide over and catch it in his mouth. a mouse narrowly avoids being decapitated as it eats a line of cheeses from a row of mousetraps, another mouse attempts to uncork a bottle with his tail and ends up getting stuck in another bottle, one mouse indulges on a hearty helping of salami, and so on. all while this is happening, billy bletcher lends his voice to a mobster mouse warning one of his companions. “ and if the cat comes, give us a whistle like this--” he demonstrates, and his confidant nods.

raucous laughter inevitably wakes the cat from its slumber. the guard mouse takes notice, but at the worst time: just seconds before, he had been stuffing his mouth with crackers (the box, labeled WENEEDA CRACKERS, is a take on the old brand uneeda biscuit). the mouse attempts to whistle, but his efforts are in vain. whistling with crackers in the mouth, impossible. tex would reuse this gag in one of his last WB entries, the cagey canary, down to the whistler’s face growing red. 

someone cries “the cat!”, and the gang of mice carving a turkey disperse just in time for the cat to shove its body through the turkey, narrowly avoiding its targets. now furious, the cat/turkey hybrid bounds through the kitchen in all of its ridiculous glory. just as it attempts to dive through an open mousehole, the doors of the hole shut the cat out, sparking a daze. an animator switch later (bob clampett maybe?), the mice retreat into their now open hole, throwing various food items in the grasp of the cat to frame him.

more chuck jones animation as the old man wakes up, finding his dirty, no good kitten sitting in the kitchen with a turkey for a body, candy cane in mouth, balancing a pile of food items. the kitchen is a total wreck. the old man chastises the cat--there’s a neat angle as all we see is his gangly, wrinkled, almost threatening finger jabbing at the cat, talking about how this is the last straw. the poses of the cat are lovely, from stan laurel whimpering to dubious shrugs. staging here could be comparable to the early sylvester and tweety cartoons, which are quite tom and jerry in nature (tweety pie comes to mind).

with that, the old man picks up the innocent kitty by the scruff of his neck, removing the cat from the turkey and kicking it outside into the snow. another avery-ism as the old man yells out the door “give ya a home and what do ya do? you eat it! now GIT!” a slam of the door in finality... or not. like in i love to singa, the old man throws the door open to blow a raspberry at the cat. the cat retaliates with a raspberry of his own. 

a clever dissolve as we fade away from the cat parking its butt in the snow to the old man parking his butt in his armchair, complaining about how that old pussycat’s always in his chair. tex is a man of eloquent syntax as he displays with the old man’s rant of “good for nothin’ lazy old cat old cat lazy good for nothin’ old lazy cat.”

back to the mice, the guard mouse from before writing a new paper airplane message, this time with a bigger announcement: the cat’s gone. as the eager mice mow down the messenger as they scramble out of the hole, we finally segue into the eponymous number, “ain’t we got fun”. 

definitely a highlight of the cartoon. the song itself is a classic, used since the bosko days of warner bros cartoons (honey sings it as she and a begrudging bosko wash dishes together in bosko’s mechanical man). lyrics are of course outfitted to the plot of the cartoon. the song is happy, peppy, with a nice jive. a nice opening pan of the mice playing makeshift instruments (like a pipe as a saxophoe). i believe the majority of the animation is bob clampett’s handiwork, that or virgil ross. tex experiments more with his shadows as we watch the singers dance and sing the song, shadows growing bigger and smaller and creating quite the theatrical effect. albeit brief, this is certainly one of my favorite song numbers we’ve seen thus far, in terms of song AND animation, and it definitely constitutes a watch. 

now, the kitchen is a rowdy, hectic zone, so loud that the old man is woken up from his slumber. he ambles into the war zone, and is promptly pelted by various grocery items upon arrival. intriguing camera shots for sure, especially the overall layout of the kitchen. the scene is reminiscent of the merrie melodies of 1934-1935, primarily how do i know it’s sunday, where weaponizing groceries saves the day in that cartoon. interesting to note, bits of the music cue are reused from the fella with the fiddle when the mouse scrambles to disguise his home, but it’s not from the same recording. 

the old man scrambles outside to safety, where he meets his kitty “friend” he kicked out. any notions of contempt and disgust are dropped from the old man as he attempts to coax his cat back into friendliness, hoping the cat will kill the mice. however, the cat’s having none of it, shaking his head and crossing his arms in defiance. great posing--definitely very avery. now, a few of the mice have congregated at the feet of the old man to witness the drama. one of the mice (who sounds suspiciously like tommy bond) remarks “see? the old cat’s not coming back!”

with that, the mice pour gas on the fire to spark some drama, taunting “YOU ARE A ‘FRAIDY CAT! YOU ARE A ‘FRAIDY CAT!” to the cat. the cat, visibly angered, zooms inside, barreling the old man over as it attacks the schoolchildren. the other mice aren’t too thrilled with the arrival of the cat, the guard mouse hurriedly tweeting on a whistle to signal the danger that approaches. various mice yell “the cat!” (including a very tiny mouse with a super high pitched squeak, a gag from the bosko days) the cat corrals the mice into their hole, and marches away proudly, tail in the air in triumph. 

mice now gone, streaming out of the exposed cellar doors and into the cold night, the cat settles down in the old man’s armchair after a night of hard work. we end just where we started, the old man ambling to the chair, remarking “yeah, there’s nothing like a good ol’ easy chair when a body’s tired.” he notices the cat in his spot and raises his newspaper, preparing to strike, when he halts. in a change of heart, we get this lovely, hilarious, and absurd visual of the old man crawling on the rug, circling around in the manner of a cat and cozying up, complete with a blank stare of heavy realization that this is his new norm. he pops his head out to tell the audience “i ain’t such a mean old man after all, am i?” an offscreen book answers his question as it knocks him right on the head. iris out.

this is an interesting case. while the cartoon had moments of pure avery-isms, this feels more like a friz freleng cartoon from 1934 or 1935 than a 1937 tex cartoon. the structure, look, and feel all seem very freleng-esque, but even then towards the more milder freleng entries. with that said, it’s not a bad cartoon. it had some wonderful moments: the title number is such a wonderful mood raiser, and gags such as the gallows humor of the old woman asking where the mousetraps were and the end with the old man curling up on the rug were great. but for a tex avery cartoon, this is a weaker entry on his part. i suppose half of it is because his previous cartoon is one of the most influential cartoons to exist, and coming down from that high isn’t very easy. it just doesn’t quite feel like a tex avery cartoon. the cat is the one with the most avery influence, whereas the mice look straight out of a freleng cartoon or even a frank tashlin cartoon with those big, pie cut eyes. nevertheless, it’s a mildly entertaining cartoon that isn’t bad, but i would hardly call it a masterpiece. i’ll post (or have posted) the main highlights of the cartoon, so i suppose there’s no raging need to go out and watch this one. with that said, of course, watch it by all means if you want. 

link!

[raendown]

@madatobiweek Day 4 Prompt: Marriage of convenience Also for Day 2 Prompt: Growing old together

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 6707 Rated: T+ Summary:“Are you saying I’m so undesirable that I can’t find a husband of my own?” he asked, unsure if he was even taking the idea seriously or not. 

A smile quirked his lips when Tobirama let out an easy chuckle.“You haven’t yet.”

Madara narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t bring the truth in to this.”

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Now and Forever

“We should get married.”

Madara lifted his head from where it had been buried in paperwork he wasn’t all that interested in doing, glad for any sort of distraction. He looked over to where Tobirama stood by the window with a whimsical expression on his face and his arms tucked in to the sleeves of his haori, half-lidded eyes watching the flow of citizens passing by on the streets below. With deliberate movements Madara set his pen aside and sat back in his seat to mirror the other man’s pose.

“Should we?” he asked, willing to play along if it would keep him from reading any more budget reports.

“Neither of us is getting any younger,” Tobirama pointed out. “And I don’t know about you but I think it would be rather nice to have someone to wake up next to. I’ve spent a lot of years living alone; it would be nice not to anymore.”

“Hmm.”

Tilting his head to one side, Madara considered those points. Forty years had done very little to age the man before him. Despite the lines deepening around the corners of Madara’s eyes and mouth Tobirama remained relatively untouched by the ravages of time. The animosity and anger that had defined their relationship during the early years of the village was long since cooled, leaving in its place mutual respect and a calm companionship. He might actually call them friends if not for the excuse that there was almost always another mutual loved one there when they spent time together outside of work. Whether it be Izuna or Hashirama didn’t matter, their two families had grown close enough to blur the lines in several different ways.

It wasn’t an unattractive proposition, really, just as Tobirama was not an unattractive man. Madara could admit that he had given thought to a tumble in the sheets several times over the past couple of decades but there always seemed to be something holding him back – one of their brothers, poor timing, the tumultuous nature of their relationship in the beginning. Marriage, on the other hand, that subject had been on his mind and stuck there more times than he could count, although never in conjunction with Tobirama.

Watching his best friend’s relationship with Mito grow stronger year by year left him yearning for that same companionship. Yet it simply wasn’t in his nature to set out looking for love, being more the retiring type who figured either love would find him along the way or he would merely have to content himself with the precious people already in his life. Tobirama’s whimsical suggestion rather neatly found a way around that.

“Are you saying I’m so undesirable that I can’t find a husband of my own?” he asked, unsure if he was even taking the idea seriously or not. A smile quirked his lips when Tobirama let out an easy chuckle.

“You haven’t yet.”

Madara narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t bring the truth in to this.”

He preened a little when that earned him an outright laugh. Despite age relaxing them both quite a bit Tobirama was still known as quite a stern and reserved individual. Outright laughter was a rare gift and hard-earned by very few, typically more given to quiet chuckles or soft huffs of amusement. Tobirama unfolded his arms and turned away from the window at such an angle that the afternoon sunlight lit his hair and left a crown of gold circled around his pale locks.

“We get along. I find you attractive. And one-night stands lost their shine long before I started approaching middle age. It would be nice, wouldn’t it, to have someone to call your own? It’s not love but companionship would be…well. We’d have someone to bring along to family dinners – that we both already attend anyway.” Tobirama shrugged casually, everything about him loose and at ease as though he were only speculating out loud without caring one way or the other what answer he got. And yet there was something about his tone and the faraway look in his eyes that said his suggestion hadn’t been quite as whimsical as it originally seemed.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Madara asked.

“It’s not a bad idea. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Hm.” Sitting forward and resting his chin on one palm, Madara tried to picture it.

Going home at night to find another body there like he used to find Izuna waiting to greet him. Laying his head down in the winter and curling himself in to welcoming heat. Lounging in the summer haze with their toes dipped in the koi pond in his backyard, shoulders brushing and voices low while they chatted about how far this village had come and all the great things the next generations would do with the foundations they had been given.

It truly wasn’t such a bad idea. Several extended missions together had taught him that Tobirama was an easy man to live with. Waking up to that face every morning and sating himself in that body when the mood took them wouldn’t exactly be a hardship. Actually the more he thought about it the more he realized the idea appealed to him.

“Alright.” It slipped out almost without his permission but he didn’t take it back. “Yes. Let’s get married.”

Tobirama blinked, watched him for a moment to be sure that he wasn’t just pulling some sort of joke, then ducking his chin with a warm smile that somehow made the hard angles of his face look soft. Looking at that smile made the corners of his own mouth twitch and Madara thought to himself with some surprise that he probably wouldn’t regret this. In fact, he was actually looking forward to it.

 -

 It was likely that if both of them had been younger and still clinging to the trappings of inflated pride their engagement would probably have stretched for twice as long as they quibbled over the smallest details of their upcoming nuptials, striving against each other for both of their clans to be properly represented. Pride still straightened both their tired spines in the morning but it had banked in to quiet embers rather than flames barely contained and ready to burst forth at the slightest notice. It was easy enough to come to a few compromises when they were needed.

Although they did take the time to enjoy a few arguments. They would always be themselves no matter how old they got and at this point bickering had become a beloved ritual they refused to give up on.

Barely a handful of months passed between their engagement and the wedding, just enough time for the winter snows to melt and spring to bloom with a little help from their retired first Hokage. Most of the planning had actually been handled by Mito and Hikaku while the two bridegrooms spent as much time as they could out of the village for any duty they could possibly scrounge up to avoid all the gossip surrounding their decision. Rumors about a hidden love affair were only humorous if they were kept to whispers when the subjects passed by. When people started approaching them with questions to settle the betting pools that had popped up, that was the point at which they both started disappearing. Where was the fun is clearing the mystery?

The ceremony was held on top of the mountain overlooking the village, Madara and Tobirama exchanging their vows as the sun set between their linked hands. Originally they had intended for Hashirama to officiate but after realizing he was likely to ruin the ceremony with copious amounts of crying they asked Mito instead. It was a good choice in the end as their predictions came true and Hashirama spent most of the ceremony weeping where he stood at Tobirama’s side in witness.

Not truly listening to the woman he already considered as a distant sister-in-law, Madara watched the orange and gold light of sunset play across Tobirama’s face, setting his skin aflame. Despite throwing himself headlong in to this partnership and experiencing no doubts since then it was still at least a mild surprise to find himself so calm now that it was all actually happening. Tobirama lifted one of his eyebrows ever so slightly as if to ask where his thoughts had drifted off to and Madara replied with a light shrug that could have been passed off as shifting his position, not wanting to anger Mito. Even after all this time it simply felt off to be so content with his place in life.

Izuna was making catcalls almost before Mito could finish telling them to seal their vows with a kiss, at which point Madara realized that the entirety of the small gathering was about to bear witness to their very first kiss. Before any sort of performance anxiety could take him Tobirama leaned forward to demonstrate one of the more interesting benefits of agreeing to this marriage.

Sweet kami but the man could kiss.

Wild applause from both of their brothers almost drowned out the smattering of enthusiasm from their other guests and they were each dragged in to tight hugs the moment their lips parted. Mito sounded both exasperated and fond as she announced them bonded for life, husbands until death parted them. Her words barely registered. Madara was too caught up watching over Izuna’s shoulder to catch what glimpses he could of the rare warm smile on his partner’s face and imagining what it would be like to wake up to that smile tomorrow morning – and the morning after that one and indeed for the rest of their lives.

They were swept away before he could get lost in his own head any further and hurried along to the pavilion set up a couple dozen feet back from the edge to have dinner with their families and treasured ones. During the rush of good food and endless well wishes Madara found himself strangely relaxed. It still felt odd sometimes looking out at all the faces around him and knowing that some of them had once been his dire enemies, that most of them would have killed him on sight with no remorse, yet now they would mourn his death nearly as much as they would Hashirama’s. The man at his side had been chief among those who once sought his death yet here they were now wearing matching rings and winding their arms together to drink from each other’s sake cups for the amusement of their guests. It was strange, the paths life had taken him down. Even stranger that he regretted none of them.

After dinner came the dancing during which Madara and Tobirama mostly sat to one side in conversation or mingled with the rest of the crowd. Only a handful of times were either of them successfully dragged on to the floor and only twice did they dance with each other, once in the traditional first dance of the night and once when half of their guests had already left, Tobirama surprising Madara by offering his hand with that same quiet whimsical smile he had worn when he offered his hand in marriage.

Of course Madara took it. They said little to each other as they danced, swaying together in a simple pattern since neither of them really knew how to do anything more. And when the music changed and Tobirama asked if he would like to go home Madara nodded without words. He was more than ready to start his new life as a husband – almost eager, in fact. They weren’t in love but they could be said to be good friends and he saw no reason they wouldn’t make each other’s lives better for being together.

