#brain empty no thoughts only son hedge

[eyes-onthehorizon]

The Old Guard Provide... Leverage

It's the 1800s, and Martha recently left the employ of Sir Archibald Graham for reasons she can't discuss. The Old Guard help her get revenge and closure with a healthy dose of found family on the side. A reworking of February is a Month Like Any Other because it desperately needed editing. An Old GuardxLeverage mashup. Rape is implied and the circumstances around it are discussed in detail; the violence itself is only alluded to.

chapter one (ao3)

Two

Yusuf receives a letter, and we meet someone new.

emporium [empɔːriəm]

Word forms: plural emporiums, plural emporia

countable noun [formal]

An emporium is a store or large shop.

(“What are doing down there, Habibti?”

“It’s none of your business, Mister.”)

The birds sang as sweetly as they had the day Nicoló had departed. Yusuf sighed, and began their daily routine a cappella, sorely missing the accompaniment of his husband’s movements. He swept the floor, rearranged a few items… There. Your Local Emporium was now open for business.

The post arrived shortly after.

“’Ere, son. A romantic overture from your long-lost love.” Amadeus teased. The postie was as caring as he was nosy, and didn’t bother with hiding the torn edge of the envelope. Yusuf didn’t bother to protest it. Finally, he had some news.

As he pulled the paper from its wrapping, Yusuf felt his face light up. A letter from Nico! A letter containing hopefully vital information to the case they were building against Sir Graham, but a letter from his beloved nonetheless.

“Your omniscience inspires faith, Amadu,” Yusuf says, his tone wry but his eyes warm.

The other man chuckled. “As it should. See you tomorrow, Joseph.”

Yusuf waved him off, turning to go back into the shop before looking sharply over his shoulder. He scanned his surroundings before spotting what had caught his gaze. A sharp pair of eyes stared back through the hedge beside the shop entrance. He backed into the shop, slowly, only breaking eye contact at the last moment. Yusuf made his way to the apartment quickly, grabbing some food and a jug before stepping back out onto the shop floor, arranging them on the nearest flat surface before heading back downstairs to make himself busy.

He'd recently not-adopted an urchin, a tiny, bony, belligerent streak of red-and-eyes who refused any food or help unless she thought she was stealing it. Over the last three months, she’d said exactly six words to him, in a tone so reminiscent of Seb that he was immediately a goner. He’d taken to leaving portions of his meals around – taking a bite and stepping away on one pretext or another – and it looked like she could put away everything Nicoló eats in a day and then some. He’d forgotten just how much children could need.

The Emporium usually stayed empty ‘til noon on the weekdays, so Yusuf found himself a comfy spot close to the fire and began reading.

My dearest love,

It has been too long since I have held you in my arms. The pages of our love have been bound by fate and there is nothing that can stop my return to you now. I know I cannot make heads nor tails of anything but being in your presence once more.

Yours always,

N

It wasn’t his best work but the message was clear enough. Yusuf suddenly couldn’t contain himself: rushing around reordering things, feeding the fire. Checking the stock in the back, noticing that not only the food but the plate was gone, along with a very small whirlwind.

There was a small gang of boys who made it their business to “patrol” the neighbourhood. They weren’t too bad – not nearly as dangerous as the group of thugs they’d encountered when they’d last been in the New World – but they did like throwing their weight around. The second-in-command, Bean, was particularly aggressive. No one wanted to be on Bean’s bad side, so they mostly let him get away with whatever it was he wanted.

Duff was the leader (“Short for Macduff, Vanquisher of Evil!”) and the brains of the operation. He collected monthly dues from the shopkeepers and the coppers turned a blind eye to their patch, which had been exactly how Andy had wanted it when they were discussing areas of the city in which to open a front.

Duff collected, and if he didn’t, Bean would make sure that you didn’t forget the next payment.

It had been a week before Yusuf had made the connection between the tornado eating her way through his pantry and the gangly redhead who loomed over everyone. Yusuf suspected her brother knew where she was – she spent time enough in the Lights and Mirrors room to cause no end of trouble – and prayed every day he would continue feigning ignorance.

Yusuf sighed, stretched and read Nicoló’s letter for the fourth time that day, absentmindedly stirring his tea. His train of thought was interrupted by an obnoxious slurping. Raising his eyebrows at his companion, he risked an amused glance.

She only met his eyes for a moment before her gaze skittered away. “You should drink that before it gets cold.”

He hummed his reply before taking an equally obnoxious slurp of tea.

She giggled before she could think better of it. “I’m Tig.”

“I’m--”

“You’re Mr Kayson. You let me eat a lot and you’re in love with someone named N. Why do you let me stay? I hope it’s not because you feel sorry for me because I can take care of myself, thank you very much. But it’s nice here. Warm. Like a--”

It seemed Tig had saved up three months of conversation for this very moment. Yusuf was glad the tinkling of the bell gave her an excuse to breathe.

“It’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Tig. I’ll be right back.”

It was the Davis sisters, Yusuf realised with reluctance, who had floated into the shop. He wished he’d just stayed with Tig and the tea.

The Davis sisters were from the American South. They had been sent to England by their great-uncle, who had died and left them obscenely wealthy. Tig reacted to them like a cat responding to a cucumber; but thankfully, only within his eyeline. Yusuf mentally thanked whichever God was listening that the girls had only wanted ribbons that day and left the shop with little fuss.

He heard Tig sigh above him. “They’re so pretty. It’s a shame they’re so annoying.”

Yusuf just repressed a smile and fed the fire once more.

[neighborhoodparker]

Book: Novitious

Word count: 2,191

Summary: Cedric dies. Cho wasn’t the one dating him.

Drabble, Cut Scene, or Request: Drabble! A version of this may potentially be seen in the books.

She felt like she had been sitting here for hours. The sleek wood seat underneath her rear had grown uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that no matter how much she shifted she was unable to find peace in her lower back and thighs. At this point, she was nearly ready to burst out of her own skin - her whole body was trembling in anxiousness for Cedric, her Cedric. Amos had long ago given up on trying to comfort the young girl. Instead, he had his own worry plastered across his body - shown in the way his right leg continuously brushed up and down against her left, shown in the worn fingernails he had started chewing on, shown in the way his eyes continuously raked across the hedge mass that filled what was once the Quidditch pitch. 

Cedric’s favorite sweater had been pulled over her small frame before they had left the Hufflepuff dormitories to come to the pitch. It was a little big for her, as the sleeves fell past her hands and the left shoulder had slipped down to reveal some of her bare skin. She also had his most favorite, well-worn scarf curled loosely around her neck; he had given it to her as an extra way to keep her calm. The way his scent engulfed her from the clothes did take an edge off of her consuming anxiety, but it didn’t stop her body from shaking uncontrollably. She knew that something was wrong. Her gut was continuously twisting in on itself, making her feel nauseous and light-headed. She swore her heart was beating millions of beats per minute - she almost felt sick from how hot her skin was growing. In an effort to cook herself down, she shoved the sleeves up to her elbows. Her eyes made contact with Amos as she looked at him for the billionth time in the past ten minutes alone.

“He’ll be okay.” Amos whispered, offering her a shaky smile.

She wasn’t sure if he entirely believed the words he was saying to her. His whole posture screamed unease, and the glistening in his eyes was telling her that he felt the same undeniable sense of horror bubbling very deep within his bones. She took a deep, soft breath before forcing herself to return the smile. It felt awkward and out of place on her lips; she knew now wasn’t the time for such pleasantries. She shifted once more, leaning her right side into Neville’s left. He offered her a quick squeeze of her opposing shoulder, but his eyes were transfixed on the hedge looming in front of them. She had to assume the reason she was so anxious was because of everyone around her. Her empathic tendencies were making it way worse than it needed to be. Cedric would be fine. She didn’t think Dumbledore would want to risk losing someone so kind, so good, so strong. He would want him when the war she knew was on the horizon finally collapsed upon their reality. 

Her hand found Neville’s, lacing their fingers together. She had been continuously going back and forth between holding his hand, leaning against him for comfort - and offering her own shoulder for Amos to briefly lean against as new waves of anxiety drowned over him. She had lost track of where her boyfriend was in the maze a while ago; if she was asked, she wouldn’t be able to tell how much time had passed. It felt like an eternity since he and Harry had disappeared within the misshapen claws of the final Triwizard Tournament task. 

After she had grasped his hand, trying not to hold it too tightly, she managed to steal a glance of two forms appearing outside of the maze. Her view was then obscured by the sudden movement of everyone around her; their various builds jumping to their feet in lieu of celebratory noises. The music began to play, but she couldn’t fight the panic that began to build in her chest. It bubbled quickly. It simply started around her heart as it constricted, inching down inside her before it slammed into her lungs - taking all air out of her body as her diaphragm was soon swallowed by what she could only recognize as dread. It quickly spread after, making every inch of her body feel numb. She was caught off-guard; she wasn’t sure why she was experiencing such hysteria. Another deep breath filled her lungs as she noticed Amos was trying to get through the horde that kept him stuck by his seat.

Her body went to follow, but was quickly pulled to a halt. Neville was gripping her hand in a fashion that almost hurt. She met his eyes with confusion - he was filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite place, like it was a mixture. Dumbledore was yelling at Harry in the background. Every sound made it clear to her that she had been shoved under water, that she was on the verge of drowning in something she hadn’t yet discovered. She realized, with shock, that the emotions he was showing were a mixture of fear, sorrow, and distress. He discovered something she didn’t. Her eyebrows furrowed as she went to follow Amos again and his grip tightened, preventing her from moving.

“Nev, are you crazy? Let me go,” She tugged her arm. “Cedric’s there.”

“Isobel, you can’t go down there.” He stated.

“Neville, let me go.” She pulled against him again, starting to give him a glare.

“Is…” He trailed off.

“Neville. Let. Me. Go.” She demanded. 

Her attention was drawn away from him for a split second, allowing her to see as the crowd around her paused - almost as if they were all involuntarily holding in the same exact breath. He seemed to grip even tighter on her wrist - and she cried out in response. He was trying to keep her from seeing something traumatizing, but was hurting her in the process. She could almost feel the regret of it oozing out of his body. 

“You’re hurting me.” She almost growled, starting to become hysteric as she tried to pull away from him. ”Neville, please let go.”

He refused, but it didn’t matter. In the next second, screams from Amos were filling the air - letting everyone know his anguish in something that had to do with his son. She slammed her foot against Neville’s groin without even thinking. She jerked her hand back as he doubled over in pain but she didn’t stay to make sure he was okay. Her body moved on it’s own as she shoved through the crowd, pushing and shoving to get down the stands, down to where she had briefly seen the outline of Cedric and Harry. 

Someone was calling her name. She couldn’t tell who it was in her state of pure alarm, but if she had glanced back she would have seen Neville moving to grasp Draco’s arm - to hold him back from running to her. It was difficult to get through the mass of students, almost like they were all attempting to block her from getting down to the Diggorys. She could hear the older man sobbing, and she knew that the feeling she had in her gut since she had said goodbye to him wasn’t a mistake. Something awful, terrible, wretched had happened out in the maze. 

She finally broke through the horde, and all anyone could hear was a loud, awful, gut-wrenching shriek. Laying there, in his father’s arms, was the first person she had really loved with her whole heart. And he was pale. Lifeless. His eyes stared blankly at the sheet of stars above him, his chest giving no movement. His father was clinging to him like he was the only thing still anchoring him to the world. The grief she felt yanked her forward; it made her legs collapse, her lungs stall, her eyes widened. She was caught by the rough embrace of someone - nearly taking both of them down to the ground with the blunt force of her anguish. She barely recognized that it was Harry as he pulled her into his chest. He tried to hide her from the heart-breaking sight in front of her - even though he knew it would forever be etched in her mind.

Suddenly she was seven years old again, breaking as Draco’s arms held her. Suddenly, she was back in the home she hadn’t seen in months - back in the manor that she had lost so much of her childhood to. Draco was holding her tightly, almost like he was scared she would sink through the floor and disappear if he didn’t try to hold all of her pieces together. Suddenly, it was her mother splayed out on the marble floor, her spiritless body outlined by a growing crimson puddle. She wasn’t fifteen, collapsed on the field of a Quidditch pitch in the arms of Harry. She was at home, witnessing the cruelty of her father; witnessing her world crashing down around her. She was experiencing a pain she thought nothing could ever beat. Her sobs were filling the large foyer of her father’s home, echoing throughout the empty space that was just so previously filled with screams from her mother, that was filled with Draco begging her to stay back with him. 

And it didn’t matter if she was fifteen or seven. Because her heart broke all the same. The pain in her chest was immense, vast, monumental. It engulfed her. Her heart had been seized out of her chest and thrown at the ground, just before it was stomped, crushed, pulverized underneath the cruel heel of life. She shattered as her brain filtered through a long list of everything she would never get to see through with Cedric, filtered through the myriad of things his father would never live to see, filtered through the life they one day could have had. And she was that fifteen year old collapsed on the pitch. She was the fifteen year old girl struggling to stay afloat as her grief threatened to drown her. She was the fifteen year old girl who had just lost the one thing that had seen her through her darkest moments. 

There she was, wishing the same blond-haired boy was there holding her as her whole world churned, tumbled, disintegrated. But she had a brown-haired boy instead, one with uncontrollable locks and teary eyes hidden behind crooked frames. She took what she was given, accepted that she had lost that blond-haired boy two years ago, accepted that she had Harry. She forced her hands to relieve their tight grip on his jersey before she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning her forehead against his shoulder as he hugged her tightly to his shaking form. He was crying right along with her and she wanted to help him, wanted to comfort him and reassure him that everything would eventually be okay. But she didn’t want to lie to him, she couldn’t. She didn’t believe that they would be okay again. Cedric was a loss to the Wizarding World. He was a loss that she didn’t know that she could bounce back from, that anyone could bounce back from. He was a lively, beautiful soul that had offered her a safe haven - he had given so many people hope that things would turn out okay. 

Instead, Harry was here - comforting the girl who was always there for other people. It broke her even more to think of how she was failing to help those she loved, but she couldn’t calm herself down enough to help him out. Her chest was still heaving with panic and, though the tears had stopped, her shoulders still shook from the force of now silent sobs. She was terrified that he would let her go, that he would help her back to her dorm and leave her alone. She didn’t want to be left alone; she hadn’t been since she had first met Cedric, since she had moved in with Sirius. She couldn’t handle this loss. She didn’t know what would happen if she was left alone. 

“Harry, do you think you could carry her? Let’s clear the area. We’ve already got most of the audience out.” A rough, cracking voice spoke up - pulling her attention away from her screeching thoughts.

She only moved to cling more securely to Harry, squeezing her eyes closed as the owner of the voice pulled them off the ground. She didn’t want to get another glimpse of Cedric. It was already carved into her brain. It took her far too long to process that the voice belonged to Mad-Eye Moody, but she didn’t care. She was more worried that Harry would decide she was okay alone and would leave her. Even so, she was more worried about the feeling of dread growing once again in her stomach. It was almost unsaid between the two of them that they knew that Cedric’s death marked the beginning of the war. This would only be the first of many deaths that would completely alter her existence.

[matthewtkachuk]

speak now - rafe cameron

it’s the day of your wedding and, even though it’s been two years, you can’t stop thinking about the one who got away. little do you know he’s also consumed with thoughts of you and he’s not ready to give up just yet

warnings: angst with a happy ending

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 2.9k

a/n: this is the fic i wrote for pen on imessage, everyone say thank you to @girlsru1eboysdroo1 for the fact that this isn’t totally depressing!! i emphasized her favorite lines just for fun, i always wanted to write a fic with this trope so here it is, enjoy!!

You had loved Rafe Cameron your whole life, and truth be told you probably always would. But, he wasn’t yours to want anymore and you weren’t his. In fact, you were silently freaking out in a small room of a church, thinking about the one who got away as your fiancé stood at the end of the aisle.

It wasn’t fair to Chris. Chris, who was so sweet, so kind. Who supported you through thick and thin. Who uprooted his whole life to follow you to the grad school of your dreams. Who held you and loved you and treated you right. Chris, who would probably do anything for you if you only asked.

That was the thing though, with Rafe you never had to ask. He had known you better than you had known yourself, could predict when you needed him and what exactly you needed. He could feel the shift in your energy after a bad day at school or work, and was always ready to cheer you up, whether it was shitty fast food and shittier reality television or his sometimes gentle touch.

Rafe had known you and loved you, all the parts of you. Not just the good that Chris so often praised you over, your kind heart and selfless attitude. But also, the parts of you that you felt you had to hide, your petty jealousy, your quick temper. He loved not only your beautiful parts, but every scar and every flaw too.

But Rafe had let you down, too. His own temper and irrationality got him into trouble on more than one occasion, and all you had wanted was for him to let go of old hurts. You understood his insecurity stemmed from years of never being good enough for his father, Ward Cameron was a son of a bitch who had ruined the self-esteem of the boy you loved. Ultimately it was a combination of both that spelled the end of your relationship. A screaming match where he had projected his own inner turmoil onto you, certain that you could never truly love someone like him. He had said things he couldn’t take back, and you had packed your bags that night, never to step foot in his apartment again.

So here you were, two years later, about to marry another man. You looked at yourself in the mirror, saw the fresh tears pooling, threatening to spill and ruin your expensive makeup. If anyone were to see you, they would probably assume they were happy tears, brought on by the overwhelming joy of linking yourself to Chris forever. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Your tears stemmed from the knowledge that going through with this truly meant the end of a future with Rafe. It was stupid, Rafe hadn’t contacted you in the years since your break up, and the only information you received on his wellbeing you got through his sister Sarah who you still thought of as a friend. Rafe didn’t know that you kept tabs on him, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Sarah told him about you, too. You briefly wondered what it would have felt like to receive the news of your engagement, if he ever saw the invitation hung on Sarah’s fridge. If he was sad, or jealous, or if he even cared.

For a moment, you thought about running, pulling a runaway bride, but Chris didn’t deserve that. His only flaw was that he wasn’t Rafe Cameron, and it wasn’t fair to resent him for that fact. Besides, your mother would throw a fit. She had been mad enough when you had arrived home, 21 and single and in need of a place to stay as you got back on your feet. You were pretty sure she might actually disown you if you left another ‘eligible bachelor’, especially this close to commitment. You would likely never hear the end of how you had ruined a perfectly good (and extravagantly expensive) wedding. Not only that, there was no guarantee the next guy you found would hold a candle to Rafe, and you were certain by his two year long radio silence, that Rafe was over you. So, you got up, smoothed down the crinkle in your off-white wedding dress, dabbed at your eyes with a tissue and grabbed your bouquet, resigned to going through with the wedding.

The truth is, when Rafe walked into Sarah’s apartment to pick her up for a lunch with Ward and Rose, she all but threw herself at Rafe to prevent him from seeing the invitation on the fridge. Her plan had been to meet him in the car, but Rafe had walked right in using his key. Suspicious of his little sister’s actions, he gently moved her aside and entered the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He paused, hand hovering near the water dispenser on the fridge as his eyes landed on the photo of you and Chris with “save the date” written in bold block letters. In his shock, the glass slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor. The sound shook him from his thoughts, and he grimaced at the broken pieces of glass that lay at his feet alongside his shattered heart. He looked at Sarah with a look of pure devastation as she offered him a soft smile and quickly swept up the glass. Unfortunately, the pieces of his heart couldn’t be cleaned up so easily. “I’m sorry,” she had offered quietly and all he could do was shrug and say, “me too.”

The green eyed monster of jealousy lingered on his shoulder in the weeks that follow, causing him to lash out more and more. His coworkers avoided him, his friends wanted nothing to do with him, and the only people who he could stand to be around were his little sisters of all people. Despite Sarah keeping your engagement a secret, she had tried to save him from heartbreak, but it was always going to hurt no matter when or where he found out. Since finding out, thoughts of you consumed him, they always had. He had given you the space you had so desperately asked for that night you left, always thinking that you would come back to him, that the two of you would work it out and move on together. He never stopped thinking about you and wondering where you were and what you were doing. He’d heard you’d gone through a few relationships, and he wouldn’t lie about the way his heart would leap a little every time your relationships failed.

Now, it was serious. You’d found someone you’d deemed worthy enough to spend your life with. Rafe always thought that person was him, but he didn’t blame you for not thinking that, too. He had his issues, he was quick to anger, projected his insecurities on others, he’d struggled with addiction and alcoholism although he’d been clean for almost three years at the point. Rafe couldn’t help but admit he was jealous. Jealous of the nights he didn’t get to spend with you, jealous of the love you were giving some other guy that you had once reserved for him, jealous of the life you were going to spend with someone else. Above all else, he was jealous that you were happy without him. He thought you hung the moon, and he was once happy to live among the stars. He would still rearrange the entire night sky for you, but now you saw stars in another’s eyes.

As your wedding date approached, he only felt worse. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have been the one in the wedding invite picture, to have his name written in an elegant script alongside yours on a piece of thick cardstock paper inviting your family and friends to celebrate your love. The daydream overtook his brain. Thoughts of wedding cake tastings and searching for a venue and fighting over seating charts invaded his every waking hour. And at night, he dreamt of being the one at the end of the aisle as you slowly walked towards him, a vision in white with your hair framing your face like the prettiest painting he had ever seen. Saw you approach him, place your hand in his and vow to be his forever. Felt your lips on his as you kissed for the first time as man and wife, dipping you unexpectedly and feeling your delicate fingertips wrap around his lapels to keep you steady. Dreamt of the first dance, twirling you around in his arms, and speeches and kissing every time cutlery tapped a wine glass. Dreamt of a hotel suite with rose petals on the floor, of slowly unzipping your dress and kissing every inch revealed, of a lacy white lingerie set and making love to you as your husband for the first time. But every morning he awoke in a too-large and too-empty king size bed with nothing but the faint memory of a dream.

On the morning of your wedding he awoke from such a dream, and realized he was going to wake up like that every morning for the rest of his life - sad, alone and wanting you. It was then he understood that he had to do something, had to tell you how he felt. He knew it was selfish and impetuous and rash, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try. He couldn’t let you marry some hedge fund manager from Raleigh who dressed like a douche in your engagement photo shoot. And so Rafe pulled himself out of his depression and his silk sheets, dressing himself in a suit and tie to hopefully blend in the back church pew. He didn’t tell Sarah, didn’t tell anyone about his plans lest they convince him not to try.

“Bride,” he told the usher when asked who’s side he was with, before slipping into the last pew on the left. His eyes glanced around the church and he shook his head, even the venue was wrong. You had always told Rafe that you wanted to be married on the beach, barefoot in the sand of the OBX, a soft breeze against your skin. He would always tease you about the breeze, lying in bed together with your hands intertwined dreaming about the future. But, in your dreams, you had always giggled, you could control the weather and you wanted a slight breeze like a scene from a movie. He pulled at his tie a little, the atmosphere stuffy and stifling, and he thought that, if you would have him, he would give you your dream beach wedding, even if he had to buy a large fan to give you your slight breeze.

