#did I mention that the upcoming chapter of 'In A Heartbeat' has a lot of these?

[yarrystyleeza]

whenever I'm writing and I drop "The Devil smirked/smiled/grinned" this is what I want to project:

I can't stress enough how much this man has an effect on me.

[for-doritos-and-aslan]

Locket and Key- Chapter Four (mob! Tom Holland x reader)

Warnings: mentions of drugs, death, kidnapping, shitty writing, fire, filthy smut in upcoming chapters also the format came out really weird IM SORRY

Note: Y/L/N- your last name, (your actual last name will be different within this fan-fiction)

prologue

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

-

As the sound of a metallic click resonated throughout the room, you felt your heartbeat pause. The oxygen within the air almost felt non-existent, as if someone had ripped every molecule from the air. Tom popped open the locket and revealed a picture: two young children sitting in the grass. The photograph was worn by time, its edges frayed and graying. Still it spoke volumes.

Everything he had said was true.

Your knees couldn’t support you anymore; you would’ve collapsed to the ground, if it wasn’t for his strong arms catching you. And strangely, they felt safe- like nothing in the world would ever harm you as long as you were within his arms. Slowly, he led you over to a chair and sat you down.

“It’s all right, darling. I can explain everything, I promise. I know this is a lot at once, but I had to take you before someone else got you.”

He was sitting on his desk, brown eyes staring into yours intently. They held a small spark of light within them, but they were also filled with darkness. As if a singular star had fallen from the sky into a black sea.

He had seen things. He had killed people. Life had not been easy on him.

“I-I don’t understand. Why would you move away?” you asked. The brief memories you had of the boy were on summer holidays to the countryside, but most of that was blurry. You were young, the memories could be false. The things you remembered most were times spent under the sun, and how he made you laugh.

“I didn’t move away, Y/N. You did. In fact, you were taken away.” he spat, clenching the wood beneath his fingers. His knuckles turned white at the pressure, blood leaving his veins.

“What?”

“Everything you’ve ever known has been a lie. Those people? Not your parents. Your home? Not really your home. Ask yourself why your parents wanted to send you away, why you were so far from London, and why you could never really go out anywhere without one of your parents with you. Ask yourself why strange people would come into the house and discuss “business” at your dinner table.”

You were silent, unable to speak. There wasn’t much to say when your entire world was falling apart.

“I have everything within a file here. Who you actually are, who your parents actually are, where you were born, and your death, apparently. Except, you never really died.” he seemed to be staring directly into your soul. Your eyes widened, and you stood up quickly.

“This can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t.”

The pressure building within your chest was unbearable, crushing, smothering. The chair fell back behind you, crashing to the floor. It echoed throughout the room, making your ears throb in repetition. Tom stood up, unsure of what to do. All he could think of was to comfort you as he had done as a kid.

The sky above was bright, the air balmy and warm. Small birds sang from the treetops, swinging from branch to branch. The sun filled the countryside with a rare, sunny day, casting golden light on growing flowers. The smell of spring was in the air, the promise of life after the coldness of winter.

Billy was fast, climbing up the hill with confident, boyish steps. You were almost as fast as him, but the day had been long, and you were tired. Suddenly, a hidden tree root seemed to sprout from the ground. You tripped, falling to your knees. The ground wasn’t kind, and you felt pain blossom after you fell. Billy heard you cry and turned around, immediately running to your side.

“You okay, bubs?” Immediately, you started crying. Billy sat on his knees and wiped the tears from your eyes, giving you a smile. “Don’t worry now, don’t cry. I can fix it up real quick.” He pulled you into his small arms, hugging you to him. And in that moment, pain didn’t exist.

And just like he did when you were a child, Tom brought you to his chest. He had changed over the years, but under all the exteriors he wanted to put on for the world, his heart was still good. He began to stroke your hair gently, quietly rocking you back and forth. The sudden physical contact startled you, but you soon melted within his touch. It was almost like you were meant to be there. Almost like the gods had crafted his arms specifically to hold you.

Hours seemed to pass as the room was enveloped in silence, except for the soft sound of your breaths and erratic heartbeat. Finally, Tom pulled away.

“You ready?” he asked, his hand grasping the file behind him. With a deep breath, you prepared yourself. “Yes.” It was the strongest your voice had sounded all evening.

He opened the file, pulling out a small stack of papers that were clearly very old. They were wrinkled, as if someone had gone over them several times. Hundreds, even.

“You were born in London to a powerful family, one that was once well-known and ruled the streets. Do you know of the mafia in London, love?” he paused for a moment, and waited for you to nod. “The mafia has ruled London for centuries, but the hand of power has passed from family to family. Several families have ruled at once, but very few empires have lasted for more than a few decades. My family has been in power for centuries, ruling the underground. And for a while, we held no allies- until your family came in. Just as powerful, but wanting to combine their power with ours. The Langstons, which is your real last name. I have your birth certificate here.” He tossed a small piece of paper over to you, and there it was.

Y/N Langston, born to Michael and Julia Langston. The date of your birthday was different, but within the same year. And it occurred to you that you had never actually seen your real birth certificate. Such curiosities had been dismissed by your parents. Except, they weren’t even your real parents.

“You were too young to remember, but you are correct about one thing. My family would take holidays with yours to the countryside when we were young, up until the age of seven. You knew me as Billy, a childhood nickname I was given because of a play I was in at a very young age. Everything was fine, up until the winter before we turned eight. And that’s when things got ugly.” He took a moment to let you take in the information.

“Being in the mafia, you have several enemies. The public, the police, and other people in the underground. People want that power for themselves, and at the time, another mob was rising. You’ll know them as Y/L/N. They hated my family and yours, but specifically your Father. Your father was a good man, but he wasn’t a saint. He stole a shipment of drugs from this rising mob, but in the process, lives were lost. He had attacked the family’s home, where the drugs had been stored until they could be sold for a large sum of money. It was around 30,000 pounds in street value, mostly cocaine, fentanyl, marijuana, and speed. Gunfire erupted, but the daughter of the Y/L/N was killed in the process. Your “father,” was outraged. That’s when everything collapsed.”

Silence ensued.

“You were probably around seven, and it was May 18th. A swarm broke into your home, and a fight broke out. Men were lost on both sides, but they took you and your parents, and dragged them to a warehouse in the outskirts of London. They set it on fire, and two bodies were found, whatever was left of them. Another body was found as well, and it was presumed to be yours. But we didn’t have the resources nor the technology to confirm it, and the police mostly stayed out of mafia business. So, it was confirmed that you were dead. But we didn’t know for sure, and I always held onto hope. People stopped looking, and we knew, at this point, your parents were definitely dead. The Y/L/N had fucked up so many things, shattered an empire, and wounded my family in the process.” he explained.

You hadn’t noticed, but tears were silently slipping down your cheeks. You couldn’t speak, you could only sit there in shock.

“But why take me?” your voice was barely heard, but there was anger hidden in it.

“Payback for taking their daughter from them. Your “so-called” family must be crazy, thinking they can use you as a replacement for their deceased daughter. It’s fucked up.” he ran a hand through his hair. “You’ve been a fugitive for most of your life.”

Placing your hands on your face, you brought your knees to your chest and began to cry. Everything was too much, it was all too much.

“And from what Tanner told me, you explained that you lived your life in the countryside, in a small town no one knows, far away from London. The attack on your real parents must have wounded the Y/L/N family, and they knew we would find them if they had stayed in London. So, they moved out to the countryside. And it’s no wonder you can’t remember anything; huge amounts of trauma at a young age are often blocked out by the brain, in an attempt to protect the individual.”

You nodded, unable to do anything else. “But how would it hurt you and your family?” you asked, thinking back to what he had said before.

“Because, Y/N,” he took a breath to compose himself. “Because we were arranged to be married. And, because you are alive, it still stands.”

-

My apologies on the lateness of the update, but here you go! and also for the cliffhanger oops

Taglist: @ellabellabus07 @aquawomxn @fangirl125reader @aiianovna

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[mymelodyheart]

Save The Date Chapter 11 ~What’s Brewing Claire?~

picture credit

 Previously in Stramash ...

Jamie pulled back to look at her face and tipped her chin up to survey the cut on her lips. "He did this?"

She could only nod as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

Jamie turned the gun in his hand and marched towards the door, shouting at the police ushering Jack out to wait. Before Claire could scream for him to stop, he brought his forehead down on Jack's nose in a head butt before handing the weapon to a nearby officer. The sound of cartilage crunching echoed in the tiny room, making Claire wince. Jack fell onto his knees with a loud thud, holding his bleeding nose, shouting improprieties muffled by his hands.

"Now, that was uncalled for, Fraser," an officer clucked, but his grin and the amusement in his eyes implied he wasn't too bothered over Jack's injury. "Now go and get some rest. I'll handle the paperwork and delay the statement for tomorrow morning. You both have done enough to save the day."

  If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

  Jamie studied Claire. She lay relaxed on the examination table, going through her phone and reading messages. She looked untroubled and seemed to have recovered from the ordeal this past weekend. The only tell-tale sign left of that hellish night was the tiny scab on her lower lip and bruising on her right cheek where Jack Randall had struck her. She was whole and safe, and yet here he was, having trouble letting go of that incident.

When he'd helplessly watched Jack shoved a gun against her neck and dragged her away from his sight, he'd felt the full gravity of her vulnerability and his inadequacy to secure her safety. But how Claire had handled the situation was nothing short of mind-blowing, albeit heart-stopping. She'd kept her presence of mind, aptly keeping Geneva talking while the tech specialist monitored the audio listening device. The moment they'd identified the voice on the phone, the administration in Broadmoor had been immediately alerted to make sure Geneva didn't go anywhere until the police arrived.

Geneva and Jack were in jail now, awaiting trial and most likely would stay there for a very long time. He really needed to stop fixating on what could have gone wrong and focus on the matter at hand, like their baby's condition and Claire's health.

He puffed out a breath and sprung onto his feet. "Ye comfy, Sassenach?"

"I'm good," she replied, without looking up from her phone screen.

"Ye ken, we can cancel the baby reveal for another day."

"I know, but I prepared so much food already."

They were having his family and closest friends over for afternoon tea to share the news of their baby. Claire had insisted on a celebration to invalidate the ordeal Geneva had put them through, determined not to allow recent events to cast a shadow over their upcoming nuptials. Jamie had thought it was too soon, but Claire had pressed that the sooner they moved forward from the incident, the better. 

So last night, she'd spent the entire evening preparing shortcrust pastries, scones batter and making Victorian sponge cake. Apparently, she'd taken some lessons in baking and cooking from Mrs Fitz so that she could host parties like Jenny and his ma. It was as if her work, all the travelling she'd been doing, preparing for the wedding and recovering from trauma wasn't enough. She also needed to put up a brave front.

Though the doctor had given Claire an all-clear in London after a routine checkup, Jamie had insisted on another examination when she'd complain of spotting last night. He hadn't a clue what that had meant, but the concerned look on her face was enough for him to push her for another doctor's appointment. To his relief, she'd hardly put up a fight, and he'd immediately arranged a consultation with a private practice to speed things along since the NHS hospitals were notorious for long waits.

"I just want ye to be certain, Sassenach. That's all. I dinnae want this tea party putting a strain on ye."

Claire put her phone down and glanced up at him. "I'm pregnant, Jamie, not incapacitated. I know you're worried about the spotting, but I'm quite certain pregnant women gets them sometimes. I don't feel ill, but here we are, taking precautions."

Sighing, he moved to her side and took her hand in his. "It's just that I'm bothered about that bruise behind yer back. It looks vicious. I ken bruising looks a lot worse than it is, but I cannae help but wonder if the baby has been harmed when ye banged yer behind on those shelving units after Jack pushed ye. I'm concerned about any delayed complications. Or if the doctor in London overlooked something."

She squeezed his hand. "Your worries are valid, Jamie. The odds of miscarriage or complications might be highest in the first trimester, but I haven't had any issues." She shrugged. "Oh, well, except for the tiny spotting last night. I'm sure everything's fine. Try not to worry."

Easier said than done, Jamie thought. How could Claire sit there looking so calm?  Now that she's pregnant, the world was suddenly full of threats: unpasteurised juice and dairy, soft cheeses that she loved so much, fish high in mercury, saunas and hot tubs, secondhand smoke, changing Adso's litterbox. Not to mention aunt Jocasta's bloody stories of baby-abducting fairies. He really needed to stop reading too much pregnancy information; otherwise, he'd go insane.

Claire gave him a look that said she could tell he was overthinking things.

He promptly kissed her on the lips. "Aye, I guess ye're right," he conceded. "I'm sorry for over-reacting."

The door suddenly opened, and in walked a friendly-looking middle-aged female doctor. "Hello, Claire! Dr Fiona Innes. How are we feeling today?"

"I'm good, just a bit nervous about the spotting," Claire breathed. 

"Understandably." Then the doctor turned to Jamie. "And ye're..."

"James Fraser. The one who got her up the duff," he replied, taking the doctor's outstretched hand and giving it a firm shake. 

"Jamie!" Claire gasped, her face crimsoning profusely.

The doctor laughed. "Hah! I like that! A good sense of humour will get ye through anything." She dragged the ultrasound monitor closer to the exam table and pulled up a stool. "So, let's get started so we can put both yer mind at ease, shall we?" She proceeded to put gloves on and prepare the probe that Jamie had the unfortunate luck of knowing already what it was for. "Now, Claire, I want ye to lie back and place yer feet in the stirrups." 

Claire did as she was told while Jamie helped her ease down. He winced when he heard the sound of latex snapping over the probe. He looked away and took Claire's hand in his.

"Is this your first ultrasound visit, Mr Fraser?"

He glanced over his shoulder, thinking the doctor must have noticed the strain on his face. "Aye and no."

Dr Innes arched an eyebrow.

Jamie pointed at the probe and tried not to grimace. "I've seen a doctor used that thing on her when she was hospitalised a few weeks ago. I hadn't known what was going on then, so I walked away and let them get on with it."

"I see." The doctor refocused her attention back to Claire. "Now relax for me and big deep breaths," Dr Innes advised as she put lubricating gel on the blunt tip of the probe. "This will be a tad bit uncomfortable."

Claire shut her eyes and took a deep breath while Jamie whispered all sorts of nonsense in her ear. When her grip clenched into a tight vice, he pressed his lips on the top of her head.

A few seconds passed, and that's when he heard it. He stilled. It was loud, clear and steady. The unmistakable sound of a heartbeat coming from the monitor. It was their baby's. He let out a sharp exhale, realising he'd discovered something powerful in the tiny, vulnerable life form growing in Claire's womb.

His ma once said that the heartbeat was the first music that a child heard and that every bairn was born knowing the rhythm of their mother's song. To Jamie, this was the sound of their child's soul, the unspoken words already speaking volumes. It was as if it was saying, I'm alive and well, can you hear me?