 -

 Their wedding night wasn’t nearly as awkward as it could have been. In fact it was much more pleasant than most of the other experiences Madara had stumbled his way through in the past. Neither of them felt the need to stand on ceremony or do anything to make the evening special in any way but it was certainly a night to remember even without anything like that. Madara woke the next morning feeling languid and something close enough to happy that he was almost inspired to whistle as he made up their breakfast.

He didn’t though. Dignity hadn’t yet abandoned him entirely.

Life as a married man was…calm. Easier than he would have thought. Like all couples they had their disagreements and finding a way to balance their personal habits when they were both so used to being alone took a bit of figuring out. Yet the barriers between them were always thin and easily broken down with words. Age was rarely a disadvantage but in their relationship it was most of what kept them together until they found a way to coexist properly.

On their first anniversary Tobirama waited until evening had cleared the administration tower before leading Madara in to his office where he had pushed the furniture against the walls and laid out a simple picnic for them to enjoy.

“Well look at you being romantic.”

“Brother made so much noise when I mentioned we didn’t plan to celebrate that I told him I would think about it mostly to get some peace and quiet.” Tobirama shrugged as he settled on to the blanket and reached for the basket of food left close by. Madara followed with one eyebrow lifted.

“I will admit, that makes much more sense. And I’m not going to complain since this was my night to make dinner. If you want to do the work for me then I’m alright with that.”

“Oh don’t worry.” His husband smirked as he uncapped the sake bottle. “I’m going to let you cook dinner tomorrow to make up for it.”

Madara leaned against him to laugh, accepting his drink and the plate of all his favorite finger foods. Just inside the basket he could see a covered dish of inarizushi waiting for dessert. It was hard to tell sometimes what Tobirama had learned about him since they married and what he had simply picked up over the years through exposure of listening to Hashirama’s endless babble. Not that it mattered as long as it got him inarizushi to nibble on.

They ate together mostly in silence broken only by the occasional flicker of quiet conversation. Outside the window the stars were bright and the moon full, a pleasant backdrop to admire when they weren’t simply enjoying each other’s company. During the periods when they fell quiet Madara found himself reflecting on the past year, all the ways his life had changed and all the ways it hadn’t. He thought about what things would have been like if he hadn’t accepted Tobirama’s offer, how unremarkable his days would be, full of loneliness though he would still have denied it even to himself.

“Happy anniversary,” he murmured.

“It is, isn’t it?” Tobirama leaned in a little closer to refill his sake but Madara set the dish aside after only one sip.

“Kiss me,” he demanded. With a smirk, Tobirama was only too happy to indulge him.

He also seemed happy to indulge Madara’s stomach as well, feeding him inarizushi by hand and licking his lips clean for him afterwards until they set the food aside in favor of other appetites. It was hardly the first time they had defiled various corners of the tower but something felt different this time, warmer almost, like there was an element in their coupling that either hadn’t been there before or hadn’t been allowed. Madara couldn’t pinpoint exactly where his thoughts were trying to go with that but since he had other more interesting things going on at the moment he let the idea slip away from him as easily as the breathy moan that followed the hands drawing him towards an inexorable peak.

Tobirama was attentive in the aftermath, tracing patterns on his skin with something unreadable in his eyes. Without the energy to even think of trying to figure out such a complicated man’s emotions Madara simply allowed himself to revel in his husband’s attention. He created a clone just to have it clean up the room after them and pulled Tobirama down on to the picnic blanket with him, doing his best to disguise how out of breath he felt.

“Out of stamina already?” Tobirama teased him with a nip on the shoulder. “You’re getting out of shape, old man.”

“I’ll show you out of shape!”

Both of them were smirking when Madara pounced, ready to prove himself with another round.

 -

 As it had a tendency to, time went on. More anniversaries passed and their partnership only grew stronger with every one. Finally Madara had that which he had been jealous of others for: companionship. It still wasn’t love but he found as time went on that it was quite a pleasant substitute, enough so that he couldn’t speak to having any regrets about where life had taken him.

His thoughts were quiet and his mood content when he found Tobirama enjoying the weather on a warm evening just at the cusp between spring and summer. Some of the chairs on their back porch had accidentally been left out in the rain so he pressed his hands against each of the cushions to find one that wasn’t damp and pulled that one over to sit next to where his husband appeared to have spaced out entirely, staring out in to the empty backyard with no facial expression to speak of. It was only when Madara reached out to lay a hand on his wrist that he stirred.

“Is everything alright?” Madara asked.

“Yes, yes. Just thinking.”

“Anything particularly interesting? No more thoughts about the dead rising again, I hope.”

Tobirama cracked an easy smile but shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t want to listen to those lectures again, thank you. I had something rather more pleasant on my mind.”

“Could have fooled me with such a serious expression.”

He hadn’t meant anything by it so he was a little surprised to have Tobirama turn to him with a grave look in his eyes, deep ruby red in the low light yet pretty in a way that made him wonder how he could have ever hated this man. They stared at each other until he raised his eyebrows in question and Tobirama smiled at him again.

“I love you,” he murmured simply. Madara stared.

“You…did you…?”

“No, I didn’t feel this way when we got married. You grew on me over time, I suppose.”

“Oh.”

Something heavy like guilt settled in his chest. The life they had built together was a good one and he was happy, he couldn’t deny that, but love? If he were asked to be honest he could not say that he loved Tobirama, not in the way it was clear his husband meant. Whatever spiral he was about to go down paused at the touch of fingers to his jaw, the twist of Tobirama’s wrist to weave their other hands together.

“You don’t feel the same,” he acknowledged, “and that’s alright. We both knew how we felt when we got married. Nothing has to change; I don’t expect you to feel any different simply because I do. I only wanted to say it because…well because I wanted to.” With a shrug he seemed to dismiss the entire subject and Madara was left feeling adrift.

For a while they sat in silence again. It was almost unfair how at peace Tobirama seemed to be, his conscience clear with that off his chest. Madara, however, was left to wrestle with the weight of knowing that his partner loved him while he felt nothing but companionship, friendship. Obviously it wasn’t as though he felt nothing, just that he didn’t feel quite the same. It didn’t feel like enough. The issue stayed with him for the rest of the hour they spent outside and all the way through getting ready for bed. He was still wrapped up in it by the time Tobirama pulled him down under the covers and told him that he was being ridiculous.

“It isn’t hurting me, really. We’re already together so there’s no sense in pining for something I already have. Whether or not you return my love won’t change anything so don’t be stupid.” With a roll of his eyes he pulled Madara down to lay on his chest. “If it bothers you then I won’t ever mention it again.”

“No, it’s fine. If you want to say it…”

Tobirama’s fingers in his hair were unfairly soothing. “I love you,” he whispered. “This life is more than I could have hoped to have. Thank you for agreeing to marry me.”

Madara chose not to reply but instead rolled his body a little closer and entwined their legs like he always did before going to sleep. Before long his husband had given in to dreams and he was left awake to contemplate things he couldn’t change and things that he could. He could end this relationship, though it would throw several years of happiness out the window and benefit no one in any way. He also could stay and go on being happy with someone who cared for him and would continue to do so.

He’d always heard that married life would bring unique challenges, though he was fairly sure this wasn’t the sort of thing anyone had in mind when they told him that at the wedding.

After lying awake for several hours eventually Madara decided that the best course of action was to simply do as Tobirama had suggested, to let it go, to not feel bad about it. If Tobirama said that the situation wasn’t hurting him then all Madara could do was trust his word.

 -

 Since neither he nor his husband had ever had the urge to procreate or carry on their family genes, preferring to leave that particular duty to their other siblings, children hadn’t ever been a conversation they felt the need to have.

From the amount of times he had found Uchiha Kagami raiding their fridge before either of them had even made it out of bed Madara thought perhaps they would need to have that chat after all.

“You understand, of course, that this is not your home and that is not your food.” He took great pleasure in watching Kagami jump with fright, slamming his head on the inside of the cupboard he’d been halfway inside. When the younger man turned around Madara scowled. Closing in on forty himself now, Kagami could hardly be called a young man anymore. This sort of thievery should be beneath him.

“I was hungry,” the brat protested. “And my house is empty.”

“Perhaps you should stock up on nonperishables before leaving for extended missions then.” Despite his own protests Madara still pulled out three plates to set the table before he began cooking.

Kagami sank down in to one of the chairs with that same old innocent grin that had first charmed Tobirama in to teaching him all those years ago. If it wasn’t for the stubble around his jaw it might actually look the same as it did back then, stupid baby-faced idiot. Madara resisted the urge to press at the wrinkles gathering around his eyes.

The two of them were bickering like parent and child when Tobirama finally made his way out of bed, absently gracing Madara with a kiss on the way passed to ruffle Kagami’s hair. He didn’t seem at all surprised to find his old student there. It was things like this that made Madara wonder if the apron strings had ever truly been cut between those two or if Tobirama even realized that he basically acted like the boy’s unofficial adoptive father. It seemed like something his husband would do, adopt a child without ever really admitted it even to himself.

After setting the tea kettle on and preparing three cups Tobirama sat down across from Kagami and chatted with him about the mission he’d just returned from. Madara listened to their chatter with one ear, nodding occasionally and snorting at the stupidity of others. When breakfast was ready he separated three portions of egg and sat down between the other two where his fading hearing could enjoy their gossip better.

It was a pleasant way to spend the morning and, despite what his grumbling would have others believe, it was one of his favorite ways to start the day. Only waking slowly to a hot mouth exploring his body could beat out the lazy contentment of spending that first hour in the company of family. Sometimes he even preferred the company of these two instead of the days when Izuna showed up to bother him. Madara loved his brother, truly he did, would never not love him, but age had not dimmed his energy levels and there were days when Madara simply could not be bothered to keep up with the man.

Getting old was supposed to be honorable and majestic. So far he found that it only made his limbs creak.

Neither his husband nor his clansman mentioned anything about him not contributing to the conversation; there wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary about him preferring to keep to himself, especially this early in the morning. Until breakfast was done he stayed quiet and concentrated on his eggs and when Kagami left he mumbled a goodbye and made sure to ruffle those insufferable curls on the way by. If he had to feel old today then someone else should have to feel unnecessarily young. It was only fair.

While Tobirama puttered around cleaning up the plates Madara watched him. He was in an oddly contemplative and whimsical mood, apparently, as he found himself asking odd questions without thinking about them first.

“Did you ever want to adopt him?” His husband paused and turned to blink in his direction.

“It never crossed my mind.”

“But if you could have would you? He was always your favorite.”

“Who knows?” Tobirama shrugged casually like it didn’t matter and turned back to the sink, running water so he could wash the dishes.

Madara scowled. “Fine. Well if you could have adopted – not Kagami, maybe, but just a child of your own choosing – would you have?”

“Didn’t we talk about this shortly after we took our vows?” Tobirama shot back.

“Answering a question with another question is cheating! You know I hate that!”

“I just don’t see what the point of your question is. If I ever did want children, well, I suppose we do have Kagami now that you point it out. And if I didn’t, great, never had to change any diapers except a couple for Hashirama’s spawn.”

Resisting the urge to smile out of habit, because the mutual dislike between Tobirama and his nephew would always be hilarious, Madara scowled harder instead. He hated not getting answers and he hated ever more when Tobirama deliberately avoided his questions.

“Just answer me!” he half-shouted.

Tobirama turned away from the sink and dried his hands on a nearby towel, taking a moment to look Madara deep in the eyes as he thought about what to say. When he finally spoke it was with the dawning light of understanding in his eyes and a step forward to grace Madara with a single soft kiss on the lips.

“The answer is yes, you have always been enough.”

“But…that wasn’t my question,” Madara protested in a very small voice.

“It’s what you were really asking.”

He didn’t really have anything to say to that. Tobirama was right, although he hadn’t even realized it himself until it was said out loud. Rather than face the implications of that he huffed and pushed his husband back towards the dishes he was supposed to be washing. It was a deal they had made very early on, that whoever cooked should be exempt from the cleanup. So far it had worked to eliminate quite a lot of fights.

“I have…things to do,” he announced.

Tobirama’s warm chuckle followed him all the way out of the house but Madara couldn’t say he minded as much as he pretended to.

 -

 The lights were all out when he entered but Madara was able to make out Tobirama’s profile against the massive windows on the far side of the room. Muttering under his breath about creepy idiots wandering around in the dark, he made his way over to the desk and lit the candles there with a tightly controlled fire jutsu. When he turned around Tobirama was still in the same spot looking through the window at the village below.

“What, pray tell, is so interesting that you’re still here at this time? It’s passed midnight!” He shuffled over to bring a candle to his husband, clucking in disapproval when he noted the bags under his eyes. “Don’t you understand the meaning of retirement?”

“This is my last night as Hokage,” Tobirama said.

“So that means you have to sit vigil over the office until morning? Are you worried someone might make off with it or something?”

“No. I was just wondering…what Hashirama did on his last night here.”

Madara froze. “Oh.”

Well now he just felt like an ass. Here he was scolding the man for staying up late when all he was trying to do was honor the memory of a loved one recently passed. Hashirama’s loss had rocked the entire village and no one had taken it harder yet with more grace than Tobirama had. The illness that had forced their first Hokage to retire came back to hit him hard and this time his body was too old to fight it off.

Now here Tobirama stood in the place where his elder brother had stood, ready to give up his place as his predecessor had, and Madara supposed he could see how that would leave a man in an introspective mood. If the issue at hand weren’t such a heavy one he might have cracked a joke of some sort or broken the mood with the classic grumpiness others had come to expect from him. However, even he knew better than to cross certain lines. Tobirama gifted him with a soft kiss on the temple and a grateful look when he set down the candle and wormed his way under the man’s arm.

“If memory serves,” he murmured, “he spent his last night in office trying to complete some paperwork that he’d told you was done a week before.”

“That sounds like him.” Tobirama’s eyes crinkled in a smile. It truly was unfair how free of wrinkles he was even after all this time. Madara’s theory was a deal with the devil, though he still hadn’t figured out what the devil might want in return for a wrinkle-free face.

Each slipping away in to their own thoughts for a while, the two of them stood by the window of the Hokage’s office and watched the moon trek slowly across the sky above their village. Konoha had grown in so many ways since the days when it was little more than a collection of mokuton-grown huts and dreams tied together with hope. There was so much to be proud of, so many people to be grateful for. Madara could hardly believe that once he had thought this dream a foolish childhood distraction no longer within reach. It was hard to imagine where he would be now if not in the arms of the man beside him.

Tilting his head up, he studied the way Tobirama’s face looked framed with moonlight. No age spots marred his perfectly white skin, no discoloration had touched his eyes. His nose was slightly crooked now after getting broken on a mission and not healing properly but in Madara’s eyes he was the most handsome man in all the Elemental Nations.

“Should we go home?” he asked quietly, trying to make a suggestion without letting it sound like a demand. Demands were for those who were still young enough to have the energy to back them up.

“I think I’d like to stay a little longer.” Tobirama took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “This has been my office for almost longer than it was his and yet I still feel him here every day. I hope every person who sits in that chair feels the same.”

“A bit creepy,” Madara said under his breath.

To his delight that surprised a laugh out of his husband. “I suppose you could see it as creepy.”

“Yes, I could because it is. No one wants that mug staring at them from the afterlife.” He was relieved to hear laughter again rather than the sharp intake of an offended gasp. Tobirama’s arm tightened around him and he felt another kiss press against his forehead.

“Maybe you were right. Let’s go home. Brother won’t mind if I remember him from somewhere more comfortable than a dusty office.”