You stood at the back of the church, nervously picking at the bouquet in your hands as your bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Your arms were shaking with anxiety, but to the casual outside observer you likely seemed to be jittery with excitement. “You ready, sweetheart?” your father asked, offering you his bent elbow. Swallowing hard, you placed your hand in the crook of his arm and entered the chapel. Chris stood at the end of the aisle, a vision in a dark grey tux with a light pink tie to match the color of your bridesmaids’ dresses. You felt tears prick at your eyes as you felt nothing for the man standing there waiting for you. His eyes filled with matching tears and you felt nothing. Scanning the pews for reassurance from your family and friends, you spotted him. There, in the back pew on the left side, your side, sat Rafe Cameron.

You froze, eyes wide as you laid eyes on Rafe Cameron for the first time since you walked out of his apartment two years ago. Of course, you had unhealthily stalked his social media for months after the break up, and every now and then when you felt like torturing yourself, but this was the first time you saw him in person, close enough to run to, close enough to touch. Tearing your eyes from his, you scanned the church again, gulping as you met the furious stare of your mother in the first row, cringing at the almost devastated look on Chris’s face. Lastly, you looked up at your father who gave you a knowing stare, before inclining his head slightly at you. It was that small confirmation that sold it for you. You handed the bouquet to your father, quietly said, “I’m sorry,” before you turned and ran out of the church.

It was difficult to run in your expensive red bottom shoes, but you made an admirable effort for the first few feet before stopping long enough to slip them off. You held both shoes by the heel in one hand, the other hand grasping the bottom of your dress to keep it from dragging on the ground slowing you down. There’s a small park across the street from the church, and it’s here that you realize you’re being followed. Your chest restricts as you recognize the voice calling your name doesn’t belong to your mother or Chris or your bridesmaids. Stopping and turning around, you spot Rafe hot on your heels. You can’t do anything but stand there and stare at him as comes to a stop in front of you, slightly out of breath despite his trim figure. You take him in, eyes roaming every inch of his tall frame. You’re a little dizzy, unsure if it’s the rush of your fight or flight instinct, or the rush you’ve always felt in Rafe’s presence.

“I’m sorry,” is the first phrase that leave his lips and you look at him in confusion. He loves the way your nose scrunches up, and the little crinkle that appears between your eyebrows, has dreamed of seeing it again.

“For what?” you asked, unsure of what he was apologizing for. You weren’t upset that you’d ran off, you knew that you didn’t really want to marry Chris, that you had only said yes because of the pressure from your mom and the knowledge that Rafe hadn’t spoken to you in two years.

“Everything,” he admits, flexing his hands nervously. “God, y/n, I fucked up so bad.” Your eyes are staring at his fidgeting hands, and in a split second you’ve dropped your shoes onto the grass and grasped his hands in yours, linking your fingers.

He looks between your now linked hands and your face, and you take the opportunity to take a step closer to him. “I’m sorry too,” you speak softly, “I shouldn’t have ran like that. I should have stayed, and I should have fought for you.”

“You’re not-“ he swallows, “you’re not mad I ruined your wedding?” Despite your hands in his, despite the look in your eye as you stare up at him, despite the fact that you haven’t run from him, he has to ask. Has to make sure that you’re still as in love with him as he is you. That you’ve spent the past two years thinking about where you both went wrong and how you could fix it. That you had thought and dreamt of this moment, where you were close enough to press your lips together.

“I think we both know that wasn’t my wedding, not really. Wrong color scheme, wrong venue...” you pause thoughtfully, squeezing his hands as a smile makes its way onto your face. He catches on quickly, his lips upturning with a small smirk as he finishes your thought, “Wrong groom?”

You giggle, dropping his hands in favour of gripping his face with your palms, smiling widely up at him. There’s something about the intimacy of the moment, of feeling his skin beneath your fingertips, that has you emotional. Rafe feels it too, staring into your eyes, in full disbelief that this is how today has gone. He had hoped, of course. He wouldn’t have shown up at the church if he thought there was no chance of stopping your wedding. But to have you here... Your thumb strokes his cheek as his eyes fill with tears. “Yeah, baby, wrong groom.”

At your confirmation, he ducks his head down and presses his lips to yours. Your hands slide from his cheeks to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other wrapping around the back of your neck holding you in place as the kiss deepens. You have to pull back to breathe, but he doesn’t let you go far, holding you in place as you rest your foreheads together.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers against your lips and you grin before pecking his lips once. “I’m still in love with you, too,” you whisper back. Suddenly, you’re kissing again, two years of absence melting away with each brush of your lips.

You pull away for a second time, smiling as his lips attempt to chase yours. “We’re going to have to work at this you know, our issues didn’t just go away,” you tell him seriously.

He nods, grabbing one of your hands to kiss the inside of your palm, “I know baby, but I’m ready to work on it, on us, this time.”

You grin widely at him once more, before grabbing your shoes and linking your hands together, “then let’s get me out of this stupid dress.”

everything taglist: @velyssaraptor​ @danicarosaline @copper-boom @x-lulu @prejudic3 @rekrappeter @downbytheouterbanks @ilovejjmaybank @bricksatanakinswindow @jellyfishbeansontoast @sunwardsss @rudyypankow @im-a-stranger-thing @alexa-playafricabytoto @maybankfullkook @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @sortagaysortahigh @socialwriter @bluesiderudy @anxietyandtacos @diverrdown @stargazingstarkey

[badjoices]

My Life With You

I. Move-in Day Dean and Cas move into a new home and start to build a life together with baby Jack.

[Read on AO3] | [Fic Masterpost]

The sun was sitting high in the sky, creeping towards the apex of its arc, when the U-Haul pulled up outside the modest two-storey on a quiet, tree-lined residential street. The crisp spring air was warm, moving through the green leaves and blush blossom with a quiet rustle. The sound of the late Sunday morning was largely void; defined by its absences more than anything; no children playing or parents chit-chatting over their hedges just yet, as most in the neighbourhood were making the most of the last lie-in of the week.

Except for Dean Winchester, and his better half Castiel, who had been up since the sun first began to peek over the horizon, packing, stacking and taping boxes in the bunker. Several chaotic and disorganised hours later, all was packed and prepped, and here they were; home. They’d seen it before of course, but this was the first time seeing that house become their home.

“I can’t believe it,” Dean said, after silencing the rumbling engine. “My own white picket-fence.”

Cas, unsurprisingly unsentimental about fencing retorted with confusion. “The fence isn’t white.”

Dean rolled his eyes, lovingly, and made to get out of the truck without a response.

“We could paint it white, if you’d like?” Cas continued, once he too had disembarked, and had met Dean on the pavement side.

“No, man, I like it as is.”

The two walked up their front path - theirs - their steps springy with giddiness as they approached the front door. Pulling a pristine silver key from his jacket pocket, with a turn and click, Dean swung open the door to their new life. The pair stood on the front porch for a moment, not quite believing that this door was for them.

“Should I carry you over the threshold?” Dean joked, leaning over to Cas, face plastered with a grin.

Cas looked to his side and met Dean’s gaze, holding for a moment before-

“I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Cas took the first step and walked into the entranceway. Dean quickly followed behind. The house was dark, with all the blinds left closed, the only light now streaming in through the open door, silhouetting Dean and Castiel in the narrow doorframe. Cas stood there, studying the blank walls, mentally populating them with where he envisioned they would put up photos of their family, past, present and future. Something about those blank white walls, the canvas for him to paint a picture of the life he had chosen, caught the angel off guard as he became overwhelmed with joy. The moment was only sweetened when Dean, who was having equally soppy thoughts about the prospect of a coat rack - a real place to hang his hat - intertwined his fingers in Castiel’s. Neither said a word for a good minute or two, not wanting the moment of pure indulgent fantasy to end - they were so unused to complete unapologetic wanting that it was so nice to bask in it even for a minute.

“We need to start unpacking at some point.” Dean broke the silence.

“Yes, Sam’s bringing Jack by tomorrow morning,” Cas agreed. “We need to have his room ready by tonight at the very least.”

Despite their agreement, they were still glued to the spot, hands still locked together.

“You gotta let go, Cas.”

“You first.”

The two began to stare at each other in a mix between a loving gaze and a challenge. Cas intensified his gaze.

“Same time.” he said.

Dean nodded, eyes never drifting from Cas’s. They each pulled their hand away at the same time, eyes still locked, and broke into a soft laughter.

“You let go a little earlier than me.” Dean teased.

“Actually, you started to pull your hand away six milliseconds before I did.” Cas retorted playfully.

Dean started back out towards the U-Haul with Cas in tow, turning his head back as he walked to reply;

“You can’t prove that.”

Dean opened up the back and the pair were reminded of the magnitude of the task ahead of them.

“Well,” Dean said, nodding his head slowly in a pre-emptive defeat. “Where do we start?”

Cas stepped up and made for a stack of two boxes. “I can take all the heavy ones.” he said, lifting the boxes with ease.

Angelic strength or not, Dean felt compelled to protest. “I can carry the heavy ones too.”

“There’s no need, Dean. It’ll be faster if I do it.” Cas replied, his voice earnest as he offered his help as always.

Dean scrunched up his face in a faux irritation. Of course, Cas was probably right, and even still, Dean wasn’t one to complain about having a literal angel do the heavy lifting for him. Dean opted for a double-box stack too, but ones marked ‘clothes’; an acceptable compromise for him.

Box after box, Dean and Castiel ferried their life from its transit state into its permanent home. With only one box left, Cas began to unpack and sort their contents on the empty living room floor, while Dean went to fetch the last box. The sun now sat directly overhead. This, paired with the strenuous back-and-forth, had lead Dean to ditching his flannel over-layer a while ago.

“Oh, hello!”

A cheery female voice chirped from behind Dean as he began to close up the U-Haul. Dean turned and was greeted by the broad smile of a mid-thirties woman in yoga pants. Welcome to suburbia, huh.

“You must be my new neighbour!” she continued.

“Uh, yeah, hey,” Dean said, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them from the piercing sunlight. “I’m Dean. You live next-door?”

“Carol,” she replied. “And yes, I’m your right-side neighbour!”

“Awesome.” Dean nodded. Despite typically being effortlessly charismatic, Dean definitely felt out of his depth; he was simply not accustomed to the rules and decorum required in scenarios like these.

“You know if I’d known you were moving in today, I’d have made a casserole,” Carol began to ramble. “Do you like casserole? Oh, everybody likes casserole. In the next few days, you’d better expect a casserole.”

“Sure, I love casserole.” Dean shrugged, humoured somewhat by this strange, incredibly enthusiastic woman.

“Great,” Carol sighed, face still plastered with a big grin. “I hope your wife won’t mind.” Carol gestured to Dean’s wedding ring.

Dean licked his lips and started rolling his wedding band around his finger as he was put in the not unusual bet never pleasant situation of having to correct someone to explain himself.

“Husband actually,” he corrected. “And uh, he won’t mind; I do most of the cooking anyway.”

Carol clapped her hands over her mouth in a melodramatic gasp. “Oh! A husband of course! My bad! How long have you been married?” Carol said, frantically attempting to recover from her faux-pas.

“‘Bout three months.” Dean answered.

“Oh! Newlyweds!” Carol cooed, already seeming to have completely recovered from her earlier embarrassment. “Any kids?”

“Just one, he’s four.” Dean grinned proudly, his earlier reservations melting away as the joy he felt at the opportunity to talk about his family took over. “My brother’s bringing him over tomorrow once we’ve settled in.”

“Aw! So cute! So you’ve been together a while then?”

“Six months.” Dean replied honestly without thinking.

Carol paused, unable to hide her confusion as the cogs in her brain connected dots in ways her traditionally-wired brain couldn’t comprehend.

“Wow,” Carol laughed awkwardly. “You got married after three months; that’s so fast!”

There was another pause. Just then, Cas emerged from the still open front door and strolled over.

“Dean, I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“Hey Cas, come here I’m meeting the neighbours,” Dean beckoned Cas closer and placed an arm around his waist. “This is Carol from next-door.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Castiel.” Cas said, plain and business-like.

“Wait, but your son’s four?” she continued to work through her thoughts aloud. “Oh, is he from a previous relationship, or?”

“Jack?” Cas answered, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation. “No, we adopted him.”

“Before you were a couple?”

Dean figured now was the time for a little lie of convenience, undoubtedly the first of many.

“He’s the kid of a friend of ours,” Dean half-lied. “She died when he was born so we took him in; me, Cas and my brother.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about your friend,” Carol said, her confusion fading. “But that’s so sweet. Well, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got tonnes of unpacking to do!”

“Yeah, well, great to meet you Carol, see you around.” Dean said with a smile.

“You sure will, with casserole!” Carol assured before she headed off along the street.

Dean’s smile lingered as he stood there, outside the house he shared with the love of his life, who was right there pressed to his side. He let the noon sun shine down on his face and the gentle breeze flush over him.

“Dean,” Cas spoke, tentative to break Dean’s moment of euphoria. “I came out here to tell you that we left all the crockery and kitchenware at the bunker.”

“Shit.”

[anyrchyangel]

Permission to post this work was granted by the artist; please do not repost anywhere else!

 | Tumblr | Twitter |

Dance of the Eclipse

This is a short little sns ficlet I came up with after seeing that amazing piece of art above

Summary: A ritual as old as time, a dance fated from ages on, and two idiots in love who don’t know it yet.

Or, alternatively, a short little fic I came up with when I got bit by the Inspiration Bug while scrolling through Twitter 😂

_______________________________________________________________________

It was a tradition passed down since time immemorial—a ritual practiced for as long as memory had even existed. On this day, the sun would dance with the moon and together they would cast a shadow on the Earth; they would bring a moment of silence and awe to this chaotic world for no reason other than that it was their duty. Naruto had prepared for this moment for years, had known this day would come since he could first understand language. He was the son of the god of light and the goddess of fire—it was his sworn duty to perform this ritual and he took great pride in that responsibility.

There was just one problem.

One, tiny, insignificant problem.

He fucking hated his dance partner.

Sasuke “mister perfect” god of the moon was such an annoying, rude, condescending asshole and Naruto could not stop himself from arguing with him every second they were forced into the same space.

So, Naruto was not surprised on the day of the ritual to find that after five whole minutes, his dance partner was already getting on his nerves.

“You’re offbeat, again!” The furious heat in Sasuke’s glare would have fit better coming from Naruto’s mother—the goddess of fire herself—not the literal incarnation of the moon. As the son of the god of darkness and goddess of the night, Sasuke shouldn’t have been able to glare at him with that much fiery wrath. Then again with everyone else, Sasuke was the embodiment of cold indifference—perhaps it was a compliment in Naruto’s favor that he could bring out the anger in the moon god. After all, the very same moon god pissed Naruto off so much he couldn’t see straight.

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be off if you were in the right fucking place!” Naruto yelled, his temper fraying at the edges. There wasn’t much time before the sun would be at its zenith and the moon would cross its path—the eclipse would only happen once, so it’s not like they could just try again. What Naruto didn’t mention was the fact that Sasuke was not actually in the wrong place, but he wasn’t about to admit that he’d gotten slightly distracted by the other god’s soft pale skin, so fair that it gleamed like starlight. They had practiced in costume hundreds of times, so why was it that Naruto couldn’t ignore the tight, dark blue pants Sasuke wore? Or the way his abs glistened with the slightest shimmer of sweat as the moon god glanced up at the sun? Naruto was dumbstruck as he watched Sasuke shadow his eyes as he tried to gauge how much time they had left, his silky ebony black hair perfectly framing his features. He groaned and forced his eyes off of Sasuke—unlike his partner, he knew exactly where the sun was at any given moment, so he was keenly aware of the fact that they were running out of time.

“What is it going to take for you to get this right?” Sasuke growled at Naruto, his voice deep yet silvery, like the sweet sound of a crystal-clear bell on a still night.

“I’m not the one messing up!” He was—he really, really was, but after so many years at each other’s throats, it was second nature to contradict Sasuke.

The moon god just continued to glare, his dark eyes roving over Naruto. “You’re distracted. What the hell is going through your head right now?”

Naruto refused to answer that question—he wouldn’t even admit to himself that he was distracted by his shirtless dance partner so there was no way in hell he’d admit it to Sasuke of all people.

“I’m not distracted!” Naruto glared at the ground, hoping that the earth would open and swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge whatever the hell was wrong with him. Despite not looking at the moon god, he was hyper-aware of Sasuke stepping closer. When his dance partner snatched his chin and forced Naruto to meet his gaze, he completely froze.

Naruto felt like he was drowning in those bottomless ebony eyes, so dark they were comparable only to the empty space between stars in the endless night sky. Sasuke was the god of the moon, known throughout the world for his luminous beauty, but Naruto had never noticed the way his brows were arched so perfectly or the way his lips were just plump enough to tease, or the way his silky hair fell over his gorgeous eyes. No, that wasn’t true; Naruto had always known how beautiful the moon god was, had always seen Sasuke for exactly who and what he was.

Wait…what? Naruto’s brain short-circuited as he realized he sounded just like the groupies that worshiped Sasuke; the same maniacs who thought Sasuke was some kind of gentle, benevolent little angel. Naruto always liked to remind those foolish worshipers that the term lunatic derived from the word lunar.

Naruto jerked his chin out of Sasuke’s grasp and reigned in his temper before he set the moon god on fire with his wrath—Naruto might have looked most like his father, but he had thoroughly inherited his mother’s temperament.

Sasuke’s derisive snort had flames filling his veins. He didn’t even have to think too hard to picture the moon god rolling his eyes; before he could stop himself, he whipped his head back and stepped into Sasuke’s space.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Naruto growled as he crowded Sasuke; there were few beings, divine or human, that could withstand being in the sun god’s presence when his temper was this out-of-control, yet Sasuke didn’t bat an eyelash at his sudden outburst. The fact that Sasuke actually inched closer, hedging into Naruto’s personal space only infuriated him further.

He opened his mouth to take a deep breath before releasing the flurry of insults he kept stored just for Sasuke, but what happened next was something neither of the gods could have predicted. For an eon, Naruto would claim that his foot slipped—that his shoe broke and unbalanced him or that the earth god had decided to play a prank on them or…Naruto would literally spend eternity coming up with excuses for what happened, but the truth was something else entirely.

Naruto, the only child of the god of light and goddess of fire, the god of the sun himself, could not precisely remember what happened in the moment before his lips met Sasuke’s; he couldn’t even remember exactly what he was thinking in that moment, and he certainly could not recall what went through his head as his lips met the moon god’s. The only thing Naruto could really remember about the whole ordeal was being flooded with the sense of rightness, of the pleasure that melted his entire being. To this day, Naruto had no fucking clue who used their tongue first, but he did know that he lost all sense of shame and propriety as he tried to swallow Sasuke’s tongue down his throat, as their teeth clacked in their haste to devour one another.

Naruto had always been good at telling time; after all, humans had used him to gauge the length of the day for eons, yet as Sasuke cupped his cheek and kissed him, Naruto couldn’t even begin to guess at how much time they spent wrapped up in each other. It wasn’t until Sasuke pulled back and whispered against his lips that Naruto even remembered how words worked. Even then, it took him longer than he was proud of to decipher what Sasuke had said.

“The eclipse…” They were both lightly panting, their eyes slowly widening as they realized what exactly just happened.

“The eclipse,” Naruto repeated, the words feeling heavy on his tongue—the very same tongue that had been wrapped around the moon god’s only moments ago—his thoughts still hazy from the fog of pleasure that had crashed through him.

“Yes, dobe, the eclipse,” Sasuke hissed, his breath whispering across Naruto’s lips; if it hadn’t been for the old insult the moon god had used, Naruto would have melted again.

“The eclipse…THE ECLIPSE!” Naruto screamed and jumped back, moving so quickly he almost toppled over—the fact that he was a divine being was the only thing that kept him from being an undignified mess of limbs sprawled out on the ground.

“We have to go—we have to—we only have a few—the eclipse is starting!” Naruto was all but hyperventilating as he tried to process what was happening and failing miserably.

“Calm down. You know the steps; we’ve practiced them every day for our entire lives. Just breathe, usuratonkachi.” Sasuke sighed and rolled his eyes, glancing up again at the sun and moon that was all too quickly moving into place.

Naruto released a wordless scream—whether it was out of frustration, anger, nerves or a glorious mixture of it all, he could never properly recall. He pointedly ignored the way his gaze was drawn to Sasuke’s lips—still moist and swollen from their kiss despite his divinity. As to why that thought gave Naruto a rush of pleasure was absolutely beyond his capabilities of comprehending at the moment. Naruto focused on breathing as they ascended to where they were meant to dance and as they settled into their starting positions, Naruto knew he was screwed.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I am so fucked! He couldn’t even remember the first step, or the transition or the sequence that came after that or the—the only thing that pulled him out of his spiral of anxiety was that crystal-clear, deep voice Naruto knew as intimately as he knew his own.

“Naruto!” When Naruto’s eyes met those ebony black irises, his heartbeat settled and his breathing evened out; as the music started his body moved on its own, flowing into the steps that he had engraved on his soul. His divinity flared, the power of the sun coursing up and through his veins as he danced, and the surge of the power he felt at his side had never felt so right before. The sun and the moon danced as two pieces of a whole—two halves finally come together.

For centuries, the humans would speak about the beauty of that day, the glory of the sun and the moon as they moved together. However, the names of those auspicious deities would eventually fade from human memory, as all things eventually must; the humans who had seen and heard of the moon and sun’s dance would give to the deities their own names, their own titles; but for eternity, for them, they were always Naruto & Sasuke.

Thanks for reading! Please follow the artist on Twitter and Tumblr  and give her all the love! ❤️ Also, feel free to come tweet with me on Twitter 🤗 

Oh read it on my AO3 page: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522818 I post all my works there first ☺️

ALSO this piece was edited by the amazing, stunning, fantastic spadebrigade; so please go check out my name twin’s page ❤️ 

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 52: Aftermath Part 2

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

Portions of this installment were written by @msalliepants (the portions featuring Shinji Yoarashi, David Togata, and Shiro Monoma).

Earlier chapters can be found here

As he expected to, Kota found Aizawa in his classroom.  Perhaps it was strange that he still thought of his father-in-law as “Aizawa” and not “Shota” or “Dad”, but if he was pushed to admit it, he still found the man absolutely, pants-wettingly terrifying.  When he talked to him, which was frequently, as they were coworkers, he usually defaulted to “Sir.”