"Weel, that sounds like a strong and healthy heartbeat there," Dr Innes remarked. "See right there?" Jamie and Claire stirred in their positions to take a better look at where the doctor was pointing. "That's yer baby."

Releasing Claire's hand, Jamie stepped closer to the monitor and tipped his head to the side, adjusting his eyes to discern the grainy image on the monitor. When he finally figured out the shape, mixed emotions began to bombard him in all directions. He felt the complexity of love at seeing a piece of himself and Claire on the screen, inspiring fierce protective instinct to kindle within him. Words like elation, joy and sobering responsibility were too meagre terms and did not give justice in describing how visceral all his emotions were.

"T-that ..." Jamie pointed an index finger at the image, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Is that a ..."

"It's not what ye think, Mr Fraser. That's the foot," Dr Innes responded briskly. She shifted the probe at a different angle to capture another image. "As far as I can see, everything seems to be in perfect working order. I can safely say ye have a healthy, strong baby, so ye can both rest easy."

Jamie continued to stare at the monitor, still trying to wrap the idea of impending fatherhood around his head. "The baby is no' missing any parts, is it?"

"The baby has everything it should have at this stage of the pregnancy," the doctor replied, amused. "Though I think we'll need another few weeks to be able to tell the gender."

"Thank you so much, doctor," Claire said gratefully, pushing herself upright. "We were worried about the spotting and thought it might have had to do with the stress and trauma of what happened last weekend. It was mad, really. I nearly got abducted and had a gun pointed at me."

The doctor threw the probe's latex into the waste and began peeling off her gloves, seemingly unaffected by what Claire had just revealed, making Jamie think physicians were used to hearing such stories. The doctor gave them both an understanding look. "Having a gun pointed at ye is quite jarring, so I understand why ye're both concerned. So how are ye coping mentally?" 

"I try not to dwell on it and carry on as usual," Claire shrugged. "So far, I'm dealing with it fine."

The doctor looked at Claire curiously, her expression full of empathy. "Sometimes ignoring it isn't as cut and dried as you think. Try and get some counselling. Ye're going to deal enough with all the hormones impacting yer physiological, physical and mental well being. This is the time to be enjoying this exciting time in yer life, so counselling is just taking a precautionary step to ensure you are in a good place and prepared for what the next few months will throw at ye."

Jamie locked eyes with Claire, and a silent agreement passed between them. They both understood the impact of a traumatising experience, and he wanted to take the doctor's advice on board. 

"I'll make sure she and the baby are well taken care of," he reassured the doctor, patting Claire's thigh.

"I'm sure ye will," the doctor smiled, pressing buttons on the monitor.

"Let's just hope he won't go over the top," Claire added. "He has a tendency to do that."

The doctor pulled out copies of ultrasound images from the printer and glanced up at Jamie. "I can understand the need to protect, but just bear in mind, us women are more resilient and stronger than we look," she pointed out. "And pregnant women aren't as frail as society perceives them to be."

Jamie laughed. "There's no question about that. After all, my wife-to-be here achieved what twenty-four specialist firearms officers could not."

"Oh?" Dr Innes looked surprised. "And what was that?"

"She single-handedly took down a maximum-security prisoner escapee, helped led the police to his psychopathic accomplice and in the process saved an innocent mistakenly imprisoned," Jamie explained. "I ken it was a foolish move with her being pregnant and all ..."

"It might have been foolish, but I happen to believe Claire's response is inherent in all mothers and mothers-to-be, and it's something almost impossible for the human brain to override." 

"Och, aye?"

"It's called maternal instinct, Mr Fraser, and it's as old as life itself." Dr Innes got up and handed him an envelope containing the ultrasound images. "So woe to anyone who dares a mother-to-be or new mother harm because they're utterly more ferocious than any man wielding a gun when it comes to defending their nest." She looked between him and Claire and smiled. "Anyway, congratulations to you both on your coming parenthood." Then she faced Jamie and patted him on the shoulder. "And as for ye, congratulations on yer newly acquired bodyguard. Ye can sleep well tonight." 

..........

Jamie walked in and placed the last of their shopping bags onto the kitchen counter. "Is there anything else ye need, Sassenach, before I go?"

Claire felt him approach and busied herself, placing apples in a large bowl and then lemons in another. "Umm ...I think I have everything I need." She felt his eyes boring into her back but tried her best not to get distracted. "Shall I make a sandwich to take with you?"

"No, I'm no' hungry."

"Oh, alright ...I guess I shall see you later then."

"I have a few minutes to spare. Want to talk?"

"Talk about what?"

"What ye're feeling. Ye haven't said much all morning ...since we left the clinic. And ye hardly talked to me while we went food shopping."

She took out a knife and honing steel from a drawer and went through the motion of sharpening the blade. "Oh ...I guess I must have been preoccupied with my mental to-do list. That's all."

A long silence ensued, and after what felt like an eternity, he let out an exasperated sigh. "Sassenach, can ye stop what ye're doing for a minute and look at me?"

Hot tears suddenly settled behind her eyes, but she fiercely blinked them back and breathed deeply, swallowing down conflicting emotions and refusing to let them fall. She didn't want to be the type of woman who cried at the littlest and inconsequential thing. She'd never been a crier before, and she wasn't about to become one if she could help it.

"I'm busy, Jamie."

"Please."

Bracing herself, she placed down her utensils and faced him. "What is it?"

"This ..." Jamie waved his hand at the shopping bags on the counter. "I ken what this is. Ye havenae sat still ever since we came back from our trip. Ye've decluttered our bedroom and cleaned out all the kitchen cupboards. And now an afternoon tea party? I ken what ye're doing. Ye're keeping yersel' busy to forget what happened in London instead of talking about it."

"No." She shook her head. "It's not that."

Jamie impatiently rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "Weel, what is up with ye then?"

"Hormones."

"Hormones," Jamie echoed. "Why did you no' just say so?"

She felt her face heat up. "I don't know. Maybe I didn't know it at the time. Or perhaps, because it all seems so silly that I'm getting all worked up for nothing."

Jamie stepped closer and braced her cheeks with both hands, a calloused thumb tenderly swiping her lower lip. "Listen to me very carefully. Whatever ye're feeling or going through, hormonal or not, is never silly. Everything ye have to say is important to me. Trust me on that. I always want to know if something is bothering ye and be able to help ye fix it. Yer body is going through many changes, and it's normal yer emotions are all over the place. So no more self-deprecating thoughts about yer feelings. Am I making myself clear?"

She pursed her lips and nodded, tamping down the urge to cry.

"Very well then, tell me what's going through that mind of yers. At least we can clear the air between us before I go, and my whole family comes and start noticing that something isnae right. Today is supposed to be a celebration of our baby. I dinnae want anything to ruin this day in as much as I think we should delay this for another time."

"Fine." She shut her eyes to search for the right words, but no matter how she formulated them in her head, it didn't sound right. Saying it out loud would only make her appear pathetic. But there was no way around it once Jamie set his mind in extracting something from her. 

"Sassenach?"

Her eyes flew open. "Yes?"

"Yer face is getting redder by the second. I'm beginning to worry."

"Very well, if you must know ..." She blew out a breath. "You haven't touched me since that night in London, that's what," she blurted out. "I feel like you're avoiding me. Every time it was time for us to go to bed, you always had some excuse, like you haven't walked the dog or you need to check the emails." Unable to hold it back any longer, she suddenly burst out crying. "I know it's hormones talking, and I'm acting silly. But I can't help but feel the way I feel because I'm hormonal and horny. That's why I'm keeping myself busy, so I will not overthink things. Because if I did, I'd start believing you don't want me anymore, even if logic says it's not true. Happy now?"

He blinked rapidly as if his brain was short-circuiting. 

"Yeah, just the reaction I knew I was going to get. See what I mean when I said I was acting silly?"

"No," he groaned out loud. "Sweet baby Jesus! Ye cannae say things like horny  when I have to go."

Claire slapped Jamie on the chest. "Jamie! You wanted to know what was wrong! Now that I've said it, you can't blame me for it!"

"Cancel the tea party, and I'll tell Willie I'll be late!"

"No!"

"Why no'?"

"Because!"

With a deep groan, he grabbed her neck from behind and gave her a hard kiss. There was nothing tender or playful about it, just a desperate act of trying to get his fill. He let out a frustrated moan as his tongue swept in her mouth, and a hand cupped her breast, his arousal hard and thick against her belly, letting her know how much he wanted her. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both gasping for air. He pressed their foreheads together, breathing harshly into her face. "How could ye think, even in yer hormonal state, I dinnae want ye any more? Damn it, Sassenach, I've been aching for ye these past few days."

"Then why didn't you touch me?" 

He shook his head as he attempted to even his breath. "That night in London, after I took ye back to the hotel, I wanted to bury myself deep inside ye so I could remind myself that ye're really alive and back in my arms. But when I saw that bruising behind yer back and knowing what ye've just been through in yer pregnant state, I thought if I took ye right there and then, I might cause ye irreparable damage, physically and psychologically. I wanted to make sure ye're properly healed first and that our baby was safe. God, all those nights I was away from our bed, I've been doing push-ups to release all those pent-up frustrations of not being able to make love to ye."

"So you did want me all along ..."

He tapped her nose. "Aye, ye silly goose."

"Oh Jamie," she sighed. "You still don't get it, do you?" She placed a hand against his face and smiled for the first time that morning. 

"Get what?" he asked, looking suddenly confused.

"You should know by now, lovemaking is the best stress reliever. I thought you knew that." 

"Weel ..."

"Remember the times when you were all worked up and conflicted, and how much better you felt after sex?" When he nodded, she pressed on. "Whenever you and I have sex, whether it's fast, hard, long or a quickie, it always came from a place of love. And we've talked about this before ...love heals. The most wonderful thing about our lovemaking, it puts us in that intimate space where we can better connect, heal, open us to those hard conversations, helping us in the process to find closure and release. If sex worked for you to ease your stress, why should it be any different for me? I needed you most after that horrendous night, Jamie. I needed your body to ground me. But I understand now why you didn't touch me that night."

Jamie stared at the ceiling and sighed before looking at her with a mixture of wonderment and torment. He let out a pained laugh. "Weel, right now, I'm under a lot of stress and pressure." He took her hand and placed it on his bulging arousal to make a point. "How about we continue this in the bedroom and let off some steam? I'm stressed, and ye're horny. Ideal combo! Ye can use my body anyway ye want."

Claire clucked her tongue and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "Oh, no, you don't, you sneaky, Scot! You're running late as it is." She placed both hands on his chest and began pushing him out of the kitchen. "How about you let me get on with food preparation, and you finish what you need to do so you can come home as soon as you can in time for the tea party?" she proposed.

"How about my stress levels?" he grumbled.

"Your stress levels are fine!" She turned him around and smacked him on the bum. "Now go. Mrs Fitz will be here any minute to bring the Battenberg cake I ordered."

At the mention of Mrs Fitz, Jamie didn't need any more prodding. He gave her another quick kiss and left the cottage, muttering something about getting a new house before slamming the door behind him.

..........

The rest of the morning and early afternoon passed by quick, and something in Claire lightened even though she was a nervous wreck hosting her first traditional English tea party.

She looked at the kitchen counter laden with several tiered plates displaying the delicacies she'd meticulously prepared. She was ready, and everything looked perfect. 

She'd made four different tea sandwiches to be on the safe side: pear and stilton, cucumber and cream cheese, egg salad, and smoked salmon and dill. And then there were scones, lemon curd tartlets, fruit tarts, and shortbread and Linzer cookies she was looking forward to gorge on. On the other end of the counter were Mrs Fitz's Battenberg cake and Claire's pièce de résistance, Victoria's sponge filled with jam, berries and double cream. Her teabox was neatly packed with Darjeeling, Earl Grey, and Assam, and the pitchers of lavender and elderflower lemonade were cooling nicely in the fridge. 

Perfection!

She was about to wash the sink when she heard a rap on the window. She looked up and saw Jenny waving at her. Letting her in through the kitchen back door, she was surprised to see her carrying a stack of real estate pamphlets and magazines with its pages tabbed with colourful sticky notes.

"Jen! What's all that?"

Jenny shrugged. "Weel, after what happened to ye in London and with everything going on at the moment, I thought I'd make yer life easier." She plonked down her load on a nearby stool and picked up a magazine, leafing through the pages. "I heard from Willie ye and Jamie are looking for a bigger place. So I decided to grab all these. It has listings of every available property for sale in the surrounding area. Ma and I saved the pages we thought ye and Jamie might like."

"Oh, Jen!" Claire gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Jenny waved a hand. "Think nothing of it!"

Feeling emotional, Claire gave Jenny a big hug. "That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you so much." When she finally broke away from their embrace, she noticed deep furrows on Jenny's forehead. "Jen? What's wrong?"

Jenny's usually brilliant blue eyes suddenly looked serious as they landed on the bruising on her cheek. "Does that still hurt?" 

Claire touched her cheek. "Oh, this? No, not at all. It looks worse than it is. Poor Jamie getting all these weird looks when we're out and about. He was even accused by some granny of being an abuser. I can understand why but I had to step in and explain to the old dear."

Jenny wrung her hands and gave her a small smile. "Actually, I -I came early because I wanted to talk with ye. Just us two."

"Oh, do you want a drink first?" Claire offered, jerking a thumb in the direction of the fridge. "I have some lemonade ..."

"No! Please! I need to get this out before anything else."

Claire nodded. "Alright then, I'm all ears."

"I-I want to apologise for ..." Jenny's chin crumpled, seemingly attempting to blink back her tears. " ...for what happened to ye in London."

"Wot? Oh, Jen! Why are you apologising? That wasn't your fault."

Jenny raised a hand, which told Claire to let her talk. "It was in some ways my fault, Claire. Geneva was my friend, and I tried to push Jamie and her together. I shouldn't have told her last year there was a vacancy in the village, and then she wouldn't have come back and pursued her interest in my brother. I honestly had no idea she was capable of such horrid deeds. If I'd known, I wouldn't have taken her into my circle of friends and family."

Claire shook her head. "No one could have known, and no one knew. Even her work colleagues and peers were shocked when they found out what she's done. She's a master manipulator, Jen, and she probably manipulated you too under the guise of friendship."

"Still ..." Jenny insisted. "If it wasn't for my meddling ..."

"Stop right there!" Claire wagged a finger at Jenny. "We've locked horns on the subject before and moved on from that already. Alright? Past is past. We all make mistakes. The most important thing is we learn from it. So no more mention of Geneva."

This time Jenny's smile reached her eyes. "Fine! Just dinnae tell Jamie we talked about this."

"Whyever not?"

"Jamie has given everyone in the family strict orders, not to mention about London today."

"Really?"