“As long as you don’t remember him from our bed,” Madara tutted.

“Yes, dear.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Madara waved his hand with a small wind jutsu that he only remembered because memories made with the Sharingan lasted forever. All the candles snuffed out at once and plunged them in to total darkness but he only leaned in to his partner’s side a little more and let the man with better eyesight lead them out of the room.

Someday soon they were going to have to face the fact that they had finally reached that age where their friends and family started dying of old age rather than the battles they had all retired from years before. But…not tonight. Tonight he had a husband with warms hands to hold as they tottered off in to the chilly night. Tonight they were still alive and ready to kick ass the next day, next week, and for a few more years after that at least.

 -

 “I’m old.” Watching himself in the mirror as he spoke, Madara grimaced at the way his lips didn’t quite move as spryly as they used to. Once upon a time he’d had full lips with a wicked grin. Now his wrinkles had wrinkles and his lips had thinned, all shriveled up as Izuna had once teased him.

“That you are,” an amused voice agreed from just outside the room. Madara harrumphed and stormed out of the bathroom as best he could on creaky knees.

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m still handsome!”

Unrepentant, Tobirama looked him down and back up with laughter in his eyes. “You should know my views on that by now, shouldn’t you? Fishing for compliments isn’t very gentlemanly.”

He was all but chuckling to himself as he stripped out of his lounge robe and pulled on a nightshirt, still disgustingly fit and attractive despite only being a handful of years younger. Every year Madara swore that the next would catch up with his husband and every birthday proved him wrong. Still he refused to give up on the idea and continued to insist; to give up on the idea would be to give in to the accusations that he was vain and there was absolutely no way he would be admitting to that.

At least he still had better hair, though. Even if it had gone white a long time ago.

Tobirama slipped under the covers and settled on his side. When he beckoned Madara resisted just to make his point but ultimately they both knew he was going to cave. Nothing got him to sleep faster than being wrapped up in his partner’s arms and listening to that soft familiar breathing pattern, feeling the comforting drumbeat of Tobirama’s heart against his back.

Crawling under the sheets and worming his way across the mattress in to the arms waiting for him felt more like coming home then he’d ever experienced all those years he lived by himself, dragging himself back to Konoha after a long mission just to pass out alone atop cold and dusty blankets. Neither of them had been out on a mission in more than a decade and still coming home to Tobirama’s embrace felt like he had won something from the day, beaten away the shadows of what could have been.

When soft lips pressed against the back of his neck he smiled and closed his eyes, expecting his dreams to be sweet.

“I love you,” Tobirama whispered.

Madara’s eyes slowly opened again as something bubbled up in his chest, foreign yet familiar, never named though it had been growing there for probably longer than he realized.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, awed by how much he meant it. Behind him Tobirama gave a sharp intake of breath and Madara realized suddenly that he was grinning like a fool. Just to feel the words again he repeated himself, “I love you.”

“You mean that.” Tobirama’s voice was filled with wonder and choked with tears that Madara simply didn’t have the heart to tease him for.

“Saying that if I didn’t mean it would be a special kind of cruel.”

The arms around him tightened and Tobirama burrowed in to him. Madara recognized the signs denoting one of the rare times when his husband was beyond words, moved so deeply he simply couldn’t speak. He was rather moved himself to finally realize such an incredible feeling and yet at the same time…

“I’m sorry,” he said, “that it took me so long.”

“No, don’t be sorry. If you never said the words – if you never felt this way – I would have loved you no less. I would not have been unhappy with what I have.”

Madara swallowed thickly and read between the lines easily enough. If he had never returned Tobirama’s love there would have been no regrets but that he did return it made things different in the best of ways. Pressed together like they were he could feel the thundering of the man’s heartbeat echoing his own, perfectly in sync the way they had been since the day they married. It was useless to wonder if there was anything either of them could have done differently that maybe would have opened his eyes to the possibilities earlier or even if he was simply meant to fall now after so many years.

Rather than waste time on any of that Madara turned his head and smiled in to the darkness over his shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered one more time. Tobirama didn’t answer with more than a light squeeze but he didn’t have to; his feelings had been made clear a long time ago.

Silence fell but it was not an empty silence, the minimal space between them filled with understanding and more emotions than either of them were properly equipped to process. Madara had a feeling that he wouldn’t be getting to sleep any time soon but a little rest lost hadn’t killed him yet. Laying away in his husband’s arms was far from torture.

Tobirama seemed to agree as he laid a row of soft kisses across the back of Madara’s shoulder, still not speaking but making his point perfectly clear. Madara hummed and rolled over on his back just to keep rolling to the other side where he could shuffle up under the other man’s chin. It amazed him that such an emotional moment hadn’t been marred by his habit of flailing over anything that even smelled like emotions, though he supposed that maybe it was finally being able to accept the feeling that had allowed him to recognize and express it.

Finally, he thought to himself with amusement, finally he was growing up. Tobirama was absolutely going to be smug about taking the credit for this. And after all the years he had waited Madara supposed he could let his husband have this one. He’d earned it, after all. If not for his whimsical question on a sunny afternoon none of this would have ever been possible.

[nisaeiam]

TIMELESS - an ACOTAR fanfic

After spending her entire life in Cretea, Zivia finds herself in the company of the Night Court, sent as an emissary to help after the war. As she navigates her way outside her once secluded life, she develops unlikely bonds with the people around her - especially with the one wreathed in shadows.

PROLOGUE, CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2, CHAPTER 3, CHAPTER 4, CHAPTER 5, CHAPTER 6, CHAPTER 7

Also posted HERE

CHAPTER VIII

The front gates of Athelwood loomed before her as Mor eased her horse to a slower pace.

She immediately left after their meeting in Velaris, saying something about needing to take care of some important things before leaving again for work when asked by Cassian why she was in such a rush. It wasn't entirely a lie.

She left her mare in the stables then proceeded to the back door of the estate. The smell of garlic bread and roasted chicken greeted her as she walked over to the kitchen.

"Are you cooking?" she gushed at the female who had her face in front of the oven. "Careful, you'll burn your nose."

The woman whipped her head to her and gave her a wide smile.

She felt bad for having to leave her again on her own – alone in this house. They've only been together for a few months after meeting each other during the height of the war with Hybern. She was the mortal girl who was rescued by Feyre and Azriel at the enemy's camp when they retrieved Elain. The two of them somehow bonded before the humans were sent back to their lands. She thought it was just one of her brief affairs but after days of finding herself longing for the woman, she went and asked her if she wanted to stay with her at the Faerie lands.

Her happiness was beyond measure when she said yes. Only to be thwarted by her having to go do the job Rhysand asked her to do. Not feeling quite ready yet to tell her friends about Briar, she decided to let her stay in her secret estate for the meantime.

"I know that look," said Briar as she placed the cooked chicken on the table. Setting the plates, she motioned for Mor to seat down. "I'm going to be fine here. I know you're doing your best to make this world a better place for us. I understand. I also want to have that peace, that freedom to live with each other in harmony." She reached over to grab her hand. "For you and me."

Mor squeezed her hand back and tried to blink away the tears forming in her eyes.

Soon.

===============

The sound of dried leaves and twigs crunching under their boots echoed through the empty forest as Zivia and Azriel made their way to the mortal side of the Continent.

After winnowing and flying through the journey, they decided to land in one of the dense forests lining the edge of where once the Wall stood and trek from there. Azriel said that even though the danger had somehow dwindled after the war, humans here are still wary and watchful and going through on foot would be their safest option. She suggested concealing both of them with her magic until they reach their destination, but the spymaster insisted they both needed to preserve their strength for any untoward emergencies. Besides, he said it would be extremely suspicious if the two of them just appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the city.

It took them half the day to reach the edge of the forest just before the clearing, and they settled in farthest the city border as the sun dipped in the horizon.

"We'll spend the night here," said Azriel as he surveyed the surroundings. "It will take us another day to reach the center of the town." He turned to her. "Think you could throw an illusion to make us invisible?"

"There isn't much light to manipulate at this hour. It won't be as effective during the day." She'll try her best though. She couldn't be that useless at the very beginning of this mission.

But the shadowsinger just inclined his head and said, "I figured as much".

He then stretched out his hand and swirls of shadows eddied around them like ink in water, concealing them from any prying eyes that were present or any that would find themselves lost on this part of the forest in the middle of the night.

Her brows drew together in slight embarrassment. "Why then ask if you knew…"

He just shrugged in reply. Ignoring him, she threw an air shield around to suppress whatever noise that could reveal their presence, and pulled out a tent she kept hidden in a pocket realm. Azriel was looking at her with a mild surprise on his face.

"I thought it'd be useful one day," she grinned. "Well, what do you know!"

Together, they set the tent up, stepping back to look at their work after they finished. The shadowsinger had his face drawn in a tight frown as he looked at their would-be shelter that is visibly too small for two people, especially with wings. Before he could voice out his concern, she took him by the hand and dragged him inside. His protest died on his lips as he took in what was before them.

Outside, the tent looked like it could barely contain the two of them, but inside, with its considerable space, it was fit to accommodate at most five people inside.

"How?" Azriel breathed as he looked at her.

It was then that she realized that she was still holding his hand, his scars rough on her palm. She quickly dropped it and made an awkward gesture of showing off the tent with her hands, suddenly feeling the need to do something with them.

"It was made by a faerie fabricator back in our island. He always had a knack for creating enchanted objects."

She went on to get more blankets from her magical storage place and laid it out on the ground before setting herself down.

"Make yourself feel cozy." She gestured at the blankets.

Azriel was eyeing her with an amused look as he stepped further into their camp. "I don't suppose you have anything else tucked away in this pocket realm of yours?"

"Ah!"

She held up a finger to him and proceeded to pull out loaves of bread, cheese and a large bottle of wine. "Saves us the effort of having to hunt for dinner."

For a moment, he just stood there staring blankly at her. A small sound escaped from him before he bursted out with full on laughter. She didn't know what to make of it so she just held on to the food and the wine, looking like an idiot. Azriel slumped down across from her and grabbed a slice of cheese, twirling it around his fingers.

"You're wonderfully weird, you know," he said then plopped the cheese into his mouth.

She ducked her head to hide the redness blooming on her cheeks. "I don't know if I should take that as a compliment."

It took a lot more than she wanted for her to meet his gaze. How unnerving it was to sit so close to this male and though she didn't want to admit it, she kind of liked it.

Mother above Zivia, get it together!

She averted her eyes, mentally slapping herself for having such useless thoughts. She reached for the bread just as Azriel reached for one too. Their fingers collided and it was an unknown instinct that made her pull her hand back quickly.

"Sorry. Take it."

Her eyes snagged onto his scarred hands that were partially covered by his gauntlet and that blue crystal thing atop it. She recognized those marks the first time she saw them upon their first meeting at the House of Wind, but held back in asking about it for the mere fact that it was too personal to ask. And she wasn't going to snoop into other's personal lives because she knows all too well what that kind of scars were exactly.

She haven't realized she'd been staring when Azriel spoke, setting down the wine he was drinking and holding up one of his hands, palms away from her to give her a better view of the crystal.

"They're called Siphons. They help us concentrate our powers in battle."

She gave a slow nod of her head, like a child understanding some complicated thing for the very first time.

"But that's not what you were wondering about, were you?"

She tensed as she held his gaze for a moment, and then deadpanned, "Where can I get one?"

It wasn't what he was expecting her to say as he was taken aback by her question. She stretched out her legs in front of her, not breaking eye contact as she grinned at him. "I think it'll look good on me. What do you think?"

He squinted at her, obviously noticing the way she evaded his question. He knew what she really was looking at but she couldn't bring herself venturing into that topic. It was a too private matter for both of them.

"You can't"

She feigned a disappointed look. "Why not?"

"It looks better on us Illyrians."

It was impossible to miss the smirk that flashed across his lips.

"That's not fair! You already look pretty enough even without it."

"So do you."

Her blush was instant but she ignored it. "So you think I'm pretty?"

"That's not what I said."

"I'm going to assume that's what you meant."

He shook his head even as the smile continued tugging on his lips as he gobbled down his bread and wine. It was an awkward turn of events but both of them didn't mind much of it – seemed to enjoy it even.

They finished the rest of their dinner before settling down on their own blankets to sleep.

They were awake before the sun had shown its first light and continued on their journey. When the trees finally gave way to roads with signs of human activity, Zivia threw the illusion around them. They were to pose as a pair of travelers going around the continent in search of good trades. From there, they will gather as much information as they could regarding the state of each kingdom before deciding which one would be the easiest to persuade to their cause.

It was an hour past noon when they arrived at the village. It was a busy day; people were meandering around the square, vendors scattered everywhere, some going so far as walking up to people to offer their goods. She did a mental check to see if their illusion is still intact, just to be sure.

They were busy looking around when a particular merchant snuck up on them.

"Greetings wayfarers." The old man's voice was thick with accent and he spoke with such raspness Zivia wondered if he had been shouting for customers the whole day. "May I bother you for a minute? I have goods that you might want."

He reached into his pouch, his wrinkled fingers fumbling with the knots, and pulled out something bulky. It was covered with sooth-stained cloth and by the shape and sound of it, she made a good guess of what he might be selling.

"Weapons," he said, parting the cloth to reveal stash of knives and daggers. "Made with ash woods."

Azriel was beside her in an instant, slightly blocking her from the vendor with his body.

"Sorry, we have no interest in weapons," he said a little too coldly.

The merchant blinked but extended his hands more to them. "You might need it, especially now they are already among us!"

The collapse of the Wall undeniably made these people cautious. She didn't even know if the weapons were indeed made of real ash woods or just a sham to entice more buyers, but they weren't going to figure that out for themselves.

"We're…fine." She shook her head to the old man and turned to go on their way.

"I haven't seen you around here," the vendor blurted, making them stop. They looked back to see him eyeing them suspiciously.

"We're travelers," Azriel said before she could open her mouth. "From Scythia."

They waited. If the old man doubted them, this could all turn out bad, and she prepared herself just in case he decided to use those weapons on them, fake or not. Azriel seemed to think the same, bracing himself if they needed to make a run for it.

But the old man just gave them a crooked smile and inclined his head as he reached into his pouch again and handed them apples.

"A welcome gift," he said. "May you find our city welcoming enough for you." He sketched a bow before drifting off to find another probable customer.

After rounding the market place for about an hour, they were finally able to find an inn that was cheap enough and comfortable enough for them both. By night, they found themselves seated in a corner of the village tavern, people around drinking shots and dancing along the music created by a small band at the center of the room.

Perfect. In this kind of place, conversations flow freely and with it, information.

"That woman has been staring at you for a while now," she said as she took a sip from her glass.

Azriel turned to where she gestured and saw a lady from the bar staring back at them, twirling her hair in her fingers as she bit her lip.

"Go talk to her."

They both exchanged a knowing look before he rose from his seat and declared, "I'll get a refill."

She eyed the woman who was now greedily smiling at the shadowsinger, her cheeks were tinged bright red, clearly inebriated from alcohol. Good. Drunken people were most likely to tattle, especially drunk ladies who were looking for someone to flirt with.

A group of males strutted into the bar led by a tall muscular man with hair cut so short, he was almost bald. He looked around the room, ordering his friends to get drinks when he spotted her.

"What's a pretty lady doing alone, drinking by herself here?" he said in a gruff voice when he reached her table. "You look like you needed some company." Without invitation, he settled himself down on a seat beside her, draping an arm over her shoulders as he did.

"Somebody get us a drink here!" he shouted over his shoulder.