He’d never been entirely sure how much Aizawa actually liked him, despite the fact that he’d been married to his daughter for over ten years.  Of course, considering the first time he’d picked Eri up for a date, he’d been so terrified of Aizawa and his “intimidating dad” routine he’d panicked and punched him in the balls.  That kind of set the tone for their relationship, even if Emi had found it absolutely hilarious.

Kota opened the door to Aizawa’s classroom, where the man was sitting in the dark, staring directly ahead, his sleeping bag laying discarded in one corner of the room.  Aizawa was so still that if he didn’t know better, Kota would have sworn he was dead. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights.

“We’ve been busy on the phones,” he said.  Aizawa didn’t respond or even look his direction.  But he knew the man well enough to know he was always listening, even when he appeared to be ignoring you.  “Checking in with the Agencies.”

He continued.  “I’ve talked to Eri.  She’s fine.  There was a Nomu in one of the areas she had to travel through to get to the hospital, but Can’t Stop Twinkling was there fighting it and Ojiro got her through without it even knowing she was there.”

That, at least, got his attention.   “She took one of my students with her?”

“Ojiro volunteered,” Kota said.  “No combat. Just additional stealth.”

Aizawa frowned.  “I thought she had more sense than that.”

“Desperate times,” he replied.  He wasn’t particularly happy with it himself, but he hadn’t been happy about his wife going out into that insanity to begin with.  But Kota had known Eri long enough to know there was no arguing with her when she’d made up her mind.  It didn’t do any good in the long run and he always ended up sleeping on the couch for at least a week.

There was a long moment of silence, then Aizawa spoke again.  “My children trusted me with theirs, and I let them go out into this insanity.  Nemuri even joked that their Internships couldn’t possibly have been as bad as that of the Problem Child and his friends.  I guess the joke’s on us.”

“Deku and everyone,” Kota said, “they know the kinds of things that can happen in this life. This isn’t your fault.”   That didn’t get him a response.

Aizawa was still staring at him, so he continued.  “The kids are all alive.”  He didn’t use the word “fine,” because almost all of them had been caught up in the Nomu insanity.  “Fine” wasn’t a word you used after something like that.  Kota understood.  He and Eri both had their share of nightmares from their own traumatic childhood experiences.

Kota went on.  “Midoriya, Todoroki, Haimawari, Aoyama, Shoji, Ojiro, both Iidas, Sero, Sato, and Kocho are all uninjured, though some of them saw varying degrees of action.  Tokoyami was hurt earlier in the week and wasn’t anywhere near any of the action and Koda was too far out with Froppy and the Oki Mariner to be involved.”

That was the good news. The rest, well, it got increasingly worse.

“Mineta received a few minor scrapes from falling rubble, but is otherwise okay.  Kaminari is being treated for Quirk Exhaustion after overloading her brain powering a weapon Creati made.”

That got another glare. He suspected Yaoyorozu would be getting an earful.

“Kirishima-Bakugo is being treated for exhaustion as well.  She was directly involved in fighting one of the Nomu protecting Uravity, and then had a poor reaction to seeing her father injured.”

The intensity of Aizawa’s stare increased and Kota actually found himself taking a step back.  He wasn’t a stupid man and what Kota was leaving blank was blindingly obvious.  Aizawa actually got up out of his chair, moving closer to him.  “You’re hedging around something.  What are you hiding?  Get to it.”

“Shota Shinso was there when Ground Zero fought the Nomu.  He saw everything.  He was nearly catatonic by the time Deku got them to the hospital.  They’ve admitted him for observation.”

Aizawa stared at him, a twitch forming in his left eye, his mouth set in a hard line.  “Get out of my way,” he snapped, already shoving past Kota and out into the hallway.

Kota just stared at the empty room for a moment.  “…That actually went better than I thought it would.”

***

Haru Shima had had a busy morning.  When word of the Nomu attacks had gone out, he’d gone straight to the hospital where he worked.  They didn’t live far from it and his Quirk was more than adequate protection against anything that might have been out there.  They’d have plenty of incoming, he knew, and would need all hands on deck, especially if any Heroes were injured.  His husband had already left for the day and would be in the thick of it. Their son had been out there too, working with Cellophane.

He’d forced himself not to think about them, but left strict instructions that, unless he was in the middle of surgery, he was to be contacted if either of them were brought in. And then Izuku had brought Katsuki in, torn to pieces and losing blood fast…

He’d done what he could. Haru was an excellent surgeon, but there were limits, and the damage had been severe.  Not a clean cut, but a mutilation, with damage to the surrounding bone, muscle, and nerves.  That Katsuki hadn’t died was a minor miracle.

He’d been lucky.   Yuga had sustained only minor injuries and would be released today.  Takiyo was fine.  Hanta had bought him time to escape to the relative safety of the Agency.  His son wasn’t exactly happy about having been forced out of the fight, but Haru had detected the fear in his voice when he’d finally been able to speak to him.  

And, of course, he’d had a million texts from Haruko.  Haruko was like him, the only other one in the group of Class A and their spouses who wasn’t at least tangentially involved in Hero work.  Mei was… a delightful, if eccentric woman, but she was closer to it than either of them.   He only tended to see Heroes when they were injured.  So he and Haruko often chatted and talked, often with Monoma’s wife as well, who was also a civilian.

But finally, it all seemed to have abated and he could go home.   At soon as he picked up his husband, anyway.   He pushed open the door to Yuga’s room.  And he stared.  He closed his eyes and counted to ten.  Unfortunately, the sight that greeted him was still the same.

“Yuga,” he said, peering between his fingers, “why do you have a paper bag on your head?”

“I am hideous now, Haru,” Yuga said.  His accent was thicker, the way it always was when he was trying to solicit more sympathy out him.  He placed one hand on the bag; it crinkled under his fingers.  “I must hide my face away from prying eyes, lest my unsightly visage insight the people to riot.”

Visions of Yuga in an opera cloak and a half-mask, badly trying to playing a pipe organ he’d somehow managed to get into their apartment while fog machines spewed their fog, danced in Haru’s mind.  This was going to be the first grey hair all over again.

“Yuga,” he said, “you’re fine.  You got your nose broken.  It was a clean break, it got set in time, and you won’t even have any scars.”

“Non, non, I am hideous, cut down in my prime, Haru.  I can only pray you will not leave me for someone you can bear to look at…”

The things he put up with for the man he loved…

***

Haruto Sero was aware that, even in the world of Quriks, he and his family were an odd looking brood. While his older brother, Takuma, resembled their mother, minus the horns, he mostly looked like their dad, only with horns.  His younger brothers, Yamoto and Ren, were no different.  Yamoto mostly looked like Tamuka, and Ren mostly looked like their dad, except for being blue.  Their little sister, Moji, looked like dark-haired version of Mom.  So the number of eyes that were briefly on them when they entered the cafeteria wasn’t surprising.  But like they always did, the gazes fell just as quickly.

Who knew what the twins would look like?  Mom hadn’t done herself any good getting all stressed and worried about Dad earlier, but both she and the babies were fine now.

Dad was in a… not great way. He’d taken a nasty blow to the head from the Nomu, saved from bigger injuries only by his helmet.  If he hadn’t had that, he’d probably have suffered brain damage.  And he’d probably have been dead if Shoto hadn’t shown up.

While Mom stayed with him, she’d charged Takuma with getting the rest of them something to eat from the cafeteria.  He’d looked less than happy to have his thirteen, eleven, nine, and two year old siblings with him.   Considering he’d once tried to sell Moji to Uncle Rikido, this wasn’t exactly a surprise.

Takuma gestured in the general direction of some tables.  “Yamoto, Ren, take Moji and get us a table.  Me and Haruto will get food.”  He wasn’t looking up from his phone, where he was texting furiously.  Maybe his boyfriend?  Or maybe Kenta and Kimiko?   Haruto didn’t know.

As Takuma went to get real food, he told Haruto to get some drinks.  So he stood in front of the drink case, trying to decide what he should get.  Mom honestly didn’t give a crap about what she ate, always indulging them in their wishes for pop and candy.  It may have explained the number of cavities he’d had over the years.

His eyes widened as a bottle of water floated its way out of the case.  He followed it to where a green-haired girl about his age was standing, phone in her other hand.  Of course she’d be here.  Her mom had gotten hurt too.  And her dad had rescued Ground Zero.  So yeah, no surprise.  Of course. He needed to say something. Something smooth?  No, not the time for that.  Just keep it normal.  Don’t let on that she’s the girl he really liked.

“Hana?” he asked, his voice cracking.  Dammit, puberty!  Why can’t you be cool?

Hana Midoriya looks up from her phone at that.  “Oh, Haruto. Hey.”  She pockets the phone and catches the Quirk-drawn water bottle in her hand.  “How’s your dad?”

“He’s gonna be fine,” he said.  “Took a nasty blow to the head, but he’s fine.  How’s your mom?”

“Same,” Hana replied. “Dad sent us down here to get food. Put King Dork in charge.”  She pointed over to a table—where Yamoto and the others were too—where her older brother, Toshi, and younger sister, Mako were sitting.   Mako gave them a friendly wave, then went back to cooing over Moji.

“Hey, little bro,” Takuma said, coming up behind him, carrying a heavily laden tray, “you getting drinks or not?”    His dark-eyes fell on Hana and recognition dawned on his face.   “Oh, talking to your crush?  Guess those can wait then.”  He chuckled and walked off.

Haruto felt his face go flush with embarrassment.  He was absolutely going to kill his brother!

***

Tsukushi Monoma has long adjusted to being the wife of a Hero. And really, she's more than happy to be supportive of everything that Neito has done in his career. Especially when he was first starting out and struggling. She's made her own Phantom Thief clothes for her and both of their children. She is her husband's biggest cheerleader, and she couldn't be prouder of him and all of his accomplishments.

But there are some days where she wishes that Neito had maybe pursued another career. Today is one of those days.

She had been making lunch for her youngest child, Takeru. They had been chatting to Tsukushi about the new book they were reading, and Tsukushi has been actively engaging in the conversation with them. Takeru was more reserved than Shiro, but they always talked to Tsukushi about the books they were reading.

The television was on in the background. She hadn't really been paying attention, until she noticed that Takeru was looking at the screen, a horrified look on their face.

Concern flashed across Tsukushi's face. "What's the matter, sweetheart?!

Takeru did speak. They just pointed at the screen. Tsukushi turned to face the television.

She wished she didn't.

"Reports of Nomu attacks are coming in from across Tokyo. Heroes are rushing to the scene, including Deku, Red Riot and Real Steel, Phantom Thief, Ground Zero, Shoto, and Lemillion."

Tsukushi's face paled. She'd heard enough about Nomus from Neito to know that they were absolutely horrifying and near impossible to fight. And her husband was out there, fighting them.

Wait...one of the heroes that the reporter had mentioned had been Red Riot. Shiro! Her son was out there, too, fighting these creatures! Of course, Eijiro lived across the street, and was a good friend, and she knew that Shiro was in good hands with Tetsutesu, but she couldn't help but feel worried about her son.

Tsukushi didn't even notice that she shattered the glass in her hand.

"Mom?" Takeru's voice brought her back down to earth. "Are you okay"

Shattered glass was on the floor. Luckily, she hadn't cut her hand up badly, which was good. Just a couple of cuts, and it didn't seem that there were any pieces of glass in her skin. So she wouldn't have to go to the emergency room.

She managed to give them a small smile. "I'm fine, sweetie. I'm just..."

"I'm scared too, Mom."

She wrapped her youngest in a hug. "I can shut it off, if you want."

Takeru shook their head. "No, we can keep it on. I...I want to make sure that Dad and Shiro are safe."

Tsukushi nodded. "Okay."

***

Tsukushi was driving to the hospital, trying to keep her hands steady at the wheel. She'd gotten the call from Kana, Neito was in the hospital. He was going to be fine, but he had at least two broken ribs, and a hairline fracture in his arm. She'd also been informed that Shiro had been admitted too, but he appeared to be fine.

Takeru had a constant pillar of support. They were wise beyond their six years, and Tsukushi was glad that they were with her through everything. She could tell that her youngest was scared, too, but trying to keep a tough face for her.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot. "You ready?"

In a rare show of psychical contact, Takeru extended their hand to her. "Ready."

Hand in hand, she walked hand in hand into the hospital with her youngest.

***

"Oh thank /goodness/ you're safe!" Tsukushi wrapped Shiro in the tightest hug, kissing his cheek.

"Mom!" Shiro blushed. "I'm fine!"

Tsukushi brushed a stray strand of hand out of her son's forehead. "I know, I was just very worried."

Shiro flushed a little. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for. You know I couldn't be prouder or more supportive of you wanting to be a hero. Worrying about you is just something I'll always do, whether you're fifteen or fifty." She kissed the top of his head.

Shiro looked down. "I was so scared, Mom."

Tsukushi gave her son an understanding smile. "I know, sweetheart. And that's okay. Everyone gets scared sometimes."

Shiro nodded. Tsukushi squeezed his hand. "Now let's go check on your father, okay?"

***

"Neito!" It took everything Tsukushi had to not run and embrace her husband. She'd seen him beaten up before, but nothing like this.

Neito offered her and the kids a small smile. "Ah, there's my wonderful family."

Tsukushi gave him a smile. "Your wonderful family is just glad to see you safe."

"Oh?" He smiled at her playfully. "Did I worry you?"

She laughed. "Yes, you did, and you are never allowed to do that again."

Neito smiled at her. "I'll try my best."

Tsukushi smiled. Her family, while a little beaten up, was safe. And that was all she could ask for.

***

Shinji was standing outside of Katsumi's hospital room, anxiously fidgeting with his fingers. He didn't regret leaving Shiketsu the sudden way that he did, but from how Red Riot had explained it to him, he still had to call his parents. That was what made him nervous. His father, the number eight hero, Gale Force, had to be on the hero, as Shinji knew that his dad would have jumped into action the second the attack happened. Which likely meant that his mother, the number fourteen hero, Hurricane, had been with him.

Shinji didn't know which one was scarier. His dad was a pretty happy, loud, outgoing, cheerful guy for the most part, and his mother, while more reserved, was usually fairly calm and easygoing. However, seeing them angry was something he wasn't looking forward to.

Shinji sighed, just as Red Riot stepped out of the room after talking to Katsumi. The hero gave him a smile, and patted him on the shoulder.

"I don't know if I told you this, but what you did was pretty manly."

Shinji perked up, smiling widely at him "It was?"

Red Riot slapped him on the back. "Hell yeah! Rushing off to make sure your friends were okay is really manly! However, you don't have a hero license, so you were risking a lot. But you saved my little girl! I talked to your parents, and made clear to tell them that, so hopefully, they go easy on you."

Shinji laughed. "Yeah... hopefully."

Red Riot gave him a hug. "I gotta go check on my husband, but feel free to hang here until your parents get here, okay?"

Shinji nodded, not really having any words for once in his life. "Yeah, okay."

***

Shinji managed to track down Izzy, Mika, and Shota while he waited for his parents. Izzy, while exhausted, was fine. Mika had gotten a couple of bruises, but said that he could give her a full body inspection if he wanted to. Unfortunately, her parents arrived and kicked him out before he could. As for Shota, well, Shinji couldn't remember ever seeing his little friend so upset. Shinji hated that there didn't seem to be anything he could do to keep him from blaming himself for what happened to Ground Zero.

Shinji was making his way to check on Katsumi again when he felt a gust of wind, and found himself being locked into a hug, and picked off up the ground.

"I AM SO ANGRY AND PROUD OF YOU!" Dad's voice bellowed in his ears, setting him down.

Shinji took a moment to catch his breath, looking at his father, who appeared to be smiling...while also fighting an eye twitch.

"Hey, Dad," Shinji said sheepishly. "I know that probably wasn't the smartest idea, but I was so worried about my girlfriend and my friends and I-"

His father laughed, whacking him on the back. "I SHOULD BE FLYING IN RAGE AT YOU FOR DOING SOMETHING SO RECKLESS BUT YOU SAVED KATSUMI! I AM FILLED WITH FATHERLY PRIDE!"

Shinji beamed. Dad was proud of him. That meant he wasn't going to get in trouble, right?

He spoke too soon.

"SHINJI YOARASHI!"

An angry female voice came from the hallway, and peaking around Dad, Shinji could see his mother, Sakura, walking towards them. Though she was significantly shorter than the both of them, the look in her eyes was one of pure rage.

Oh, she was /pissed/.

Dad laughed putting an arm around Mom's shoulder. "Now, Sakura, I was just telling Shinji how proud we are of him, and how we're not angry."

Mom gave Dad a /look/. "Oh, we're mad."

"Okay, we're mad...but he's not in trouble!"

Mom narrowed her eyes. "Oh, he's in trouble." She turned her gaze to Shinji. "You. Are. GROUNDED."

Shinji looked at his feet, feeling like he was suddenly five years old. "Yes, Mom."

Dad laughed. "But honey, he saved Katsumi, and we should be proud!"

Mom's face softened a little bit. "Of course I'm proud. Shinji, what you did was very brave However, what you did was also reckless and stupid. You're just a student, and you don't have a hero license yet. You could've been arrested. You could've gotten yourself and Katsumi seriously hurt or killed. These kinds of actions have to consequences, so for you're grounded for two months."

Shinji gasped. "Two months?!"

"Do you want your original punishment? Because it was going to be a year on my way over here."

"Two months is fine."

Mom smiled, wrapping him in a hug. "I thought so. Now, I'll let you say goodbye to your friends, but after that, we're leaving. Okay?"

Shinji nodded. He could take being grounded. In the end, he knew he did the right thing helping his friends when they needed him.

***

David Togata doesn't get worried easily. His parents often said that out of his siblings, he was the most rational. He's seen his father and his Uncle Izuku get injured a fair amount of times, and they always made it looked like it wasn't something to really worry about. No matter how bad things got, you just carried on with a smile.

David wasn't smiling right now. He had been in the workshop with Ms. Hatsume as part of his support internship when the news about the Nomu attacks came in. Right away, the pair had turned on the television, where shots of Dad and Uncle Izuku fighting them came in. Dad looked like his hand had been broken, and Uncle Izuku looked more stressed out that he'd even seem him.

Actually, David had never seen either one of them looked stress.

Shots panned in and out of different heroes around the city fighting the Nomus. His oldest brother, Tamaki, fighting the Nomus with The Voice and Glamour, his body cackling with green energy. His sister, Nejire, with the Laughing Man, downtown.

Ms. Hatsume stared at the screen, her face pale. "My babies..."

That was right. Both of her children, the twins, were out doing their internships, as well. So was her husband.

David reach forward and grabbed her hand. They were going to have a rough couple of hours.

***

David arrived at the hospital with Ms. Hatsume. They gotten reports that her husband had been admitted, along with David's father and siblings. None of them had any major injuries, but still, the worry was present. When they got in the lobby, Ms. Hatsume gave him a quick hug and wished him luck, before rushing off to find his family.

David found his family in a hospital room where his sister was being treated. His father had his broken hand wrapped up. Tamaki had a few scratches, but that quirk of his made him really sturdy. Nejire was in the bed, her ankle elevated and in a cast, and a bandage around her head. His mother sat next her on the bed, stroking her hair.

Dad beamed at him. "David!" He sprung up from his seat and wrapped him in a hug. "It looks like the whole family is here now!"

David smiled, returning the hug. "I came with Ms. Hatsume." He looked over at Nejire. "What happened to your ankle?"

Nejire giggled. "It's nothing! It's just a little broken. And I might have gotten a teeny tiny concussion."

Tamaki smirked at him. "Nejire's on painkillers. She's super loopy right now."

"I am not!" Nejire pouted at him.

David rolled his eyes. His siblings were ridiculous sometimes. "Glad no one got super injured."

Mom smiled. "That's the best we can hope for. Everyone's a little singed up, but we'll be okay.'

Nejire giggled again. "Well, I better heal up soon, because I cannot take Hayai on the date with my ankle like this."

At the word "date", Dad's eyes lit up. "Ooooooh, you got a date!?"

David laughed. Dad was constantly trying to set all three of them up with someone.

Nejire started going on about a girl in her class she'd asked out. Tamaki and Mom laughed, teasing Dad about being too involved in his kids' love life.

David smiled, finding a chair and relaxing into it. Yeah, his family could be a little much sometimes, but he wouldn't trade them for anything, and he was glad they were safe.

***

Izuku was tired, bone wearily tired.  Not from the physical exertion of the morning—the power of One for All made sure of that.  He was connected to it on a level not even All Might had ever achieved and had had ample opportunity to build its power over the years.  Certainly, his joints ached.  They always did.  And his right arm always hurt, no matter what else he did.  Even with his mastery of his inherited Quirk, the old damage he’d done to his body could not be undone.  But he had learned to live with that pain, to smile and to embrace all the good that was in his life.

That was not why he was tired.

No, he was tired in ways that went way beyond the physical.  

Ochaco was resting peacefully in the hospital bed.  They’d allowed her to be up to check on Katsumi, but insisted she get more rest. She’d taken a nasty blow to the head, but was expected to make a full recovery and be back in action in maybe a couple weeks.  He’d sent Toshi, Hana, and Mako down to the cafeteria to get something to eat, leaving him alone to sit by her bedside, alone with his thoughts.

He wore scrubs, offered by the hospital, since his costume had been covered in blood.  Someone from his agency had collected it for cleaning. Either that or he’d handed it off to someone who was now selling it on MeBay.  Things had been a bit of a blur after he’d arrived.

It looked like there were going to be a lot of people home in their neighborhood, at least for a time.   Denki, Ochaco, Neito, and, of course, Kacchan…  And more across the city.  So many of his friends had been hurt.

There were burdens that came with being the Number One (and occasionally Number Two, when Mirio had a particularly impressive run of things) Hero.  And there were burdens that came with being the Symbol of Hope.   Not the Symbol of Peace, like Dad had been, but the Symbol of Hope.  Of inspiring others to believe, not in him, but that evil could be beaten and that good men and women could stand up, that everyone had the potential within them to make the world a better place, in some way.  It demanded much of his time, exposed his family to significant scrutiny.

Before he had finished his third year of U.A., he and his friends had broken the back of the League of Villains and put an end to the legacy of All for One forever.  The same year he had lost his father in a plane crash. It had been a hell of a year.  But it had also rocketed him towards the top on a meteoric trajectory that he still couldn’t believe, even decades later.

They’d built a better world. One where the threat of Villains was not so constant.  They’d settled down, raised families, and looked to the future of a new generation of Heroes.

In an instant, when the Nomu had appeared, the fears of childhood had returned.  They had suspected that someone was making a play for power.  The Quirk Virus, the theft of the Nomu corpse, the breaking of Plague out of prison (Had he so badly misjudged the man?  An escape made no sense at all…), it all added up to something far more sinister and larger than any of them had grappled with in years.  