Jenny nodded. "He didn't want to ruin today's celebration rehashing what happened. Unfortunately, I had to in order for me to apologise, but enough of that now." She clapped her hands. "So, how about that drink. I'm parched." She whirled around and stopped, her eyes widening when she saw the spread Claire had prepared. Walking over to the kitchen counter, she took in everything with a smile. "Goodness, did ye make all these?"

Claire smiled with pride. "I did. Except for the Battenberg cake. Mrs Fitz made it."

"Ye said, ye didnae know how to bake," Jenny said almost begrudgingly. 

"Now I do, thanks to the wifey Bootcamp I attended, also known as Mrs Fitz's kitchen."

"These all look scrumptious. It's been ages since I had a proper English afternoon tea." Jenny glanced up at her and grinned. "So, what are we celebrating?"

Claire nearly blurted out the baby news, but she quickly caught herself. Sliding an arm around her soon-to-be sister-in-law, she walked Jenny to the end of the counter to show her the sponge cake. "Today, we're celebrating love, friends and family."

Jenny poked a finger into the clotted cream and licked. "I like the sound of that. That'll always be a perfect excuse for a celebration or a proper afternoon tea party."

Claire smiled. "I couldn't agree more, Jen. I couldn't agree more."

..........

Jamie came home from work and noticed all the sandwiches, tarts and cakes laid out on the kitchen counter. He was mildly astonished that Claire had been able to prepare so much in the nick of time. He glanced out the window and spied her and Jenny in the garden, busily arranging tablecloths on the long wooden table. Looking at his watch, he realised he had about fifteen minutes to get ready before their friends and family started arriving. 

But first things first.

Stepping out into the backyard, he snuck behind Claire and wrapped his arms around her waist, planting a soft kiss on her neck. "Mmm, ye smell of berries, lemon and lavender," he whispered, running his lips on her bare skin and ignoring Jenny's mumbling about getting a room.

Claire turned in his hold and smiled up at him. "And you reek, mister. You won't be served tea smelling like that."

"Fancy a shower with me then?" he suggested, feeling mischievous. "Jen's here to look out for guests."

"Nice try, but I had a shower already, and Jen is our guest today." 

He leaned down and nibbled her earlobe, making her squeal.

"Jamie, you're going to get my dress dirty. Oh, fiddlesticks ..." She suddenly stilled mid-laughter and made a face, her hand covering her nose. "Urgh ...what's that smell?"

Jamie let her go and took a whiff of his shirt. "Oh, it's just a bit of wood stain I was working with. It'll come off in a wash."

Her face suddenly turned pale. "Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick. Tell Jen I'll be right back ...and you ...you go have a shower before your parents arrive." With that, she spun around and ran back to the cottage.

Stunned, he watched her disappearing form and whistled under his breath. "What just happened?" he muttered, even though he knew the answer had to do with the dreaded pregnancy sickness. She'd been doing so well so far he almost thought morning sickness was nothing but a myth, even though Claire had revealed, she couldn't stand the smell of aniseed, star anise, fennel, and liquorice.

"Maybe, she's pregnant and suffering from sickness?" Jenny replied, walking past him with an armful of wildflowers to put into the empty vases dotted on the wooden table.

He hadn't realised Jenny had returned from wherever she'd disappeared to. He needed to be careful not to reveal their baby news too soon, or the surprise would be ruined. Jenny was simply someone who couldn't keep a secret. 

"Ach, I should have known chemical smells always make her nauseous," he explained, not wanting to give too much away to his perceptive sister.

Jenny twitched her lips from side to side as she trimmed the bouquet's stems with pruning shears. "Aye, that will be right!" she smirked.

He glared at his sister. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged and gave him a knowing look. "Nothing! Now go have a shower, and I'll take care of things here until Claire feels better."

Jamie was about to say more when he heard the sound of a car parking in the driveway. As Jenny made a move to take a look, he quickly made a beeline back to the cottage before anyone saw him, hoping Claire had already recovered from her bout of sickness.

..........

Jamie leaned back on his chair and glanced around. It was a perfect summer late afternoon, and everyone seemed to be having a great time and enjoying the food Claire had prepared. The sun warmed his face and bathed the garden in dazzling light, making the different shades of green and the profusion of wildflowers more vibrant and alive. The chatter was lively, and funnily enough, no one complained about the lack of alcohol which was highly unusual for a gathering in Scotland. But, he suspected his godfather must have a flask of whisky or something similar tucked away somewhere as he was getting louder and more boisterous as time went by.

He took Claire's hand in his, and she turned his way and smiled. Her face looked pale, but there was an aura of tranquillity radiating from her that told him she was happy and content. Though her plate was full of food, it remained untouched, and if anyone had noticed, no one said anything. "How are ye feeling, Sassenach?"

She took a huge deep breath, held it in for a few seconds and then relaxed. "I'm fine," she sighed. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

He knew she was valiantly fighting back the sickness that must be creating havoc in her body but was too stubborn to give in to it. "Shall we tell them about the surprise so you can finally have a rest?" he suggested in a low voice, so no one would hear. "It cannae be comfortable sitting here when ye feel so unwell."

She shook her head as she gulped in more air. "I want to wait for uncle Lamb. He'll be here soon."

Quentin's plane from Athens should have arrived four hours ago but was delayed because of some mechanical issues. Jamie hoped for Claire's sake Quentin was on his way and wasn't dilly-dallying somewhere, like planning a grand entrance. Jamie kissed her cheek, hoping to sweet talk her to giving up this charade of wellness. "I'm pretty sure ye're uncle will understand once he finds out about yer condition."

"I know," Claire murmured. "But I want today to be perfect and complete. I want to see uncle Lamb's face when we announce it."

"But it's already perfect."

"Not without uncle Lamb."

Jamie prayed for patience and tamped down the urge to haul this beautiful but infuriating woman in his arms and carry her to bed. He squeezed her hand and yielded to her request, knowing this get-together was important to her. "Whatever ye say, Sassenach. Just let me know if ye need anything."

"I will," she replied between sharp intakes of breath.

Jamie decided not to press anymore. He knew this was one battle he couldn't win without creating a scene in front of their friends and family. But if Claire thought she was pulling this act off, Jamie was convinced, his perceptive family had already caught on with what was passing. Claire was a terrible actress, and she couldn't even lie to save her life.

Fortunately, their intimate tea party was animated and loud, and it diverted the attention from Claire. Directly opposite them, Tom and Willie were discussing the merits of owning a mini campervan for spontaneous weekend trips around the Highlands. On one end of the table, Murtagh passionately ranted and raved to Brian and uncle Duncan about the Tories and how SNP was the solution to Scotland's political future. Next to Claire, Annalise showed Ellen and aunt Jocasta how to work the Instagram app while Jenny, Mary and Geillis cackled over some celebrity gossip they've probably read somewhere. Grannie Annie had meanwhile fallen asleep in her seat with Adso in her lap and Rollo at her feet. At the far end of the garden, Finlay, Geillis' boyfriend and Ian were having a go at playing badminton but kept hitting the shuttlecock over the hedge to both their frustration. 

Though Jamie was happy the tea party had gone as planned, he couldn't relax, too worried about Claire predicament. If it got to the stage where Claire lost any more colour to her face, he was sure no one would be able to blame him for whatever course of action he would take next.

"Right, does anyone want some fresh cuppa?" Claire suddenly announced, getting up from her seat.

Annalise immediately jumped to her feet. "I can do that."

Willie got up too. "I'll put the kettle on."

"I'll clear up the empty dishes," Geillis offered, already grabbing an empty tiered plate stand. "We dinnae want this stunning antique piece being knocked over, now do we?"

Ellen reached over to Claire from her seat and patted her hand. "Everything was lovely, dear. I couldnae decide which was my favourite. And that lavender lemonade was refreshing."

"Aye," Murtagh piped in as he got up and sat directly opposite Claire. "I bet it will taste even better with gin or vodka."

Brian frowned at Murtagh. "The lavender lemonade tastes good as it is. There's nae need to spoil it with alcohol. Besides, it's good for ye to give yer poor liver a wee break. If ye're no' careful, yer gene pool will soon have a swim-up bar."

"I dinnae drink that much," Murtagh grumbled. 

"Aye ye do," Aunt Jocasta pointed out. "Dinnae think for one minute I didnae notice ye've been spiking yer tea."

Before Murtagh could retort, Geillis came back in time with a steaming mug and placed it in front of Claire.

"Ooh, what's this?" Claire asked, looking into her drink.

"It's ginger and turmeric tea," Geillis declared. "It's good for ye. I brought it with me from Glasgow. It's organic, and thought ye might like it."

Jamie couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew ginger tea or any form of ginger were effective in reducing nausea. Claire probably knew too because her eyes lit up and gave Geillis an appreciative nod. If he wasn't a hundred per cent certain earlier, everyone knew about Claire's condition, now he's more convinced than ever they were playing along. Jamie appreciated the gesture, but this had gone on too far. Where the bloody hell is Quentin?

"I'm back!" boomed a voice, waking grannie Annie up. It was as if Jamie's thoughts had conjured Claire's uncle from thin air, and there he was making a grand entrance as Jamie had expected. "I hope there are some leftovers. I'm famished."

Claire laughed, twisting around on her seat to watch her uncle approaching. Ellen got up and started plating some food for Quentin.

"There's plenty of leftovers," Annalise assured as she placed another platter of sandwiches on the table. "Claire made enough for the entire village."

Quentin gave Claire a quick kiss on the forehead before greeting the rest of the party, who'd gathered back around the table. "Sorry for the delay," he apologised, finally taking a seat next to Claire. "Our plane was stuck on the tarmac without any air conditioning. We had no choice but to sit there and stew in the heat while the engineers fixed the plane."

"Well, I'm glad you're here now," Claire said, looking adoringly at her uncle. 

Quentin stared at the bruising on her cheek. "I don't like the look of that. It looks ..."

Sounds of several throats clearing ensued, a signal to Quentin not to pursue the London topic any further.

"Very well," Quentin nodded in understanding. "I'm glad too that I'm here."

Claire smiled. "Alrighty, so now that everyone's here, Jamie and I have an announcement to ..."

"Hold that thought, sweetheart," Quentin interrupted as he bent down to retrieve the holdall he'd placed at his feet. "I brought a souvenir."

Jamie bit his tongue at the interruption.  

"I hope it's not another ceramic plate," Claire groaned, unaware of Jamie's frustration.

"No. I got something better." Quentin waggled his bushy eyebrows as he unzipped his bag and proceeded to rummage through its contents. "Wait for it! Wait for it!" Suddenly he yanked out a bottle and held it up for everyone to see. "I got Ouzo!" he announced with satisfaction.

"Yesss, ya beauty!" Murtagh cheered happily, banging a hand on the table. "I love Ouzo."

Aunt Jocasta scowled at Murtagh. "Ye like anything alcoholic. Ye'll drink Listerine if it was placed in front of ye."

"What's Ouzo?" Claire asked as she stared curiously at the offering. "I mean, I've heard of it before, but I've forgotten what it is."

Jamie was about to fill in the information and tell her she wouldn't be able to stand the smell of it when Quentin expertly uncapped the bottle and held it under Claire's nose. Oblivious to Jamie's hitch of breath, Claire pressed her nose closer to the opening of the bottle to take a better whiff. Ah, shite!

"It's an anise flavoured liquor," Quentin described. "Mostly served as an aperitif in Greece.."

Jamie watched in awe as Claire's head jerked back and her face contorted when her senses registered the smell, and a low, gurgling sound came from deep down in her belly. He winced, half expecting any moment now a horrific scene of projectile vomiting, and the recipient would be none other than his godfather sat opposite her. But Claire jumped to her feet, startling everyone, and her hand immediately clapped over her mouth, golden eyes bright and tearing up. Quick thinking Jenny, grabbed a sprig of mint she'd put in the vase, macerated it in her hands and offered it to Claire. Everyone gasped and watched in fascination as Claire took the green leaves and stuffed her mouth with them, and began to chew, jaws working overtime, reminding Jamie of a cow feeding in the fields. Nobody said a word, waiting for the next scene to unfold or for someone to offer an explanation.

Swallowing audibly, Claire finally untensed and slumped back down to a loud hearty burp. And as if nothing had happened, she calmly drank a good measure of her ginger tea, put the mug down and then smiled. "Sorry about that. So where were we again?"

Eyes bulging almost out of his head, Quentin sputtered before he managed to string a coherent sentence together. "W-What the bloody hell was that? Was that some kind of weird side effects from what happened in London that I have no idea of?"

Claire looked at Jamie, looking suddenly exhausted. "Can you please tell them?"

"Tell me what?" Quentin bristled.

Jamie dropped his head on his folded arms resting on the table and allowed it to bounce once. Twice. Thrice. God must have taken pity of him because when he glanced up, everyone shouted in chorus. "Claire and Jamie are having a baby!"

   Dear Readers,

Thank you all for the response and feedback I received for my previous chapter. I know it got a bit crazy; therefore, today's update is more subdued to allow everyone's breathing to go back to normal.  Nevertheless, I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much I've enjoyed writing it for you.

Anyway, I hope you're all keeping safe and taking care of yourself and mostly taking the time to enjoy the last days of summer. Keep up the good vibes and be well. X

[avengershumanresources]

blood 8 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 7 - part 9

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

WARNING: Attempted sexual assault/violence

8 - a secret

The news swept over the castle like a wave at high tide.

Prince Loki and Prince Thor were leading a brigade of men toward the castle, and the rumor was that the princes were furious with Obadiah. 

“I did say trust me, didn’t I?” Stephen joked while the two of you watched the men cross the threshold into the castle grounds, both princes sitting majestically upon their steads, leading their entourage inside. 

“They’re going to get themselves killed,” you murmured.

“Obadiah wouldn’t be so forward in front of the public,” Stephen reasoned, eyeing the Asgardian guardsmen as they continued their march inside. “They look like they’re ready for a war now. He’s be stupid to start anything with the men they’ve brought.”

He wasn’t wrong. The men looked as angry as their leaders were rumored to be. Their armor shimmered against the bright summer sunlight, and their weapons didn’t look like they were in town for a diplomatic mission. 

If you hadn’t known any better, you would have guessed they had plans to overthrow the castle themselves.

“He is on our side, right?” you asked again, nervous at the confident way the brothers surveyed their troops below. 

“Yes,” Stephen assured you with a confident nod of his head. “They both wish to see Peter safely on the throne.”

“I hope I don’t actually have to marry him,” you blurted out, catching Loki’s eye and offering a small wave in his direction. He bowed his head and rounded his horse into the castle behind the last of his infantry.

“Oh no?” Stephen teased, pinching your arm with a chuckle. “Did Brock win you over with his boyish charm?” 

“Gods you’re unbearable sometimes,” you shoved his arm and started back for the castle. “Let’s get ready. I have a feeling court is going to take a while.”

(—)

“Announcing, Prince Loki of Asgard,” Sam bowed and stepped aside while the dark haired prince sauntered forward, ignoring the wave of whispers and dirty looks that were sent his way by the court. 