There was such authority in his voice that made Zivia think that he's more than just a regular patron of this tavern. She turned to see Azriel looking at them with an unreadable face before the woman grabbed him by his chin and leaned in for a kiss. She snapped her attention back at the male beside her, a glass already on his hand.

"You don't look familiar," he told her, downing his drink in one gulp. "Are you a new recruit?"

Recruit?

"Oh." Understanding dawned on her. "No. I'm not."

She shifted on her seat, angling herself to prevent his arm coming in contact with her hidden wings. Also, she was starting to feel uncomfortable around him and his smell was starting to become unbearable too.

Smiling at him, she said, "I'm just a wanderer having some great time in this city."

The man's grin turned wolfish as he inched closer and placed a hand on top of her knee. "I know a place where you can wander and have your greatest time in this city."

It took everything from her to restrain herself from crushing the man's lungs on the spot when he slid his hand up her thighs.

"Yeah?"

"I live not far from here." He continued moving closer to stroke her hair. "My father is out for his faerie hunt so he won't be home for tonight. We'll have the place all to ourselves."

She planted her hands in his chest, pushing him away slightly.

"Faeries?"

His brows rose at her question. "You must not know. There are talks of those creatures crossing over the border after the wall collapsed." He leaned in as if to speak something that must only be kept between the two of them. "My father and his men are en route to Liria to discuss about what to do with them."

She gulped as she pondered that information in her head. Could he be talking about a council meeting?

"You seem to be interested in faeries," he mumbled in her ear. "Come with me and I'll talk to you more about them in bed."

Then he suddenly slid his hand in between her legs.

Glasses shattered and furnitures were overturned as she shoved the man away so hard, he was thrown halfway across the room and fell flat onto the floor. She was so sure she'd kill him right then and there when Azriel put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her before she could reveal their identity to everyone on the tavern. Her anger simmered down even as the man stood up and faced the Illyrian.

"Fuck off man!" he spat into his face. "She's mine."

Azriel remained stoic as he pulled Zivia away from him. "She's nobody's."

The man's face turned livid and he flexed his muscles readying for combat. "Why don't we settle this in a fight, huh? Come on!" He motioned for Azriel but the shadowsinger remained still, not moving an inch from where he stood.

"Stop this," she cautioned as she stepped in between them.

"What? You choose this wack over someone like me?" he sneered.

A dozen retort sprang into her mind but she held them back. "Careful, you're talking about my brother." She felt both their surprise as the man slowly lowered his fists and looked at her, then to Azriel. Both of them wore the same expression.

Everyone's attention was towards them now, drawn by the scuffle.

"Let's go."

Azriel let her drag him away from the scene they've created but before they could leave, she let his illusion drop just for the man to see what was hidden behind that glamour. She took satisfaction in seeing him stumble back, eyes widening at what he saw. He rubbed his eyes as if it would clear away whatever hallucination he'd had and when he looked back at them, she slammed the door in his face and away they went into the night.

They left the village early morning the next day after piecing together the information they gathered. She also found out that the jackass from the tavern last night was a baron's son.

"Rumor is that the lords of some cities in the continent were to converge to talk about plans after the collapse of the wall."

Zivia glanced at the spymaster beside her. She wondered whether he got that information from the bar lady or from his agents around the continent, though he already told her that his network of spies were also lying low after the war. Either way, they got what they needed.

"Do you think the queens were involved in this?"

"That's what we're going to find out."

The territory of Liria would be weeks of trekking away from where they are so they decided to go to a place where large amounts of trades were exchanged and try to hitch a ride in one of the dealers' carriage. After deeming their surrounding safe enough, they flew through a mountain range that they needed to cross to arrive at the next village, with an illusion cast over them for precaution. As they reached the peak of the mountains, a strong rainstorm impeded their flight and they had to land down to look for temporary shelter.

Completely soaked and shivering, they were able to find a cave carved on the base of one of the stone mountains. They were both dripping wet from the rain and teeth chattering from the cold so Zivia threw a wall of air around the cave entrance to prevent any more wind and rain from entering and possibly freeze them to death. She shook off the water from her hair and wings before sending waves of air to dry their clothes.

It was starting to get dark outside but there was no sign of the storm from stopping any time soon. They're going to have to stay the night here.

The cold didn't budge despite the barrier and there wasn't enough dry wood inside for them to start a fire. She remembered the blankets she stashed inside her magical storage and pulled them out and made makeshift beds for both of them. When the darkness has deepened into their cave, she summoned a ball of light from her palms to illuminate and warm them.

"What do you think Mor is doing now?" she asked as she pulled out the apples that were given to them from her pouch then tossed one to Azriel. It wasn't much but they'll have to do for dinner.

"Probably getting drunk in one of the kingdoms' cellars," he said flatly, taking a bite of his fruit.

Not this topic then.

Silence stretched between them as the wind continued howling outside their little reprieve. She glanced at the shadowsinger who was now partly nestled in his blankets, basking in the warmth of her light. He was in deep thought as he nibbled on the remains of the apple and she wondered whether he was thinking about Mor. She shuffled in her own covers and let the lights dim a little. The rain splattered in a steady beat and it was that sound that finally lulled her to sleep.

In her dream, she was flying, high above the clouds. The setting sun warm against her cheeks – it was a beautiful feeling and she closed her eyes.

But the wind suddenly stopped blowing and then she was falling. She reached out a hand but there was nothing to hold on to.

She was slipping…slipping…and falling into a dark chasm below her.

She jerked awake, panting and drenched in sweat. Azriel was beside her instantly, holding her steady by the shoulders.

"Something's wrong," she gasped, trying to get her breaths even. She felt it. She looked at him as she wrapped her arms around her body and repeated her words to him. "Something's wrong."

"It's the apples," he said with a hint of rage in his voice. "They're laced with faebane."

Her hands trembled as she tried summoning her magic, but there was nothing. It was a complete void inside of her and no matter how much she tried, nothing responded to her calls. Azriel reached for her arm, willing her to look at him.

"Don't worry, it's only temporary." His voice was so soothing it almost made her want to bury her face in his chest and cry just to ease the hollowness she felt inside. She managed to give him a terse nod.

There was never a time when she was without her powers and it scared her to death of the possibility that one day it would happen to her.

It's only temporary, she reminded herself.

She looked back at him and noticed how calmly he was handling this situation. There are worse pains to have. His scars made her remember that.

Finally calming herself with that thought, she pushed off the blankets and went to stand at the mouth of the cave. The rain had stopped and the trees and grass were glistening like diamonds under the morning sun.

"What do we do now?"

"We stay, until the effects wear out and we get our powers back. It would be too dangerous out there to continue our journey."

Huffing a sigh, she muttered, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

She turned around, wringing her hands in front of her. "I shouldn't have taken those apples."

"It's not your fault," Azriel replied. "I noticed that old man was a little bit sketchy. I should've known better."

She frowned. It was not fair that he'd be taking this up as his fault.

"No. I shouldn't have offered them to you."

"I shouldn't have let you eat them."

"Stop it. This was clearly my fault! And you can't tell me otherwise."

Hoping to cement her point, she crossed her arms and gave him a look that dared him to contradict her.

"Fine," he said, throwing his hands up in defense. "It's both our fault." A smile tugged at his lips as he started shaking his head. "I can't believe we're having this argument right now."

She took a deep breath and hoped he didn't notice. It was weird how he could get any more attractive than he already is with just a simple gesture like that.

"You should do that more often."

"Do what?" His brows slightly furrowed but he was still smiling.

"Smile. It suits you."

Color bloomed on his cheeks and he quickly turned to hide it.

By the Cauldron, did she just made him blush?

But apparently, it had the same effect on her as she felt heat rush through her body. She scratched her nose, feeling embarrassed and stupid.

But it's true… an inner voice told her as she settled back into her blankets and waited out the day.

The sky was already turning purplish but there was still no sign of her powers coming back. Not even a speck of it. She was starting to panic, dreadful that it would be gone for good.

It's only temporary…it's only temporary…

She kept repeating those words in her head hoping to ease her building fear.

Azriel was gone too look for food. Needless to say, she started another petty argument about whose going. She insisted that she wasn't that hungry and that they should wait a little longer in hopes that maybe the effects of the faebane would wear out soon enough.

It was a well past the afternoon when her stomach decided to demonstrate a whale's mating call prompting Azriel to finally go despite their powers not returning yet.

She stepped out of the cave and looked far past the trees but found no sign of the shadowsinger. Her hunger has already subsided but she was getting restless. Just as she was about to go back, she noticed a tiny orb of light among the bushes. It danced around the air before wisping away into the woods. She looked back to see if Azriel have returned but when she didn't see him, she went and followed the creature of light.

She arrived at a meadow not far from their cave. It was dark now; the clouds in the sky giving way to the stars and moon, which glowed in a way that painted the grass silver. The orb of light was gone.

Steps sounded behind her and she turned to see the shadowsinger standing a few feet away.

"You almost scared me," she snapped at him.

"Did I now?" he said as he walked towards her. "I came back to find you missing. What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," she replied when he stopped an arm's length away. "I just saw something but then it was gone and –"

She gasped. Behind Azriel, the orb of light suddenly appeared – hundreds of them actually – among the pastures.

"Fire sprites," she breathed as she stepped closer to them.

A breeze of wind blew and she turned to see everything punctuated with thousands of glimmering lights – from the grass on their feet to the leaves up in the trees. They were everywhere, radiating such beautiful red and golden colors that made the forest look enchanted.

She looked back at Azriel. He had his hands open before him, an invitation for the creatures to come to him. A dozen had already gathered on his palms, their light gilding his face in a warm glow as his eyes glinted with puerile fascination.

She couldn't help smiling. "Aren't they beautiful?"

A rogue one twirled around his head before burrowing itself in his hair. Azriel grabbled through his head trying to catch the pesky creature and she stifled a laugh before marching towards him.

"Here, let me help."

As she was reaching her hand, the sprites suddenly scuffled away plunging them into darkness. There were sounds of rustling among the trees and bushes around them. Azriel grabbed her by the arm and pulled her before stopping short. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she noticed shadows among the branches – outlines of men among the shrubs.

They were surrounded.

BONUS: This was my inspiration during that fire sprite scene ♥️♥️

[strongheartmaid]

Tale as old as time [teaser section]

AN: well, not so much as a teaser as part of the “we’re finally in Greece after spending an ungodly amount of time in southern England trying to figure our next step (that and unpacking who’s who and who’s dating who)” plot.  Very much in progress as I’m constantly adding or reworking sections because I’m fussy with my writing. And yes, there is a reference to a particular Disney cartoon involving hockey-playing ducks. (Because, I like murdering canon like that)