And then the messages and reports had started pouring in.  From various Agency dispatches, from news drones, even from men and women on the street.  It hadn’t just been the one.  It had been so many more.  The Heroes of Tokyo and surrounding wards had come together to fight the Nomu, but they had paid a terrible price for it.    So many of his friends were injured.  Even Ochaco…   And Kacchan…

Despite what he had told himself as a child and a teenager, he and Kacchan had not always been friends. It had taken him a long time to realize the way he’d been treated had been far from okay.  But the two of them had made true amends and become real friends. He’d even been Kacchan’s best man at his wedding.

So many of their children had seen action during the morning’s events.  They’d been extraordinarily lucky that none of them had been seriously injured.  Not like their own Internships.  But almost all of them had been far too close to the action for his comfort.  Toshi claimed he was fine, but Izuku suspected he was putting on a brave face. And Haimawari and Kocho didn’t even have the kind of context Toshi did.  He hoped they weren’t scared off.  There was so much potential in both of them.

He, his friends, and the other Heroes who had taken their children on as Interns were handing them back to U.A. a broken group.  But he knew Aizawa and the staff would do what they could for them.  His alma mater took the mental health of its students very seriously now.  As parents, they would do their part too.  They had lived through experiences just as terrifying.  Maybe their words of wisdom would be enough.

The news was saying that he had saved the city this morning.  And maybe he had.  But he hadn’t been there for his friend when it had mattered most.  Hadn’t been there for a lot of his friends when they’d been hurt.  For his wife.  What was the point of having all this power, of being a Hero, if he couldn’t help those closest to him when it really mattered?

They would all tell him that he couldn’t, shouldn’t be everywhere.  That was the kind of thinking that had lead society to depend upon Dad more than it should have and had made it vulnerable when he’d no longer been capable of being that pillar.  And yes, it was likely his actions had kept Kacchan from dying in the streets.  That probably would have broken poor Shota even more than he already was.

What kind of Hero, what kind of Symbol was he, if an evil great enough to do all this still existed?

It didn’t mean he didn’t feel like a failure all the same.

Like…

It made him feel like…

Like a useless deku.

[magictincan]

Bittersweet Endings

Pairing: Gabriel x Winchester!Reader

Warning(s): Heavy angst, death, use of swearing, small bit of fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: The last Winchester is pushed to her limits as she loses everything, whilst Gabriel battles with the choice of a lifetime, that could ultimately save all of the Winchesters and repair all the pain the world has dealt them. But only if he sacrifices the thing most precious to him.

A/N: I'm so sorry in advance, even as I was writing this, I could feel Gabriel's heart breaking in two and I feel awful that I hurt my favourite boy :( But, it had to be done. Don't get too mad at me, okay?

GIF belongs to @amynagata

He was unsure what to do, head empty of any semblance of a plan. He'd never experienced an emotion like this before, never known what it felt like to have your heart ripped out of your chest before being haphazardly stuffed back in through the gaping chasm that had been left behind. He had never experienced the soundless words falling dryly on his lips, choking on his own tongue in an attempt to soothe the weighing atmosphere of hopelessness and grief. He hadn't known the feeling of drowning in so many emotions that it turned to a numb so crushing it left him gasping for relief.

Never felt as utterly helpless and human as he did right then.

Gabriel watched as the woman he'd come to call his own let out a shrill cry, cursing the heavens for the cruelty of taking away her only flesh and blood. A feeling of uselessness filled his bones as the woman turned to pleading, begging for an ounce of empathy from the almighty forces controlling their existence.

There was nothing he could do. His father had never cared enough to answer his prayers before, and this time was no different. No amount of praying could reverse the fact that he'd failed her.

“Come down here you son of a bitch! And make this right!” She shouted, waving her fist angrily at the sky, determined that someone had to be listening. “After everything, that's the least you could do! You owe it to them!” She added, gesturing wildly at the lifeless corpses of her beloved brothers. “You owe it to me!”

When no answer came, she let out another angry cry before slumping forward and letting the tears overcome her, engulfing every breath she took.

The shaking rise and fall of her shoulders seemed to jolt Gabriel out of his trance, and he cautiously placed a palm to her lower back, rubbing soft circles. Slowly, he bent down, trying his best not to startle her, like he was approaching a stray cat he'd spotted on the street. His free hand wobbled unsurely as he reached out for one of her hands which were busy hiding her face. Carefully, he pried one away from her damp bloodshot eye, causing her to look up at him as he pulled away the other from her right eye. “Gabe-” Her voice cracked as tears once again welled in her e/c eyes. She reached for him, and he understood immediately without any words and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I'm here, darl.” He soothed, resting his cheek against her dishevelled h/c hair. “I'm here.”

Y/N choked out a sob, the tears starting back up again. “Sam, Dean…” She pulled him closer, not wanting Gabriel's warmth to leave her as her brothers had. Gabriel wrapped his arms tighter around the woman, knowing space was the exact opposite of what she needed right now. “I can't believe- I can't believe that they're gone.” She cried, feeling as though everything was crumbling around her.

Gabriel's own eyes dampened as memories of the smiles of the Winchester family flooded his brain, filling him with an overwhelming sense of sadness. “I know, I always thought Dean would go out via pie.” He added in an attempt to ease her crushing grief. Gabriel was glad when he heard her emit a small, breathy chuckle.

Sighing, she dragged herself away from him and swiped at her eyes with her palms. Her gaze turned towards her brothers’ bodies and she sighed again. “I suppose we better give them a proper send-off, before Sam's ghost tries to lecture me on angry spirits.” She joked, although there was no humor in her words.

An uneasy feeling settled in Gabriel's stomach as he watched her stand up, and begin the weighing task of moving Dean's corpse.

He'd seen that look, seen it so much more than he'd like to admit. Seen the scary calmness after traumatic events that often meant a storm was brewing under the surface of her skin. He knew bad things were coming, lurking just beyond the horizon. He knew that there was only one thing fuelling Y/N, and that was a pure and fiery need for revenge and that it would swallow her whole.

Gabriel's mind frantically spun, chanting “save Y/N” rhythmically as his brain whirled. He needed to save her from herself; he couldn't let the cloud of revenge consume her. Revenge was an ugly thing, turning everything good in your life to into just more reasons to drown yourself in seeking justice. Revenge ate at you until there was nothing left but this emotionless husk of the person you used to be.

An idea struck Gabriel, a plan already forming. He'd save Y/N, even if he had to give up everything he'd come to care about. She was worth too much to him to let her turn into someone she wasn't.

“Y/N.” The archangel called out, chin held high, earning Y/N's attention. He knew she wouldn't like his plan, she'd fight him on it, arguing that there was some other way. But Gabriel knew those other ways would only end in more suffering and blood, enough blood that it would rival that of a battlefield.

The woman raised her brows at him, wordlessly prodding him to go on. Gabriel blinked back tears and cleared his throat discreetly, not wanting to worry Y/N. Somehow, she seemed to notice and stood up to move closer. “Gabe.” She soothed, holding her palm to his cheek. Gabriel leaned into her touch, letting his eyes flutter shut, man was he going to miss this. “What's wrong?”

Tears dribbled down his cheek, which he hastily rubbed away with the back of his hand, letting out a humourless laugh. He looked Y/N in her eyes, seeing the worry present. “I love you so much.” He began, the sting of tears building again as his heart throbbed. He hated how painful this was. “Dad only knows how much I love you.” He added, voice breaking. Y/N thumbed away the tear tracks and Gabriel once again let his lids close. How could he look her in the eye and tell her what he was planning?

“Gabe, baby, you know you can talk to me.” She reassured, concern evident in her voice.

Gabriel reminded himself that what he was about to do was for her, so she'd never have to feel a pain so hurtful again. He lifted his hand to cover hers, wrapping his fingers around hers as his whiskey eyes stared into her e/c ones.

For her.

“I've got to do something, something that I know you're not going to like.” He murmured, watching the alarm light up her features. He was really going to miss her beautiful face with her pretty eyes and cutely expressive mouth.

“Gabriel-” She hedged uncertainly, but Gabriel cut her off. He couldn't let her talk him out of this, it was too important.

“I'm so sorry, but I've got to.” He choked, dragging her into a hug. “I'm going to miss you so much.”

Y/N squeezed him back. “Gabe please, you're scaring me.” She drew back and Gabriel got a glimpse at the tears forming along her waterline. “We can talk about this.” She sobbed, finally getting that this was their last goodbye.

Gabriel took a step back, out of her reach. “I'm so sorry Y/N, I'll love you forever and always.”

And with that, Gabriel snapped his fingers, changing and sacrificing everything.

°°°

It'd been exactly twenty four years since Gabriel had saved the life of Mary Winchester, resulting in the Winchester siblings growing up to live a normal apple pie life, never learning the truth about the things that went bump in the night.

As Gabriel often did on the anniversary of the night he'd saved Mary, he went out to grab a drink, and it was for that purpose, that he found himself at the local bar.

Gabriel beckoned a hand towards the bartender, letting him know he'd run out of shots. The bartender in turn held up the empty bottle of scotch Gabriel had been frequenting, shaking it at him before holding up one finger, signalling he'd be back in a minute.

The archangel sighed as the bartender ducked into the back room, watching his retreating figure. He often thought about what had become of the Winchester children. He knew Sam had become a successful lawyer, he even owned a firm and had gotten married to Jessica. He'd heard about a couple of Dean's ceremonies where he'd received medals for his bravery in the line of duty and the likes.

As for Y/N? Well he'd purposely avoided checking in on her. Even thinking about her made his chest hurt. He missed her so much. Her laugh. Her sass. Her kindness. Even the way she organised her dvd collection. Sometimes he wished he'd gotten just a few more minutes with her, but what's done was done.

Gabriel felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to look for the source and suddenly froze like a deer caught in headlights as he caught sight of a very familiar face.

“Uh hi there.” She began, glancing down and playing with her fingers. “I just saw you sitting here all alone and were wondering if you wanted some company.”

He was still in shock as Y/N looked up at him through her lashes and started to panic. “I didn't mean you have to- I don't have to sit here if you don't want.” She flushed, embarrassed that she'd just hit on a complete stranger. Her group of friends sitting at a table nearby giggled.

Gabriel finally remembered how to function and quickly jumped up, grabbing her hands in his. “No, no, no, stay.” He glanced down at their intertwined hands. “I'd like the company.” He added, smiling up at her, earning a bright smile back.

[vannahfanfics]

Sora’s Road

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Characters: Sora, Belle

Requested By: cornholio4 (FanFiction)

The air was pleasantly perfumed with the scent of roses as Sora strolled through the wrought-iron gates of Beast’s Castle. At least, he was pretty sure it was the right place, but a shadow of doubt was cast over his mind as he tossed a sweeping glass over the courtyard. What had once been a gloomy, moonlit, ice-frosted tiled courtyard had been renovated into an expansive garden, with the bright spring sun burning in a bright blue sky. Sora’s feet slapped against pristine white tiles as he strolled down the pathway leading to the castle proper, his hands clasped behind his head as he looked back and forth. Whoever the gardener was clearly possessed some talent, as the hedges were trimmed into effigies of various forest animals; Sora saw a regal elk, a pair of prancing foxes, and even a howling wolf.

“Did I get lost?” he wondered aloud as he continuing to inspect the cheery garden. Granted, he hadn’t visited the world since he defeated Xemnas, and so he supposed worlds didn’t stay stagnant forever. Just look at how pretty Radiant Garden was, a far cry from the squalor and darkness of Hollow Bastion. He was feeling a little more sure of himself when he finally came to the great doorway leading into the castle, which didn’t look too terribly different- except it was open to the world, allowing the fresh spring breeze to waft in. “Weird. I wouldn’t think that the Beast would want any regular visitors,” he wondered aloud as he skipped up to the threshold. Not wishing to be rude, he gave a few raps of his knuckles against the wood, which he noticed had recently been given a fresh coat of paint.

“Hello?” he called into the empty entryway. “It’s me, Sora! Um, is anyone home?”

He cocked an eyebrow as he heard the frantic squeaking of what sounded like shoes on waxed floors rapidly approaching. His eyebrow crept all the way up to the roots of his spiky hair when a blonde-haired little boy suddenly burst out of the door he recalled leading to the kitchen to scamper right up to him. The floor actually had just been waxed, because he slipped and slid a little as he careened over to Sora, managing to stop himself in the doorway by grabbing hold of the broad wooden door. “Er, hi,” Sora blinked at the human boy.

“Sora! Long time, no see!” Sora gawked at him in utter confusion.

“I’m sorry; do I know you?”

“It’s me! Chip!” the boy grinned and pulled his mouth open with his fingers to display a chipped front tooth. “Shee? Shee? Ish me!” he insisted before dropping his hands from his mouth. Sora’s mouth hung open as his neurons struggled to process that the little chipped teacup was now a hyperactive little boy.

“Chip! Where are you, Chip?” a motherly voice floated out of the still-swinging kitchen door. Soon a portly woman came bustling out, rubbing her hands on a dishtowel and shaking her head. “So much energy… Chip! Oh, there you are, honey,” she smiled as she spotted her son standing in the open doorway with the still shell-shocked Sora staring stupidly at her.

“Mrs. Potts…?” Sora asked hesitantly as the apron-wearing woman came walking over.

“Why, hello, Sora. How nice of you to come calling.”

“I’m confused. So confused.” He groaned and pressed his aching forehead into the doorframe. Last he had seen, the castle was home to an assortment of live odds and ends, not human beings. He vaguely recalled the magical rose and some semblance of a curse, and the pieces finally clicked into place in his mind. His head shot up with a gasp of epiphany. “Oh, so does this mean the castle’s curse is broken?!”

“That’s right, dear. All of us have returned to our human forms! Master opened up the castle again and has been making right by himself. He sure is popular with the townsfolk these days!” Mrs. Potts chortled as she took Chip by the shoulder and pulled him into her stout body. Chip smiled as he wrapped his twiggy arms around her thick waist. “Life has never been better.”

“I’m glad to hear that!” he smiled genuinely. It did him good to know his friends were doing well.

“How about you, dear?”

“Well…” he frowned and scratched at the side of his head, trying to relate his problems to the kind lady without disrupting the order, because he knew Donald would harp on him about that if he ever found out. “Let’s just say, I had a really important task to do that I bungled real good, and now I’m back to square one.”

“Your friends aren’t with you?”

“I decided to travel by myself for a while. There’s a lot of stuff I need to figure out and do, and I can’t have my hand held, y’know? Gotta find my own inner strength!” he grinned while clapping his hands together. His smile wavered a little, though; it was terribly hard being without his friends, and he really didn’t have much of a clue what had happened to him, either. Just all his powers, gone, just like that. He had been roaming the worlds for a while now, trying to piece together how he had stockpiled all that power in the first place, but it was a terribly lonely process. He had decided on a whim to pay a visit to Belle, because she was really smart and could probably point him in the right direction. “I came to see Belle because she’s read a lot and knows a lot, so I thought she could give me some advice.”

“Oh, well, she is a very smart young lady. At the very least, I’m sure that a cup of tea and a nice chat will do wonders for you! Belle’s in the library. I’ll bring you some refreshments along soon! Come, come, Chip; we have work to do,” the maid smiled as she bustled the excitable boy back to the kitchen. Chip hurriedly learned around his mother’s appreciable frame to wave excitedly in farewell, which Sora returned amiably. The young Keyblade wielder then set off for the great library that Belle pretty much called home.

“Hello? Belle, you in here? It’s Sora!” he announced as he ambled in, hand cupped to his mouth so his voice would reach into the depths of the tall stacks of books. He heard her greeting come floating back and he followed it through the towers of dusty tomes until he came upon her, seated primly at a table with books piled up around her. It always amazed Sora how fast and how much she could read; he had no doubt that those books were ones she had finished, probably for the fourth or fifth time. “How ya doin’?” he asked her jovially as he grabbed a chair and flipped it around to straddle it, arms crossed over the top with his chin resting against his forearm.

“Quite well,” she responded as she marked her page and shut the book to address him properly. She rested her hands primly on her aproned dress, smiling sweetly. “I have to say this is a surprise, but a good one. Your friends are not with you?” Man, I didn’t realize how much people associate me with Donald and Goofy, he thought in amusement.

“Nah. I’m goin’ solo right now.”

“A journey of self-enlightenment?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” he said with a light blush, admittedly having only a surface-level of understanding of the term but not wishing to look foolish in front of the smart princess. “So, the curse is finally broken, huh? Good for you guys.”

“Oh, yes. Adam and I have been making the most of our good fortune.” At his owlish look, she giggled and explained, “That’s Beast’s real name, Prince Adam.”

“Oh.” His gaze dropped to the book she had set down in front of her, and, curious as ever, he picked it up to inspect the back cover. “You really do like adventure books, don’tcha?”

“Of course. The world is vast, as you know, and it’s hard to see it all with your own eyes. Books are a wonderful way to do so.” The corner of Sora’s mouth twitched at the irony that Sora was probably the worlds’ leading expert on vastness, but he didn’t say anything because preserving the order and all that junk. He flipped the book open to rifle through the pages, barely scanning the printed words. “I don’t have much time to read. Y’know, bein’ a Hero of Light and all is a full-time job.”

“I’m sure it is, and a hard one, too. I imagine you’re here because you’ve hit a wall of some sort, yes?” Sora smiled sheepishly at how easily she was able to read him. Man, if he only had half as many functional brain cells as the intelligent princess, he could probably riddle out his problem and scamper back to Yen Sid’s a champion. He set the book down, sliding it back in front of her before collapsing into the top of the chair with a dramatic sigh.

“Yeah, you got me. I sorta lost all my strength in a big blunder on my part, and now I feel like I’m being left behind,” he pouted miserably as he toed the plush rug beneath the table. “I’ve been travelin’ around lookin’ for answers on how to get it back, but so far, I ain’t found nuthin’.” He punctuated the statement with a snort through his nose. Belle smiled sympathetically at him.

“I see. I’m sure it’s a heavy weight on your mind.” She turned to pry a book from within the stack beside her. “Heroes bear the heaviest burdens of us all, I reckon. I’m not versed in heroics, but whenever I feel overwhelmed, I can always find a book that puts my mind at ease. Would you like me to read for you, Sora?”

His eyes lit up and he scooched the chair a little closer, smiling broadly while nodding emphatically. Belle had a pretty voice, so he was sure that whatever she read to him would be invigorating. He could probably read her a recipe and he’d be totally enthralled. Belle smiled serenely as she settled back in the chair and flipped the book open to the first chapter. Sora melted into contentment as he listened to her sweet, honey-like voice. There was something about it that was just so calming and reassuring, telling him that everything was going to be okay. As promised, Mrs. Potts brought them tea and cakes, but Sora was so caught up in Belle reading aloud that he didn’t hardly notice, and just munched on the snacks on autopilot without much savoring of the sweets.

She read him the whole novel. It was actually pretty riveting; it was about an exiled prince who had been stripped of all his power and wealth and had gone on a grand journey to reclaim his throne. He made a lot of trusted friends and was able to win his throne back. Listening to it, Sora felt hopeful about his situation; sure, he had no idea of how yet, but he was gonna bungle along this little road of his until he made it back. If Sora was good at anything, it was not giving up.

“Do you feel better?” Belle asked him as she shut the book.

“Yeah, loads!” he grinned brightly at her as he sat up in the chair to stretch his arms above his head. “I’m gonna do whatever it takes! I gotta get my power back because a lot of people depend on me. I can’t be a burden to them, especially not now.”

“Don’t overdo it,” she cautioned him gently. “Your friends are there for you, too. Take all the time you need and make sure it’s done right. I’m sure you’ll become strong again.”

“Thanks, Belle,” he smiled, then took the teacup in front of him to knock it back and drain the last dregs of the sugary tea from it. “Man, Mrs. Potts makes good tea.”

“Yes, she does,” Belle laughed good-naturedly. “I know you’re busy with things far beyond my understanding, but you’re always welcome here, Sora. I’d always love to tell you a story.”

“Yeah, totally! I’ll bring Riku and Kairi- my friends- one day too!” And Roxas, and Xion, and Naminé, and Lea, and Terra and Aqua and Ventus, he thought, a determined smile inching up on his lips. He had to get stronger soon to save all of them, but like Belle said, at least he could be content knowing that Riku and Kairi were both in good hands at the moment. Sora could focus all he wished in reclaiming his lost powers. Belle eyed him almost sorrowfully as he pushed himself up with his hands and swung his leg over the chair to straighten out his clothes.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Yeah,” he said with an apologetic glance. “As much as I would like to stay, the road’s out there waiting. I better get walkin’.” She laughed and stood to accompany him on his exit. She walked him to the front gate, smiling gently all the while. He blushed a little as he looked back to her, rubbing the back of his head.

“What is it, Sora?”

“It’s kinda embarrassing, but I was kinda thinking that you’re like a big sister I never had,” he admitted with a shy laugh. Belle’s smile grew warm, and she closed the small distance between them to give him a firm hug. Sora returned it gratefully, though his face took on a darker shade of fuchsia. Riku would totally make fun of me if he saw this… After she pulled back, he sniffed and rubbed the underside of his nose, laughing bashfully. “I’m really glad things worked out here.”

“As am I. Things will work out for you, too. Patience and perseverance, Sora.”

“I gotta work on the ‘patience’ part,” he snickered before turning to push open the gate. Belle gave him a wave of farewell as he strolled out onto the path leading to the woods, and he gave her one last little wiggle of his fingers before he whirled around, putting one foot in front of the other with his hands clasped behind his head. There was his road, stretched out before him. He didn’t know quite how it would travel, but he knew one thing for certain: his friends were waiting at the end, both those who had been with him through thick and thin and those he hadn’t met yet. That was all the motivation Sora needed to keep walking.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork

[thisisthedungeonthatneverends]

Am I the Only One (Alt: Everyone else has had more sex than me)

Ships: libnyx, regclar, gladnis, promptis

Rating: M

Words: 2908

In which Nyx Ulric seems cursed to walk in on EVERYONE having sex and wonders if he is the only one in all of Insomnia NOT getting laid today. Check the reblogs for the AO3 link.