You were seated a few levels down from your uncle with Peter and Pepper. Morgan was with her nursemaid, and the rest of the court stood on the ground, watching the scene unfold with great interest. 

“You have a lot of nerve showing up,” Obadiah opened, glaring down at him. Brock was at his side, arms crossed while he glowered down. 

“You have nerve with your slander, your majesty,” he snapped back. “Defaming your closest allies for what, this traitor?” 

“I remind you, you’re standing in my keep,” Obadiah snarled back and Loki laughed. 

“My brother and my men are already within your walls, with reinforcements waiting at the border,” he countered sharply. “I dare you to make a move against me. Even with your hound at your side, you would be making a very powerful enemy.”

Obadiah exchanged an uneasy look with Brock before clearing his throat. 

“Why are you here?” 

“You’ve stolen my bride,” Loki stated simply, eyeing drifting in your direction. You kept your expression neutral, despite your heartbeat kicking against your chest. “I’ve come to collect my due and close what relations Asgard has with you. Unless you have something to offer to appease my father’s understandable frustrations.”

The murmurs started up with that. 

Peter even leaned over and whispered in your ear. 

“He didn’t mention that,” he said, frowning, his fingers curling nervously against his armrest. You reached over and touched the top of his hand, focusing on calming your younger brother. 

“You know how he is,” you reminded him softly, willing calm toward him. After a moment, you saw his body relax. “He’s negotiating. You know our uncle won’t listen otherwise.”

Peter gave a curt nod, returning his focus to the scene before you, and listening intently to the exchange. 

Amora, for her part, had been ignoring the whole ordeal until you tried calming Peter. When you pulled your hand away, you instantly felt her eyes bore into you from across the room, where she and Stephen stood away from the crowds. 

“I was under the impression there was no claim to the princess,” Brock cut in, glaring now at Obadiah. The tension between the three men was palpable, even in the massive throne room. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, there wasn’t,” Obadiah hissed, waving away the other king and returning his attention to Loki. 

“I beg to differ,” Loki reached in his robes and pulled out a rolled document. The entire room was on edge as he passed it to Sam and the knight handed it off to the king.  

Obadiah took his time in unfurling it. He skimmed it over, expression reddening, with Brock reading over his shoulder. 

“Forgery!” he cried, throwing the document aside. Loki snapped his fingers and the paper materialized back into his hands. 

“This was written three days after the princess’ brith, pledging her to me when we came of age,” he explained coolly, mostly to the crowd. Ladies and lords gasped at the revelation, eyes darting between the royals at the scandal.

“Why weren’t you married sooner?” Obadiah demanded, ignoring the cutting scowls from Brock. “She’s had her blood for years now. The contract is no longer binding.”

“We were to be married after the king returned from battle,” Loki lied easily. “But the princess was distraught and asked that it be postponed. I, ever the gentleman, respected these wishes until such time there was stability in the kingdom. I never imagined such a betrayal by an allied nation would have occurred in such a short time.”

Eyes shot to you while the kings continued their interrogation over who would eventually take your hand. 

You kept your eyes down, only looking up to Pepper when she lightly touched your hand with a loving smile. 

“The princess mentioned none of this,” Obadiah howled, and when attention was diverted back to you, Loki jumped in and saved you from embarrassment. 

“Of course she didn’t,” he stated, tone as calm and cool as it’d been when he entered the room. “Look at you, she’d lost her father and potential betrothed in one sweep. She was probably terrified to go against you. It’s why I’m here, to defend her honor, take her as my bride, and return to Asgard.”

“I won’t allow it,” Brock voiced, stepping down from Obadiah’s side and moving to the ground near Loki where he continued his case. “The princess has agreed to marry me.”

“Under context of further terror, I’m sure,” Loki supplied sharply. “Your men slaughtered her father, leaving nothing behind. What other option did she have but to agree?”

“Do not play this court for fools,” Brock hissed. “We all know it was Asgard who planned the attack and framed my kingdom. The trading negotiations were never enough.”

“Is that so?” Loki asked, expression darkening. “I was under the impression that the trade routes benefited this kingdom handsomely. Is it not convenient that I’ve been given permission from my father to end our agreement if I see it necessary?”

The room began to panic at this. A few of the lords even voiced their protest at the concept, and seeing that he was losing the crowd, Obadiah bellowed out.

“Enough!” his voice rattled against the glass in the windows and echoed through the chamber until everyone fell silent. “I will convene with my council until the matter is resolved. Loki, you and your men will be our honored guests until this… confusion is settled.”

“I accept your invitation,” Loki smiled snidely at Brock with a grand bow. “My men will settle in the land surrounding the castle for the time being, and appreciate your generosity during this… difficult time.”

Court was dismissed, but ladies and lords lingered, watching the royal family and the kings as they turned the public spectacle into a more private conversation. 

“Princess?” Amora questioned, appearing at your elbow just as you stood from your chair. “May I have a word with you?”

Eyes wide, you tried to seek out Stephen, but he was nowhere to be seen, likely caught up in the crowd answering questions and speculations from the lords and ladies. 

“The princess and I were about to enjoy a walk through the gardens,” Pepper looped her arms through yours, throwing on another smile. “You’re welcome to join us. I will try not to be a bother.”

Amora’s gaze flickered over the queen, her plastered on smile faltering slightly at the offer. 

“I’d be honored, you majesty,” she finally stated, letting Pepper lead the way to the gardens with a pair of guards behind. 

“It’s a beautiful day, don’t you agree, Amora?” Pepper started the conversation, forcing Amora to keep in step with you and the queen. “I planted some roses last year that have finally come to bloom. Do you like roses, Amora?” 

“I do,” the sorceress answered tersely before turning to you, eyes glowing an ominous green. “Princess, what do you make of what just occurred? Is it true you were frightened from telling the truth of this prior betrothal?” 

“My late husband always intended for the princess to marry Loki,” Pepper answered before you could even open your mouth. “It was hardly a secret. You should have seen the two at balls when they were children. It was so endearing.”

“Then do you protest the marriage of the princes to my king, your grace?” Amora tried and Pepper stopped, pulling her arm free of yours and giving the sorceress a once over. 

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, witch, but I suggest you stop,” she practically growled at the blonde. “My daughter will not marry your king, and your schemes will be stopped before the moon is full.”

Amora’s eyes snapped back to normal, her pupils flaring at the overt threat. 

“How can you be so confident?” she countered, voice full of venom. “You would do well to stay quiet and pretty on the side. You’re no longer queen, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“My son will sit upon the throne in three months time,” Pepper reminded her. “And if there is any obstruction to that, those who stand in the way of the Stark family will burn. Darling, what are the family words?”

You startled at the shift toward you.

“We shall overcome and conquer,” you recited quickly before Pepper returned a razor sharp smile toward the sorceress.

“I think your king might need you,” Pepper added, waving away the blonde and turning toward her roses without so much as a second glance. “Gods know we don’t.”

You’d never heard such open hostility from your step-mother. The woman had always had a calm reserve about her that you’d respected during times of crisis. She’d been the voice of reason when you’d seen your father fretting over alliances or military tactics.

Amora hesitated a moment, looking from Pepper to you, before letting out a resigned sigh and leaving the two of you to the flowers. 

“Is she gone?” Pepper asked, tinkering with a rose that was struggling to bloom. 

You waited until Amora had returned to the castle interior before confirming she was out of sight. 

All at once, Pepper enveloped you into her arms and sighed, squeezing you against her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against the top of your hairline. She pulled away after a moment, her hands still lingering on your shoulders while she tried to read your expression. “This is never what we had planned for you.”

The honesty in her tone broke your heart. How many times had she and your father discussed your future? Your prospects?

“We can only do our best,” you murmured. “Who could have predicted the turn this would have taken?”

“If you had to choose, who would make you happy?” Pepper asked seriously and you considered her words carefully.

“Of the two?”

Pepper’s expression lifted at the question, a knowing smile playing at the edge of her lips.

“I see,” she hummed in thought. “That damned idiot never came forward.”

Feeling your face warm at that, you sighed with a defeated laugh. 

“He probably thought there was more time,” you reached for one of the nearby roses and gave it a sniff.

Pepper paused, and when you looked to see why she hadn’t spoken, her expression had fallen, eyes lost a million miles away.

“I think we all did,” she finally whispered, blinking back the pooling water in her eyes. “I do believe you could be happy with Loki.”

You made a noise- not quite of agreement, but not of total disgust. 

“He might even allow you certain… liberties,” she offered lightly. “For his mischief, he is a good man at heart.”

Pulling away from the flower, you finally met her eyes directly, knowing that you would have to face this eventually.

“He’s doing this for our family,” you whispered, keeping your gestures calm and neutral under the eye of the guards. You plucked one of the roses free and move to attach it to the collar of her dress. “He means to stop the alliance Brock and Obadiah are planning, to keep Peter on the throne.”

Pepper’s expression hardened at the information. You could tell she was forming connections as you fidgeting with the button holes and slide the rose into place. 

“You keep secrets well, dove,” she reached for the flower affectionately before leaning and kissing your cheek. “Peter… not so much. Have you gone to the kitchens recently? I hear you might have a reunion with a little thief from yesterday.”

She pulled away and started back toward the castle, one of the guards following behind her, the other remaining to watch you. You realized that it was Steve, his expression guilty when you approached.

“Were you listening?” you challenged and he sighed.

“Only a little,” he confessed. “For your safety.”

“A conversation between mother and daughter?” you smirked and he rolled his eyes. 

“You should go to the kitchens,” he offered in place of an explanation. “Or rather, shall we?” 

(—)

“Are you ready for what you must do?” Wanda asked, lifting the glass vial Stephen had sealed and set out on his desk. 

The observatory was unnaturally quiet. The fireplaces extinguished, the books all stacked away or moved to his family home in the countryside. Aside from him and Wanda, there was no life in the room, all traces of your late nights together, books read, or spells learned had been erased.

It was almost time. 

“What choice do I have now?” he asked, plucking the vial from her hand and giving it a shake. “Loki can buy us some time, but until the family is secure we cannot make a move.”

“The princess is headed to the kitchens,” Wanda stated, pausing while her eyes glowed red. “Brock is unhappy with todays events and is looking for her.”

Stephen clenched the vial in his palm. He didn’t want to exploit your emotions, but you wouldn’t be able to hide from Amora forever. The queen had done a marvelous job of keeping her away, but she, along with every other magic user in the room, had felt the seidr you’d unwittingly passed to Peter.

“I need to be with the king,” Wanda suddenly stated, eyes wide. “The future is moving toward us faster than expected, Stephen.”

She disappeared in a cloud of red smoke, leaving him to his empty, broken room. 

Would the two of you get a chance to steal away in its comfort again? 

Would you even forgive him for lying and hiding the truth from you?

Opening his hand and rolling the vial around his palm, he sighed. Wanda was right. Things were going to move quickly and all at once after the first weight dropped. 

(—)

Natalia hadn’t expected you to be glaring at her from across the kitchen.

So when you dragged her to the hallway, demanding an explanation, she was at a loss for words. At least, until she saw Steve’s smirk from the corner of the space. 

Oh.

It was nearing time.

“Stephen wanted me to be closer to keep an eye on things,” she lied. It wasn’t a complete lie. She was close and Stephen had agreed with the plan (the plan set in place by your father, but you weren’t to be made aware of that just yet) and she was keeping an eye on the quiet rebellion stirring under Peter’s leadership.

All the paths were beginning to converge, whispers turning to quiet battle cries as the castle readied itself for battle. 

And you were none the wiser. 

It was too risky otherwise. Amora was focusing in on your seidr and any lapse would pull the magic user’s attention. If you even thought about rebellion and war, the sorceress would be tipped off and Brock or Obadiah would make a move to counter it. 

“Why wouldn’t he have told me?” you demanded, arms crossed. Steve continued to look amused in the background. Natalia would have to knock him straight one of these days…

“Safety,” she merely replied, shrugging.

A call came from the kitchens and she used it as an excuse to exit, but you followed behind stubbornly. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” you asked, pestering her while she scooped up a basket of bread for the Asgardian troops outside.

“Princess, please, you’re in the way,”  Nat shoved past you, earning a small gasp from one of the kitchenmaids at the casual way she addressed the princess. Pulling you aside, she lowered her voice. “You’re going to expose me. Just trust what is happening is for your own good.”

She stalked off, fuming at the way Steve continued to smirk to himself, knowing full well he was the one who brought her down there. 

Not that he was entirely to blame, it was part of the plan, just a little earlier than anticipated. It meant that Natalia had to work fast and get a message to Loki and Thor’s camp before nightfall.

“Is this funny?” you asked Steve dryly, motioning toward the stairs back to the main living quarters with a defeated sigh.

“Not at all, your highness,” he answered cheekily. 

(—)

No one was willing to answer your questions. OR rather, no one was around to answer your questions. 

The observatory was locked- meaning Stephen was off the grounds. Wanda wasn’t around, Peter was avoiding you after the ordeal in the throne room, and even Wong was no where to be found. 

“Maybe you should retire to some light reading before dinner?” Steve suggested after having followed you across the greater length of the castle. 

“You’re hiding something too and I’m not thrilled about it,” you snapped, turning on him. “Why is Nat in the kitchens? Is James in the stables?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s in the armory,” Steve answered, deadpan, watching your expression until he finally let out another laugh. “Princess, I promise you, there is no grand conspiracy against you. Master Strange is just ensuring extra layers of protection are in place for you.”

“For what? My wedding?” you asked bitterly. “I thought that’s what Loki was for.”

“These are dangerous times, my grace,” he replied. “One can never be too sure of who to trust. I caught a Baron at the border not three days ago negotiating with one of Brock’s men for privileged information.”

“Who?” you asked, a little curious as to who would be so bold.

“Zemo,” he said the name sourly. “He was apparently promised more land and favor in Brock’s kingdom for supplying vulnerable points of entry to the castle.”

“Oh,” you paused, considering the passages you’d ventured through with Natalia and Stephen over the years. 

As if reading your mind, Steve spoke up. 

“They’re secured,” he murmured, before nudging your shoulder at an approaching figure.

“Princess,” King Brock greeted with fake enthusiasm. He reached for your hand and gave the knuckles a light graze of his lips. “Would you like to take a small walk around the castle with me?”

“The princess was about to start her afternoon studies,” Steve informed him briskly. 

Brock sized him over, just then realizing he was even there. 

“The princess can spare some time for her betrothed,” he stated firmly, looking down at you, hand still clutched around yours. “Isn’t that right?” 

“Let Stephen know I’ll be with him shortly,” you urged, hoping Steve would do well to get the sorcerer or someone who was capable of intervening. 

He nodded briskly, excusing himself and hurrying down the hall with your message. 