“Everyone in one piece?" Lise called out to the girls as they finally found themselves in Sanctuary. The travel there had been brutal - Hera's Cosmos had altered it just enough that it had been sheer torture just trying to get in. Various calls of confirmation settled her nerves, but only just managed to do so. She still had to fight down the queasy, uneasy feeling of the wrongness that had settled into this holy place. (It was currently making Death Queen Island feel like a charming little vacation spot - of course, she planned on *never* saying that within Ikki's presence. That was something that would have the others wondering if she had a bit of a death wish). Alala glanced about before spying what she thought was a Saint in the distance, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "So, think Hera's been watching Isle of Lost Souls again?" she asked, turning her gaze to Ciri, a look of something swimming in their depths as she thought about what she would love to do to Hera. "Isle of.." Ciri started, her voice trailing off as she tried to recall why that movie title sounded so damn familiar. She promptly shot a stink eye at Alala once she recalled the movie in question - not one of her favorites. "Really? And if you must name the movie, it was Island of Lost Souls, Alala." "Are we really discussing horror classics from the nineteen thirties right now?" Eira asked as she peered around, trying to find something to get her bearings so she could go find the Temple of the Golden Ram. (And here she groaned - she really hated the cutesy names the temples of the Golden Saints had. What was wrong with just a simple "Temple of Aries" or "Temple of Virgo"? But no, Athena had to have titles like "Temple of the Virgin" and "Temple of the Golden Crab".) "I'll take the old horror classics over the more modern blood, sex and gore trite crap," Ciri answered. "I'll take horror tropes for two hundred, Alex," she teased Lise, knowing the other's fondness for that particular trivia show - and she knew enough not to even try to play against her when they were watching it. If Lise knew the category, she'd answer every question on the board. "This trope is commonly used by the cast to their complete detriment because bad things tend to happen to the heroes when they do this," Lise said absently, trying to send a pulse of her Cosmos to alert her lover, her soulmate to her being there. "What is splitting up?" Ciri asked, earning a slight but strained chuckle from the rest of the girls. "Please tell me you really aren't suggesting that we do just that," Rhosyn opined. She paused a moment when she saw Ciri's face and let out wearied and fully exasperated sigh at that. "You are," she said as she pinched the bridge of her nose, a pained expression crossing her features. Why was she getting the feeling that this was going to be a bad move to end all bad moves? "Quickest way to find the boys," Ciri said. "Send a pulse of Cosmos out to let us know once you found them," she continued. "Sounds like a viable plan." "A viable plan would be sticking together because we have no idea what the temperament of the Saints would be right now," Althaia countered, trying to act as a voice of reason - even if she knew she probably wouldn't be entirely successful at doing so. "I mean, for pity's sake, Shiryū's probably a dragon if Hera used their Cloths as the basis for her curse. Which means some of them are probably generic beasties because they don't have a specified animal, like Saga and Kanon for example." "Actually," Lise said, slanting her gaze towards Althaia, a thoughtful expression crossing her features, "because Kanon did a stint as the Sea Dragon Mariner, and since Saga is the Golden Saint of Gemini, ergo twins, so it's possible that it impacted the curse in such a way so that both twins are probably cursed to be sea dragons. But, this is just a guess, mind you." "Okay," Ciri said, holding up her hand in the shape of a t, capturing everyone's attention. "Before we go much further, let's try and figure out what we're looking at. If we go with the aforementioned theory that the curse pulls on their Cloths, that means Hyōga's a swan, Mū's a ram, Saga and Kanon are probably sea dragons if we go with Persephone's theory, Aphrodite's a fish and titans know what the curse has done to Shun." She slanted a Look at Eira. "Don't you even dare to start humming any music from Swan Lake." Eira just smiled, her pale emerald eyes twinkling with sheer mischief. "Nope, I was going to hum the theme from that one Disney cartoon Hyōga got me hooked on." Ciri gave her a flat stare as she quickly recalled which cartoon that had been. "Those were *ducks*," she said slowly, not quite believing that she was even having this particular conversation. "Ducks, Eira, quack quack, not honk." "Anthropomorphic alien ducks that played hockey and fought alien lizards," Eira said, chuckling. "Oh, to have been a fly on that wall during the pitch for that series." "Getting back on track," Lise said, crossing her arms over her chest, glancing between the small group. "As much as I hate the idea of splitting up to look for the boys,  Ciri did raise a good point. We can cover more ground if we split up. There's six of us and twelve temples, that means we cover two temples a piece." She took a small steadying breath. "All right, Eira, you'll take the temples for Aries and Taurus. Rhosyn, you'll take the temples for Pisces and Aquarius. Althaia, you'll take the temples for Sagittarius and Capricorn. Alala, you'll take the temples for Gemini and Cancer. Ciri, you'll take the temples for Libra and Scorpio. I'll take the temples for Leo and Virgo. Sound good?" The girls silently looked amongst each other and as one nodded. "Good luck and Godspeed," Lise said as she began the slow trek to where the temple of the Holy Lion or whatever the hell of a fancy title Athena gave it was - after this, she was never going to complain about her husband's realm again, at least that didn't require her to climb a gods be damned mountain! Leo came before Virgo in the zodiac so she was hopefully bound to run into the Gold saint, Aiolia, first. A minor wince crossed her features as she realized that meant he was probably half lion and half man due to the nature of Hera's curse. Well, hopefully more man than lion but her luck was never that good.. Of course, she just had to jinx herself as a raging cosmos was fast approaching. She barely had time to call on her sacred cloth in defense before it was upon her. She raised her staff in a defensive pose, barely keeping the being from landing on her before it leapt backwards, landing in a crouch, looking all the world to be getting ready to pounce again. She took a steadying breath, keeping her staff grasped tightly in her hands, her knuckles turning bone-white with the strength of her grip. She swallowed harshly as she studied the being before her - both lion and man in some unholy mixture. Well, at least she had found one of Athena's eighty-eight Saints, or rather one found her in this case. "Leo Aiolia," she said, her voice calm and steady despite herself, "stand down." The beast cocked his head as he stared at her before he slowly settled down. "You're not Hera," he said, his voice rough, raspy. "I'm not sure if I should be insulted at being thought of as my aunt," Lise muttered under her breath. "No, not Hera. Lise DeAvaon," she said, "or Persephone. I'll answer to either." She shrugged slightly, her eyes watching him to see what he would do next. She sent a small pulse of Cosmos to Ciri, alerting her to the fact that she found one of the Saints but not to come just yet. She needed more information before she'd drag the other girls to her location. "You came by yourself?" Aiolia asked, tilting his head in the other direction. "No, I'm not that insane to think I could handle however many Saints that have been afflicted by Hera's curse on my own. There's five others with me," she said, giving a small huff. "Which others?" Aiolia asked, still studying her - unused to seeing Athena's sister in her Holy Cloth, or rather, unused to seeing Athena's sister period. It was rare that she ever ventured into public like this, preferring to operate behind the scenes - which was probably one reason that Shun (or Hades, whichever, it was still hard to wrap his brain around that little fact - some year, he was going to have to have Mu sit down and explain it to him in terms that he could clearly understand) adored her. "Oh for the love of grandmother Rhea," she groaned softly. "My older sister Artemis, Rhosyn, Eira, Alala and Althaia." Aiolia gave her the flattest look he could manage given his new facial structure. "Eira. You brought Eira with you." "Well, she is Mū's girlfriend, which is something we still wonder how the bloody hell happened," Lise answered with a mild shrug. "And she's bonded so she felt his Cosmos change so you really think she wouldn't be coming?" Aiolia just stared at her. "Woman," he began slowly. "Think about her sense of humor for a moment. Now, look at me. Need I say anything else." Lise blinked a moment, her mind running over what he just said and what she knew about Eira. "Oh no," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I am so, so sorry, Aiolia." He reached over and patted her head. "I'm surprised she hasn't already started with the jokes." "Well.." Lise said, her voice trailing off for a moment. "She did threaten to hum the theme to the Mighty Ducks cartoon." "The what?" Aiolia blinked, confusion in his gaze. "You never watched Disney cartoons?" Lise answered, arching an eyebrow ever so slightly. Aiolia blinked a moment, trying to wrap his brain around what Lise was getting at and immediately groaned when he remembered catching an episode when he was visiting Hyōga during one of the rare quiet moments before another Holy War would begin. "Hyōga's a fucking swan. He go honk not quack." "Wow, that is frighteningly similar to what Arty said," Lise said, amusement lacing her words. Aiolia cast his gaze heavenward. "Lovely," he said. "So, moving on. The girls all right?" he asked, tensing a moment as he felt something approach. "As all right as one can get when your bonded one is currently appearing to be a petting zoo person," Lise answered, her pale gaze drifting about, trying to figure out where the new pulse of Cosmos was coming from. "I make no promises of not swatting at Eira if she makes one Lion King joke," Aiolia said, stepping slightly in front of Lise in an attempt to protect the young goddess from the impending threat - he couldn't quite get a good read on the Cosmos with his condition fouling things up. "What about Kimba, the white lion then?" she asked innocently, batting pale blue eyes. "We do not talk about Kimba," he snarked. He let out a minor relieved sigh when he saw who it was. "Well hello, lunch," he said, his voice full of innocent teasing. Aphrodite merely raised one hand and then one finger in response to the teasing. He peered around Aiolia to spot the young goddess that was being hidden behind him. "That's not Athena." "Her younger sister, which you should have remembered," Lise huffed, sticking her tongue out at the Pisces saint. "I only helped hook you up with Rhosyn. She's here by the way." Aphrodite was grateful that his changed appearance meant she couldn't tell how badly he paled at that pronouncement. "Here? As in here in Greece or as in she's actually in Sanctuary?" "Well, she's supposed to be checking out whatever fancy name 'Thena gave the temples of Pieces and Aquarius," she said, shrugging slightly. "And I know, I know, I already got lectured from Aiolia about bringing Eira with me." Aphrodite felt his left eye twitch. "That woman is a menace to one's sanity." "That woman's dating Mū, and she's worried about him." "I still want to know how the hell that happened," Aphrodite muttered. He had always thought Mū was married to his job as both Gold Saint to Athena and as the Cloth Blacksmith - but well, that theory had been all shot to hell when he accidentally (well, maybe not so accidentally - he had planned on dragging Mū with him and the others to lunch) entered Mū's temple and found him with Eira. There was not enough alcohol in the world to have dealt with those scarring mental images. "You and just about everyone else," Lise said, idly shrugging. "But that's neither here nor there at the moment." Aphrodite's expression softened as best it could and he made his way over, placing a hand on the young mortal goddess's shoulder. "Truth now, how you holding up?" he asked gently, concern welling up for the young woman. Lise swallowed harshly, the tears finally streaking down her cheeks as she finally broke - something she hadn't been allowing herself to do because she knew she had to be strong for the others. "Barely." Aiolia glanced at Aphrodite and the two shared a silent conversation, ending with Aiolia nodding and sending a small burst of his Cosmos towards where he knew a particular Bronze was hiding.

[bitterbeetle]

and in my heart, we were whole

Rating: G WC: 4,676 Hak & Yona & Soowon friendship centric with a small side of Hak/Yona

Summary: Yona has lived eighteen years within the palace walls, waking to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of fresh fruit and pastries. Her childhood best friend provides her with wit and snark to combat, and her love gives her smiles and kindness. They are together, and Yona is content. Yet something doesn't feel right.

AO3

Yona wakes to birds chirping outside her window. She sighs, a flicker of annoyance, and rises with her hair a scarlet halo around her head. An impatient comb through with her fingers only manages to get them caught. Already grumpy, she flicks off her sheets and steps to the window. A breeze filters through, rustling her nightgown and cooling her face.

Squinting at the birds hopping about the tree directly outside, Yona waves a groggy hand at them. “Quiet, you! Have some respect for your princess.”

The birds only chatter louder at each other.

Sensing a losing battle, Yona turns away just as the handmaiden precedes herself with a gentle knock on the door. She bears a tray of fruit and light pastries and a gilded comb. Irritation at being woken assuaged, Yona returns to her bed to eat while the attendant brushes her hair into some semblance of tidy.

The day doesn’t seem so tiresome once Yona has a belly full of gentle foods and soft hair painstakingly freed of static with a touch of oil. She allows herself to be dressed, creams and oils lathered into her skin, a touch of pink to her lips. Yona studies herself in the floor-length mirror.

Her hair will always be a bother, but she expects the rest of herself to be worthy of a princess. Tilting her chin up, Yona finds a pose most regal and smiles. She looks royal this morning, but something is amiss.

“Your Highness,” murmurs her attendant with a smile. “Do you wish to wear Lord Soowon’s gift to you?”

Oh, that’s it. Yona nods twice more than necessary, and shares in her handmaidens’ giggles as they twist up her hair with the beautiful hairpin she received two years before.

Now, she looks beautiful.

Outside her room stands Hak, scratching at the bridge of his nose. His gaze slides down to Yona as she twirls in the hall.

“How do I look?” she asks.

“The embodiment of half the land’s taxes?”

“Oh, you—!”

He easily dodges her kitten punches, dancing about her like he’s a court jester and not her guard. Spinning on her heel, Yona crosses her arms tight and marches away. She can’t sense Hak’s presence behind her, but she knows he’s following. He’ll always be where she wants him to be—although his tongue could use some fixing.

Yona practically bounces down the steps to the east gardens, where the rising sun glimmers warmly over the pond and floating lilies. Right where she expects him to be, Yona’s gaze finds Soowon. He’s as warm and bright as the morning sun, as fresh as the dew that pearls on shaded flowers. Yona’s steps are soft but her clothes brush grass, alerting Soowon to her arrival.

The smile he gives her is a gift she may never grow bored of.

“You’re up early,” he says, a teasing edge to his voice.

Yona barely stops herself from pouting, though her blush is less inclined to obey. “The birds,” she says by way of explanation.

“Of course, they’re not as keen to sleep in.” Soowon’s eyes lift to where Hak stands at Yona’s shoulder. His gaze, always gentle, softens even more. “Good morning, Hak.”

“Good morning, my lord,” says Hak in that way of his that always sounds like a joke.

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday celebrations,” says Soowon as Yona joins him on the bench overlooking the pond, Hak lounging against the nearest tree. “If you’ll still have it, I brought a gift.”

“Oh!” Yona’s hand goes to the ends of her hair. “Of course, anything from you I will treasure.”

Impressed by her own boldness, Yona ducks her head. Too late, she remembers the hairpin, and feels her flush intensify. Soowon laughs softly, and Yona feels something—his hand?—brush the braid the pin holds in place.

“Actually,” he says, “it matches.”

From his robe he pulls out something smaller than his fist, wrapped in green paper. Yona lifts her head to accept it with a pleased smile that grows wider with awe when she unwraps the bangle. It matches the colouring of her hairpin, though it looks more like gleaming scales than flower petals. Regardless, Yona holds it to her chest. Already it is dear to her.

“Thank you, Soowon,” she says warmly.

“Well put it on then,” says Hak. “I don’t think it’s meant to be worn on your washboard—”

“ Hak!”

Soowon laughs into his silk sleeve. The gleam of his eyes is enchanting. Yona has to look away, lest she accidentally fumble with the bangle as she puts it on her wrist. Once on, she holds out her hand to admire it. For a moment her eyes linger on the soft, prim cuticles of her hands, then she’s gazing once more at the bracelet and its coloured enamel.

At her request, the three of them take a stroll around the garden. The day is proving to be a mild one, with a light breeze that tickles Yona’s warm cheeks. Soowon is in an especially good mood, and while Yona feeds off his gentle aura and finds patience where before she might find indignance, she knows Hak is just as easily tempered. His quips feels more good-natured than usual, his smiles coming easier. He laughs at Yona’s jokes, and she feels as though she’s succeeded at something, drawing out that seldom heard sound.

“It would be a lovely day to visit the market,” says Yona casually.

Soowon falters, imperceptibly if not for Yona’s keen attentiveness to him. “Hm, not today.”

“Why not?” She pouts before realizing how unladylike it is.

Soowon murmurs something that sounds very much like I wonder before smiling down at her. There’s something off about it, but Yona doesn’t think too hard.

“Another day, perhaps?” he suggests.

“But today, the weather is—”

“Princess,” says Hak. “There are many more days.”

She turns to look at her guard, mouth open to retort, but Hak’s eyes are on Soowon. She decides to drop it.

That isn’t to say she’s not going to visit the marketplace anyway , however. The palace compound is sprawling, but she knows the walls surround only a tiny portion of the city. The world is beyond, and it is large. Besides, she’s eighteen, not some child who needs an escort.

Yona repeats this to herself when noon rolls around and Hak and Soowon are comfortable. Complacent is the word she’ll use on Hak when she returns, smug and carrying treats they don’t usually bother making in the palace, but ones that she knows Soowon enjoys and will forgive her for.

She doesn’t question the swell of confidence when she wraps herself in a cloak, the hood resting over her unmistakable hair. This feels familiar, though the soft fabric is much too gentle against her even softer fingers. That doesn’t seem right, but Yona has a mission to accomplish. She can think about that later.

The guards at the gate are allowing several empty carts to pass with their horses and merchants. Nobody bothers to check if anyone is leaving the palace grounds. Yona slips out easily with the merchants—but she isn’t the only one.

“You have been growing bold, Princess,” drawls a voice by Yona’s ear.

She squeaks her alarm and whips around, heart thundering. Upon seeing Hak’s cocked eyebrow, she screws up her face in a scowl. He straightens, his wrapped glaive balancing against one shoulder. To think he had the time to prepare his weapon before catching up to her. Yona sighs.

“Since we’re out anyway ,” she drawls in mimicry of her guard, “we might as well buy some treats!”

Hak’s eyebrows slide up further. “Princess.”

“Yes, Hak?”

“Did you even bring a purse?”

“I—” She cuts off. Oh, that’s a good point.

“I thought not.” He snorts and tugs back the edge of his overcoat to show off the leather pouch hanging pretty from his belt. “One of us has to be prepared around here.”

“You are my guard,” Yona mumbles, but then she brightens. “Does this mean we can walk around?”

“Not for too long, otherwise Soowon will get lonely.”

“Then let’s be quick.”

“What are you planning on getting?” asks Hak as Yona flounces down the road to the market.

“A return gift for Soowon!”

“Like?”

“Street food!”

She bounds to the first stall she sees, but another smell draws her to the opposite side, and then again she’s distracted by a savoury scent, then a sweet one. Hak tails her with all the patience he sometimes pretends he doesn’t have. There are paper streamers underfoot and confetti flipping through the air. Someone is playing jubilant music by the square. Yona forgets the food as she nears it.

The town is having a festival, she realizes—or rather, she remembers, though she isn’t sure what it is they’re celebrating. Street bards are singing, though the lyrics don’t point her in any one direction. The colours are those of all the tribes, tossed into the air by smiling men and women in simple robes made fanciful with embroidery.

In the middle of the square, Yona pauses. People are wearing masks now. How had she not noticed before? Something about it nags at her—the fact she can’t see their faces, or maybe it’s the crowd that feels as though it’s pressing in on her now. The cloak feels heavy. Her hands clench around it as if to pull it tighter around herself, but there’s a conflicting feeling of wanting to throw it off, free her arms, reach for something at her hip—

“Princess?”

There’s nothing there; the feeling passes. Yona blinks at Hak from under the brim of her hood, and then she smiles.

“You’re so slow, Hak,” she needles. “You call yourself a guard?”

“I call myself a babysitter,” he says and dodges Yona’s responding swipe.

With a sniff, she turns away from him resolutely to watch the bard, but there’s a familiar swish of  ivory robes and she spots Soowon through the crowd the same moment he spots the two of them. His mouth quirks, and he slips through the press of bodies to reach them.

Yona digs her slippered toe into the ground as Hak huffs an unsurprised laugh.

“You didn’t think I’d miss seeing my favourite friends when they are the reason I’m here?” Soowon scoffs good-naturedly. “I’m saddened. What faith you lack.”

Yona winces sheepishly. “I wanted to bring back a gift for you.”

“Your gift to me is being by my side,” he says, warming Yona from the pit of her stomach to her ears, which must be flaming redder than her hair. “Since we’re here, however, I suppose we might as well make the most of the festivities.”

“You spoil her too much,” sighs Hak as Yona claps her hands delightedly.

“As if you don’t,” Soowon retorts with an amused smile.

“Dare I say spoil is too kind a word?”