It was as if His Majesty had declared an official Everybody Gets Laid Day but no one told Nyx Ulric. He just came in to drop off the latest reports from the warfront with the King. That’s it. That’s all Nyx had to do today and the rest would be spent drinking beer and watching the professional chocobo racing semi-finals. Simple day. When he knocked on the door to King Regis’ office, however, his day turned from simple to weird in 2.53 seconds. “Bullocks, I forgot Nyx was coming! Quickly Clarus…” “Regis, I was almost coming…” Nyx raised a suspicious eyebrow and wondered if he should knock again. When he heard a muffled umf from the other side he decided against it. Were they…noooooo, they couldn’t be…could they? “One moment, please!” Regis called out, a hint of mild distress in his voice. Nyx cleared his throat. “In your own time, Your Majesty.” He heard some shuffling and the distinct sound of a chair being dragged across the hard wood floor then someone, presumably Regis, loudly clearing their throat. “You may enter.” Nyx shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts of were His Majesty and Clarus Amicitia really just… He pushed open the heavy doors and approached the desk where the King sat looking as pristine and regal as ever. Nyx bowed and placed the thick folder containing the reports requested of him on the desk. “Here are the reports from the warfront as requested, Your Majesty. Our forces are holding the newest influx of Imperial warships at bay for the time being. They aren’t gaining any ground, but neither are we. Captain Drautos is requesting reinforcements.” Before Regis could respond, a faint scuffing sound came from under the large desk. Nyx could not help but look down and when he did his eyes widened at the sight of the toe of a boot juuuuust peaking out. Regis seemed frozen in place. “I’lllookitoverthankyouNyx,” Regis prattled his words together. “Thatisallyouaredismissed.” It took every ounce of concentration Nyx had to look up from the boot he knew did not belong to Regis and every ounce of balance to bow without falling on his face. “Y-yes Your Majesty…um…good day.” He turned on his heals and literally power walked to the door. Nyx had retreated from the bloodiest of battles with less urgency than that of which he swung open the doors of the Kings office and ran like his life depended on it. And after interrupting Regis and Clarus now undoubtedly having sex, he wasn’t sure his life DIDN’T depend on it.

……………………………………..

Once he was a safe distance away from that office he stopped to catch his breath. Not that he couldn’t run faster and farther than any other Glaive save for possibly the captain, but what he was running from had knocked the wind clean out of him. He needed to wash his face and take a leak. Yes, he thought, that would help. He could then go home and watch the races and never have to think of the King and the Shield… Nope. Not thinking about it. By the time he reached the nearest restroom, the initial shock had mostly worn off. Good for them, he thought. Two old widowers finding love again…kinda romantic if he thought about it that way. Nyx wished for a passing moment if he would ever find love. His last girlfriend had been a clingy, nagging bitch and the boyfriend before her cheated and blamed HIM for “never being dtf.” No one would ever understand his life of service to the crown, he thought. Nyx was relieved to find the bathroom empty. Not many were in this wing of the citadel at this time of day, so he could at least relieve himself in peace. So he whistled an idle tune as he did so, and almost sprayed the damn ceiling when he was startle by a loud BANG! Someone, or rather two someones, arms tangled around each other and seemingly attached at the face, had just burst through the bathroom door. Was that…noooo…Astrals, that WAS him. First Clarus and now GLADIOLUS Amicitia! The other man, shorter with a much slighter build, dark blonde hair, and glasses was…what was his name? The Prince’s adviser he knew for sure. Something flamey, right? Nyx wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there at the urinal dick in hand staring at the young couple, or how long the couple had been staring back at him before he realized crap, I should probably put my dick away now. “Don’t mind me,” Nyx said before his brain could stop his mouth. “Just…peeing. Done now.” He zipped himself up and tiptoes around the couple who just stood frozen like a centuries old erotic statue that made schoolboys giggle in order to get to the sink to wash his hands for not as long as health code dictates. Once again, Nyx rushed out of a room so two people who were apparently trying to fuck could have their privacy. He wiped his wet hands on his coat and laughed. “Damn, did I miss a “National Fuck Day” memo or something? At least all the love in the air wasn’t making the front of his pants get tight. No, not in the least.

……………………………………..

After accidentally witnessing two “encounters” in the span of five minutes, Nyx needed fresh air. A nice walk in the gardens should clear his fuddled head, right? Right. Once again the shock wore off as he strolled through one of the citadel’s many gardens and he found himself happy for Gladiolus and…DAMN what was his name? Two people who served the crown, who understood how important duty was to each other, were able to find time to share an intimate moment. Now Nyx was jealous. Why couldn’t he have that? He whistled as he strolled along and - IGNACIO! That was the advisers name. Now Nyx could stop kicking himself for being a dumbass. At any rate he whistled and strolled along peacefully until he was just about ready to head home, shower, jerk off, throw on some sweatpants, and settle down with pizza, beer and the tv remote. That was until he heard a faint sound – specifically a faint moan – from behind one of the hedges. Not again, he thought. As he continued walking trying and failing to ignore the erotic sounds, they grew louder and Nyx realized with a sinking feeling he was getting closer to rather than farther from the action. “Mm yes Prompto…” “Fuck, Noct, you feel so good…” Nyx. Froze. Right. There. Noct? Noctis? As in PRINCE Noctis? Nyx had to know. Curse his life dammit he HAD to know! He marched to the hedge the sound was coming from, swung back the branch…and immediately regretted every life decision that had lead him to this time and place. On the ground on his knees was a young blond haired blue eyed man who Nyx vaguely recognized from a few photos who was currently BALLS DEEP in the PRINCE who lay on his back with his legs pushed up against his chest. Upon seeing Nyx, both men screamed. As did Nyx. When the screaming had subsided, Nyx just stood there with jaw on the ground while Noctis and…he called him Pom-something-or-other, Nyx neither knew nor cared, scrambled around on the ground search for their cloths. “Nyx, what the hell!!!” Noctis shouted as he stood and shimmied into his pants. “First you’re gonna cock block me and now you’re just gonna stand there like an ass?!” Nyx blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry it’s just…FUCK!” He threw up his hands and stepped back. “First the fathers, then both sons, Shiva’s TITS how is this my LIFE!?” And for the third time that afternoon, Nyx got the hell out of there.

…………………………….

Finally, FINALLY Nyx was home. After a shower and some relief by his own hand he slipped into an old pair of sweatpants and a tshirt, ordered pizza and headed to the fridge. It was beer o’clock for Nyx, and it hadn’t come soon enough. He opened the door and reached for the shelf that was usually designated for alcohol… to find only one beer remaining. Well Hell. He wasn’t going back out lest he interrupt another session of dicking, so he sighed and accepted that one beer would have to do. He settled down on the couch and turned on the tv. The races were just about to start and Nyx smiled. Just in time. But as he watched the races, his mind drifted back to Noctis and his blond lover Pom-something. They started out friends and grew into lovers, Nyx mused. Damn. Everyone seemed to be finding love, or at least ass, except him. He knew Cor Leonis, the Crownsguard martial, was seeing someone, as was fellow Glaive Crowe Altus. He didn’t know of anyone else off hand, but the captain was always gallivanting off somewhere. Maybe he was with someone too? Nyx shrugged and downed the last swig of beer. Soon he heard his doorbell ring. Damn, he’d just gotten comfortable, too. Today was simply not the right day to by Nyx Ulric. He begrudgingly stood and went to answer the door, expecting pizza. What he saw when he answered the door was actually better: his lifelong friend Libertus, carrying a case of their favorite brew. Nyx smiled. “I love you.” Libertus laughed and entered through the open doorway. “Bit dramatic tonight, aren’t we? Have a rough day doing the captains job or what?” “Yeah, or what,” Nyx sort-of answered. “Man you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen today.” “Tell me about it!” Libertus said, setting the case of beer on the coffee table. “I saw something I’ll be prayin’ to Ifrit for the next hundred years to burn out of my mind.” Nys took his place in his recliner after grabbing a beer for himself, while Libertus sprawled out on the couch with his own. “Oh yeah?” Libertus nodded. “Crowe. Like a little sis to me, right? Well I went to the gym today to get my phone charger, and I had to walk in on her…” Libertus washed down a look of disgust with a long drink from his can. “I walked in the locker room and there she was on the bench gettin’ fucked by, you ain’t gonna believe this shit, COR LEONIS!!! Nyx actually laughed in spite of himself. “Man, I wish I could say I was surprised, but I learned something fun about our King today.” Libertus, wide eyed, slammed his beer on the table. “Fuck off!” “His Majesty and his Shield, Clarus Amicitia. I went to drop off those reports like Drautos was supposed to have done yesterday, right?” Well I heard’em fumbling around in there and when the King finally let me in Clarus was hiding under the desk. UNDER the DESK, can you believe that shit?” Libertus slowly shook his head. “I need another beer. Okay, okay,” he reached for one more can from the case, “I got another one for ya. Crowe and Cor aren’t the only Glaive-Guard match-up going on. When I went out to the parking lot I saw Luche and Monica steaming up the windows of Luche’s car.” “Now THAT I’m surprised at. I though Luche was was on a strict sausage diet!” Libertus laughed. “Apparently not. Unless there’s something Monica ain’t tellin’ us about then-” Libertus was interrupted by the doorbell. “That’d be pizza!” Nyx excitedly declared. “Lemme get this and I’ll tell you who ELSE I caught together today.” “DAMN! Was today some kinda sex holiday that I forgot about?” “I know right!” Pizza way paid for and divvied out, and the chocobo races were long forgotten in the midst of two grown men gossiping like schoolgirls. “So,” Nyx mumbled around a mouth full of pepperoni and cheese, “I was in the bathroom at the citadel takin a leak. In stumble Gladiolus Amicitia and Ignacio, groping and stuck to each others faces.” Libertus made a strange face. “Gladiolus and who?” “The Prince’s adviser. You know him?” Libertus laughed so hard and long he made himself cough. “I know him but apparently you don’t. The name’s IGNIS you dingus!” Nyx rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I was close wasn’t I? Anyway, The adviser and shield to the Prince are together and speaking of the Prince, I caught HIM getting fucked six ways to Saturday by some blond guy in the palace gardens.” “Whathahell,Mn!” Libertus tried to say with his mouth full of stuffed crust. He swallowed and washed his fourth slice of pizza down with another swig of his third beer. “Is everybody gettin’ tail but us?” Nyx shrugged. “Apparently. I haven’t had anyone but Rosy Palm sense I dumped that bimbo Steph three months ago.” Libertus let out a low whistle. “You’re loooong overdue, Buddy. Then again it’s been almost two months for me.” For some reason it went silent after that. The races were half over and they had no idea who was on the leaderbord. They didn’t care though. It was nice to just be two buddies with pizza, booze, and each others company.

Libertus stretched and stood. “Not headin’ out already are you?” Nyx asked. “Hell no, you can’t get rid of me that easy.” He pointed his thumb towards the bathroom. “Gonna break the seal.” Nyx nodded and for some inexplicable reason watched his friend walk away. Did his hips always…sway like that? Hu. Nyx turned up the tv while Libertus was in the bathroom, intending to catch up on what he’d missed of the races in favor of gossip. His favorite racer was on the leaderbord, so he was happy. Libertus returned soon and sat on one side of the couch instead of sprawling out like he had before. Nyx yawned and stood. “My turn.” As he walked away he got the distinct feeling of being watched, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact he was sure he didn’t mind a bit if Libertus was staring at his ass. If Nyx was anyone but himself, he’d stare at his ass, too. He wasn’t too humble to admit he had a nice ass. So did Libertus, actually… funny, he’d never considered his best friend’s ass before but now that he did, it was a good thing his pants were as baggy as they were because hello… Man, he was one thirsty sunuvabitch. A commercial for some kind of candy was on when he returned and instead of going back to his recliner, Nyx sat on the couch next to Libertus. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. Libertus rested a reassuring hand On Nyx’s shoulder. “Guys like us got it rough, my friend. It’s hard to find someone who understands the sort of life we live and even when we do, who has time to actually do anything? Nyx laughed humorlessly. “Apparently five different couples judging by what we saw today. I don’t know how the ones you saw ended up together, but Regis and Clarus, they’ve both had broken hearts and patched each other up. Gladiolus and IGNIS, I got it right that time, they understand each other because they both run circles around the Prince, and then the Prince and the blonde kid started off as friends and now they’re apparently lovers.” Libertus nodded thoughtfully. “Where’s that for us?” Broken hearts. Service to the crown. Friends. Nyx eyed Libertus carefully to judge weather or not his friend was thinking the same thing as him. And was it just him or did Libertus’ hand seen to be slowly sliding down his back? He chanced a full look at Libertus now and…were they…yup, their faces were closer, much closer, no more than a couple inches apart. Nyx smiled. “I think I just found it.” Nyx never hesitated with anything, so he didn’t hesitate to close the distance between them and kiss the man who’d been his best friend sense before he could remember. Libertus, to Nyx’s relief, welcomed the kiss, returning is with more intensity than Nyx had imagined. He slipped the hand that had in fact been making its way down Nyx’s back under the back of Nyx’s shirt. It was bold, but then so was Libertus, and it made Nyx hum against Libertus’ mouth and deepen the kiss. Nyx hands found his new lover’s thigh, and Libertus shifted his hips, causing Nyx fingers to brush against a very impressive bulge. Eventually Nyx had to breath, and as munch as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t do that very well with someone else’s tongue down his throat. So he pulled away and opened his eyes to be met with a lustful gaze from Libertus. “You know,” Nyx said somewhat breathlessly, “You’ve had a bit to drink tonight.” Libertus chuckled. “You’re not taking advantage of me, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Nyx smirked. “No, it’s just that it might not be legal for you to drive. Wanna crash here tonight?” He made his true intentions known with a wink and a subtle roll of his hips. Libertus smiled that warm welcoming smile that Nyx had grown to love over the years, and hoped he would grow to love even more. He didn’t say a word, but he answered with a kiss.

[thestarrynightgazer]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KING!

It's already april first sooo yeah, I and @galfridus1 wrote something! It was an honor to have my first collab with you!

Although Ellie did all the job...

~

King was crying. Well, of course he was not really crying, he told himself forcefully. He had made a New Year’s resolution after all. No he was most definitely not crying; just… quietly sobbing a bit.

He looked around miserably at the barren shed he was closeted in: industrial concrete walls, a few desolate tools scattered untidily on a workbench, a cork board with a few colourful pins sticking the odd scrap of faded newspaper to its mottled brown surface. It smelled of dust, and King could not suppress a sneeze, clouds of the stuff floating before him in the sparkling air. The shed mercifully had a small window, enough to cast his surroundings in a golden light, though the day would not last for long. His bag was gone, and with it his phone and any hope that he could raise the alarm, or pinpoint his location.

He was not even tied up. The man who had grabbed him from the side of the road as he was on his way home - tall, masked, and lanky with surprising large hands - had just picked him up with no trouble at all. He had hoisted King over his shoulder and run down the street with a cackling laugh before throwing him unceremoniously into a dirty white van. Evidently this kidnapper had rather got the measure of him: King was physically weak, not the type to break out of a concrete shed with his bare hands.

King cursed to himself. This was ridiculous. He had thought the worst thing that ever could have happened to him was when Meliodas had 'accidentally' pulled his shorts down during soccer practice. But no. This was worse. He should have listened to Helbram. His boyfriend had pointedly said only the other day that King needed to go to the gym, to develop some muscle, to stop being so weak that his only defensive move was a limp sort of slap. Unfortunately, he hadn’t listened to Helbram and, in that moment, he regretted heartily that he was such a little sloth.

And part of him was panicking, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He wasn't some son of millionaire so there was no way this was kidnap for ransom. What if he was to be dissected and all his organs sold on the black market, his kidney, his lungs, his heart and who knew what more? What if they wanted to sell him? The newspapers had been full of stories about modern day slavery… He shook his head at this, refusing to entertain the thought, forcing himself to gain control of his emotions. What was it the man had said after he deposited King in this dirty little outpost? Something about how if he wanted to get out he had to look around?

Well, King did not want to go out like this. He wanted to to die on his bed in old age, married to his cute, mischievous, wonderful boyfriend with several adopted kids and grandkids if possible. He wanted to talk to Helbram one last time, tell him he loved him, tell him he adored him. He wanted to apologize to his sister, tell her he loved her too and to speak to Diane. She was getting married to Howzer! She would definitely cancel her wedding if he went missing…

With a deep exhale that blew out his cheeks, King shook his head once more. Look around? At what? His eyes roamed over the dingy room. The one window was set too high in the wall and was a small, flat affair, far too tiny for even him to squeeze through. The tools scattered about were of no use: a spanner, a small handful of bolts, and a spirit level. Nothing he could use to pick a lock. With a sudden rush of inspiration King ran to the door, twisting the handle and tugging with all his might. But yes it was locked, very thoroughly so. With a frustrated cry, King dropped his hand, spinning on his heels, his eyes alighting on a flash of metal in the wall as he did so.

A safe? There was a safe! There had to be something in there that would help. King shuffled over to the metal box and squinted at it; it was a cheap-looking affair with a simple punch keypad. Experimentally, King typed in some zeros, the display of red numbers beeping quietly after he had pressed the button four times. So, a four digit code was required. King sighed, quickly doing some sums in his head. To try every possible combination would take him more than eight hours.

It was then he decided to look at the cork board. On it were fastened several newspaper articles, all of them reporting errant nonsense. One described how spaghetti had been discovered growing on trees in Switzerland of all places; then there was something about the state of Alabama changing the value of pi to a “more godly” round three point zero; and finally an article about how a man had achieved the power of flight using only the expired breath from his lungs. The last two King was unfamiliar with, but the first story he recognised as one of the most successful April Fool’s Day spoofs which had yet been published in the mainstream media.

King started, his eyes widening as he once more looked back at the board. All of the articles were dated April first, and it was as if a light had been turned on in his brain. That was today’s date! The scare of the kidnap had quite made him forget that today was in fact his own birthday, and that he had been upset with Helbram for failing to even acknowledged the date that morning, even though King had coughed pointedly and looked hard at the calendar.

With trembling fingers, King punched 0104 into the safe, his breath leaving his lungs in a huge puff when the small door swung open. Inside was a silver key, and he grasped at it quickly, his eyes darting from side to side as his muscles tensed involuntarily. He took several deep breaths. The room was empty. No one was going to rob him of his prize.

The key turned in the lock easily, and King frowned in puzzlement. The mechanism was almost too smooth, as if the lock had recently been oiled. King took a careful sniff as he withdrew the key, the smell of the lubricant confirming his suspicions. This was a very strange sort of kidnap, he thought as he carefully, tentatively opened the door, the sudden influx of light making him shield his eyes against the glare. It was almost as if whoever had locked him in here had no intention of keeping him prisoner, but just wanted him out of the way for an hour or so…

“SURPRISE!” The huge yell was like a bark of white noise and King almost jumped out of his skin. Instinctively, he reached out in an effort to clutch at his soft, comfort cushion, before turning red in the face as his hand met the air. Of course, he did not carry that thing around any more. He had not in fact done so since he was a small boy. The blush in his cheeks grew in intensity and King could feel a pressure building behind his nose, his head throbbing as the nosebleed threatened to spill down his face.

“Happy Birthday!” a familiar voice called and, all at once, the world righted itself. King took several calming breaths as he forced himself to take in the scene. There was Elaine, smiling broadly, Ban standing beside her with a leer on his face; Diane and Howzer, standing together, the man’s arms wrapped around the petite dancer’s trim waist as she laid her head back into his shoulder. Elizabeth was off to the side, her long silver hair swaying as she busily fussed with something on the large table which stood in the middle of what King now recognised to be Meliodas’s enormous garden, its trim lawn and neat, manicured hedges set around a gravel driveway. The shed itself was decorated with bunting in cheerful greens and yellows, King’s favourite colours, for they reminded him of spring.

The tinkling laugh attracted his attention. “It took you long enough to get out of there! We’ve been waiting an age!” King practically floated towards Helbram, collapsing into his arms as the other grinned brightly. “And, look, you really need to do as I say and go to the gym. Ban said he just picked you up! Is that true?”

“It wasn’t like that at all,” King spluttered, his voice drowned out by Ban’s cackling laughter.

“He did try to slap me~” the tall man conceded.

King closed his eyes, anticipating more of a teasing until Elaine’s soft voice floated over the air. “It is my brother’s birthday,” she chastised, an edge to her tone, and both Ban and Helbram fell silent in an instant.

“And there’s cake!” a cheerful voice called and they all swung around to see Meliodas bounding across the drive, his feet crunching on the small stones as he moved. In his hands was the most enormous confection; a hugh, multi-tiered cake covered in crystal white icing and heaped with sugared pansies and violets. There was so much of it King stared and stared; there was no way the eight of them could possible get through it all between them.

“Some more people are coming later,” Meliodas explained in response to King’s questioning look. “Everyone’s coming, even Gowther. I hired a DJ. It’s going to be great!”

King felt his throat squeeze shut, his cheeks still flaming red as he looked round at his friends.  His heart was still racing, his body still alive with adrenaline but he could feel himself beginning to relax. Helbram’s arms were still round him, and he leaned into his touch, before the pair broke apart and King took a few, hesitant steps towards the table as Meliodas placed the cake on the chequered white and red cloth. King looked at it once more, taking another step closer; it really was a work of art.

“Happy birthday, mate!” Howzer said heartily and King felt a firm slap across his shoulders. He stumbled, his arms circling in the air as he tried to regain his balance but to no avail. He heard Diane gasp, and felt someone grab the back of his coat, but the action was just a little too late. King could not even squeak, could do nothing at all as he pitched face first into the huge cake, grimacing as his head was surrounded by cream and icing and crumb.

It was silent. King knew his hearing was muffled by cake but he could still tell the others were making absolutely no sound. He pushed against the table, dislodging his head from the mess, swiping at his eyes to clear them of cream. The cake was a write-off, and King could see that his clothes were coated in mashed up food, and he knew that his hair must also be plastered with the stuff. He did not dare look up, even when Diane started yelling at Howzer, her usually sweet voice shrill with her ire. “I didn’t mean it!” her fiancé protested, as Elizabeth made soothing noises, evidently trying to smooth over the fight.

King felt an arm loop round his shoulders. “Come on,” Helbram whispered into his ear as he led King carefully towards the large, sprawling house. “It’s not matter. We’ll get you cleaned up. Mel will let you borrow some clothes, or I can go back and get some of yours if you want. It’ll all be okay.”

“Why am I so weak?” King asked bitterly. He was rigid in Helbram’s gentle embrace, his hands curled into fists at his side. “I hate it…”

“You’re not weak,” Helbram said comfortingly, and King felt their steps slow, before Helbram turned him in his arms. Before he knew what was happening their lips were pressed together. The kiss was slow, deliberate, possessive and full of love, and King could feel his pulse beginning to calm.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know,” Helbram said firmly and King was surprised to see his boyfriend looking so serious. Helbram was always the playful one, the light-hearted joker, the man who brightened every day. He was never serious, something King sometimes found frustrating, so it took him aback to hear the sombre tone now.