“Quite the ordeal today,” Brock commented, guiding you toward the private quarters. “Tell me, do you wish to marry that brute? I can’t imagine with your delicate heart that wedding the monster who killed your father would be acceptable.”

You swallowed, pulling your hand free and pretending to fix a button on your sleeve to occupy yourself. 

“I serve at the pleasure of my king,” you answered neutrally. “What agreement he makes is outside of my control.”

Brock stopped, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t trust me?” he asked sharply. “Or like me for that matter?”

You froze like a deer at the hunt. 

You didn’t trust him, and you were far from liking him. You knew in your heart he was the one who’d killed your father, who’d betrayed him and brought your home into chaos with a mad king on the throne. 

“I don’t know what you mean, my liege,” you lied, continuing down the hall and pretending to admire a tapestry you’d seen a thousand times before. 

“Don’t play coy,” he catch your arm and spun you to face him directly. “It wasn’t me, you know. It was the Asgardians. They wish to frame my men for their misdeeds.”

You ripped your arm away, glaring up at him.

“Hundreds of our men saw you on the horse, leading the charge,” you snapped, forgetting exactly who you were speaking so freely with in the heat of the moment. “The Asgardians weren’t even positioned for that area. How could they have assembled so quickly and nearly destroyed our army for effectively?”

Brock gaped at you in surprise, not expecting such a curt and honest response from you. The surprise quickly shifted to fury and he grabbed the top of your arm, pulling you toward a nearby room and shoving you inside. 

The room must have belonged to him or Amora. It was a standard living arrangement with an armoire and a four post bed, but no personal touches that suggested it was permanent situation. 

“Who do you think you are?” he snarled, shoving you against a wall. “You’re lucky anyone is giving you a second thought, don’t think because that bastard prince has shown up that you aren’t anything but something for my seed to fill.” 

He was in your face, hissing his words as he continued to push you back against the wall. 

“Get away from me,” you threw an elbow, catching him in the jaw, but that served only to fuel his anger. He caught you by the wrist, twisting your arm behind your back and pinning you face first onto the cold stone. 

You could hear him fumbling with his belts, his breath hot against your neck while you tried to snuggle yourself free. Each movement made him twist even tighter on your hand, sending a shock of pain up the arm. 

“Has your wizard fucked you already?” he snarled, pressing his hard member against the back of your skirts. “I bet you’re just a little whore for him, aren’t you?”

You squirming became more desperate. His hands caught your waist, his knee edging up the skirts. 

“Too bad you’re mine,” he growled, pulling at the strings of your corset and trying to shuffle it down your waist. “I’ll have him hanged and let you watch his pathetic body sway in the courtyard while I fill you with my heirs, you pathetic whimpering fool.”

He’d nearly succeeded in pinning you in place when you remembered the dagger hidden at the front of your dress. Using your free hand, you slipped it free and rolled against his grasp, swinging the sharp object toward him.

It caught his face and he reeled back, yelling in pain, blood dripping from his cheek. 

“You bitch!” he swung, catching your face and sending you stumbling back toward the bed. He moved toward you, blood spilling over your dresses while he reached down and gripped your neck, hiking the skirts up while he ripped his pants down. 

You tried to scream, to throw fists, but no matter how you fought, he was overpowering you. 

You closed your eyes, willing it all to be over, to have someone hear the chaos, but no one came. You couldn’t let this happen. Every inch of skin repelled at his touch, your entire soul repulsed by his very existence, you willed everything inside of you to get him as far away from you as possible. 

Your world was going dark when you held up a weak hand to try and shove him off of you one last time while he positioned himself over you. 

The was a yelp of surprise and a crash. The constriction on your throat loosen and no longer was he ripping at your skirts. 

Opening your eyes, you saw Brock hunched over on the other side of the room, a fresh wound bleeding from the back of his head, the stone wall behind him cracked slightly. 

You looked to your outstretched hand, a faint glow of violet was fading and you slowly sat up to take in the situation. 

Did you just kill him?

“Princess?” a voice was calling from the hall, a short rap of knuckles on the door before it opened, revealing Loki.

“Close the door,” you urged sharply, your voice broken from the damage Brock had done to your throat. Loki obliged, taking in the scene with wide eyes. He was at your side in an instant, touching your cheek where you were certain a bruise was forming around your eye.

“What happened?” his tone had dropped dangerously, and from the look on his face, you were certain he already knew the answer.

“Did I kill him?” you asked, eyes falling behind your friend to the slumped over king on the ground. “He’s bleeding…”

“I hope so,” he hissed, standing and moving to the king. He checked his pulse and sighed. “Alive.”

“What are we going to do?” you asked, panic now forming in your chest. This was very very bad. If Obadiah found you… or him… or he told someone about…. 

“Let me handle it,” he murmured, returning to your side. “Hold still.”

His hands were cool while he traced around the tender spot on your face. As he moved his fingers, they glowed a beautiful emerald color and the pain began to recede.

“Look at me,” he ordered gently, lifting your chin to examine his handiwork. “Lovely as ever, princess.”

Dumbfounded, you touched the bruise and found no pain or swollen skin. 

“I couldn’t control it,” you whispered, looking down at your hand when you dropped it into your lap. “Stephen said it would be best not to completely seal it. That it might serve as protection but…”

Loki chuckled at your hesitation.

“I’ll take care of him,” he promised firmly. “He won’t remember a thing. You’re fortunate that Stephen and Amora are examining the barriers around the castle. She would have sensed your seidr immediately.”

“Won’t she know you tampered with him?”

“She’s good, but I’m better,” he winked and helped you to your feet. “Are you injured anywhere else?” 

There was a pause while you realized precisely what he meant. 

“No, he didn’t- he wasn’t able to-,” you stammered out, cheating aching at the fresh memory. Loki pulled you to his chest, wrapping his arms over your shoulders protectively. You hadn’t realized you’d been trembling until he had steadied you.

“You should retire for the evening,” he suggested. “I’ll have someone bring up your dinner.”

“What about-?” you looked to Brock, still unconscious on the ground. 

“I told you, I will take care of it,” he reminded you with a playful smirk. “Here.”

A shimmer of green overtook you and you looked down at your formally ripped and tattered dress. It’d been replaced with a fresh dress in Loki’s colors of emerald and gold.

“You’re hilarious,” you joked, smoothing out the silks and bending over to recollect your dagger and sheath. 

“You have to admit, you do you look good in my colors,” he teased.

“I prefer my own,” you countered, the dress shifting to the crimsons of house Stark. “Or maybe the blues of Kamar-Taj.”

He rolled his eyes.

“You’re just cruel,” he sighed, leaving the dress in red. “Lock your doors. Only answer for those you trust. I’ll inform Stephen what has happened as soon as I’m done.”

He guided you toward the door, a hand on your back. 

“Are you sure?” you asked a final time and he just smiled, letting you back into the hallway and closing the door behind you.

“Trust me,” he supplied before the door latched shut. 

A lot of people were saying that to you recently. 

On the other side of the door, Loki looked at the king and scoffed.

“Pathetic.” 

Snapping his fingers, he left the man exactly how he was, materializing outside of Prince Peter’s quarters.

“Your highness!” he knocked frantically on the door. When Peter peered out, Loki rushed in, rapidly explaining what had happened between the princess and the king.  

Peter went into a frenzy, while Loki stood to the side, watching the young man announce it was time to make their move against Obadiah. 

The younger prince was absolutely right, in more ways than he realized.

(--)

9 - a king’s arrival 

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[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 11

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, and learns to be a person and protect those who have been hurt like he has.

Content warnings: Caleb's backstory, mentions of abuse from teachers, discussions of institutionalisation, implied medical abuse

Chapter summary: Caleb was hurting, but he wasn't the only one. If he could do nothing else, he could care for his friends, and they could care for him.

Chapter notes: Kirschtorte is just Black Forest Cake with the geographic reference removed because Zemnian. Chapter title is from Neptune by Sleeping At Last

Chapter 11: If brokenness is a work of art surely this must be my masterpiece

Dinner was a solemn affair, no matter how much Caduceus and Yasha tried to provide comfort in the food they made. The spiced, fried bugs that Yasha had convinced them all to try were actually very good. And they hadn’t made apple tarts today--Jester would have been furious if they’d tried it in her absence--but they made a different Zemnian dessert instead: Kirschtorte. Layers of chocolate sponge sandwiched with whipped cream, sour cherries and a cherry liqueur unique to the Zemni Fields, with a few cherries placed on top.

It tasted so much like home that Caleb stopped eating, folded his arms on the table, rested his head on them, and cried. He had been too tired to excuse himself.

“Was the cake that bad?” Yasha half-whispered.

“No,” Beauregard said thickly. “It’s good, babe. I don’t think that’s… I think it’s been a long day. Long two days.”

Essek rubbed slow circles into Caleb’s back, but the group let him cry without disturbing him. Caduceus handed him a glass of water when he was finished. Caleb did not miss Beauregard twisting away from him to wipe her eyes. And Caleb was struck by another wave of emotion, grief at how much Beauregard was hurting, that almost brought him to tears all over again.

After dinner, Essek helped Caduceus and Yasha with the dishes. They hadn’t let Caleb or Beauregard help tonight. Caleb caught Beauregard as she left the kitchen, and guided her to the couch. They sat together, quietly at first. Sometimes Caleb felt so many things that it seemed impossible to put them into words. But he couldn’t leave things like this; she had gotten involved because of him. She’d run into a burning house with him, she’d watched Felix so Caduceus could help him try to save the Baumanns, she’d spent a day and night watching over Nico in the same state she knew Caleb himself had once been in. Eleven years in Vergesson, broken under the weight of what he had done to his mother and father. She knew all that. She knew more than almost anyone what he had gone through; she had listened to his story and written it down so they could stop Trent from hurting anyone else, and give Caleb just a little shred of peace. She cared about Caleb. She cared about people like him. And she had also been abused by a powerful man.

And they’d had the chance to help Nico in a way neither of them had been helped when they most needed it (and what help they had received only came years after the damage was done). Then, all their efforts to help Nico had failed. She’d mobilised the monks and done her best to find him, and had come up empty just like Caleb had.

She was hurting, too.

Caleb took her hand in both of his and, feeling awkward about it, kissed her knuckles. Beauregard looked at him strangely.

“Uh, Caleb? You’re being weird.”

“You’re a good friend, Beauregard.” Caleb patted her hand, setting it down on her leg.

“Oh, we’re gonna have one of those talks.”

Caleb’s track record for emotional conversations with Beauregard was, for the most part, horrifying. They were both awkward people who sometimes understood each other well, and other times couldn’t understand each other at all. He had, on more than one occasion, stormed away from a conversation silently screaming.

“Beauregard…” He sighed. Caleb was running on sheer willpower, emotionally bruised and given to cry at a moment’s notice. But he wanted her to know how much he appreciated her, and how sorry he was for her pain. “Thank you.”

“Caleb, we’ve been over this. You don’t need to say this shit.”

“I do, though.” Caleb hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so small. So fragile. But he… Caleb needed her to hear this.

She looked away. “Sorry. I just… you’re going through a lot of shit, and I don’t want you to feel, like, obligated…” She trailed off, staring at the colourful, jewel-toned rug Jester had brought from Nicodranas.

“This is not easy for you, either,” Caleb said, and Beauregard sagged against the couch, looking at him like he had grown another head.

“Caleb, what the fuck?”

“You are a caring person, Beauregard. And you know better than most what those children have been through. You listened to my story and wrote it down for me. You stood with me while I faced Trent in the courtroom and recounted, again, everything he had done to me.” Caleb didn’t know where he found the strength to speak, to build up the steam he needed to spill out all his feelings, but he did it because Beauregard needed to know. For both their sakes. “You and Veth were the first people I ever told. You are… invested. You care. You are kind and good. I need you to know that I am grateful for everything you have done for me, and for people like me.”

“Caleb, I know you’re grateful,” Beauregard said, with that same tired frustration she often had when he was being emotionally obtuse. “You’re also a fucking wreck and need to stop wasting your time on me.”

“I am not wasting anything,” Caleb said. He had to fight down his frustration. Neither of them were comfortable having this kind of focus on them, and she was trying to be a good friend. “That is not all I wanted to say. I want you to know… I see you.” Caleb wasn’t great at eye contact, but he made a special effort now, locking eyes with Beauregard and hoping she got it. Hoping she understood he knew she was suffering, and that it mattered to him.

“Hard not to, man. I’m pretty hot.”

“I’m glad you know that about yourself.” It would have been easy to let her deflect, but Caleb steeled himself to drag this conversation where he intended it to go. “But that is not what I meant. You know that.”

Beauregard averted her eyes once again.

“Yesterday was hard. Today was hard. For all of us. And you…” Caleb reached for her hand, relieved that she let him hold it. “You have been abused as well. And yet, you ran into a burning house with me. You saw Nico unresponsive in Wulf’s arms, knowing I was once like that, too. You watched over Felix while Caduceus and I tried to save Nico’s parents. Then, you watched over Nico and had to witness what I was going through that day, and that night. You have seen me in a bad place before, and that was the worst I have been in a long time, and I know it was confronting for all of you. And you did everything you could to keep Nico from running, and you were there when it all fell apart. I know you are hurt, Beauregard. And you are allowed to be. Please allow that for yourself.”

She squeezed his hand, and some of her guardedness fell away to reveal the sheer depths of sadness in her eyes. “I love you, man.”

“I love you, too, Beauregard. Thank you, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”

“I know. You are a good person. I am sorry for your pain, because I am your friend.”

Beauregard clasped his hand in both of hers, staring down at the tangle of fingers. “I’m worried about you, Caleb. And about the kids. But I can do something about you, at least.”

“You have done a lot already, Beauregard. Thank you.” He tugged her by the hand until she shuffled close enough that he could throw his arms around her and drag her into the tightest hug he could manage. She squeezed him back, and his spine cracked a little in a way he didn’t know he had needed on both a physical and emotional level until relief flooded through his system.

****

Caduceus stayed overnight in case he was needed, and Essek dropped him back at the Grove the following morning.

“Call me any time,” Caduceus had said as his parting words. “Whatever you need, even if it’s in the middle of the night, I’ll be ready.”

The Volstrucker and the monks continued searching for Nico, and Caleb was at a loose end. So he launched himself into preparing for the upcoming semester, his first as a teacher. He split his time at home between his study in the dormer, the floor of Beau and Yasha’s living room, and occasionally the Cobalt Soul Archives while Beau was working, depending on how much his need for privacy warred with his need to have his loved ones close at hand.

Essek stayed. Caleb stewed in silent guilt whenever he let himself think about it too much, but he knew better than to ask Essek to leave when the man was clearly worried about him. More often than not, Caleb left the house with his hair braided, whether it was a single braid at the back or, Essek’s favourite, two narrow braids tucked into a half or full ponytail. Sometimes it felt like Caleb’s mental health hinged entirely on the presence of a braid.