Yona doesn’t linger to listen to their good-natured bickering. She bounds among the partygoers with new zeal until her hair is full of coloured paper and she’s spontaneously dancing as the music picks up. A girl barely taller than Yona’s shoulder takes her hands and spins her about until they start giggling, and then Yona’s hands are in Soowon’s. Her own laughter elicits one from Soowon, infectious and bubbling. At a pause between songs, Yona spots Hak loitering at the edge of the crowd. Trading a conniving look with Soowon, Yona bounds over to drag him into the space cleared for dancing bodies.

She doesn’t know how long they dance for; long enough that her breath is coming in gasps and her feet are hurting, yet she doesn’t wish to quit. Only by Soowon’s request does she stop, and that’s with the promise of food.

The trio drift from vendor to vendor. Their footsteps seem to take the beat of the drums in the square, and Yona feels the music in her chest in a way she can’t when it’s herself playing the instrument. Soon her fingertips are gummy with sweet and savoury residue, and Hak is tying her hands up in the act of cleaning them, forcing Soowon to feed a blushing Yona the last of her kebab.

The sun’s light is bleeding out the horizon by the time any of them remember Yona isn’t technically supposed to be wandering outside the palace. The townsfolk have lit their lamps, and the festivities don’t seem near an end, but both Hak and Soowon insist they return, and Yona concedes.

By the time they reach the palace gates, half the sky is a deep indigo sinking into an inky black. The guards let them pass with raised eyebrows. Nobody seems surprised by their late entry, and Soowon treats them with a dazzling smile.

Much too full of all the market treats, Yona foregoes supper and tea. Instead, she wanders the garden, humming music she fancies she can still hear from this side of the palace wall. Behind her, Hak and Soowon’s voices are deep and soft.

The pond is still, and in it is reflected the sky. Yona turns her gaze to diamonds embellishing the velvet of the night. They sparkle, though she does not know whether it’s her eyes playing tricks on her or the light truly is wavering. Regardless, the stars are beautiful, but they’re nothing compared to the moon.

It’s full and appears covered in frost. Something in Yona’s chest aches. She half expects the silver light to turn golden, but that would be impossible.

She turns at the sound of a chuckle. Sitting at the edge of the open hall, the two men share cups of sake. Hak is leaning against the support post, a grin evident in the rounded apple of his cheeks. Yona’s gaze drifts to the deep green of—

She blinks. Soowon’s hair is fair as sunlight. She doesn’t know why she expected anything different, but there’s something not quite right.

Confused and uncertain, Yona takes the moment to bid her two friends good night before padding down the hall towards her room.

She’s nearly there when she spots the gilded carvings twisting around the entrance to the throne room. Instead of retiring to her room, Yona cuts across the neatly trimmed grass to where the dragons shine in the moonlight. She stands there for a long time—long enough that her feet begin to ache—until her gaze drops to the shadowed doors of the throne room. They open quietly under her hands.

The room is empty.

Yona’s throat closes up and she’s running before she recognizes the fear coursing through her body. Her father’s rooms aren’t far away, but by the time she’s bursting through the doors, she’s gasping for breath and her legs are burning from the exertion. Her thoughts flicker between confusion—since when did so short a run exhaust her?—and terror that King Il will be gone from here too.

But her father is sitting at his desk, scrolls coiled loosely around him but for the one in his hands. He blinks up as Yona heaves for air in front of him, his own guards peeking in with barely concealed confusion.

“Yona?” says her father. “Is something wrong?”

He rises from his seat, but Yona can only stare at him as he rounds the desk to rest his hands on her arms.

“Yona?” he prompts gently, a concerned frown puckering his brow.

“I—I’m sorry,” gasps Yona. Somehow she’s surprised her father is here, talking to her. Where else would he be? “I’m...I had a nightmare.” Her gaze drifts to the scrolls. “What’s happening?”

Her father rubs her arms calmingly. He doesn’t glance at the scrolls. “Nothing.”

Yona frowns. “Nothing?”

“Nothing at all,” confirms the king. “The country is at peace.”

“Oh.” Her heartbeats slow. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Quite,” says her father with a smile. “Now, would you like a cup of warm milk to help you sleep? Or you can stay with me, though you might find the reading material to be dry.”

Yona swallows. “No, Father, thank you. I think I’ll just go back to bed. I’ll be fine.”

“If you need anything else—”

“I will,” says Yona. “Thank you.”

His smile is as she remembers it, but she can’t get it out of her head as she leaves his room. Something seems amiss, no matter how much she tries to convince herself this is how it ought to be—this is how it is .

Unsettled, Yona bypasses her room once more to instead looking for Soowon and Hak. The moon watches her from its perch in the sky, higher than she thinks it should be at this hour.

Neither man is sitting where she left them, though the sake bottle and cups remain. Yona kneels and touches a rim. It nearly drops to the grass below when she takes off running once more.

She finds Hak easily enough when she bursts into the throne room for the second time that night. Her friend stands at the edge of the dais, looking down the shallow steps that lead beneath the throne room. There’s that feeling again, of being unsettled, as Yona watches Hak reach a hand out towards the door’s crest.

“Don’t go in there,” she pleads. “Please don’t go inside.”

Hak turns his head to look at her, an eyebrow raising quizzically. Yona herself would also like to know what’s going on with her. Something about the shrine is calling to her, a hook in her gut reeling her in, but she has her feet planted firmly. She shouldn’t go inside, nor should Hak. What if neither of them leave?

She doesn’t know why that’s a fear of hers—or maybe she does, and she’s denying it to the bitter end.

“Princess?”

“Just don’t go in,” she says, soft hands curling into fists. “We need to find Soowon.”

“We need to?”

“Yes.” Why? What’s so important? “Right now.”

Hak blinks at her, his brow furrowing with concern he rarely lets show. “Princess, he’s probably—”

“I don’t care where he probably is!” Yona snaps. Adrenaline is feeding into her veins, setting her on edge with nowhere to go. “Will you help me or not?”

She doesn’t wait to hear his answer because she knows he will always follow her. Always. No matter where life may take her outside these palace walls.

Soowon, however, will not. They check the guest wing, his room, the gardens he so enjoys, even the shooting range. Every item crossed off their list of possibilities drives Yona further into something she can’t fully comprehend. It feels like nervousness, but more, as if she won’t ever be able to get back what it is she’s on the brink of losing.

“Princess,” says Hak when they leave the kitchen, “Why are you so desperate?”

Yona comes to a halt, the hem of her gown clean despite her rushing about carelessly.

She’s afraid, she realizes, that something terrible will happen if she lets Soowon out of her sight.

“I just want to be sure,” says Yona, her voice too soft and too gentle to really express this fear. She looks up at Hak, whose face is smooth and clean as his hands, calloused as they are but free of dirt. He’s trying to mask his worry again.

“Soowon is safe,” says Hak, but he sounds uncertain. Yona can’t remember the last time she heard such a thing in his voice, or if she ever had.

Swallowing hard, Yona repeats, “I just want to be sure.”

She whisks back around and down the hall, where candlelight flickers like liquid over the polished wood. If she allows it, a thought comes to her—paper and wood walls lighting up in flames. Not this lifetime , she thinks to herself, as if there’s any other life in which such a thing might happen.

They’ve nearly searched the entire sprawling palace when Yona hears voices different from the hushed conversation between guards. She and Hak round a corner near the war room just as the doors open to allow Soowon and General Yuhon to exit. Soowon’s attention is fixed on his father, who has a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll do well,” the general says in that rough voice that only Soowon ever seemed to take with affection.

Then he turns to see Hak and Yona watching. Her uncle bows, the scars of his face falling into sharp relief, before passing them.

His clothes are clean and untarnished, as if they’d never seen war. Yona fixates on this more than she should, just as she can’t get the image of General Yuhon with hair flecked through with more grey than she remembers. This is not a man she knows.

When she turns back around, Soowon is watching the receding back of his father with a strange expression. His lips are slightly parted, as if unsure whether to grimace or smile, and his eyes are heavy-lidded. To Yona, it’s a bittersweet look. There should be no reason for Soowon to wear such an expression.

His eyes meet Yona’s, and his smile is a sad one. “What a sweet dream this has been.”

The back of her throat aches something fierce, her eyes burn, but no tears come. She won’t; she can’t.

The moon’s gaze is silver here, and Hak drinks with a different man. Her father occupies the same halls as her uncle. The country is at peace.

And it’s wrong.

“So it is,” whispers Yona.

Soowon doesn’t hear her—that or he chooses not to. She doesn’t blame him. Something in her yearns to cling to this façade, lest the fear and anger take over again, as it had before. This dream is a cruel one.

What could have been, had it not been for—

No—for now, this is real. Yona squeezes her eyes shut as Soowon rests a hand on her shoulder, and then he’s gone. The air is cool where his hand laid. Nobody says good night.

Hak follows Yona all the way to her room, coming to a stop as she enters alone. She stands in the middle of all her finery and comfort, the windows open to allow cool moonlight to touch the shadows where warm candlelight cannot. Systematically, Yona snuffs all the candles prepared for her until it’s only the night sky that lights her room.

It’s too quiet. There are far less crickets here, no owls or raccoons or other creatures of the night to forage about while she tries to sleep. The floor itself is soft beneath softer feet. She has no idea what stones feel like under her heels.

She has so much space, but it’s smothering her. Changing out of her day clothes into her thinner nightgown—even shedding the hairpin and bangle—does nothing to assuage the sensation.

When she goes to her door, Hak is still standing outside as if he has plans to guard her the whole night. He looks down when the door opens and their gazes meet—exhausted, both of them.

“Stay with me?”

He doesn’t argue, and the door shuts behind him. Yona crawls into her bed hesitantly, as if the material might swallow her whole. The bed dips with Hak’s weight as he settles alongside her. Already she feels his heat permeating through the barrier of her nightgown as he allows the distance between them to shrink further than any reality might dare.

Yona tries to gain comfort from his nearness, but her heart is constricting and her mouth is dry and her eyes are burning.

“Hak,” she whispers, “whose fault is it? That everything fell apart?” How is it that this future is a false one? “Is it my father’s for leading wrong? Is it mine, that I was blind to Soowon’s pain?”

Something heavy settles over Yona’s waist—she recognizes it as Hak’s arm just as he pulls her to him. His chest burns her back.

“Nothing happened because of you,” says Hak, his voice rumbling between their bodies. Yona closes her eyes as if she might be able to soak in the sound. “It’s happened to you. It’s happened to all of us.”

Not daring to speak, Yona can only respond with a jerky nod. Hak’s arm curls tighter around her. She feels his breath in her hair.

She wonders if should a different morning come, he might stay this way with her.

She wonders if this isn’t the dream.

She wonders what it is she hopes for.

With the scent of a far off festival in her nose, and the heat of another body at her back, Yona has to admit that this truly is bittersweet.

When Yona wakes up— really wakes up—it’s to the canopy of a tent and sweat dewing at her brow. Her limb is heavy as lead when she lifts it to brush the moisture from her skin. Her throat is dry and begging for water. Cautious of her weakness, Yona pushes herself to sit up. Nuts that had been framing her face fall into the dip left by her head. Everything is cast in a hazy amber glow—sunlight filtering through the thinned patches of the tent’s fabric.

She catches something dark in her periphery and looks over to see Hak. Like her, he’s practically swaddled in blankets and sweating. Yona wonders if her face looks as gaunt. Reaching over, she rests her palm on his forehead. While clammy, he doesn’t seem to be burning up.

Her lip wobbles. She’s glad— so glad.

But she’s also sad, in that heavy, all encompassing way that presses in and sticks, even when there’s a reason to smile and laugh. Heat is at her eyes, but she breathes in deep and doesn’t let it spill over.

The tent flap flings open, allowing unfiltered sunlight to stream in around the silhouette of a familiar friend. When he notices Yona is upright, Yoon nearly bowls her over in his attempt to get her to lie back down.

“You still need to rest,” he insists, setting a bowl of soup in her lap when it’s clear she isn’t about to go back to sleep willingly.

“I’ve rested long enough,” says Yona. She pauses before asking, “How long exactly…?”

“A full day.” Yoon purses his lips as he presses a hand to her forehead. “Your fever broke, but you shouldn’t push yourself.”

“I’m not,” says Yona with a wry smile. “I promise. How’s Hak?”

Yoon looks to their juggernaut warrior. “He caught sick shortly after you. If I’m being honest, he probably hid it until you decided to make camp and then collapse.”

“At least I stopped this time?” attempts Yona sheepishly.

Yoon levels her with a stern glare. “It’s a step up, I’ll admit. Next time, you’d better tell me if you’re feeling even the tiniest bit out of sorts. Got it?”

“Got it,” says Yona meekly.

“Good.”

Yoon leaves her to her supper. Yona hears him bark at someone to stop playing with their food. It’s familiar, safe, and welcoming. She’s here and lucid and with her family. As it should be.

But she gazes at the reflection in her gently rippling soup, at her chopped and messy hair, at her clammy skin and weary eyes, at the tough calloused fingers holding the bowl still. It doesn’t matter how content she is in the moment, she knows this.

There will always be something more happening, drawing them in, putting them in danger.

Yona thinks of the bangle decorated with dragon scales. She should be happy that she has her precious family with her now, beside her and more just beyond that tent flap. She should be happy they still exist in the presence of each other, with bonds forged stronger than any she could have dreamed.

Yet she can’t help but feel the loss of a life of peace. The heat and the ache intensify, and there’s nothing Yona can do any longer to keep the tears at bay.

[yourheartsaremine-blog]

You’ve been matched with...

@rust-effect Thank you for the request! <3 I actually struggled between a few different characters for you. :’D Rest assured that your icon wasn’t the deciding factor though; if I couldn’t write a lot justifying it, I kneew I probably wasn’t going in the right direction askdfalsdf

Ann is the type of girl who manages to be both upbeat and grounding at the same time, which I think would be a good match for you! She really admires the generosity that you show to other people, but she also takes it upon herself to make sure that no one takes advantage of your kindness either. While she knows that you’re capable of letting others know if you’re uncomfortable with a situation, Ann won’t hesitate to step in on your behalf if she feels you’ve been wronged or insulted in some way. Kind though she is, she’s not the type who can simply stand aside, and her wrath will be made evident if someone tries to push the matter.

She can sympathize with the fact that you instinctively act differently in front of strangers—who doesn’t?—based off the fact that she can also be quite wary around those she doesn’t know. She’s had a rather stressful school life thanks to assumptions about her appearance and her as a person, but because of your friendly and warm nature, she’d probably feel more comfortable with dropping some of her defensive attributes, even when the two of you first meet. I think that she has the type of personality that may be able to quickly earn your trust as well; she’s very genuine and, despite her looks and status as a model, remains modest and encouraging to those close to her. During those rare occasions where someone has had something terrible and your temper flares as a result, Ann generally lets you do your thing (and is probably impressed by how intimidating you can come off as considering your usual countenance). The only time where she might step in is if she feels that there’s a threat to you or that you may say something that you’ll regret, but otherwise she understands—and encourages—the sense of freedom that comes from confronting someone who has done you wrong. If you’re still upset after the fact, she’ll bring you somewhere nice for some tea and desserts, or just spend the evening relaxing with you depending on what it is you need at the time.

HCs (w/ Ann):

Tea time together is definitely something that happens. Most of the time Ann brings you to cafes that are well known for their outstanding     desserts and will frequently offer to split different treats with you so     that you can sample a wide array.