Helbram continued, “You always stand up for everyone, you protect others however hard it is. That’s why I love you. Now, let’s get inside.” With a small smile, Helbram once more guided King towards the house, the sounds of their friends arguing fading as they made their way inside.

“I love you, too,” King said in a rush. He expected to splutter with the admission, to turn bright red as usual, but he found the words came easily and without embarrassment. “I really love you, even if you did have me locked in a shed,” he said more confidently. Their eyes met, and King allowed himself a small smile to see Helbram looking so happy, his slightly pointed face alight with his grin and his light-green eyes shining.

“That would have been so much more poetic if you weren’t covered in goo. Come on, there must be a shower somewhere in this mansion.” Helbram took hold of King’s hand. “And Happy Birthday,” he said more quietly as they leaned against one another, their fingers lacing tight together as they went to explore the house.

[fakangin-blog]

‘son, departing.’ solo #1

briefly: a then 16-year-old kangin hasn’t attended a family dinner in nearly a week. with basketball practices surmounting as college nationals approach, and a lack of interest interacting with anyone, or thing, other than his nintendo. he walks through the door, at 8:30 and the table is only being set — as expected. whenever kangin went out of his way to avoid his family, they made up for it with gratuitous fervour trying to rein him in.

          “innie! there you are! mrs. kim— oh, look at you—“ his mother fusses over his sweaty forehead, and the scent of b.o permeating his training hoodie, floating all throughout the hallway.

           “take a shower. you stink.” kyungah says, face coiled in distaste. kangin snorts and shoves past them both, scaling the staircase without another word. he wasn’t one for bickering in excess, like they used to. he realised that was kind of futile quite quickly. especially when it was always turned on them both, and he got in trouble regardless of ‘who started it’.

           once he no longer smells like the school gym and a hoard of pubescent boys, he slides down the balustrade, just as he would every other day. a habit he’d picked up ever since his father warned it’d collapse on itself someday soon, “and hopefully you, with it.” kyungah had kindly added. there was something they could agree on.

           when he sits at the head of the table, as the men always do in the yi household, he sits alone. his family are still elsewhere fussing about, the first portions of food being spread glamorously across the oversized table. it’s one of those beautiful dark ochres; the kind of wood that you tap on just to hear it echo a little, a true feat of craftsmanship.

           he used to hide under this table, when he was small enough. no one ever cared to look for him in obvious places. and when he was lucky enough, it would be covered in a tablecloth long enough that the silk edges just touched the carpet covered ground. it made for quite a comfortable space to complain and cry to himself, as any kid should.

           being upset wasn’t deemed very appropriate anymore, getting to live in complete freedom from expectation (at least, that’s what his peers claimed. he knew that his life was still under strict surveillance and control. the kind that made him fear confessing it to anyone.) he was chipped, for god’s sake. who chips their own child?

           life 360 trembled in the wake of his family’s crooning necks, disappointed looks and a shocking lack of expectation for his future.

           his thoughts are jostled as a middle aged man sits directly across from him. his father, that is. his mother takes a little longer to settle in her seat, always pedantic about smoothing out her skirt and calling kyungah away from the couch.

           kangin gives thanks to the cooks, and the maids, and is interrupted by the shrill giggle of haein. “and thank you, for finally showing up to dinner!” he nods. he has nothing else to say to her, or that statement.

           he has always eaten like it were his last meal, as is natural to a teenage boy. of course, it was an easy invitation for a series of semi-disgusted looks from his mom, attempting to keep her composure. she was becoming oddly remiss when it came to his unrefined behaviour, recently. he assumed it was because kyungah had been thinking of moving out.

           that’d mean neither children would ever be home. he wasn’t sure what else she’d expect, being pretty poor at parenting in the first place. the dinner continues on in awkward, suspended quietude.

           “kyungah has been busy, too!” a short hum fills the space, empty of any other responses. “she’s got her first midterm in a few weeks. and then the gala, of course.” his father continues, voice so gentle and poised for someone who has willingly trapped himself in this situation.

           jungwu was the only person kangin could stand. he looked up to his dad with eyes and ears always open. both familiars, they shared a lot more than he could ever with his sister, or mother, insufferable as they usually were. as his father tried to convince him against saying.

           kangin always felt sorry that he’d been given such a starved hand of cards in life. an incredible mathematician, public speaker and leader type suffocated by a family of affluent and ignorant witches. and now, a selfish daughter, low-functioning, lifeless son, and a tyrannical wife. one he loves, apparently.

           he fears such a fate, knowing the deep indent his past leaves for his future.

           “we were wondering if you were free then? we’d appreciate the company. your support, as your sister is presented to her community.” her community. the magical community that he had rejected, and is yet to reconcile with since. he doesn’t intend to.

           he knows the gala falls on the 1st of december every year. he’s attentive enough to know the super annoyingly important dates scrawled into his family’s calendars, he would’ve hoped they had been able to do the same.

           his father interrupts before he can: “that’s the weekend of nationals.” and kyungah’s chuffed snort cues kangin to set down his cutlery. the look on his mother’s face is tense, pleading, and he hates it.  

           “i don’t see why it should involve me. i get that it’s very important for her, and you, but that’s just her responsibility. i wouldn’t want to be there when she’s upstaged anyway.”

           “yi kangin. take that back and apologise to your sister.”

           “just practicing. she needs to control her temper. look at her!” the word ‘steaming’ would do little to describe the look on kyungah’s face. she was always like this — as fragile as a tea cup.

           “at least i’m useful.” “uh, that’s like my only purpose, big brain. i’m a witch’s ultimatum. and you’re… what? learning to fix your attitude?” “fuck you.” “big words for such a little girl.” “you’re a twig!” “fast metabolism. you’ve never heard of one, clearly.” “take that back!” “or what? you’ll send me flying? go on! try!”

           maybe kangin forgot that kyungah was actually fearfully powerful for her age, maybe he just wanted to push her past her limit before his mother inevitably stepped in again. maybe he just wanted to win, whatever the cost. whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now. his body is curled in shock and stirring rage after being thrown against the doorframe behind his seat.

           “kyungah!”

           “stupid fucking bitch!” his throat rips with the kind of burning he hadn’t heard for much too long. he holds the back of his head in a death grip, a deep scarlet blood seeping into the minute pattern of his finger print, all the way around his fingers until he wears a glove of his own injury.

           “at least i have a talent!” “she’s a psychopath! mom, she’s a psycho—“ before he can continue, his mother’s palm is pressed against his forehead. Not a moment later, he passes out cold on the living room floor with an audible ‘clunk’. his dreams stir with white clouds covering the moon and all the other empty images his mind could conjure.

           haein sends kyungah to her room, without another word, and kangin’s father carries his son toward her office. a tear drops from his reddening eyes right onto kangin’s cheeks. his skin is so clear, and round, and filled with all the life he should so be leading. the kind of life he deserved, and the kind of life he continued to walk away from.

they walked away between tall hedges, their heads just clear and blond with sunlight, the hedges’ dark sides sickly with drifts of flowers.

they were facing the sea and miles of empty air; the sky had high torn clouds, the sea its irregular runs and spatters of white.

they did not look back; the steadiness of their retreating footfalls lapsed in a long diminuendo; their line was straight as the clipped privets.

they looked at four sliding gulls a long way up, scattering down frail complaints; the fickle wind filled in with sounds of town and distance.

they became sunlit points; in a broad haphazard world the certain focus. against the random patterns of the sea their walk was one-dimensional, and final.

sons, departing — john cassidy.

[eyes-onthehorizon]

The Old Guard Provide... Leverage

Two:

emporium [empɔːriəm]

Word forms: plural emporiums, plural emporia

countable noun [formal]

An emporium is a store or large shop.

(“What are doing down there, Habibti?”

“It’s none of your business, Mister.”)

The birds sang as sweetly as they had the day Nicoló had departed. Yusuf sighed, and began their daily routine a cappella, sorely missing the accompaniment of his husband’s movements. He swept the floor, rearranged a few items… There. Your Local Emporium was now open for business.

The post arrived shortly after.

“’Ere, son. A romantic overture from your long-lost love.” Amadeus teased. The postie was as caring as he was nosy, and didn’t bother with hiding the torn edge of the envelope. Yusuf didn’t bother to protest it. Finally, he had some news.

As he pulled the paper from its wrapping, Yusuf felt his face light up. A letter from Nico! A letter containing hopefully vital information to the case they were building against Sir Graham, but a letter from his beloved nonetheless.

“Your omniscience inspires faith, Amadu,” Yusuf says, his tone wry but his eyes warm.

The other man chuckled. “As it should. See you tomorrow, Joseph.”

Yusuf waved him off, turning to go back into the shop before looking sharply over his shoulder. He scanned his surroundings before spotting what had caught his gaze. A sharp pair of eyes stared back through the hedge beside the shop entrance. He backed into the shop, slowly, only breaking eye contact at the last moment. Yusuf made his way to the apartment quickly, grabbing some food and a jug before stepping back out onto the shop floor, arranging them on the nearest flat surface before heading back downstairs to make himself busy.

He'd recently not-adopted an urchin, a tiny, bony, belligerent streak of red-and-eyes who refused any food or help unless she thought she was stealing it. Over the last three months, she’d said exactly six words to him, in a tone so reminiscent of Seb that he was immediately a goner. He’d taken to leaving portions of his meals around – taking a bite and stepping away on one pretext or another – and it looked like she could put away everything Nicoló eats in a day and then some. He’d forgotten just how much children could need.

The Emporium usually stayed empty ‘til noon on the weekdays, so Yusuf found himself a comfy spot close to the fire and began reading.

My dearest love,

It has been too long since I have held you in my arms. The pages of our love have been bound by fate and there is nothing that can stop my return to you now. I know I cannot make heads nor tails of anything but being in your presence once more.

Yours always,

N

It wasn’t his best work but the message was clear enough. Yusuf suddenly couldn’t contain himself: rushing around reordering things, feeding the fire. Checking the stock in the back, noticing that not only the food but the plate was gone, along with a very small whirlwind.

There was a small gang of boys who made it their business to “patrol” the neighbourhood. They weren’t too bad – not nearly as dangerous as the group of thugs they’d encountered when they’d last been in the New World – but they did like throwing their weight around. The second-in-command, Bean, was particularly aggressive. No one wanted to be on Bean’s bad side, so they mostly let him get away with whatever it was he wanted.

Duff was the leader (“Short for Macduff, Vanquisher of Evil!”) and the brains of the operation. He collected monthly dues from the shopkeepers and the coppers turned a blind eye to their patch, which had been exactly how Andy had wanted it when they were discussing areas of the city in which to open a front.

Duff collected, and if he didn’t, Bean would make sure that you didn’t forget the next payment.

It had been a week before Yusuf had made the connection between the tornado eating her way through his pantry and the gangly redhead who loomed over everyone. Yusuf suspected her brother knew where she was – she spent time enough in the Lights and Mirrors room to cause no end of trouble – and prayed every day he would continue feigning ignorance.

Yusuf sighed, stretched and read Nicoló’s letter for the fourth time that day, absentmindedly stirring his tea. His train of thought was interrupted by an obnoxious slurping. Raising his eyebrows at his companion, he risked an amused glance.

She only met his eyes for a moment before her gaze skittered away. “You should drink that before it gets cold.”

He hummed his reply before taking an equally obnoxious slurp of tea.

She giggled before she could think better of it. “I’m Tig.”

“I’m--”

“You’re Mr Kayson. You let me eat a lot and you’re in love with someone named N. Why do you let me stay? I hope it’s not because you feel sorry for me because I can take care of myself, thank you very much. But it’s nice here. Warm. Like a--”

It seemed Tig had saved up three months of conversation for this very moment. Yusuf was glad the tinkling of the bell gave her an excuse to breathe.

“It’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Tig. I’ll be right back.”

It was the Davis sisters, Yusuf realised with reluctance, who had floated into the shop. He wished he’d just stayed with Tig and the tea.

The Davis sisters were from the American South. They had been sent to England by their great-uncle, who had died and left them obscenely wealthy. Tig reacted to them like a cat responding to a cucumber; but thankfully, only within his eyeline. Yusuf mentally thanked whichever God was listening that the girls had only wanted ribbons that day and left the shop with little fuss.

He heard Tig sigh above him. “They’re so pretty. It’s a shame they’re so annoying.”

Yusuf just repressed a smile and fed the fire once more.

[caraidean]

Captive [Rigelian Raised AU]

Participant(s): Clair, Albein Rudolf II

Words: 5,707

Type: Introductory Cutscene

Summary: Clair finds her ‘diplomatic’ trip to Rigel was an attempt to provoke a war, and her alleged planned arranged courtship with their future emperor was a complete fabrication on her King’s part.

Dame Clair Soutr was not having a good day.

She had never really troubled to learn much of politics, particularly at the kind of level she was now wishing she had learned. Her family may have been important, but they weren’t ‘dealing with Rigel’ important. That should have been her first clue. But not for the first time she found herself cursing her own optimism, blind faith in authority, and the fact that her entire damned family had listened to what the King had said without pausing to think that, perhaps, such a renowned hedonist with such a noted asshole of a vizier wasn’t telling the entire truth.

Clair had found out that the Rigelian guards had expected the Princess and not a nobleman’s son at the border. Then she found out that this wasn’t to be some kind of official courtship, but if Lima - or Desiax, she supposed, the manipulative creep - had their way she was just to be pawned off to the Rigelian prince.

Not even as a wife. A consort. Her! Ye goddess, did nobody have any shame! And her treatment upon arrival hadn’t been much greater either met with derision and glares before being shoved in an empty waiting room and snidely told that she would learn what they would do with her!

Well. She could hardly give Lima or Desaix a piece of her mind, but whoever the Rigelians sent through that damned door she could deal with. A few minutes were wasted trying to pull one of the ornamental swords off the display above the fireplace until she embarrassingly realized they were welded onto the shield, at which point she settled for the candlesticks. Except those were screwed down.

Did nobody in this country read any books? There was always suppose to be something the heroine could arm herself with to fend off fiends! …or perhaps they’d read too many, she supposed. Grumbling she settled with trying to pry one of them off anyway, which was unfortunately the sight that the Rigelians would be met with when they opened the door - Clair growling in frustration, hands wrapped around the heavy cast-iron candlestick and trying to yank it from the coffee table so she could hit them with it.

At least she regained her composure fairly swiftly when she heard the door open. Hands moved to her side, brushing against the light blue of the dress she’d been forced into by the Zofian royals - she supposed the cleavage and slits for her thighs should have been warning signs in hindsight, now that she thought about it - before one moved to toy with her hair in her normal, nervous fashion while she marched straight up to the green-haired man in the center.

His armor and headpiece had the most spikes on it. Knowing this place, that likely meant he was either in charge, or the Prince himself.

“Is this any way to treat a lady?” She said sharply, resisting the urge to slap him for the moment. “I tell you I have had a very trying day - sold off like some common hound to the alleged prince of this nation after being decieved, and then shoved into this room with no food nor drink for the last few hours!”

She felt a guard step up to try and pull her away from the man she now knew had to be the prince from the sheer number of armed guards around her, but she batted him away with an elbow and jabbed a finger into the taller man’s collar in the most actively outraged fashion she could muster. For Clair, that was an awful lot of indignant fury to be on display.

“What do you have to say for yourself?!”

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

Albein Alm Rudolf II was, himself, not having quite the best of days. There had been trouble brewing with Zofia (again) due to King Lima IV’s blatant disregard for a fragment of respect, and of course the man tries to smooth things over by sending a daughter off to be married to him. Of all things, using his daughters as bargaining coin! It had been insulting enough to receive such news, more so to learn the convoy was already on its way, especially when his father decided to let the convoy arrive so they could then discuss with whomever they got before sending an answer to such a vulgar gift— but to then find some Zofian noble unrelated to the crown when it reached the border?

An insult to the injury! They should have turned it back around then and there instead of allowing it to cross! And now, she was here, and without knowing if the woman was party to this plot, she was promptly sent to a room while questioning ensued of everyone else involved. Not so gentle questioning.

Were it up to him, they’d send back the carriage with the corpse of one of those responsible inside and a clear message of war. Enough was enough, and Albein would personally bear this insult no longer.

However, it did not take long to find that every manservant who had come from their southern neighbor had been told something different than what King Lima IV’s missive contained; and it all matched, to boot.

It was clearly an insult from the king himself, and these were just lambs to the slaughter to his sickening game. Perhaps Zofia didn’t deserve to burn, but that man and his so called chancellor sure did — as well as everyone else involved. Maybe they ought to kill two birds with one stone and—

…

Finding himself walking to the quarters where that woman was being kept (some ‘Clair’ girl from a noble house with a history of knighthoods, far as he was concerned), he tries to smooth over his temper. Time to find out her own motives to see if punishment should be dealt upon her too; his father had trusted him with this task, and so he would perform to the best of his ability. Nodding to Ezekiel so he’d open the doors to the waiting room, walking in with a small sample of his troops to see…

… What was she doing? His head cants slightly to the left as he notices she had been trying to, funnily enough, edge a candlestick off its base to… do what? Use it as a weapon? Cute, feisty, a little daring — was this actually a Zofian girl? He could almost laugh at her audacity as she marched forward to him, eyes trained upon her with amusement now instead of his previous anger. What was she going to do?

And off she goes, prattling off and… doing all his work for him. The outrage, the actions before he let himself in, how she quite confidently shoved off a guard… hah, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think her Rigelian (well, and the rather obvious Zofian garb she wore… did they know no shame?).

He can’t help it— Albein bursts out laughing at her jab, swatting her hand away with his usual careless confidence, although the motion is quite controlled and gentle, rather than forced. “Well, that tells me everything I’ve come to hear, does it not, gentlemen?” He addresses his men first, who seem baffled at his amusement, but otherwise nod stiffly. “Report to the Emperor at once.” He tells the man at his left, a good man by the family name Meyer, who salutes and leaves the room after being let out by Ezekiel. His last three men remain.

“After all, that was my exact question, little lady.” And with that, his amusement dwindles down, making way for the ire within that he still held, just not directed towards herself. “We are sent a rather insulting missive by your King, have the courtesy to accept his disgusting gift, only to find it’s not even what he’s stated.” Albein steps forward confidently, getting into her space while glaring down, expression turning stiff and serious. “So I do hope you are as un-involved as I think you now, lest this room be the last comfort you’re allowed before your life ends.”

“Start talking.”

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

Clair always did take a few moments to catch onto something when it was happening in front of her. It wasn’t that she was stupid, just…preoccupied with herself more than anything else. She was on the verge of launching into another tirade at the prince’s expense - really, who responded to such an obvious plight with laughter? He must have been cruel as well as a pervert, why, she wouldn’t be surprised if she was dressed like this on his commands–

Her brain caught up and her words stopped. For a second her mouth opened and closed aimlessly, eyes widening before narrowing dangerously. “What did you say–”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure where to begin. A not insignificant part of her mind caught on the word ‘disgusting’ and she looked down at herself with a frown, looking up again a moment later as the rest caught up. Not even what he’s stated. Not even what he–

The coach had the royal sigil on the side, not her own family’s.

“Oh, the arrogant, cox-comb, hedge-born, churlish, dew-beating perverted drunken creepy SOT!”

Clair spun away from the prince, still raving as she worked her way through as much of her vocabulary as possible. Her brother and sister-in-law would both have chided her for hearing such things coming from her mouth, but perhaps they’d make an exception had they realized exactly what her ‘royal journey’ had been intended to do.

“Last comfort? Last comfort?!” She redirected her ire moments after plucking an empty fruit bowl off the table and hurling it against the wall, the thin metal clanging audibly as it bounced to the floor. She turned around again, seething as she stepped up to Albein and glared. Then she stopped, stepped back a few paces and tried to subtly rise up on her tip-toes so that the eye contact was at least on a somewhat equal footing.

“I’ll last comfort you, you ass.” Clair regretted running through all her best insult material now, well aware that repeating any of them would look bad. She gave up on the tip toes, storming around the room with a growl. She wished she had something else to throw, anything, as she stared up into his stiff and serious expression. “And for the record I hardly appreciate being labeled as disgusting. If anyone here is coming off badly from the deal that - that pig has made it would be you for accepting it.”

That said, the seriousness of her situation was starting to sink in a little, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of noticing she was scared. “I am a damned noblewoman and will not stand for being labeled and treated like some common street-walking – blast, what’s the word.”

She frowned and shook her head, one hand shaking a little as it moved to play with her hair.

“It hardly matters. But, fine. No. I knew nothing. I was under the impression that Rigel had made the first ouvertures in exploring diplomatic marriages. Not that I was being sold off like, at the risk of repeating myself, a hound.” She huffed. “Once I get my hand on that blasted vizier…”

For lack of anything else, she throttled the air for a few moments to get some of the tension out of her hands before sighing. “My name is Dame Clair Soutr. Not little lady.”

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

It’s a little amusing to be able to physically witness as the pieces slide into place upon her expression, more so when her anger turns, a brand new tirade coming with it. She’s like a child throwing a tantrum, and he’s content to watch and listen as more and more insults pour out of her mouth.

And then, her rage takes a turn, back to him, and he can’t help but watch as she grasps the fruit bowl and tosses it like it’d… do anything. The clatter as it hits the wall and falls to the floor is sad, almost, like a little cry amidst a storm. His gaze returns to her, trying for all that she’s worth to look intimidating and… it’s not quite working. In fact, it only serves to turn his scowl into a grin of amusement. Ah, how precious.

But, truly, were all Zofians so self-centered? He is silent as she continues, and finally sings like a canary. This is all he needed, and perhaps she is lucky in being so loose-lipped… and so amusing to watch. He would not have taken kindly to her string of insults otherwise, even if he’s sure he can simply break her in half, should she actually anger him enough. It’d be an example, if anything… Zofian nobility was expandable— a lot of pigs as far as he was concerned.

“Yes, last comfort, Dame Clair Soutr.” He starts off, another step forward, a menacing one at that. He once more intends to invade her personal space, test her mettle and see what she’s worth. “You are fortunate we did not throw you into the dungeon with the rest of your company, and that we saw it fit to listen to testimony, willing or not, before seeing to your side of the tale. Yes, quite lucky indeed.” It’s not a threat, it’s a statement, as he wants her to know exactly where she stands. Perhaps this is not the best of places to be in, quite a boring waiting room with little comfort a Zofian would like, but in comparison to her companions, she was within the lap of luxury. “After all, you’ve come in deceit to further incite Rigel, further insult the crown and our people with this useless little plot. Would you have preferred the original treatment I had in mind? Being strung from your innards is not quite so comfortable.”