Caleb sent daily messages to Felix and Nico. For Felix, it was simple to find a routine. A question about his day, little tidbits about a spell the boy had indicated an interest in, updates on the search for Nico, and whether either of them had received responses from him (the answer, thus far, was no). He didn’t push Felix for an answer about school. Not yet.

For Nico, Caleb weighed his words far more carefully.

On one day: “Hallo, Nico. It’s Caleb. How are you? I am working from home today. You are welcome here any time.”

A few hours after that: “Hallo, Nico. Caleb again. I just wanted to say: I know how you are feeling. I went through this as well. You’re in my thoughts.”

Another day: “Hallo, Nico. Me again. Are you safe? It’s cold out. Remember to drink water. Boil it first if necessary.”

And another: “Hallo, Nico. I am a teacher at the Academy now. I intend to watch these fuckers like a hawk. Keep the kids safe, ja?”

He burned a second spell for that one: “We deserved better. I will make sure the children who come after us get it. And you… come back when you’re ready. Let me help.”

And countless other messages, little updates about his day, about Felix, about work, about just… coming back in one piece.

And he did not receive a single response. Caleb cried more often than not after going through this. He preferred to be alone in his study in those moments, and the others had learned not to disturb him until he was ready to be around people again.

Overall, he felt he had been pretty good about it. He kept busy, spent time with his friends, let Essek hover around him and take care of him. Caleb let Essek help with his lesson plans, bounce around ideas for a presentation he would have to make in the first week of semester as a new teacher at the Academy. He had already told the Nein they were invited, and had spoken to Astrid to make sure the non-citizens would be welcome.

He also remembered to invite Nico, on the off-chance the boy needed a specific call to action to return to Rexxentrum.

“Hallo, Nico. I am presenting a talk next week at the Academy on the first day of semester. 7 o’clock. You would be welcome.”

Caleb met regularly with Bettina and Alphira to work on their lesson plans together. He spent most of that time with Bettina, given he would literally be taking over one of her classes. He was mostly assisting Alphira, though she was interested to get him in to talk to the senior Evocation students at some point about his experiences with the Sending spell. Including the funny ones with Jester. There was also an interesting discussion to be had about why Sending was considered an Evocation spell while Message was considered a Transmutation cantrip. Both professors spoke carefully in a way that suggested they knew what had happened with Felix and Nico, but they never brought it up. He was relieved they let him keep his academic work separate from that heartbreaking shitshow.

Between work, Caleb found time to catch up with Astrid and Wulf. He pretended not to notice their visible relief whenever they saw him, because he was genuinely unsure what they would do if he brought it up.

At a certain point, meeting in Astrid’s office brought up too many memories, so they moved their meetings to the dance hall. Beauregard, Yasha and even a disguised Essek had “accidentally” wandered in on more than one occasion.

“Are you still talking to Felix?” Astrid asked him as the three of them sat around a table in the farthest corner of the room from the dance floor.

“Ja, he doesn’t tell me everything, but he responds at least.”

“Still nothing from Nico?”

Caleb didn’t need to say it out loud; he couldn’t school his expression to hide the pain there. And Astrid and Wulf had once known him very well.

Astrid reached out, touched the back of his hand where it rested on the table beside his mug of ale. “I’m sorry, Bren.”

Wulf had his eye on Yasha, who was calmly drinking at the bar. “Astrid’s people are still looking for him.”

Caleb did his best to shrug off the hurt. “I know.”

Astrid squeezed his hand once and then retreated. “Now, about your lesson plans…”

She had been teaching for a while, so Astrid had plenty of advice to give. However, she was also hesitant to steer Caleb too much.

“You have good instincts,” she told him every time they spoke about it. “Trust them.”

On their way out of the dance hall, where they had sat for a good three hours, Astrid caught Caleb’s arm.

“One more thing. I have secured a venue at the Academy for the support group, mid-week. I have contacted most of the Volstrucker. We are ready to go ahead when you are.”

“Astrid, the point of this is not for one person to steer it.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow at him. “Bren, we need a dedicated person to drive this. And that person is you.”

The thought of that was frightening. Caleb was barely figuring out how to be a person himself, let alone be responsible for the healing of dozens of people who had been under Trent’s thumb for far longer than he had.

“Astrid.”

“I am not expecting you to have all the answers for them,” she said firmly. “But you have had more time to process than the rest of us have.” She gave a small, wry chuckle. “In fact, you may be the most stable of us all.”

“Astrid, that is horrifying.”

“She’s right,” said Wulf. “Besides, you have a way with people. Always have.”

Caleb was not like Fjord or Jester or Caduceus who always seemed to have something to say when someone was hurting, but he could talk when he had to. He feared some of the Volstrucker would not take him seriously because he had broken, or because he had gotten out long before they had. This would take time. Fortunately, Caleb was one of the few Empire wizards with in-depth knowledge of time, learned from a reliable source.

Astrid still held his arm. She slid down to grip his hand instead. “I know this will not be easy for you. You were always sensitive. But that is why you have a chance with these people. They are not…” She sighed. “Trent made sure we don’t know how to exist in a world without his boot on our throats.”

“We don’t know how to process our emotions,” Wulf said, and it was odd to hear him admit it aloud. “Well, most of us. You do all right.”

Caleb laughed at that, because it sounded like a horrible joke. Caleb, who felt so constantly bruised on the inside that even the slightest inconvenience threatened to send him into tears. Who still woke up gasping in the night. Who was so choked by pain sometimes that words left him. Processing his emotions? It was more likely that his emotions processed him. Like a fucking meatgrinder.

Astrid frowned at him. “Let’s take a walk. Just the three of us.” She glanced back at the door, where Yasha was visible. “If your shadow will allow it.”

“My shadow does what she likes,” Caleb muttered, letting Astrid tug him along. Wulf took his other hand, leaving him little choice to let the two of them take him where they willed.

They wound up in a small park they had used to visit regularly, especially when drunk after a night of dancing. It was strange to see it in daylight, and while Caleb was mostly sober. They sat on the grass beside a small ornamental pond, Astrid and Wulf pointedly bookending Caleb, sitting close enough for their shoulders to touch. The wind played with the strands of Caleb’s hair that had fallen out of his braid. He never bothered to fix them because Essek found it endearing.

“I apologise,” said Astrid. “I did not mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset, Astrid.” At her doubtful noise, he added, “Not at you.”

“You should get out of Rexxentrum,” she said abruptly. “Just for a few days. We have things well in hand. Your lesson plans are solid. Bettina and Alphira are pleased. You do not need to be here until next week.”

“And if Nico comes back?”

“You will be contacted. I promise.” Astrid looked to Wulf, who shrugged at her, which caused her to roll her eyes. “Jester keeps pestering me to make you visit Nicodranas.”

Caleb had been messaging with Jester regularly, and she had hinted that he should visit, but she was usually a lot more explicit when she wanted to see him. And he knew she was talking to Yasha, Beau and Essek, but none of them had said much about it.

It was odd. “Is there a reason she is pestering you and not the people I literally live with?”

Astrid shrugged. “I may have let a few things slip.”

“Astrid, you do not ‘let things slip.’”

She looked utterly unashamed. “Well, apparently you had not told some of your dearest friends you are going through a rough patch, so I did it for you.”

“In how much detail, exactly?” Caleb did not like to be angry with his friends, especially Astrid, but he needed to work out how much of a problem he needed to have with her.

“Very little, just enough that she knows you are not at your best. I would not rob you of that agency.”

That last part hit Caleb harder than he could have expected. “I… thank you.”

Caleb had to admit he missed his friends terribly. Especially Veth, who of all the Nein had seen him at his worst, helped him put the pieces of his brain together on the days he collapsed, who had cuddled up to him on bad days, who had been the first friend he’d had in many years. And Jester, who knew how to ruin a dark mood. Fjord, with his quiet understanding. Kingsley with his… Kingsleyness that was a little painfully close to Molly sometimes but more than welcome.

He always knew they would be worried sick if he told them even a fraction of what had happened in the last few days. Seeing the pain he brought to Caduceus, Yasha, Beau and Essek was hard enough. But they loved him. Those who did not know what had happened would want to know, so they could help.

And he was touched that Astrid and Wulf had taken the time to sit him down and discuss this with him. He didn’t know what they were now. Maybe he never would. Maybe they were friends again. They had all changed so much, Caleb especially, that it was hard to say if they could even be friends. But Caleb wanted it. He wanted it a lot.

“I suppose I can spare a day or two,” he finally said. It would be good for Essek to get out of Rexxentrum, too. Maybe he could drag Beau and Yasha out for a bit, even if Beau had obligations at the Archive.

Wulf and Astrid looked at each other in a knowing way he had not seen from them in seventeen years. The familiarity was strange, and a little uncomfortable, but also comforting at the same time. He had spent so much time emphasising how much he still cared for them, doing his best to drag them away from Trent, and then gently guiding them through sharing their trauma to put Trent away for good. But he had never forgotten that for such a long time, they were the ones looking out for him and protecting him. He had done the same for them, of course, but there had often been an unspoken understanding that Caleb was just a little bit squishy, needed just a little extra care.

Caleb was also keenly aware that sometimes it was easier to care for someone else than to care for yourself.

Wulf’s large hand found Caleb’s knee. “Good. Say hi to Fjord for me.”

“Tell him yourself,” Caleb muttered, because he knew Wulf would find it more funny than offensive.

Wulf chuckled and squeezed his knee. “Oh, and warn your boyfriend: if he hurts you, I will cut off his balls.”

“You will have to beat me there,” said Astrid.

Okay, this conversation had taken so many twists and turns that Caleb had half a mind to visit the Grove and ask Caduceus to check him for whiplash. Unsurprising, really. Things were complicated between the three of them and likely would be for a very long time.

He wasn’t sure what to say about the fact his exes were on the cusp of threatening his current partner, and not in the way one might expect. Caleb found himself fiddling with the end of his braid while he tried to process what the fuck was happening to him.

Finally, he said, “There are a great many people who would fuck him up if he ever put a foot wrong with me, and he himself is first in line. You need not worry about that. Thank you for your… concern?”

Astrid and Wulf shared another look, much more pained than the last. Then they both looked away, Astrid into the grass and Wulf at the pond.

“He treats you well?” she said quietly.

“Ja, very well. He came back to take care of me.” Caleb had no words for the depths of his gratitude towards Essek. He was always gentle with Caleb, sensitive to his needs. And these last few days, he had been nothing but a source of endless love and support, a soft place to land when Caleb felt like he was in freefall. He always offered this, but every protective and caring instinct in Essek had been cranked upward, like casting an old, reliable third-level spell at eighth level instead. Or ninth, though Caleb and Essek were not quite to that level of magical skill yet.

“Good,” Wulf muttered. “You play with your braid when you talk about him.”

Caleb chuckled, not even embarrassed he had been caught with such an obvious tell. “Ja, he likes to braid my hair for me.”

“Hard to hate a man who braids his partner’s hair.” Wulf’s voice was almost wistful; Caleb’s hair had never been long enough to braid when the three of them were together, but they had occasionally been able to get a small one into Astrid’s hair.

“Good. Don’t.”

Astrid’s hand found Caleb’s other knee. “You’ve been through a lot, even in the past few days alone. And… we know you are capable. You have the willpower and the support you need to get through all of this, and to guide the Volstrucker who agree to attend the support group. But we do worry for you. And we are… glad… you have people in your life who take care of you.” Once again, she could not look at him. “Wulf and I… we are sorry we failed you.”

That was a new one. “Astrid, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Greater Restoration,” Wulf said quietly.

“If we had found the nerve to talk to a cleric ourselves,” added Astrid, “we could have gotten you out of there years ago.”

Right. Vergesson. “Trent wouldn’t have allowed it. You know that.”

“We could have tried.”

They had been teenagers. Frightened, grieving teenagers at the mercy of a powerful man. Of all the things Caleb could have held against Astrid and Eadwulf, this would never be one of them.

“You could have gotten us all killed,” Caleb said, forcing steel into his tone in the hope it would break whatever spiral Astrid and Wulf had worked themselves into. “You didn’t know that Greater Restoration would have done shit for me. Why would you? That is not the skillset Trent cultivated in us. He taught us how to hurt people, because we were to be his weapons. He had us murder our own fucking parents because all he wanted us to know was violence and pain and fear and utter reliance on him alone. You do not need to apologise for not taking on a fool’s errand.”

They refused to look at him once again. Jaws clenched. Eyes wild and staring holes into the ground.

“We were children,” Caleb reminded them, squeezing their hands where they remained on his knees. “We were children. Of all the things we have done or not done, that is the last thing I will ever let you apologise for. Do not hurt yourselves, hurt me, like this. Please.”

Astrid’s free hand pressed over her mouth, catching a sob. Wulf’s thumb drew a slow circle on Caleb’s knee.

“You’re right,” Wulf said quietly. “It would have been foolish. But we…”

“We were cowards,” Astrid snapped. “We left you there for eleven years. Trent made sure you were cared for, but… it was Vergesson. And you were defenceless.”

“I am well aware,” Caleb said before she could pull up memories that were far too painful for any of them. “I have told you before that I remember little of my time there. I would prefer it remain that way, I think.” Caleb wasn’t sure he could survive remembering that place beyond the flashes of awful that would sometimes come to him.

“I’m sorry, Bren. I’m sorry.”

“Shhhh. Enough of that.”

Astrid cleared her throat, straightened up. Evidently she had remembered they were technically in a public place.

“Do us a favour,” said Wulf. “Go to Nicodranas. Get some rest.”

“I will, if the two of you will also do me a favour.”

Astrid, newly composed, raised an eyebrow at him. “What is this favour?”

“Try to hate yourselves a little less. Hypocritical coming from me, but I think we could all stand to be kinder to ourselves.” Caleb had said almost those exact words to Essek in the Blooming Grove all those months ago, and he was struck by how much he had a type.

“All right,” she said, smiling with so much affection that Caleb was taken back to their first kiss in a freezing cold tower. “You first.”

They parted ways not long afterwards, and Yasha melted out of the shadows to walk Caleb home.

“That looked very intense,” she said, leading him by the hand like he was a small child bound to get lost in a big city. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. Think you can convince Beauregard to visit Nicodranas for a bit?”

Yasha chuckled. “I think I can manage.”

****

Making arrangements for Nicodranas kept Caleb from stewing too much in his talk with Astrid and Wulf. That was welcome. He appreciated the care they still had for him, but there were some things that were still too painful and probably always would be. He had already messaged Jester to confirm the Nein Heroez would be in dock at the time.

“Of course, Caleb! Did Astrid talk to you? She’s super nice, and she really cares about you a lot. I’m sorry I was mean to--” The message cut off at twenty-five words; Jester’s word economy, or lack thereof, would always be a source of joy even on a bad day.

Essek, mercifully, had messaged Veth for him; she would hear the exhaustion in Caleb’s voice and worry herself into a panic.