Despite being very much into fashion, Ann doesn’t know a whole lot about Lolita fashion, so the fact that you have an interest in it is something that fascinates her. She’ll frequently ask you questions     about the different types and styles, ask whether you have any cute     dresses, ask if she can help with your hair and makeup, and so on. She’d be keen on giving Lolita fashion a try at least once and, if you’re     comfortable with it, perhaps even see if she can get a professional photoshoot done for the two of you.

Movie nights with Ann is always fun because she’s adventurous     enough that she’s willing to try giving any genre a try so long as the movie’s synopsis sounds interesting. That being said, if your love of spooky things extends to horror movies, please don’t be surprised if you have a terrified blonde hiding her face behind your arm halfway through the film!

Sleepover dates are definitely a thing. Sometimes you’ll head on over to her place to find that she’s laid out a bunch of different spa masks and oils to pamper you with. These “spa sessions” are never exactly taken seriously though; you two make the conscious effort to use the products as intended at first, but may occasionally get into some sort of clay mask play-fight an hour in (GUYS that stuff’s expensive!!!!)

 HCs (w/ Phantom Thieves)

I think you’d definitely get along very well with Haru! In addition to the fact that she’ll frequently invite you over to have tea and chat with her, you two share the similarity of being quite sweet and mild-mannered in general…but scary when pushed to a certain limit. While you both may not be aware of that particular aspect of yourselves, the other Phantom Thieves are, and nothing scares them more than seeing the two of you get angry and gang up on someone at the same time.

Yusuke’s not all that exposed to trends and different fashions, so I think learning that you like Lolita fashion would fascinate him. Unlike Ann, he regretfully will not ask to try on Lolita-based outfits with you, but he probably will ask you to pose for a few pictures for him if you’d be willing. If you were to glance over at him while he is working on a sketch though, you’d likely see him with creased brows while he mutters “so many frills” to himself.

Honestly, Akira is just a great person to hang out with in general. He’s relaxed and observant, and also remarkably collected. If you ever want to brave something like a haunted house with someone who won’t cut off all circulation to one of your limbs from clinging so hard, Akira’s your guy. …Or Yusuke, but the likelihood of you having to cling to him in order to drag him out, sketchbook and all, is the more likely scenario here.

Short Scenario:

You and Ann put on some lovely Lolita outfits for an impromptu photoshoot, where your photographers are…less than qualified. You finger the delicate lace that ran along the edge of your dress, smiling in amusement as you watched the scene before you. Ann, who was dressed from head to toe in an outfit you had coordinated together, was busy talking to Ryuji and Akira. Both boys held cameras in their hands, and both boys looked…well, perhaps nervous wasn’t the exact word, but at least somewhat apprehensive about the task that was being bestowed upon them. Ann drew back from your friends, her hair, curled instead of done up in her usual pigtails, bouncing a little from the movement. “So then all you do is use this to make sure that we’re in focus, and then press down…and that’s it! Got all of that?” “We’ll see,” Akira said, just as Ryuji cried out a vehement, “Absolutely not!” Your girlfriend waved off their concerns with the reassurance that they’d probably figure it out, and then hurried back to your side. Flashing you a grin, she took one of your arms and pulled you over to the garden of blooming roses that you had both selected as your set for today. After a few unconvincing test shots (Is…is this really going to be okay with these two, you had wondered to yourself briefly), the actual shoot began. “I like this,” Ann announced suddenly midway through the shoot. You had just changed poses, with your girlfriend standing directly beside you, her cheek resting on the top of your head and her fingers twined with yours, “I mean, I’m in front of a camera a lot, but…this is different, you know? I’m more excited seeing the pictures knowing that they’re with you.” You smiled up at her. “Yeah, me too.” The smile she gave you in return was warm, and after shooting a quick side glance over at the boys to make sure they weren’t looking, she ducked down to press a kiss to you lips.

Extended ending:

“Ryuji, what the hell is this?!” “Dude, I’m not a photographer, okay? What were you expectin’?!” “Not a picture of cement! And…Akira, what is this?!” “A bird.” “I can see that, but why did you need to take a picture of it?” “Morgana wanted it.” You watched the trio bicker in front of you and let out a fond, but exasperated, sigh. Akira took the picture of the bird and slipped it into his bag and into the waiting paws of Morgana, while the two blondes were busy arguing. Reaching out, you sifted through the pictures until— “Oh.” You were flabbergasted to see that one of the boys had captured your and Ann’s brief kiss perfectly on camera.

[smut-camren]

You're burning me up inside

original: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6778084/chapters/15489298

A surprisingly mild winter’s evening painted the perfect backdrop for the Jauregui Foundation Christmas Ball, the lack of finger-freezing frost in the air causing a sigh of relief for all involved. An exclusive and elite event, no expense had been spared: the imposingly breath-taking town hall had been hired out, a doorman with a voice smoother than velvet had been employed, and a glass of complimentary champagne –1996 Boerl & Kroff Brut Magnum, only the best for the fortunate attendees – on arrival.

The delicate clinking of glasses and a subdued bubble of laughter crept under the main doors and gently tapped the ears of the two elegant figures, immobile at the top of the stairs. One, a 23-year-old woman, the other, her 18-year-old brother, both dressed to impress in their tailored suits and custom made leather shoes.

“I just don’t see why we have to attend,” The boy grumbled, eyes crinkling with frustration as he glared at the source of the merriment, hidden from his scathing gaze by the oak doors and the waiting doorman.

“It’s only once a year, and we are already late because of you and your grooming,” His companion chided him, but there was no real severity behind her words – she, too, disliked the pressure of this annual ball. Her brother grinned at her words, quickly adopting a mock-arrogant pose.

“But I have got to look good for the laaaddiiiiiessss, at least one of the Jauregui siblings has game – hey!” His cheeky remark was cut off as his sister quickly and ruthlessly flattened the hair that was the cause of their tardiness. She chuckled, but the morose expression adorning his face quickly sobered her up and she waved his hands away, stepping into his space and efficiently restoring his hair to its former glory.

“It’s for Mum, and Dad,” She reminded him, gently smoothing his lapels, “And you know how important this ball is for them. So let’s go in there and make them proud,” She clasped his forearm, turned and strode towards the doorman, his face betraying only mild irritation at the siblings’ reluctance to enter as soon as they had arrived. She nodded, her brother by her side. The doorman smiled and opened the door, allowing his deep voice to resound around the room.

“Lauren and Chris Jauregui!”

“And by the way, we both know that I have infinitely more game than you, little brother,” Lauren winked and descended down the stairs elegantly, leaving her brother behind with his mouth gaping open.

“Oh, thank God,” Lauren exhaled as she allowed the dark amber liquid to slip down her throat and ease her tension. Her jacket now unbuttoned, she had escaped to the bar after her parents had introduced and re-introduced her to all of the ‘important’ people in the room – which, due to the exclusivity of the event, was an awful lot of people.

A familiar hand appeared next to her, signalling the bartender, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Following in my footsteps, little one?” She teased, knowing how much he hated the nickname.

“Just trying to avoid Alie,” He mock-whispered, ducking his head as said woman appeared in his peripheral vision. Lauren just smirked and took another long sip of her Macallan 1926, the indulgent liquid sending pleasant warmth through her veins. She was more than used to the line of girls and women falling at Chris’s feet; his rusty hair and cheeky-but-charming demeanour had successfully hooked him many a partner, something that he delighted in. However, as Lauren knew all too well, some women simply just didn’t get it, ‘it’ being the knowledge that one night wouldn’t turn into two.

Alie was one such woman, and although Lauren empathised with her brother, she found it amusing nevertheless.

“Who is that?” Chris’s stunned voice broke her reverie, and as Lauren followed the path of his gaze, she completely understood why – she was stunned, too.

Smiling and laughing with her parents was what Lauren could only describe as a goddess. She was wearing an open back dress that accentuated her toned but curvy body, and it clung to her ass in a most sinful way. Oh my God, that ass… Lauren groaned quietly and closed her eyes, trying to cleanse her mind of the ridiculously inappropriate but oh-so-delicious thoughts running riot in her head. Opening them slowly, she had to bite her tongue to silence herself when she saw that the vision had turned. Her stomach was flat, and her dress hinted at wonderful breasts that Lauren just needed to bury her…

Stop it!She chastised herself, reluctantly dragging her eyes away from those beckoning beauties, up over collarbones that were just begging to be bitten, a mouth that was the most kissable mouth she had ever seen, and then she came to her eyes.

The earth met the sky and the world burned around them.

“I’m gonna go get with her,” Chris proclaimed cockily, and Lauren was too caught up in pulling her eyes away from the bewitching blue to try to stop him. She watched curiously as Chris confidently approached the stunning woman, and a knife twisted jealousy in her gut as she watched the woman laugh at something Chris had said.

“Stupid brother, stupid charm,” Lauren muttered, wrenching her eyes off the couple and downing the rest of her drink. She tapped her tumbler; the barman knew better than to keep her waiting. She took another long draught, trying to drown the irrational jealousy that was bubbling in her stomach. She knew she had no right to be so possessive over someone she didn’t even know, but something in her had been awakened by the other woman and she found herself clenching her fist at the thought of her brother being the one to worship her. Not that people are possessions, Lauren. Don’t be such an idiot. She smiled wryly at her inner berating, taking another smaller sip of the expensive liquid.

Suddenly, the familiar hand reappeared, and Lauren watched incredulously as her brother proceeded to do 3 shots of Patrón, not even wincing in the process. He cut his eyes at her and flipped his middle finger up at her vehemently before disappearing into the throng of people. What the hell? Lauren rose off her stool, intent on finding her brother and getting an explanation for his horrendous behaviour.

“He doesn’t take rejection well, then,” A throaty voice stopped Lauren in her tracks. The woman was even more striking up close, and Lauren unashamedly raked her eyes over every inch of the goddess in front of her, starting at her feet and rising up until her heated gaze once again caught the eyes of the other woman. They were mischievous, with a hint of pride in them as she watched the other woman devour her with her eyes.

“I would say so, as you are the first to reject him,” Lauren replied, smirking as the other woman bit her lip at the sound of Lauren’s voice. “May I enquire as to your reason for spurning him?” She asked, mostly teasing but with genuine curiosity underlying her words. The woman suddenly stepped forwards, effectively trapping Lauren between the mahogany bar and her own lovely body. The suited woman gulped once, but regained her control quickly before anything could give away how incredibly turned on she was.

“Well,” The brunette whispered into Lauren’s ear, causing her pants to tighten uncomfortably, “I simply said that it wouldn’t be fair… to make him second best, when I have been focused on nothing but you, and how amazing it would be to undress you, kiss you, touch you, since the moment you walked down those stairs. Oh, and I may have told him off for interrupting our eye-fucking,”

Lauren’s breath hitched, not only because of the provocative words and the enticing fantasies they had produced, but also because the woman, on finishing her sentence, had taken Lauren’s earlobe into her mouth, sucked it once and then bitten it.

“Not fair at all…” Lauren murmured, trying to focus on calming herself down and removing any potential issues. In her flustered state she in fact brushed the object of her discomfort against the brunette woman’s leg, and she bit her lip anxiously, waiting for the look of disgust, and the inevitable rejection.

The woman’s eyes, already dark, blackened.

She surged forwards, and upon feeling just how well-endowed Lauren was, moaned into her ear, unable to control herself at the thought of how good it would feel when clothing was no longer an issue. Lauren shuddered once, feeling her nerves dissipating into thin air, and let a smirk appear on her face as she allowed her natural instinct to take over. She grasped the brunette’s hips, spinning them round and pressing her against the bar as subtly as she could. Her leg slid in-between her partner’s, and she sucked air in through her teeth as she felt the heat radiating from the brunette’s centre. She pressed forwards slightly, revelling in the way the other woman leaned her head back, exposing her pale neck and submitting. Lauren leaned forwards and ran her teeth from the woman’s ear down her neck, licking the hollow of her throat before dragging her tongue up the sweetly scented skin and pausing on her mouth, letting the ragged breaths ghost over her own. At the lack of any more stimulation, the brunette opened her eyes, the sapphire almost completely obscured by obsidian.

“Waiting for an invitation?” She snarked gently, the rapid rise and fall of her chest giving away how affected she was. Lauren let a genuine smile curve her mouth gently before stepping backwards slightly, giving the woman some space.

“Lauren Jauregui,” she stated, and recognition cleared the woman’s cloudy features. She cleared her throat of lust before offering her own smile.

“Camila,” she held her hand out, “Camila Cabello,”

Lauren took her hand and brought it up to her lips, dusting a kiss on the palm before stepping right back into the other woman’s space.

“And that, Camila,” Lauren growled, the object of her desire’s eyes rolling back into her head at her next words, “Will be the last coherent thing you say tonight, apart from my name.”

————————————

“Fu… Lauren, please!” Camila gasped, hips writhing around, trying to find friction against the teasing tongue. Lauren simply blew gently on the swollen clit in front of her, smirking at the pained moan of pleasure that it produced from the frustrated body above her.

Lauren hadn’t even waited to get Camila inside her apartment before starting to undress her, pressing her up against the wall next to the door and undoing the dress from top to bottom before Camila could even realise.

“Wait, Laur…” Camila’s attempt at a protest was cut off by the press of Lauren’s lips against her own, admittedly much more gentle than she had imagined. Her plump lower lip even trembled slightly, and Camila felt a rush of affection flood through her, followed by a flood of something else as Lauren started to command the kiss. She licked along Camila’s lower lip, immediately slipping her tongue in when the brunette moaned slightly in response, and had been pleasantly surprised when her partner held her own with the kiss, sliding her tongue against Lauren’s and curling it against the roof of her mouth in a way that made her weak. Overcome with lust, Lauren slammed Camila against the wall, and the guttural moan that burst out of Camila’s mouth had Lauren almost coming in her pants. She had paused for a moment, anxiously locating her key, a task that became infinitely more difficult when the brunette started kissing her neck, licking her ear and whispering about how she couldn’t wait to be fucked by her. After a few heated moments of fumbling, Lauren had managed to get the door open and dragged her partner in after her, kicking the door shut so it locked automatically. They had stood for a moment in silence, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness, and just before it could have become awkward, Camila shifted her shoulder slightly, causing her dress to slip off her body and pool gently at her feet, leaving her in matching lingerie and heels. Lauren bit her lip, she couldn’t believe that this goddess was even looking at her, let alone half-naked in her hall. She stepped forward, reaching out to touch the soft body in front of her, ensuring that she was in fact real. Camila seemed to notice her sudden shift in mood, and tapped her teasingly on her chest, motioning her to remove her clothing. Lauren slowly unbuttoned her shirt, her confidence re-growing as she watched the brunette lick her lips at the unveiling of the toned stomach in front of her. She threw her shirt off to the side; Camila’s eyes stayed fixed on her abs. Before she could lose her nerve, she pushed her trousers down, essentially leaving herself as naked as the girl in front of her. The shade allowed for some modesty, so Camila couldn’t quite make out her prize, much to her annoyance. She quickly closed the gap between them, stopping right in front of the brunette and leaning forward to whisper in her ear.

“Why am I so coherent?” Lauren growled at the blatant challenge and picked the brunette up, preening inside as the brunette gasped at her strength and wrapped her legs round her body, her centre hot and wet against Lauren’s stomach. They had made it to the bedroom, where Lauren had slowly but surely turned Camila into a writhing mess.