Yet he’s not angry, not quite, merely… setting the record. And, well, perhaps to see… would her will break at the knowledge of her brush with death, or would she merely bristle once more as she had been? Perhaps he’d get to hear more creative insults; there was a wealth of new ones already fully ready for future use. “But, I believe you are being quite honest in your word, as is most of your party.” And just like that, the pressure is off, and he takes a step back to simply nod to the men at his right. It is the one furthest back whom retreats to further inform the Emperor of the proceedings, and only once Lorenz is gone that he continues.

“But must you Zofians be so self-centered as you are boorish? Odd as it may be, I was not referring to you as the disgusting one. And, let it be known… this was not a deal.” He pauses. “And you’ve only made it this far out of the Emperor’s wish to see to it all before coming to a choice on what to do with this ‘offering’ your King has decided to lay upon our feet. It is an insult, through and through, that’s what it is; your amusing string of words is, by comparison, music.”

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

This conversation seemed dedicated to driving Clair through the emotional ringer. She’d gone from concerned, to angry, to upset, to angrier - and for a brief second, now, terrified. She didn’t flinch at his threats to her, but hearing that everyone else had been captured and placed in the cells–

Her face paled for a moment as he stepped into her personal space, the flush of anger fading from her cheeks. The description of their plight - and, yes, fine, the surprisingly graphic details of what would have been done to her - made her hand shift from her lock of hair to over her heart for a second, eyes flinching and looking aside. But as he stepped back and sneered - sneered, almost, yes. Perhaps that was her own way of reading into the situation, but the body language he was using, the words and dismissive tone both of her and Zofians as a whole, perhaps it wasn’t any wonder that the indignant anger found itself replaced by a very focused, ice-hot rage.

“Let. Them. Go.”

Clair didn’t really process what she was doing as she stepped forward into the space he had just vacated. Her right arm suddenly swung about in a great arc, open palm smacking against the prince’s cheek with an audible, stinging impact that left her own hand throbbing slightly. In an instant guards stepped forwards, pushing her away from the prince and to the ground-

Such a shame for the guards that one of the first things any Pegasus Knight worth their salt learned was how to fall properly. She managed to kick her way out of these godawful shoes as she rolled back to her feet, crouching for a split second, long enough to wonder if she was doing something even remotely sensible. Then, deciding that clearly words were not working here, Clair launched herself forwards. A shoulder impacted against the plate covering his stomach and she felt something crack in her collar, but hands tugged him around the knees and dragged Albein to the floor with her as they crashed down.

In that brief moment of shock, with the guards audibly getting closer and Albein himself starting to react again, Clair ran a quick adjustment of the setting through her head. Her collar was likely cracked from deciding to try and tackle a man in near on full plate, her hand throbbed from a poorly delivered slap - although, goddess, she hoped it at least bruised him as well - and she had no weapon and was drastically outnumbered.

Perhaps she’d just signed her own execution note. At the moment, she was perfectly fine with that if it meant adjusting the prince’s perceptions of Zofians as ‘self-centered’ and ‘boorish’.

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

“You’re in no position to make demands,” Albein begins in a haughty tone, glaring down at the foolish twig of a girl who did not seem to grasp her place, nor the weight of her actions and the sheer insult they bore to Rigel. He, however, does not get to finish, for one moment he’s bearing down on the fool, and the next he’s staring at a mantelpiece to his right, a sting on his cheek.

Normally, he’d have reacted with a punch of his own, with perhaps a headbutt or choking the culprit, but he felt himself a little out of sorts from surprise. Well, she certainly had guts even now, he’d give her that. So he turns, now ready to enact upon his usual violence, when he notes there’s guards in front of him now (Gods, must they act like his nannies? She’s a Zofian noble girl!), girl nowhere in his line of sight, and—

Now he’s staring at the ceiling, an audible crack sounding near his torso, arms gripping at him, and Gods, he hit his back hard on the ground. Still, he’s no longer surprised, and thus his reaction is now far more appropriate of a Rigelian soldier. For this fool of a girl was messing with warriors from birth.

He’s quick to shove her off him and deliver a punch to her torso from his right (a mercy, really, considering his real force was at his left, known for causing ruptures on delicate innards), instead using his left to grasp at her neck and shove her upon the ground despite the throb at the back of his head. Failing that, he’d instead restrain her onto the ground.

And should his hand find itself around her neck, he would squeeze, just enough to make her realize her life was in his hands, but not enough to leave a bruise just yet. It wouldn’t be the first time he crushed a windpipe.

“You are in no position to make demands.” He repeats with a snarl, glaring down upon the foolish fighter, ignoring the brandished weapons at her. And it is mere respect for her fighting spirit that does not make him crush her then and there, amusement at her will to fight odds that she could not possibly surmount.

Perhaps not all Zofians are of the same make, but this is not about that. “Know your place, and know your crime.” Maybe, this time, she would understand what precarious position she was in by having undertaken this journey… knowledge or not. “Perhaps you were not party to its plot, but it is you who is here now under the insignia of the King… and the burden of being the example. We will tolerate his insults to our nation no longer.”

Still, much as he wanted to get back to her in full for her imprudence, he’d rather not fight a woman not in battle armor when he himself finds himself wearing some. It’s not quite right. “… I will have a healer see to your injuries, and then you will wait very patiently for His Imperial Majesty to come to a choice regarding you and your ilk. Do I make myself clear?”

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

Clair never swore. In fact, she expected that her brother would be somewhat upset if he found out that she could. That being said, considering the pain she was suddenly in, just a gentle whimper or muttered phrase didn’t seem appropriate.

“Fuc-.” She hissed under her breath, the word cut off when his fist slammed into her chest. Gods be good, how many bones did this lunatic need to crack before he was satisfied? She let out a whimper as his hand closed around her neck, eyes squeezed shut from the pain as she tried to compose herself-

Successfully. When she opened them again she was glaring, tears in the corners of her eyes the only real indication of how much pain she was in. “Think f’r a secon.”

She couldn’t damned talk like this. Right now her mind was racing, unable to decide if she should just shut up and play the meek noble like he clearly expected her to, or if she should say anything. Because with every passing instance she spent with the Prince, she started to realize what Lima and mostly Desaix had been planning.

Screw waiting. Screw sitting around like a delicate flower in one country and a prisoner the next. Maybe it was the pain talking but Clair’s hands moved to grip Albein’s, prying two of the fingers off her throat and gasping for air before she spoke as quickly as possible.

“W-why would the king send anyone if it was just f’r an insult…” Damn, her throat hurt. “…’f he knew you’d kill us? Desaix has to be up to something…”

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

“Gods, you really can’t quite listen, can you?” Albein snarls out, yet instead of lashing out again, he releases her throat entirely upon her prompting rather than keep trying to hold her in place with what he considered was a light squeeze.

Still, he remains upon her, and instead moves his left hand to grasp her right shoulder, then his right to hold her left, keeping her in place against the ground. It’s a more optimal solution, he feels, if she wants to keep parroting. Any information he’ll take.

“You make demands as a criminal and prisoner, act like detaining you here is the worst you could have gotten with the sheer insult you and yours’ audacity was to us as a nation, then ask me to think? I’m afraid you’re the last person I’d take advice from when it comes to the brains department.” It’s tempting to break the collarbone, do something, and prove a point, but instead he holds back the idea. Certainly, with a healer along the way, it wouldn’t be like it’d matter (to him), but practicing restraint seemed like the better option. For now.

Besides, she was unarmed and unable to fight — it did not feel right, not even holding her down like this did.

“I suppose the bastard of a Chancellor your King has would definitely not care enough for the lives of the people he’s sent — and neither would King Lima IV himself. But what he’d use your hypothetical death for is irrelevant for me.” The pressure is off, and he stands, but does not expect her to. In fact. “Stay down if you want to keep your head.” The unfurled spears from both guards point to her neck then, and he instead walks back to knock on the door again, requesting a healer from Ezekiel quietly before he continues, as if the pause did not exist.

“Again, it is none of my concern — after all, none of you are dead, nor permanently harmed. Considering the great dishonor this entire ordeal has brought to Rigel, perhaps you can consider yourselves lucky.” But only just, after all… “I am uncertain if I can say the same of your nation. This is not the first of insults — and it came under the guise of an apology for another.”

Perhaps, now, she would understand; what she had been roped into was not a standalone incident, nor the first. It had just not been… of this scale.

“Ah… perhaps you are trice as lucky, for much of what you’ve done would earn you an execution, not just the mission you were unknowingly tasked with. But, well, I happen to like that spark of yours.” With a wave of his hand, the weapons are removed from near her neck, instead pointing to either shoulder… and then off entirely. “You’ve the mettle and bravado of a warrior, perhaps there’s hope for your people yet.”

And with a shy knock, a cleric is allowed inside, who stands and waits to be ordered to heal.

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

“You can’t quite think, either.” Clair mumbled under her breath, although she gasped for air as soon as he let go of her throat. She winced as he gripped her shoulder, whimpering as the pressure on her cracked collarbone made itself known - but there wasn’t anything she could do about that. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off every injury she’d taken in the last few moments throbbed painfully, cracked bones, throbbing wrist, bruised throat…terrified soul.

“Not every noble likes the King, and the commoners don’t either.” She followed the order to stay down, though, part of that being unsure if she could even stand straight properly anyway - and part of it fear that he would finally follow through with his threats. “They like my family, though. And the servants are all commoners. Kill them, and Desaix…”

A cough wracked her body and she shuddered in pain instants after it, the jarring motion making her chest throb as she whimpered again. This was far too much for her, gods forbid, she hadn’t even finished her training. “K-kill us, he gets a scapegoat to get them on his side too. Ugh, I should have seen this when no other nobles came…”

She trailed off, sinking into a silent, almost sulk-like stare as he kept talking. So…was Zofia going to be attacked now, then? Would she be used as an excuse for a war either way? And who the hell did he think he was to talk about ‘sparks’ and ‘bravado of a warrior’?

“I am a warrior.” In training, she added silently onto the end, but one last barb couldn’t help but escape Clair’s lips as the healer arrived. “Give me a lance and the skies, Your Majesty. We’ll-”

Some kind of self-preserving instinct kicked in and she didn’t finish that sentence, instead just glaring at him from the ground as the healer worked. One of these days, she vowed to herself, it’d be her wearing a gauntlet as it smashed into his stupidly perfect face. And she wouldn’t be wearing this poor excuse for a dress, either. Never mind the fact it was clearly meant to be used for seductions, the color clashed with her hair horribly.

Did Desaix have anyone competent working for him?

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

“Kill them and make a statement to denounce the King of his deeds, and they earn no one’s favor as the masses are split between believing a King they don’t like or the foreign nation they sent a carriage with the Royal crest to.” Albein adds to her speculations with a wave of his hand. “Still… if that was their goal, it is all the better.” His expression turns pensive, turning her words in his head as he tries to ignore her barbs and not bristle at them… too much. He had half the mind to have her skewered to the floor, but… no.

She had her uses yet, rather than just as hostage for their demands. … Not that she wouldn’t fulfill that role anyway. The healer steps forward with a wave of his hand, kneeling beside the Zofian and chanting softy under his breath as wounds mended with a cost. Magic had always interested him in this aspect — it was a shame he never quite could get a hold of it.

He wanted to make fun of her, however, for proclaiming herself a warrior, but it is when he mulls on her name again that he realizes he’s heard it before. Yes, there was a… Clive, was it? A renown knight in Zofia, he was impressive enough for words to reach even the capital of Rigel. His lips tug into a smile instead.

“Hmph. ‘Warrior’, huh? Exploits of your brother have been spoken of even in Rigel, but I’ve yet to hear a whisper of your own.” He taunts, playfully almost, before offering a shrug. “But, well, you’re young. Perhaps, once this is over, you will make a name of yourself yet.” Yes, if this was Clive’s sister, she definitely had the blood of warriors running through her veins — the feisty display could simply be a sample of what was to come. The healer retreats once he finishes, offering a bow before coming to stand behind him, as he should. Just in case…

“Now take a seat, I will have the rest of your party brought up shortly, and perhaps better clothes than those disgusting rags. You simply will not survive the night in that.” Albein pauses, then decides to add something else as an afterthought. “Keep your foolish tendencies under control this time, or you may find yourself pinned to the floor with two very handsome spears on your shoulders.”

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

“Don’t just dismiss us like that.” Clair bristled in turn when he seemed to reject her words out of hand, The magic let her take a few breaths, trying to control her own emotions over everything else as the pain in her chest finally went away…for the most part.

“If my brother was here the lot of you would never have been able to walk through the door before you were felled.” She said, confidently. Of course her brother’s reputation had spread here - that was something she could use. A moment later his harsher words again caused her to flinch back, even as she stood up.

Then she glanced down at her ‘dress’ and let out a small sigh of relief.

“Oh, good. Thank you. I feel like some painted-up floozy. Once I get my hands on whichever perverted dolt decided to dress me up like this he shan’t be able to walk straight for a month.” She swore vindictively, sitting on the church and feeling her hands slowly tug what passed for her clothes in a desperate attempt to cover up some more skin.

“Yes, yes. You’re going to torture me if I don’t behave.” She said heavily. “I got that part earlier, thank you, you hardly need to repeat the point so frequently.”

-w--w- -w--w- -w--w-

There’s an amusement in his eyes at her indignation, even if he truly felt indifferent at the thought of the demise of Zofians— something he was dimly aware was not ‘kind’, but the concept and execution for him were confusing enough as it was, so he decided not to contemplate it for long. Instead, his amusement grows as she confidently makes claim of her brother’s prowess.

“I’d have loved to see him try.” Albein says in response, eyes brimming with fire and a lust for battle. He’d have wanted it to happen— he’d have wanted to have a legitimate shot at this Sir Clive himself, see if the talk of his prowess had any truth within. It is, unfortunately, nothing short of fantasy, and so he shakes the thought away with a tinge of disappointment. Ah… it truly was a shame. Perhaps facing his sister armed would be satisfaction enough? He’d give it thought, depending on his Father’s judgement.

Speaking of judgement… at the very least, they were in agreement for her clothes; something he had already assumed based on her amusing rants, yet still an encouraging confirmation none the less. He nods to her words, thoughts of violence upon the pervert responsible for her state of dress amusing enough as it was. “I’d be willing to provide the weapon for such demonstration of violence.” He adds. It seems just about everything she says is something he finds… amusing. Almost everything. In any case.

“… But I’ve dawdled long enough. You are aware of your position, and your people will be brought to you. All of you shall be provided with food and drink, as well as proper clothes… and then we shall see what the next day brings.” With a wave, he gestures his men to him, then turns to leave, the two soldiers standing guard until he’s past them and out the door, healer sleeping past him and to the halls. “Ah, yes, sleeping arrangements… it will be done.”

It is the last he says to her before all file out after him and the door is shut… leaving her alone once more.

[grailacademy]

Welcome To Grail Academy - Chapter Twenty-three: Between Youth

Voshkie sneezed into the patterned handkerchief he’d had folded neatly in his breast pocket. He should make a point to call the maid and have her clean all this dust and cobwebs in the archives hall once he returned to his office. When he ran his finger across the countertop of the abandoned reception desk, a visible trail showed the grime still left on the table. This portion of the city hall was built like a mausoleum, with file cabinets lining each wall and reaching all the way to the high ceiling. He had no interest in this place. It was old, empty, it reeked of rotted and moldy paper. People still used the archives hall from time to time, but only as often as one would use a library when one could just as easily look it up on a scroll. Voshkie pulled on the small chain attached to a desk lamp, and watched the yellowing source of light until a hand was placed on his shoulder.

“This way, sir,” Reed motioned, his hand sliding down the governor’s shoulder to straighten out the handkerchief Voshkie had haphazardly stuffed back into the pocket of his suit. Voshkie didn’t mind his associate’s unhealthy attention to detail; it was actually refreshing to him. Someone still cared about political manners. Voshkie followed Reed down through the maze of file cabinets, drawing further and further away from the light of the desk lamp. Their journey ended at an innocuous looking beige drawer, where Reed tugged the handle forward and handed off a series of manilla folders to the governor. “That is everything we’ve compiled on Kuro and the Hedge Witches,” Reed began, “I’m sure you’ve noticed how light the files are.”

Voshkie opened the files and skimmed over the smudged letters. Threat to the city….acts of terrorism….experimental narcotics….gene-splicing….grimm DNA….border control….stunting the growth of Calicem…. All the newspaper clippings and police reports were thin. None of them had the full story.

“This is all of it?” Voshkie closed the papers and waved the files above his head. “Every mention, name drop, crime report, sighting, everything?” He wanted to be sure. Reed nodded, clasping his hands together in front of his stomach. The files made their way to rest under Voshkie’s arm as he turned around and walked out of the archives hall. “Good.”

“KNOCK IT OFF, BLAINE!” A muscular woman with a red bandana tied around her head shouted, inserting herself in the middle of the brawl on the dance floor. Another beer bottle shattered on the floor when she shoved what seemed to be the instigator of the fight away from the rest of the bikers, dragging him out of the bar by the back of his jacket. He yelled out a few obscenities, clearly drunk, before stumbling out onto the sidewalk. “I’ll be back for you, dickheads!” he called out, “You’ll see!” The rest of the bikers simultaneously flipped him off, and the one standing in the center of the group, with perfectly quaffed hair, responded by hollering, “Eat shit, Blaine!” The woman slammed the door to the bar shut, and the bikers turned to laugh amongst themselves. The chaos of the space had died down, at least for now.  

Esmerelda made a motion with her hand, turning her finger in a circle, to signal that the trio should spread out and see what they could find. Nico skipped away to the bar while Bernard headed towards the jukebox. Esmerelda snapped her game face on, and approached the behemoth of a woman who had tossed the drunk biker out of the bar.

“Excuse me,” Esmerelda inquired with a honeyed tone as a slender finger tapped her shoulder, and the woman looked down at the girl the way a wolf looks at an injured deer. “You need something, honey?” The woman quipped.

“I was wondering if you had seen anything suspicious around here in the past few weeks?”

The woman laughed heartily, crouching down to meet Esmerelda’s eye level. “Honey, do you know where you are? You see the kinds of folks we get?” She motioned to the populous of the pub’s customers. “Suspicious activity is how I keep my job.”

Bernard watched the discs in the jukebox with an intense look. His finger continuously pressed the shuffle button on the machine that flipped one record to the next. Over and over, quickly, taking only milliseconds to read the title of the song, album, and artist. Standing in a corner, pressing a button. It was all he was capable of doing until he found an agreeable song. A man in a tan jacket looked up from his game of pool, the brim of his hat just low enough to hide his face. He set the cue down and snuck up behind Bernard, who jumped from the sudden contact. “You’re a long ways from home, ain’t ya?” He smiled warmly, ignoring the boy’s compulsive shuffling on the jukebox. Bernard was frozen, staring into the face of the man next to him.

“What are you-”

“-Wow, look at this! Such a stroke of good luck. Here I am, sent all the way from Vocatus to find you, and I thought I’d have to search the entire city. But I didn’t have to lift a finger! It’s as if the gods dropped you right into my lap.”

Bernard opened his mouth, but closed it again, clenching his jaw to stop himself from speaking. He looked around the bar, wary of the eyes that fell on him. He kept his back to the patrons, and spoke under his breath in a language he was sure nobody but the man next to him would understand, taking every precaution to keep their discussion hidden.

“Todavía tengo un mes.”

“Queremos asegurarnos de que está utilizando su tiempo en ese mes con prudencia. Y si me preguntas....” The man gestured to the sleazy bar they stood in, and then to the jukebox that Bernard had stopped methodically flipping through. “....Esto no parece ser un uso sabio del tiempo.”

“Estamos buscando a mi amigo.”

“¿Estamos?” The man tilted his hat up at the mention of other people, and his eyes searched the establishment until they fell on two people of similar age to Bernard, both standing out in the crowd. He sighed, “....Por qué no estoy sorprendido.” Bernard stood stiff as the man stroked his trimmed goatee.

“No me digas que realmente te preocupas por ellos.”

Bernard tried to bring himself to speak, but he was once again cut off. “No, claro que no-”

“No son la razón por la que estás aquí!” The man raised his voice, garnering attention from a few of the surrounding bikers and patrons. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and spoke in a low voice, “We sent you here to train, not to be in some cheesy after-school special.” The man pulled the brim of his hat down and buttoned up his jacket, preparing to leave. Before he disappeared into the night, he gave Bernard a word of warning. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint El Santo Diablo. He expects big things from you.” Now that he was alone again, Bernard hunched over the jukebox and tried to hide his anxious, frustrated wheezing by furiously flipping through the discs.

Night on the Grail Academy campus was strange. Especially for those who didn’t actually attend the school, like Lolanthe and Aurum, and the Herculean figure standing behind them in a large black cloak made from boarskin. As he stepped forward, the breeze blew under the flaps of his cape and partially revealed a sliver of something sparkly underneath. Lolanthe complained, “Does you really need to wear that?” The man grunted and flared his nostrils, the tusks of the boar pelt that functioned as a hood on his head shifting as he did.

Aurum ran his hand over his cleanly shaved head. “I don’t see a problem with it. Let the man play dress-up if he wants to,” He said, his thumb running along the side of the envelope he held. He looked over the blueprints: the school, the dorms, the arena, and the clocktower. Lolanthe snatched them out of his hands and inspected them herself, disgruntled. “This is why nobody takes us seriously.” They both looked back to the man who towered over them, his arms crossed and his expression hidden under the shadow of his hood. Then they returned their attention to the school whose lawn they stood on, uncomfortably silent with all of the students away on Winter break. “Let’s get this over with….”

Nico spun on the stool at the bar, his back against it with his elbows on the counter, spreading out as much as he could sitting between two other people. To one side, a man with a loose tie hanging off his neck sipped at his drink. To the other side, a young woman in a flowery dress chatted with the bartender. Nico leaned towards the man, sticking his chin out with a smirk.

“Hey there, gorgeous~”

“Hey.”

“Have you ever hooked up with a rock star?”

“....No?”

“Would you like to~?”

Nico waggled his eyebrows, the smirk on his face growing. The man rolled his eyes and shook his head, finishing his drink before standing up and leaving. Nico frowned for a moment in disappointment, but just as quickly as it fell, the sly smirk rose back across his cheeks, and he swiveled around to the other side to lean towards the woman.

“Hey there, gorgeous~” He was about to use the exact same pickup line, but the woman held up her hand to stop him. “Nope.” She huffed and walked away, leaving Nico in the dust.

Rejected. Twice. It knocked Nico down a few pegs, for sure. He sat alone at the bar, wallowing in his sadness until he heard the raucous laughs of the bikers who had been in the fight when he first entered the pub. They were cackling over some dirty joke that their leader had made, drinks spilling out of their glasses as they clapped while the leader combed and smoothed back his hair with a grin. A plan was brewing in Nico’s brain. They seemed like reliable sources! Maybe they had some information about Yorick’s whereabouts. He drifted over to the group and tapped the gang leader on the shoulder. The men fell silent and stared at Nico. Or rather, they stared at his fingertips grazing the precious leather of their leader’s jacket.