Despite the flurry of activity, Caleb still found himself occasionally caught, freezing in the act of folding a shirt or cataloguing his spell components. And he’d remember how much the two visits to Vergesson he had made since his escape had rattled him. The few memories he had were bad enough, and he knew so much of the pain the place brought him was buried in his subconscious. Or in moments that his body seemed to remember but his mind didn’t.

The bloodbath he’d caused while on the amulet heist. So on edge that he had forgotten a crucial detail about the Wall of Force spell until he had expended all his spells that he could have used to disintegrate it. Caleb did not forget things like that. Until he did, apparently. And then there had been his complete inability to do anything but fight when Trent had appeared suddenly, temporarily thwarting their escape. He’d fallen back on his training. Always his training. And the violence it entailed.

While part of him was a tiniest bit curious what had happened during those eleven years, if nothing else to further catalogue Trent’s sins on the public record and dig up his accomplices, most of him hoped he never found out.

As he stood a little too long in these thoughts, a pair of dusky purple hands lifted Caleb’s component pouch from his shaking grip, setting it aside. Essek sat Caleb on the end of the bed and wordlessly climbed behind him, knees gently pressing Caleb’s hips as he pulled the braid loose and began it anew. The gentle tugging motions slowly pulled Caleb back into his body, and the present.

Essek finished off the braid and kissed Caleb’s neck. “Do you want to talk about it?”

More like Caleb needed to talk about it before he imploded. “Astrid and Wulf apologised for not getting me out of Vergesson themselves. And… I think they know some parts of what happened to me there. Things I don’t remember. Things I don’t want to remember. Things I might know subconsciously that I don’t think I can handle knowing consciously. I’m just… out of sorts, I suppose.”

Essek slid his arms around Caleb’s chest, pressing himself up against his back, squishing their cheeks together. “I would like to turn them into spaghetti for making you think about this when you have enough to worry about, but you would be upset with me.”

“I’m not angry with them.”

“I know.” Essek kissed his cheek, nuzzling Caleb’s stubble.

“Vergesson is… I do not like the person I became when I was last there. I don’t think I could survive remembering what happened to me.”

“Then don’t try to remember.” Essek flattened his palm over Caleb’s heart and gently pressed down, forcing Caleb to focus more on his breathing. Remembering that his heart still beat. He was here.

More immediate, practical thoughts began to filter back into Caleb’s mind. He remembered he was going to Send to Caduceus and invite him to Nicodranas. Caduceus would hear the rough edges in Caleb’s voice, but he could handle it far better than most of the Nein.

“Hallo, Caduceus. It’s Caleb. We are visiting Nicodranas for a few days tomorrow. Would you like to come? We can pick you up in the morning.”

There was a slight pause, and then Caduceus’s warm, soothing tone filled Caleb’s mind. “Hey, Caleb. That sounds great. I’ll be ready, with fresh tea for everyone. And sunhats. You and Essek will burn in the sun.”

“Caduceus is in,” Caleb said, stifling a yawn. Essek laughed softly, his breath tickling Caleb’s neck. “Now for Yussa.” He cast again, directing a message to Wensforth. “Hallo, it’s Caleb of the Mighty Nein. We are visiting Nicodranas tomorrow. May we use the circle? It would be good to see you both.”

Wensforth replied quickly. “Yes, of course! The master is eager to speak with you at any time. Please… message before you arrive?”

Caleb let himself laugh a little. The Nein were notoriously awful at warning people of their arrival. And Caleb was touched that Yussa, ever a busy man, thought so highly of them now that he would happily drop everything to talk to them. They had spoken a few times since Cognouza, and if Yussa had been a less restrained man, Caleb had the strong impression he would’ve hugged each and every one of the Nein in gratitude for saving him.

And, to think, Caleb had once been so frightened of him that he could barely speak.

He felt better, so he got up and finished sorting his spell components, making a note that he would need to restock his teleportation circle chalk after a few more uses.

Caleb helped Yasha cook Eintopf that evening, a one-pot stew. Caleb had grown up eating dozens of versions of the stew, but he had his favourites. Carrots, leeks and celeriac were key to the base of the soup, as they were preparing their own broth. Along with a bunch of parsley. Yasha had found some excellent pork sausages at the market today, so those went in along with green beans (Caleb’s sentimental favourite), potatoes, and a ton of onion. Lots of garlic. Yasha had also found marjoram at the market today.

This was a recipe Caleb had helped his mother cook even as a boy, so he also insisted they add apple like she always had. For a little bit of sweetness and acidity. And surprise.

Caleb cleaned and steamed the beans while Yasha browned the meat and onions and potatoes and garlic. From there, they tag-teamed to get everything bubbling away until it was all finally ready to put into a pot and simmer away to completion.

It was a good use of the evening, and it kept Caleb busy and enveloped in happy sensory memories of his mother’s kitchen. While the stew bubbled away, he munched on a few green beans he’d set aside for the fun of it after they had steamed.

Essek hovered in the corner, reading a book about sea creatures Jester had brought him last time she was in town. Caleb pulled out his lesson plans and speech preparation, spreading it out across the dinner table, and made edits into the evening.

Beauregard arrived home from work--Yasha had visited her already to persuade her to come with them to Nicodranas. And then they ate dinner together at the table, and the taste of home did not send Caleb into a grief spiral tonight. This time, it just soothed him.

Before bed, Caleb sent one last message: “Hallo, Nico. It’s Caleb. I will be in Nicodranas for a few days. If you need shelter and the house is empty, take the key--” He cast again. “From inside the flowerpot on the right side of the house. I have an illusion set to guide you. Password: Wilkommen. Gute nacht.”

No response, but Caleb hadn’t expected one. He let Essek tuck him into bed. They curled up together, Essek slowly but firmly stroking his back with grounding pressure, until Caleb fell asleep.

[kpopwrites]

Drowning in a Dream, Chapter 8

A/N: I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD. Honestly, I have no good excuses other than I got a job and I have had no inspiration. I also had the one year anniversary of my dad’s death, so that hit hard. But, I am back! Sorry for the wait, but lmk what you think! TW: Possible smut in upcoming chapters, angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, slight gore

   Namjoon sighed as he watched the lights from your four wheeler disappear down the mountain. “They’ll come back.” Yoongi commented from his spot on the couch. “That’s not what I am worried about.” Namjoon spoke, his voice deep and rumbling. “Something feels off. The air feels strange.” He muttered, staring into the woods. “Do you think they’re safe?” Taehyung said, body tense at the thought of you being in danger. “One can hope our enemies are smart enough not to mess with (Y/N).” Namjoon turned to face his brothers. “But we shall see in the morning.”

   As you rode down the mountain side, your mind kept racing. Normally, when you were upset or stressed, you would have turned to your grandmother, seeking her wisdom on how to fix the situation. You couldn’t do that now, however. A bright flash of light caused you to stop the four wheeler, confused on what it could be. “Hello? Do you need help?” You called out, watching as the slowly dimming light walked toward you. A man stepped out of the tree line, glowing softly. “Help… please.” He croaked out, before falling to his knees. Immediately, you rushed over, kneeling beside the man. “Are you okay? Oh god, Come on, let’s get you to a hospital.” You panicked, trying to get the tall man to stand up. 

   His clothes smelled of burnt wood and ash, and after getting a better look, you realized why. His body seemed singed, clothes burnt and torn, face and arms covered in soot and cuts. You gasped softly, biting your lip as you looked him over. He seemed to be dazing in and out of consciousness. “Hey, hey can you hear me?” You asked, lightly tapping the man’s cheek. He weakly smiled up at you. “Safe…. You’re safe now…” He whispered before passing out completely.

   After a few moments of struggle, pain and effort, you managed to get the man onto the four wheeler, though, it certainly wasn’t easy since he just slumped over against your back the entire ride home. You drove him to the hospital immediately, running inside and yelling for help. Only after the strange man had been carted inside were you allowed to sit down in the waiting room. “Would it be alright if we put you down as John Doe’s contact?” The nurse asked, a look of sympathy on her face. “He seemed pretty upset when you two were separated, and most cases like this, the victim bonds to the one who found them.” With a tired sigh, you nod, giving the nurse your number. “Please, call me when he wakes up. I’ll be in the mountains most of tomorrow, but… Would it be alright if I came to visit?” You asked, some part of you feeling a connection to the burnt up man. The nurse nodded. “Of course you can. Have a good night (Y/N).” She smiled softly. 

   In truth, perhaps you should have known better than agreeing to be John Doe’s contact, especially since there was little to no service where the boys lived. When you woke up the next morning, it was, unfortunately, due to your phone ringing loudly. With a tired groan, you grabbed it, blinking in confusion when you saw who had called you so early. “San?” You asked, not sure if it really was your brother you hadn’t spoken to in so long. “(Y/N)... I…. I am so relieved to hear your voice.” He whispered, voice cracking with emotion. You hadn’t spoken to any of your brothers since your grandmother's funeral, having distanced yourself from them. “San, what’s wrong?” You muttered out, worried for your usually happy brother. “I had a nightmare, that’s all.” He spoke, clearing his throat. “I know it’s been a while, I… saw you at Grandma’s funeral for a few minutes, but… I think we all need to meet up and talk.” San said. “Meet us at Chan’s dinner at ten.” With those words, he hung up suddenly. Truth be told, after you moved out of the house, you used any chance you could get to avoid your brothers. Yes, of course you loved them, there was a pain and anger deep down you couldn’t really explain to them. 

   Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they were so close, going through a secret journey together you were never allowed to see. Maybe it was because Carrie had been so lax on their rules while constantly keeping you under her watch. Either way, the thought of sitting down with your brothers made your heartbeat a little faster. When your phone rang a second time, you nearly threw it across the room. With a harsh growl, you picked up. “Yes San, I’m coming, let me sleep.” You snarled out. “I’m sorry, I might have the wrong number, this is Nurse Marli calling. I don’t think Carrie would have liked that tone, little one.” Embarrassment flooded through your body. Marli had been your grandmother's nurse up until she died. “Oh… Sorry Marli, did he wake up?” You asked, clearing your throat. “Yes, he did, and he has been asking for you by name.” Marli spoke, sighing. “Every five minutes or so. Hurry down here please. If I hear one more whine from that boy…” She grumbled unhappily, making a small smile appear on your face. “I’ll be there as soon as I can Marli.” 

   After a quick shower, you headed towards the bus stop, paying your fee and starting towards the hospital. You thanked the driver as you got off, smiling at the usually friendly man. He didn’t smile back though, instead, he glared at you. “Soon.” He growled out as you stepped off the bus. You let out a nervous laugh. “What? What are you-.” The bus doors closed and Doug drove off, leaving you literally in the dust. You shake off the weird encounter, walking into the hospital. Marli spotted you from the front desk, the older woman rushing over to you. “(Y/N), thank god. I swear, I am getting gray hairs from this kid. I don’t know how or when he did it, but I walked in and he was fine. Before someone here calls the military, take him.” She rambled anxiously, pulling you into John Doe’s room. “What? Marli, slow down.” You laugh, not believing the woman’s tale. “Are you working another 14 hour shift? You should really go home.” She shushed you, a serious look in her eyes. “(Y/N), I didn’t know your grandma as long as you did, but I know she knew about some unexplainable things. Please, before he gets taken by Men in Black or something, take him with you.” She whispered harshly, pulling you into John Doe’s room and shutting the door. Sure enough, John was wandering around his room, looking a whole lot better than the night before. 

   You gaped in confusion. “H-how?” You muttered out. “I don’t know. Last night, we didn’t think he would make it. Almost all of him was pretty much burnt up, his bones were shattered, now… He looks like he just stumbled out of a vogue photoshoot.” Marli hissed, standing behind you. John Doe perked up when he saw you, immediately running over and pulling you into a hug. “(Y/N)!” He exclaimed, giggling happily. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I was worried about leaving you alone overnight.” He set you down gently, pulling back. You were shocked, to say the least. “Do…. Do I know you somehow?” You asked softly, concerned for the mental well being of this stranger. “I mean, not officially. I’m Jae, your guardian angel. One of them, anyway.” He grinned as if he hadn’t said the most insane thing in the world. You blinked a few times, laughing awkwardly. “W-what?” You turned, looking at Marli. “Does he have a concussion?” You whispered to her, alarmed. She shook her head quickly. “That’s what I’m saying, he is completely healthy. Take him home, now.” She hissed, looking out of the small window quickly. You nod, turning towards Jae. “Um… I guess I’m going to take you home now.” You spoke. “Follow me please.” Marli made sure no one was really paying attention before she pulled the fire alarm, causing enough commotion to let you out of the building, Jae in tow. 

   You led him home, having to walk since he refused to get on the bus. You didn’t speak a word to the man as you walked, mind racing. First the demons, now you have guardian angels? Not to mention your brothers. “Shit!” You cussed, stopping in your tracks. Jae bumped into you during your sudden stop, confused. “Are you okay with coming with me for something?” You turn to look at Jae quickly, backing up since he was so close. “Of course. I don’t want you going anywhere alone, not since they are everywhere now.” He said, looking around. You shake your head, trying to avoid the inevitable headache that was coming on. 

   “Just… No angel talk, please.” You grumbled at the tall man, changing course and heading towards Chan’s dinner. Once you got inside, you easily spotted your brothers, mainly due to the fact that they stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of old people. San looked relatively the same, though his hair was now a striking blue instead of red like you had last seen. He dressed just as flashy as always, making you roll your eyes. Of course, Jooheon hadn’t changed too much either, his eyes being the tell tale sign of his identity. One, a striking green, the other a deep brown. Felix looked the most different, having seemingly grown a few more inches. You could also hear how deep his voice had gotten, making you sigh. 

    You slowly walked over to them, causing their loud conversation to stop. Jooheon immediately hugged you, clinging to your form. “I’m so glad you’re okay. After San called us, we were worried.” He whispered. “Jooheon, he had a nightmare. I’m fine.” You promised, hugging him back slowly. Old memories rushed back, as well as a familiar feeling of calm that Jooheon seemingly carried with him. “My nightmares aren’t usually just nightmares (Y/N), that’s why we called you here. But first, why don’t you introduce us to your friend?” San looked Jae over with a raised eyebrow, causing your face to pale. How to explain this, hm?

Taglist for Drowning in a Dream @jennyjq​​ @boy9wolf​​   @slutkoo​​ @flakeypancake​​ @leftflowerprunedonut​​ @vickylamore​​ @elenaramos1​​ @trinityautumn​​ @blackgirlutopia​ @viralsoftspot​ @qween-of-trash​

[minniemixe]

Beauty And The Beast

Gangster AU

Stray Kids Fanfic

Chan x Reader

Other Appearances: GOT7 BTS

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Violence, Mentions of stabbing

A/N: So these have been sitting in my drafts for over 7-8 months now, I wasn't really satisfied with what I wrote, around 5 chapters are already written, and since I wrote them a long time ago, Woojin is part of these series, I'm sorry I know he left but I wrote this before he left and I'd have to rewrite the entire story again if I were to remove him. I'm sorry, but please bear with me, he will not be added to my upcoming stray kids series. Thank you 😅😅. I proofread this a few times but if there are any typos please let me know 😊.