Starting at her collarbones, licking them firmly before nibbling and biting them, not hard enough to hurt but enough to leave a mark that would remind Camila who had been there. Her hands slowly unclasped the silk bra, pulling it off her arms slowly, taking her time to reveal the perfect breasts that had been hidden by it. Camila’s nipples were already erect, so Lauren wasted no time in taking one in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it before sucking it sharply and grazing it with her teeth. She used her other hand to delicately tease the other nub, flicking it and rolling it between her fingers. She moaned slightly against the flesh in her mouth before taking it in and sucking it hard, determined to leave a mark. Camila’s hands, which had been grasping at the bedsheets, flew to Lauren’s hair, pulling her closer to her breast and rolling her hips up in need. Lauren was so hard she could have burst, but she simply switched breasts and gave them the attention they deserved, taking her time on them until she could feel Camila’s need burning beneath her. She kissed her way down her stomach, pausing to dust kisses and nips along her ribs, before coming to the edge of the lace underwear. She caught Camila’s eye and winked before baring her teeth and using them to drag the sodden underwear down Camila’s long and slender legs, the now-naked legs falling open with lust and her eyes darkening even further at the display of domination.

And that is what brought them to their current position, Lauren teasing Camila’s pussy with her tongue, waiting for her to beg, to break. After a particularly mean trick where she sucked the brunette’s clit into her mouth and grazed her teeth over it before releasing, Camila reached breaking point.

“Please! I can’t, can’t take this anymore, I’m going to burn up, please just fuck me,” Camila begged, desperation evident in her voice. Lauren smiled at the plea and instantly upped her pace, thrusting two fingers into Camila with no warning and smiling wider as the brunette’s head fell back in wordless pleasure. She added a third, wonder in her eyes as she watched Camila stretch to take her in, and then picked up the pace until she was practically thrusting Camila into the headboard. No sounds were coming out of her open mouth, her eyes were rolled back in her head and her chest was heaving.

“You can cum now, baby,” Lauren murmured, and gently sucked Camila’s clit into her mouth at the same time as curling her fingers up to find that spongy spot on her lover’s front wall, massaging it firmly. Camila’s hips bucked wildly and her entire body tensed before exploding, her back arching off the bed and her vision blurring. Lauren kept her fingers inside her, unmoving, letting her come down from her high before removing them. She sucked them slowly, smirking as Camila zeroed in on her mouth.

“Lauren…” Camila’s voice was hoarse, and the brunette crawled up her body gently, delicately kissing her delectable lips before pulling back. Despite her exhaustion, Camila felt her libido rising at the sensation of Lauren’s cock pulsing against her. She pushed gently at Lauren’s shoulders, moving her so that she was sitting, and before Lauren knew what was happening, Camila had her boxers off and her erection was ramrod straight and throbbing for attention.

Camila’s eyes widened; Lauren was huge. Lauren waited for a moment, slightly nervous, but then Camila’s eyes met hers and her lips curled up in a feral grin and Lauren just leant back and waited.

A tongue flicked the slit in her head and she trembled, willing herself to stay calm. Slowly, Camila’s mouth enveloped her head, her tongue swirling round it, her hand coming up to palm at her shaft. Inch by inch, Lauren watched as her cock disappeared into the velvet heat of Camila’s mouth until she hit the back of Camila’s throat. Instead of gagging, Camila simply opened her throat and kept going until her nose was brushing Lauren’s pubic bone. Lauren just sat there, eyes wide in disbelief, never having had her 9 inches deep throated before. The sensation was incredible, and then Camila swallowed. Lauren physically jumped, provoking a smile from the brunette, who then proceeded to give Lauren the best blow job of her life. After only a few minutes, she felt the familiar tightening and reluctantly tapped Camila, who looked up at her grumpily as though she’d interrupted her last meal. She slowly dragged her lips back over the shaft and head, sucking the pre-cum that had been left behind. The sight of Camila in front of her, naked, legs spread wantonly, and the fact that she had just had her cock in her mouth, made something in Lauren snap. She grabbed the brunette’s knees and pulled hard, flattening her into the mattress and proceeded to back off the bed, pulling Camila with her. She stood, cock in hand, watching as realisation dawned on her lover’s face.

She dipped her fingers into Camila’s cunt, using her juices to slowly lubricate her own shaft before positioning herself at Camila’s entrance. An eager nod was all the consent she needed to slowly start sliding her dick into the silky, fluttering entrance. Once she was bottomed out, she waited a moment for Camila to adjust, using the time to focus on her breathing. She was so worked up and the woman in front of her was so beautiful that Lauren knew she wouldn’t last long, so she deep breathed until she felt a clench round her cock. She opened her eyes to see Camila grinning mischievously at her, and then another clench around her already sensitive shaft made her decision for her: hard and fast. She picked Camila’s legs up and placed her ankles on her shoulders, watching for any signs of pain, but the only change was Camila’s mouth opening in pleasure as the angle changed. She smirked, and withdrew slowly, before pounding back in in one long, hard thrust. The moans from the woman wrapped around her were enough to confirm that she was doing the right thing, so she let herself go. With Lauren jackhammering as hard and as fast as she could, Camila was soon reduced to a body only capable of twitching in pleasure and releasing gasps and moans. Lauren was so deep in her, and the noise of their skin slapping together only made the heat in Camila grow hotter. Suddenly another finger was added into the mix, rubbing tight circles on her slippery clit, and that was all the stimulation necessary to throw Camila headfirst into the burning fire of oblivion. Lauren came with her, her orgasm bringing her to her knees at Camila’s feet.

There’s nowhere I’d rather be, she thought to herself, gently removing herself from Camila’s innermost self. The brunette had passed out, body driven past exhaustion, and Lauren smiled tenderly before fetching a damp flannel to clean the woman’s thighs. She lay down beside her, pulled the covers up over them both and turned to her side, waiting for sleep to take her.

When she woke up, she woke up to the sight of a brunette head bobbing between her legs, her cock about to explode.

They had breakfast together, more life-affirming sex, and Camila stayed for dinner.

One night turned into two, two nights turned into three, and three turned into forever.

[neural-novella]

The Marked 9

Some time has passed since the meeting with the Leaders of The Marked. Not all agreed with my plan, but enough did including Grimmal and that is what I needed. Working within his retinue, I have travelled to and visited many Marked locations with the sole intention of showing them how to best use their abilities. How to fight back, how to win, how to kill and not be killed.

The range of Marked abilities is far beyond anything I imagined, that's a good thing though as the council won't be expecting such variance themselves. No two Marked's abilities are the same, whereas several might be exceptional at conjuring fire magics each will be potentially insanely powerful in conjuring it in a certain way. One can create fireballs, after some training they can now fuel a ball of flame the size of a car with a good chance of improving beyond that. One can cast great plumes of flame in a direction similar to a flamethrower, I showed them how to concentrate the flame into a smaller far hotter area. With some practice they should be able to improve the ranges they can reach as well. Another one is able to create explosions, firstly only with themselves as the epicenter, it took quite some time to train them to use a different object or person as the epicenter.

We have those who can summon forth shields or imbued ones to others. We have those with close quarters abilities and those with ranged potentials. Not a balanced army by far, but one that will certainly give the Council cause of concern. This hasn't been easy to hide from them either, The Marked have triple scouting parties around the city. One of the Marked Leaders know as Johnson managed to create a network of those with telepathic abilities so that information can be shared almost immediately. The Hunters have been out in force, they caught out one or two groups of Marked and safe to say there were no survivors or bodies to find. We've done our best to lead them away from our base of operations scattered around the city using scouting parties or known to be dangerous Marked members.

There's one person I still haven't seen for several months now, Lee. Sable has heard from him, small reports as he assists in the scouting party missions and keeping a close eye on the Hunters and Mages found around the cityscape. Unfortunately he is good at making himself difficult to track down never in the same place twice.

...

After weeks of planning, preparing, scheming and training we are finally ready. The plan has been made as simple as possible. There is a road at the center of the city, it intersects through many districts and is the main highway from residential to industry with business and financial at the center. There are several buildings, small skyscrapers, marked for demolition near the financial buildings. We are going to use magic to destroy them. Set some cars of fire and scare as many pedestrians as possible. The Marked only want to harm those who wish to cause then harm, law officials, military and of course The Magus Council's hounds of war.

Once the Council sees a large organised group of Marked marching through the city blatantly using magic they will have no choice but to send all they have. The date is set for tomorrow. One of the many details I have held back from The Marked is that this is personal for me now. I am going to face off against my brother whether or not he wishes too and I will retrieve my focus. Once I have my spear returned I will be able to truly help the Marked by amplifying my magic and teleporting them in groups to the Magus City.

The next morning I stand atop a rooftop of a bank looking down at the humans below. Rush hour hasn't long finished but the roads are moving with little in the way of traffic. There is a cool breeze pushing its way down the street and over the buildings. The weather is calm, the temperature mild. Perfect conditions for a battle.

"I hope you know what you are doing." A voice states behind me. I turn to see Lee stood before me leaning his back against an air conditioning unit, arms crossed.

"Whatever do you mean old friend?" I ask with a raised brow.

"This is madness. The Marked are even more insane for going along with this! There's no way we can defeat Mages, never mind the fact that they will be completely outmatched today." As he finishes a building collapses opposite us, the dust magically expanded to cover the entire road a smoke screen to do more damage without anyone realising just yet. It has begun.

"Nothing you can do about it now. If you had your concerns you should have come to me about them. Voiced them to the others. Now this has started it can hardly stop."

I watch Lee's focus change, he waves his hand along the dust cloud below and it settles far quicker than expected. "What the hell are you doing?!" I question.

"Unable to see their enemy they'll die. I'm only here to make sure as few Marked die as possible. What's your role in all of this?"

"I'm after my brother, nothing else. He has something of mine I need returned."

"Your brother?! All of this is to settle some family feud?! You are truly insane! I will not stand by and let them die!" And with that I see his Mark on his wrist glow as he jumps down into the road, before his Marked brethren.

There's a faint sound of sparks behind me, and a voice chuckles "He can't stop them. It is such a shame to see you again brother, you appear to have grown so close to our enemy. You could almost say, without a doubt now, you are my enemy."

I sigh and turn to face my brother, flames, gales, lightning and many other forms of magic errupt from the street behind me. The Hunters have started proceedings with The Marked. "It is time to truly see if you have managed to surpass me since we were children brother." I remark before summoning a blade of stone and metal from the building beneath my feet simultaneously launching towards my brother, my enemy.

His blade obliterates mine, I stumble forward without resistance to stop me. As I fall I use a fistful of air to blast a space between myself and my brother. Safe to say he doesn't budge very far but I'll take anything I can get, it allows me to barely dodge his retaliatory strike. I roll when hitting the ground, melting the ground as I pass over it. I place my left hand to the ground and lift myself up. I glance up and see my brother take two quick steps towards me, I smile and use the magic in the palm of my left hand to launch spikes of molten masonry towards him. As he dodges I summon razor thin Lance's from the brickwork of the building behind me and launch them one at a time towards him with a flick of my hand. I missed the first, he parries the second allowing a small opening where one of my molten spikes catches him in his side. The third Lance hits him in the right shoulder but the fourth misses as he ducks with pain.

He surrounds his body in magic, cauterizing and healing the wounds at the same time providing a weak but effective defensive barrier. I grit my teeth and launch myself in the air. My brother brings his sword low in order to strike me out of the air as if swatting a fly away. I clench my fists and cross my arms, as I somersault over my brother's head he the building he stands on grabs his ankles and drags him down into the stone two feet. As I land, I swivel scraping a foot across the ground Infront of me summoning a crescent of flame that skates across to my brother hitting him square in the back. His clothing burns to ash where the flames hit but the burns are quickly extinguished by his defensive spell. He slams the hilt of his sword into the ground breaking him from the ground and giving him back his footing. I hold my hand out in front of me preparing to defend and counter his next attack.

The building beneath our feet is hit by something. Maybe several something's. I sense the Mages launch pillars of asphalt and granite up from the ground to stabilise the collapsing structure but it's not enough. My brother smiles and launches himself backwards to the rooftop of a neighbouring building. I encase myself in a magical shield and brace against the force of a collapsing building.

Once the I am sure the structure no longer poses a threat to me, I summon a large tornado in the center. It collects all of the dust out of the air clearing my view. As soon as I glimpse my brother I stamp my right foot to the ground causing a slab of debris to hop up, I grab it using magic and throw it at my brother. I do this three times before some other Mages notice my presence as an enemy. Two turn their attention to me. I form my right hand like a gun and fire a bolt of pure energy at one, they collapse to the ground, likely bleeding to death in moments. The other launches a steaming of electricity at me which bounces off of every conductible surface within range. The 1000 volt shocks sear up my arms and lash at my neck. I takes me a second to focus but I extend both hands keeping a small gap between my palms. My fingers together and pointed. A magical lightning rod for this purpose. I will the lightning into my palms, as soon as my attacker seeing what I am doing they stop and begin to work on their next spell. Without hesitation I take this single short moment I needed and unleash electrical hell upon my foe. All I see is their body launch into the building on the opposite side of the street. Time to turn my attention back to my brother. I jump, enhancing said jump with magic, to the rooftop my brother was on.

As my eyes come into line with the ledge I see he has disappeared, retreated. Not that I'll allow him to do that. I dissipate the tornado behind me and scatter the dust across the buildings I stand upon and it's neighbours. I cast a magically net strung between each miniscule grain of dust. Eventually I have him, I smile and pull in the net. My brother is taken by surprise grabs at the invisible, incorporeal rope around his neck. I pull again, this time it brings my brother out from his hiding place. I blink over to him. Grab him and jump off the building with him in my hands. I shield myself and pummel my brother's body into the ground below. He throws me off of him once on the ground and resummons his blade. He is beginning to look bruised, beaten and worn. I lock us within a sphere of super hot flame so that he cannot escape this time. He brings his sword to bare, I pull from the earth 8 hexagonal pillars of stone each with a time engraved. Rune magic is some of the most difficult to learn and use, it requires great focus to use a rune as a focus and amplifier for magic.

"This is it brother!" I shout over to him. "This is where you die. How about you make this a fair fight? Give me back my spear!"

He shakes his head, "I don't have it little brother. The Council had it locked away, deep from prying hands."

Such a shame, this will have to be painful. I launch two pillars towards him, he dodges them both and runs towards me. I level a pillar in front of me, horizontal so to block his strike. He jumps over it and I hit him full force in the chest with another pillar. He drops his blade which sticks out of the ground. I realign all of the pillars above my head in a circle. I walk over to my brother's sword, "You took mine. It is only fair I take tour's brother." Upon lifting the blade I feel the tug of magic back to my brother. I close my eyes and sever the connection. A storm of lightning engulfs me similar to how my brother broke my connection to my spear. I look down at the silvery blade, my reflection marred by cuts, grazes and dirt. I barely recognise myself from the Mage I used to be. I close my eyes and sigh with sadness. I shoo the pillars to above my brother's position. I hold his blade out towards him, horizontally. The runes upon each pillar glow with different colours. I transition the sword from horizontal to vertical with the point in the air. "I win again... Brother" I say under my breath before swinging the sword downwards. The pillars follow locking my brother within a magically field he cannot escape from. This technique has no counter or defensive. Each rune of is a spell against a specific form of defensive magic. 6 of those. 1 bindings the target within the circle. 1 tortures the target to death.

My brothers screams of agony and anguish gives many of the Mages around me cause for concern. 5 of them descend upon me to arrest me for killing another Hunter. As a Mage I have that privilege. I have just enough time to scan over the battleground, the devastation. Bodies everywhere. Multiple collapsed or damaged buildings. Although I cannot see him I get a vision of Lee shaking his head in disappointment.