“Are you sure?” As Esmerelda interrogated, her bangs fell in front of her face. “There’s been no Boost deals here? Nothing?” The woman scratched the side of her head under the bandana, shrugging. “Not for a few months. Too many cops patrolling around the bar for anything to happen.” Esmerelda sighed, arms crossing over her chest as she tapped her finger against her forearm, thinking. The music bouncing in the background made the ice cubes on some of the drink glasses rattle, and she could feel the bass pulsing in her chest. “Very well. Thank you for your time….” She turned to walk away, but what the woman said next stopped Esmerelda in her tracks.

“You Grail kids been poking your noses around here a lot lately. I’d watch out if I were you.”

“Grail kids? Do you mean there have been other students in here recently?”

“Well, yeah….not many, mind you. But it’s easy to pick ‘em out in a crowd.”

“What did they look like?” Esmerelda lurched forward with intent, listening.

“There’s this tall girl who’s a regular here. Letterman jacket. Usually has a blue haired chick and a cat faunus following her around, sometimes a kid in a lab coat too. Buncha’ weirdos.”

“Anyone else you can remember?”

“Hm….I think, yeah. New one been tagging along with them, ponytail and goggles. Real fidgety.”

Esmerelda had to hide her glee as she shook the woman’s hand. “Thanks, you’ve been a big help.” She snaked away with a keen smile, slipping up to Bernard’s side, who was startled and hugged his shoulders to his neck when she arrived. “He was here,” She murmured, “With Queenie and the others.” Bernard nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a cacophony of hollers and grumbles that erupted from the group of bikers that formed a huddle on the dance floor. Nico stood at its middle.

“Boys, boys, boys! Please! No autographs, I’m a very busy man”, Nico tittered. One of the bikers shoved him in the shoulder, making him fumble backwards into the arms of another biker. This one shoved Nico back into the center of the huddle. “Listen here, ya gutterpunk,” the gang’s leader spoke out, combing back his hair into place, “Nobody touches Morado’s jacket. Nobody.” His goons repeated him with cackles, “Yeah, nobody! Morado’s king ‘round here!”

“Are you seriously talking in third person?” Nico raised a brow at Morado before turning to address his underlings, “And you guys let him do that?” Morado snarled at him. Nico threw his hands up and looked off to the side. “Jeez, you are a stereotype. But hey, I don’t judge! You do you. I can see you don’t want to answer any questions, I get it, I got it. Now, I’m part of a very famous and influential musical group, don’t bother looking us up, I’m sort of a celebrity.” Some of the bikers stepped backwards out of the huddle, not wanting to have to add assault and battery of someone famous to their criminal records. There was no humanly possible way to become more smug than Nico was at that moment, his smile stretching the corners of his mouth like rubber bands. “Yeah, that’s right, VIP coming through. So I’ll just squeeze past-” Nico began to slip through, but the biker’s hand that pushed his chest and thrusted him backwards stopped him. “Not so fast.”

Nico’s artificial smile quivered. “You’re in a band?” Morado glanced at the other two people standing by the jukebox. “Prove it. Play something.”

The sweat was starting to drip down the side of Nico’s face. He laughed nervously, “W-well, we don’t have our instruments, and we still have to do our vocal warm ups, uh-” Morado lifted Nico off the ground by his jacket collar. His arms flexed underneath his jacket sleeves, and Nico squeaked when he feld his feet swinging back and forth, a yard above the floor. “SING, LITTLE MAN!” The man roared in Nico’s face, shaking him. His goons closed the circle around them and whooped and cheered, excited to watch their boss in action. Nico swung his leg upwards like a hatchet, nailing Morado in the crotch with the heel of his boot. He let out a wail and dropped Nico to the floor, and the boy scrambled to his feet. Esmerelda and Bernard rushed to his side when he was assaulted, but Morado easily stepped between them once he recovered.

The gang leader cracked his knuckles with a menacing glare, the other bikers pulling out an array of weapons from their pockets and forming a wall behind their king. The reflections of their switchblades glinting in the overhead fluorescent lighting, Morado hissed, “See, Morado was just going to give you a quick pummeling and send you on your way. But now? Now, you’re dead meat.”

The music from the jukebox stopped. Esmerelda and Bernard pushed themselves past the barrier of bikers, and Nico braced for the impact of Morado’s fist in his face. But it never came. His clenched fist was raised in the air, his arm wound back and ready to launch, when the bouncer burst into the pub and yelled, “IT’S THE PIGS!”

Almost on cue, a drunkard sitting at the bar screamed out “SCATTER!” and threw the bottle of beer he was drinking from on the floor. The glass exploded like a small firecracker, and in a chaotic flurry, all of the bar’s patrons flew off in separate directions, breaking more bottles and flipping tables as they all made their escape before the police arrived. The biker gang dove through the exit in the kitchen, Morado warning the trio, “This ain’t over” before fleeing the scene. The lights flickered off. Esmerelda grabbed Nico by the arm and hefted him up, the three of them crawling out through the overhead window in the women’s bathroom.

“Great, now we have another enemy”,  Nico growled. Esmerelda brushed snow off her coat, the flakes sprinkling to the ground like powdered sugar, and she held up a finger in front of his face. “Correction. You have another enemy.”

Voshkie dialed a number on his scroll and listened to the dialtone. He stared into the embers that sizzled in his office fireplace, stoking it ever-so-slightly with a metal poker. He glanced down at the files in his hand. The building’s maid picked up the line. “Yes, Kelly? Could you to come in to the office early on monday? The Records Hall needs a good cleaning….yes, of course….yes…” Voshkie let the files fall into the fire, page by page, watching them turn black and disintegrate. Everything on Sable. Everything on the Hedge Witches. Everything that could compromise his position in office. “....Yes. That should be fine. Just make sure it gets taken care off. I have a mess of my own to attend to.”

[rayfollowsfromhere]

Sapphic September Day 7

Today's word was Cold.

-.-.-

The cemetary was empty when Domi got there. The lights on the street beside it had just flickered to life despite the sun hanging just above the rooflines. Given the lack of lights in the cemetary Domi didn't much mind.

She weaved between the headstones till she came to a half row of empty plots. There was a hole dug, splitting the empty plots from the full.

It was one of the last rows in the cemetery, butting right up against an old oak tree and well-hidden from the park beyond by a tall hedge. In the quiet of the cemetery you could even hear the families playing on the other side - the children laughing and squealing as they ran around.

Domi stopped at the grave on the other side of the hole. She crouched. There was no marker the last time she'd come to visit and she was surprised to see a curly script on her brother's grave.

Beloved Son, Galvin Davies, 1984-2012.

"I'm officially older than you big brother." Her voice cracked and Domi took a stuttering breath. "I graduated ya know. Finished my residency just last year."

There was no response, of course. Domi didn't believe in ghosts or magic or whatever else Eleanora thought she could do. But…she still kinda hoped to hear her brother's voice.

Domi reached a hand out, let her fingers trace the lettering her mother had selected. She pursed her lips, "Sorry I haven't visited." She glanced to her left, to the hole her sister would be lowered into tomorrow. "Sorry it took something -"

Footsteps alerted Domi to someone behind her. Though they stopped a few rows back. She cleared her throat and stood.

When she turned around Domi came face to face with Amity Lawn. Her spine straightened and her eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

Amity Lawn looked just as she remembered him - square jaw, leather jacket, and scuffed up boots. His face had a few more angles on it now and his eyes were ringed with yellowing bruises from lack of sleep.

"S-sorry…" Amity couldn't- or wouldn't- meet her eyes. He gestured a bit. It drew her eyes to the bouquet of flowers in his hands. "I was just-" he gestured again, this time towards Gavin.

Domi found herself stepping towards him, placing herself between her brother and his would-be murderer. "Go away."

His eyes finally flickered up as his hand, jittery and pale, ran through his hair. "I didn't mean-"

"I said go away!" Domi screamed at him. Her voice echoed, too loud in the quiet cemetary. Amity flinched back. He took three paces before stopping.

His chest and shoulders rose as he took a noticeable breath. She recognized the technique - eight in, eight out. Her fingers curled into fists and her nails dug into her palms.

Amity's chin rose and Domi was struck by the flatness of his eyes. Listless. It was like staring into the earth itself, but far less comforting. Less comforting in that it sent warning bells off in every lobe of her brain, including the cerebellum - which was providing exactly zero help as her feet refused to move.

"The lady said to leave." Eleanora's voice was as flat as Amity's eyes and it sparked a flicker in them. Amity took the bouquet with him when he fled.

Domi had jumped what felt like three feet when Eleanora spoke. When she turned around, again, she found the woman behind her.

"How long have you been here?" Domi groaned as Eleanora smiled at her.

"A while," she shrugged, nodded her head in the direction Amity fled, "I wanted to see if he'd show up."

Domi took a breath, flexed her hands a few times to loosen the fingers. "How did you know-"

"That your brother was the one he attacked?" Eleanora raised a brow. "Despite you not telling me that crucial bit of info?" Her smile stretched wider.

Domi rested her hands on her hips. "I told you about my brother years ago."

"You said he died, due to an accident." Eleanora snorted as she gestured with her thumb behind her, "Dude used a rope. That was no accident."

"Well?" Domi gestured out, "How'd you figure out it was my brother he attacked?"

Eleanora rolled her eyes, long and slow, before giving Domi a pointed look. "This isn't that big of a town. Two men get attacked in roughly the same time period, it isn't hard to piece together, Domi."

"That's..." Domi nodded, sighed, "…fair." Eleanora chuckled. Her laugh was dry and hollow. Gooseflesh spread across Domi's skin at the sound. "You okay, Nora?"

"Been a day," Eleanora's lips trembled, but her smile held. "Been a while since anyone's called me that."

Domi shook her head, grinned, "Been kind of a day for me too." She rolled her shoulders back. With a tilt of her she asked, "Wanna get some food? The bar's just across the street."

"Bar food huh?" Eleanora clapped her on the shoulder as she started walking. Domi followed half a step behind. "It's gotta be a helluva day for a doctor to suggest that."

"The occasional soul food is good for everyone," Domi hip checked Eleanora as the stepped onto the sidewalk. "Occasional being the key word."

Eleanora kept her mouth shut all the way into Patrick's Pub. Once she plopped herself onto a stool she leveled another look at Domi, "I am confused about one thing."

"Just the one?" Domi flagged down the bartender and ordered a scotch. Eleanora ordered water and chili cheese fries. Extra cheese.

"In this town, your ex-stalker is the sheriff and the man who murdered your brother might have been dating your sister." Domi closed her eyes and wished for her scotch to get there sooner as Eleanora spoke. "Why the hell would you move back here?"

The bartender delivered her scotch. Domi downed it and tapped the edge of the glass for a refill. "In my defense, I didn't know Amity was back." She rolled her neck, "And technically, Galvin committed suicide."

Eleanora tutted at her, water still untouched, "Semantics."

"I grew up here. My family was here. Is here." Domi sighed, downed her second scotch, and shoved the glass away. "It's not like I knew Ana was going to get murdered the day before I arrived."

A hand patted her shoulder and Domi glanced at Eleanora to see her looking at the bar top with scrunched up eyebrows.

"You're shit at comfort."

Eleanora shoved her shoulder then, "If you wanted comfort you should have stayed in Nashville where you could drink with Sera."

"Yeah..." Domi folded her arms over the bar and rested her head atop them. "I suppose that would've been better."

"Suppose?" Eleanora snorted befor finally bringing her water to her lips. She shook her head as she glanced around the bar. "And you call me nuts?"

When the psychic has a point, you know you're screwed. Domi groaned and turned her head to bury her face in her arms.

"Only behind your back." Domi mumbled into the wooden bartop.

"Hey!" Eleanora flagged down the bartender, "Double that order of fries or the doc here is going to be drunker than a skunk within half an hour."

Domi turned her head to glower at Eleanora, who sipped at her water with a smile. "I hate you."

"Feelings mutual," Eleanora patted her back a few times. Domi watched her scope out the rest of the bar, eyeing each patron with the aid of the bar's mirror and the shiny jukebox.

Eleanora would know all the juicy secrets by closing time.

"Can I get a bourbon? The cheap stuff." Eleanora nodded her thanks as the bartender set the fries down between them. Domi upped her estimate to midnight as Eleanora dropped from her stool to go mingle.

"At least she left the fries," Domi mumbled to herself before picking up the cheesiest looking fry in the basket.

Cheese makes everything better. Even sitting in a bar with a psychic she didn't like, or believe in, in a town where that psychic was the friendliest face.

[childoftimeandmagic]

Mending Major Problems

My first actual Queliot fic. You can also read it on AO3. 

FYI @kickassfu you’re welcome.

Mending of minor objects: a small and useless discipline, just like himself. Small, hazardous, and maladjusted. Fixing a toy plane, a mug, a kite for christs sake. Yet he couldn’t fix the big things. Couldn’t help Julia, couldn’t put Alice back together, fix Fillory, fix magic. None of it worked. Quentin for all his efforts, had in fact made most if not all of those situations worse. Maybe his mother had been right. Maybe Mayakovsky had been wrong. Maybe it came with a curse. Which meant the bigger the problem he tried to fix...maybe he just broke it more.

Sitting at Eliot’s side his fingers worrying the pages of Fillory and Further: The World Within the Walls. As he stared at the familiar pages, he thought about the last month of panic and intense fear; which had come to culmination in such an anticlimactic way. In the end it hadn’t been anything he’d done. Julia had negotiated them a deal.

Alive that had been the deal. They all got out of this alive and wouldn’t ever bother the monster or his sister again. The sister who had been shoved into Julia, only for Julia’s consciousness and god powers to expel her back out into the ether. The monster did not enjoy that, but there hadn’t been anything he could do about it. The influx of powers by awakening his older sister had jump-started Julia’s powers within herself. They’d found the body to hold his sister and then as Julia told it, the two goddesses had parlayed. 

Apparently the sister and Julia had come to an agreement. Something to solve the issues that the young goddesses had felt was applicable. So one fresh goddess and a newly awakened goddess worked out a deal for everyone, the entire thing though hinged on the monster returning Eliot to him them. They’d found an agreeable replacement, a god stripped of his spark. With no powers to reawaken, a weak conscious, and no backbone of substance to fight the possession.

Let Persephone deal with the twins if she cared about her son so much, that wasn’t their problem. Reynard would be the replacement for Eliot’s body. The monster’s sister knew a spell that would transfer her brother into him. All they’d had to do was win against Everett, and the library. Zelda had been initially enraged at what they’d agreed too. She had reluctantly agreed it was the only way, and if not then they were in for something far more dangerous. She’d quickly agreed to an amended deal as it saved the majority of the library’s contents from harm.

Everett had proven almost impossible to stop. Even with three gods, seven magicians, and a network of hedges all working together it hadn’t been easy. They’d managed it though and after they’d dealt with Everett, and fulfilled their promise to the young gods who’d been so horribly abused by the greed of man.The binder was burned and destroyed, which would allow them to disappear into obscurity.

They’d retreated to the new Library to lick their wounds.Alice was still in the infirmary with burns on her arms. Kady, Harriet, and Zelda had immediately started releasing magic back into the world. The sister, had in turn found a body that would work forever, and hold her soul encased. Julia had traveled back to Fillory to help ease the influx of magic that had explode through the multiverse with the defeat of the Everett led library.  

That had been four days ago, Eliot hadn’t woken up though. Nothing had brought him back. Not Margo beating on his chest, Fen crying over him, and then there was himself talking to Eliot whispering shared memories. The healers at the infirmary couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t waking up as his body was perfectly fine. So they’d taken him back to Kady’s loft so he’d be in a less frantic environment  if  when he woke up.

After the second day, Margo and Fen had been forced back to Fillory. Something about talking animals revolting or maybe the nymphs were going insane. Quentin if asked couldn’t give an answer. His focus had been solely on the brunette man lying peacefully on the bed. Putting the book down Quentin ran his fingers over the spine of the old much loved paperback.

Julia and Penny 23 were off doing goddess knows what, goddess knows where. Q had promised her that he wouldn’t lose himself in trying to wake Eliot up. Julia and Penny had tried to gain access to his mind, but had been rejected or barred from Eliot’s mind palace. When that had failed, Alice and Zelda had offered to search the library for anything about being unable to wake up following a possession.

“Remember those mornings back in Fillory when the sun would catch the dew just right and refract little rainbows everywhere?” Q murmured, shifting so he could stretch his back out and look around the room. “You would bend the light with Popper 98 and Teddy would giggle for ages.”

“You were always so good with him, especially after Arielle passed. Then we just gave each other a chance,” Quentin laughed, to himself scrubbing a hand over his face. Tears pricking his eyes as he looked down at the love of his life. “Gods, I miss Teddy and Arielle so much. You promised me El, you said I’d never have to do this alone. So you can’t stay in there forever.”

“I just -- need you to wake up.” Standing for the first time in a day-maybe two. His bladder screaming. His stomach knotted and nauseous he moved slowly through Kady’s loft to the bathroom. Wincing at his reflection Margo would call him an idiot. He had school, friends to help, a kingdom to support, and he was wallowing. His eyes sunken, hair growing out again, god he needed a haircut bad. Scrubbing his hands clean and zipping his pants he groaned.

Dragging himself through the loft toward the kitchen. The empty mug from someone who had given him a beverage of some sort in his hand. No one seemed to be around. Which was probably better, Quentin didn’t think he could handle conversation with anyone right now. Turning on the coffee pot that someone, probably Julia had set up before. He leaned against the counter.

None of the books on magical comas had any idea what to do about this, they all said once the spell or the possession had ended, the soul of the original inhabitant would return. If they hadn’t been completely snuffed out. As long as the body wasn’t dead or hadn’t been killed while possessed, everything should be okay. Eliot should have woken right the fuck up. Yet, Eliot was unconscious upstairs, and Q was here making coffee and searching his tired brain for something that would fix this.

“Q, you in there?” Kady’s voice broke through to him finally and he looked up from were his head had been resting on his hands. When had she-god he was tired.

“Not really Kady,” he admitted looking at his fri-acquaintance, honestly at this point he was as close to Kady as he’d ever be. Hew as still not as close to her as Margo, Julia or Alice. But, Kady was here.

“I take it Sleeping Beauty hasn’t woken up,” Kady asked, pouring both of them a cup of coffee. “Cause you look awful Coldwater.”

“Gee thanks, and no he’s still sound asleep,” Quentin murmured, taking the cup she’d slid his way. Offering a gentle smile he sipped at the coffee and let out a bit of tension in his shoulders.

“Why don’t you just kiss him,” she asked, clearly joking, “you love him enough that you were willing to burn the world to get him back. Doesn’t true loves kiss always wake the princess?”

“Har har-” Q glared at Kady before he remembered that Fillory had also been a story “-wait that could work,” Quentin said, bolting back up the stairs to the room he was sharing with Eliot, though Eliot was sound asleep.

“Q it’s not going to work, that’s just a freaking kids story,” Kady shouted, shaking her head feeling bad for the nerd. It was just another disappointment in the making. Sipping her coffee she sent off a quick group text <Q’s trying something dumb, come back in case it doesn’t work.>

Standing in the door way he looked at the prone body of the man he’d lived fifty years with, the king he wanted to protect and guard for all time. Walking slowly over to the side of the bed, praying to Julia as hard as he possibly could that it worked. He leaned down. Eliot’s lips were warm and dry as he kissed him gently, pulling away. Nothing.

“Eliot Waugh you fucking pain in my ass. Get up, or I swear to god I am done,” he whispered, dropping down onto his knees at the side of the bed. Looking at the love of his life, who even with a kiss hadn’t woken up. Burying his head in his hands he started to finally cry. He couldn’t fix anything. 

“Brave...for you,” Eliot’s voice was a rasp, Q looked up eyes glossy and cheeks wet.

“El?” Q whispered, cupping Eliot’s face gently as he turned to look at him. Blinking.

“I need to be braver for you,” Eliot coughed out, sitting up feeling musty and gross but no longer locked in his mind. He couldn’t go somewhere he’d never been and the room wasn’t familiar. Also Q’s hair was shorter than he remembered it. He was awake.

“Oh god, I have to get Margo back from Fillory. You’re awake,” Q rambled, looking at Eliot who was blinking and moving around slowly. Pulling himself into a seated position as he looked from Q to the room and back. Pulling away only to have the man in question grab his hand. Intertwining their fingers tightly.

“Q don’t leave me,” he murmured, looking at their joined hands. Q was the only thing he recognized. Q was here, they’d done it -he’d done it. He’d saved him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Q said, switching tactics to pull out his phone. Texting Kady that El was up and to get Margo here asap. He put his phone away and sat on the bed all without breaking the grip Eliot had on his hand.

Eliot was shaken to his core, he’d stumbled across the memories of Teddy and their life in Fillory. He’d made a refuge there, watching his family grow. Reliving the memories in his mind as he waited to either wake up or die, whichever came first. Suddenly everything had started to fade, first the cottage then his memory self, then Teddy and finally Q. Tears started to pour down his cheek.

“El what’s wrong?” Quentin asked, gently running his fingers through Eliot’s hair as the taller man dropped his head onto his shoulder. Sobs shaking his body.

“I was with him Q, I was rewatching all of Teddy’s firsts. Now I’m awake and you’re here. I love that, but he’s gone,” Eliot whimpered wrapping his arms around Q’s waist, feeling broken and tired. Gods he felt so tired.

“Oh El.” He wrapped his arms around his friend, holding him tight. Running his hand over Eliot’s back gently. “Teddy is always in your heart, so he’s never gone.”

“So you and Alice?” Eliot sniffed, reading himself for rejection. It was always Q and Alice. It was best to ask now, make sure he didn’t make a fool of himself.

“You have got to be kidding me, I literally give you true loves kiss, and you think I’m back together with Alice?” Q asked, snorting at the thought. “No she’s off helping Zelda and Harriet rebuild the library. I think, or somewhere else, I didn’t really care honestly.”

“So you’re single?” El asked, wiping at his eyes, feeling foolish.

“That depends on you Waugh, am I?” Q asked, looking at the man he’d been madly in love with for almost a year. A man he’d been ready to die for, and one he would rip the world apart brick by brick to bring home.

“Absofuckinglutely not,” Eliot said, more forcefully than he’d originally intended. Cupping Q’s face in his hands he looked into Q’s eyes. “I love you Quentin Coldwater. You’re never getting rid of me again. No more running. No more bullshit. I’m yours.”

“I love you too Eliot,” Quentin said, his thoughts torn. Maybe he could fix somethings after all.