Beauty And The Beast Masterlist

Chapter 2

The entire gang was gathered in a hallroom that seemed to be a kind of place where important meetings would be held.

“Let’s get a few things straight. You will answer every question asked honestly, otherwise there will be consequences. You will be trained individually by each member, after general training which is phase one, there will be a test which will determine whether you're the one for field missions or not. Once phase one is complete, you’ll be moved to phase two, in which you will be trained for using weapons, in the end you get to choose the weapon of your choice. Phase three will determine your rank and position among the gang. You can go up in ranking but your position stays the same throughout. And lastly phase four will be a loyalty test. When you pass all four phases will be when we start to trust you. Until then you will be under supervision at all times. You will not be told our real names until you pass all the tests. With that being said lets begin with the introductions” the leader looked at the girl after the speech.

“Let's start from you, tell us your name” he pointed at her

“My name is-” she stopped mid sentence. Taking a look around the room, she realized this was her new life, everything she knows and loves is now her past.

“My name is Moon” the leader looked at her questioningly when she said that

“This is my new life, everything I know and love is now in the past. I can’t go back there, this is a new beginning. So Moon, that’s my name. I’m starting over.” Moon explained

“Fair enough. I’m CB97. I’m the leader. That’s all you need to know for now”

“I’m Woo, second in command, sniper and medic.”

“Lee Know, I do the spying and undercover work”

“SpearB, task force leader and Tech”

“HH, Spy and undercover”

“Freckles, SpearB’s right hand man and undercover”

“J.One, sniper and spy”

“Dandy, Tech leader”

“I’m I.N, I’m with Dandy and Anna”

“El, sniper and spy”

“Bree, Tattoo artist, sniper and task force”

“Anna, Medic and undercover”

“Liv, medic and task force”

“Your training starts tomorrow morning, Bree will be your first trainer. Dismissed.” With that everyone left one by one, leaving Moon by herself, she looked out from the large window to see the foreign land outside. The sky was pitch black, no stars in sight, she thought about how in a way it represented her life, dark and empty. But she was determined to change that, nights aren't always like this, the moon is bound to come out from behind the clouds and light up the dark. With that thought she too left the hall to return to her designated room. As she was opening the door to her room someone called her, she turned around to see HH standing at the door of the room across from hers “yes?” she asked

“You look calm, for someone who just joined a gang” he said

“There’s not much I can do, this is my new life after all” Moon replied

“New life? You’re saying that as if it’s a good thing.” he scoffed before continuing “This new life, is not what you think, this is your worst nightmare, by the time you get a grasp of this so called new life, you’ll be crying for your old life, you shouldn’t have taken your father’s place, he was old he was gonna die anyway, but you, you just bought yourself a one way ticket to hell” he towered over her petite figure, glaring down at her

“I’ll get through it, it can’t be that bad, you’re here, so I don’t see why I can’t be” she looked back at him with fierce eyes, she was determined to prove herself.

“Not that bad? Oh sweetheart we’re going to completely break you and then build you back up. You really think you can take that” he questioned her

“Of Course I can, and it’s not like I have any choice” she gave him a fake smile

“Who said you don’t have a choice?” he asked her, at which she gave him a confused look. He leaned close to her ear and whispered “You can always die” he smirked at her reaction and walked back to his room slamming the door loudly.

“By all means do shoot me in the head then” she sarcastically spoke before going into her own room.

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

Morning came too soon for Moon’s liking, it was like she closed her eyes for one second and morning was here. Getting up from bed, freshening up, she put on a pair of black skinnies and a white t-shirt and made her way downstairs. She was met with 3 pairs of eyes looking at her from across the lounge. “Oh Good you’re awake, Bree is making breakfast, tell her you’re awake so she can make some for you too” Dandy spoke.

“Thank you for the offer but I’ll just have some water, I’m not a breakfast person” Moon replied

“Well starting from today you are, you need the energy for training” El spoke from behind her, making Moon flinch a little from the sudden voice. She nodded her head and made her way to the couch next to Dandy.

“I’m going to help Bree with the breakfast, you all behave” El said, emphasizing on the word ``behave while pointing towards Freckles and Liv, both of them shrugging their shoulders.

Moon sat awkwardly at the side while the other 3 engaged in a conversation.

“In what year were you born?” Liv asked

“Me?” Moon pointed to herself

“Yes you dumbo” she giggled, all eyes now on her.

“2000” Moon answered

“Wait what??? You look so much younger, I thought you were younger than Liv” Dandy said

“Hahaha Thanks, I guess” she awkwardly replied

“Month?” Freckles asked, surprising Moon with his deep voice, how come I didn’t notice last night, she thought to herself

“October, uuh 5th October” she replied

“So you’re older than me and younger then these two by a month” Liv spoke

“Which year were you born in?” Moon questioned

“2002, which means I’m 18” she replied

“Did you have a job before coming here?” Freckles asked

“I own an online business, basically I anonymously do what my clients ask me to do, it could be hacking, it could be designing an entire software, or developing a program, anything related to computers honestly. It’s one of the biggest illegal online platforms. It’s called GhostLand (a/n: I hope this doesn’t already exist and sorry I suck at coming up with nice names)”

“Wait YOU’RE the one who runs GhostLand!?” Dandy exclaimed

“Yes? Why do you sound so surprised?” Moon asked

“Because you may or may not be the one who basically taught me everything I know” Dandy answered

“Wait what? You’re one of my students?” Moon was so surprised at this point

“He’s your student, aren’t you like 16” CB spoke from behind her

“Do I really look that young, I mean I’m not complaining, but 16? I’m 20” Moon turned around to speak

“You’re tiny, that’s why” he said getting closer to her face, smirking at her

Moon’s heartbeat increased due to the close proximity of his face, Damn you’re hot, she thought.

“Looks like I’ll now be giving you lessons in person” Moon spoke, trying to distract herself from the attractive man sitting beside her on the sofa’s arm.

“Wait does that mean she knows more than you” Liv questioned

“Not necessarily, I mean he subscribed with me to learn hacking and creating viruses. In that area I may be the one to know more, because I’m not going to teach him everything that I know, he could potentially use it against me” Moon explained

“Did you know about Dandy’s identity when he became your student, like his real name, age and other things” The leader interrogated

“No, I only knew his username which also happened to be Dandy_Boi”

“And you never did a background check” he questioned

“Anonymity is essential between me and my clients, they don’t know who I am and I don’t ask for their identity either, my only concern is the money I make. The only time I do background check is when they try to hack my server. Which has only been twice, both times with the police.”

“Impressive, you’re not all useless” the leader commented.

“Useless?!?!?!?!? Excuse you but I’m not useless, and you should know that, if I was useless as you claim I am, I wouldn’t be here, I cracked all your security protocols and walked right into your house, if anything your security is useless” Moon was furious, she hated being talked down to.

“Feisty, you’ll fit right in” he patted her head and left, surprising everyone.

“Wow, someone’s the leader’s favorite already” Dandy smiled at Moon.

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

Dodging Bree’s third attack, Moon lost her footing and fell down.

“You’re familiar with a lot of moves” Bree stated

“Well, a girl’s gotta know how to defend herself in this cruel world” Moon answered.

“Are you sure that’s all there is”

“What do you mean?” Moon questioned

“I don’t know, something is fishy about you, I can’t seem to put a finger on it” Bree said

“Yeah? Like what?” Moon threw a punch, “Like your father not being able to pay the debt.” Bree successfully dodged her “You showing up within days of him being taken in” she continued, punching Moon in the stomach “You owning one of the largest online illegal platforms” Bree kicked her leg causing her to fall flat on her back. Moon recovered quickly, getting up she attacked Bree again “Trust me, it’s all just a coincidence”. Bree twisted Moon’s arm and locked it around her neck “See that’s the thing we ca- ooff” Moon elbowed Bree in the side of her stomach catching her off guard. “Trust me? I know, that’s why I’m willing to do anything to earn it” quickly spinning around she kicked Bree in her stomach causing her to stumble back and collide with the wall. “That won’t be easy” Bree said walking towards her “I know” Moon sighed.

“You’re good and fast at learning, You’ll pass phase one quickly” Bree assured the girl

“Thank you, what’s next?” she asked

“Nothing, you’re dismissed for today, we’ve been doing this for more than 5 hours, it’s almost dinner time” Bree told and left the girl alone in the gym.

For the next few days Moon trained with Bree, learning new tricks quickly, the older woman was impressed with how quickly she was adapting. Her next instructor was SpearB. He had a triangular face and he gave off a dark aura, he wasn’t much taller than Moon but he was muscular which made him look much larger than the girl he was training. With him, training wasn’t easy due to the difference in size. With Bree, even though Moon had less experience, both the girls were skinny and there wasn’t much difference in size other than Bree being taller than Moon. However with SpearB, Moon proved to be much weaker than him. Training with him always ended with her in multiple bruises on her body and a split lip every time. After two weeks and an extremely aching body, Moon was finally able to win against SpearB, but not with strength rather by using tricks.

Her next training session was with HH, this wasn’t going to be easy considering neither of them got along with the other. “Today we’re going to be using knives” HH smirked at Moon “Knives??? Isn’t weapon training in phase two?” She asked

“Sweetheart your opponent isn’t going to play fair, if they run out of bullets they’ll fight you with fist and knives. It won’t be a martial arts ring, there will be no rules, you’ll be in a do or die situation, you need to be ready for anything.” he explained

Moon was dreading training with HH, he would cut her with his knife every chance he got, by the end of fifth day Moon had a large scar on her thigh and across her back along with other small cuts around her body. However Moon was learning quickly so she didn’t spare HH either, he too had a small scar across his chest. Today was no different, the two had been training for hours on end, Moon was able to successfully dodge his attacks until he swiped his knife under Moon’s right breast, cutting her and ruining her training bra. “Son of a bitch” Moon cursed. She kicked him in his side, making him stumble. She went to punch him but he grabbed her arm and twisted her around locking her in a chokehold, Moon grabbed her knife that was tucked in the waist of her shorts and cut his forearm, once she was out of his grasp she went to kick him again until he fell, straddling his lap she pinned him to the ground putting her knife against his throat “You’re dead” she spoke. Suddenly she felt pain in her side, she looked down to see the cause, to find his knife stabbed in her waist.

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

A/N: I added a few extra characters (girls) cuz I just thought 9 boys with one girl was kinda overrated.

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Road Trip - Epilogue

pairings: logicality (platonic or romantic, depending on how you view it) words: 3990 chapter warnings:  talks about upcoming death, vomiting (brief & non descriptive), passing out, swearing, alcohol consumption chapter summary: patton finds out and then, finds logan. (or, the beginning of the end.)

a/n - this is the first chapter of my big bang fic! do not let the title fool you, heh. i hope you enjoy <3

[read on ao3]

[masterlist]

*credit to art in this chapter goes to @lemonyellowlogic​​ ✨*

---

Patton Morgan closed the door behind him  and took one long, deep breath. 

That wasn’t so bad , he thought as he pushed up his glasses. 

And he was pretty much right. It wasn’t that bad, especially given what he’s heard from all his friends about this place. He would always listen to their stories the day after their 21st birthdays with a racing heart, watching as they broke down in either happy tears or devastated ones. In both cases, they made it seem like their Doctors made a whole, cruel show of it.

But all they did was sit him down, looked through his files, and told him. 

And he was going to have to know eventually. 

Everyone has to know eventually. 

Patton gritted his teeth as if trying to force a smile. It wasn’t bad. None of this is bad.

He walked down the hallway slowly. He walked past doors that were cracked slightly open, with quiet sobs and angry murmurs floating out of them. He heard a door open next to him and before he knew it, two people bolted past him. They knocked into Patton’s shoulders trying to chase each other. 

Lots of crying. Patton frowned, almost resentfully; pretty typical for this place.

He stared ahead, watching as the two people made it down the hall and turned the corner. He assumed they left the Clinic judging by the loud, hollow slam of the front door. 

He then looked to the door that had opened and caught a glimpse of a man in a white coat, sitting still at his desk and looking at papers on a clipboard. 

The man suddenly stood up, taking off his coat and grabbing a brown, leather messenger bag as he walked towards the door. Startled, Patton took a step forward, moving out of sight and staring straight ahead as if he were a deer trapped in headlights.

As he heard the man walk out of the room and leave behind him, he felt as if there was a ringing in his ear; which was when he realized that he couldn’t quite feel his hands. 

Patton looked down at them, almost quizzically. 

They were clenched up, his nails digging into his palms. He held them up in front of him and concentrated–  really concentrated– on them. 

They didn’t even feel like they were his. 

And then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

"Mr. Morgan?” Patton blinked and turned around to see his Doctor standing behind him. He cleared his throat. 

“Um– yes. Hi.” His voice sounded so distant. Even his own heartbeat sounded closer; in fact, it was all he could really hear.

The Doctor’s sympathetic smile made his blood run cold.

“You dropped your wallet in my office.” Patton looked down to see that yes, she was offering him his wallet. He didn’t even realize its absence in his pocket. 

“Oh.” He took it slowly, not looking at her. (Everything suddenly felt so slow; so sluggish.) “Er, thank you.” 

“Of course.” Her smile didn’t seem as sympathetic anymore; it just felt forced, like she was playing some character.

“You know, Mr. Morgan, I understand that the news you received was...well, not ideal.”

Patton didn’t even feel like he had the energy to stop her from talking. Instead, he just numbly nodded as she began to lead him down the hall. Each step felt like he was staggering forward into a hot, dry desert.

“You know,” she continued, “there are a lot of people going through the exact same experience as you.” 

I’m sure there is, Doctor, Patton thought resentfully. That’s such good news.

He was squeezing his wallet now. He tried his best to stuff it and his shaky, shaky hands back in his pocket.

“I can recommend a multitude of resources that can help you in this difficult time. There’s a group meeting next Sunday, they accept new members every month. Not to mention the possibility of becoming a Doctor, giving you the gift of more–”

“That’s quite alright,” Patton said, reaching the end of the hall. He didn’t have the heart to remind her that he didn’t even have until Sunday. And he didn’t have the energy to scream at her for the last suggestion. 

A gift. He clenched his jaw. He didn’t need to make new time for himself. He just wanted to convince them that there had to be some time– any time – left in the world for him.

The Doctor kept looking at him as if looking at a lost puppy. That was when Patton suddenly became too aware that he was just standing there, speaking loudly and staring into space, in front of an entire waiting room of people who all probably had it worse.

And they were all staring at him.

He then looked at the Doctor. Her hair was tied back in a neat, brown ponytail; and she wore a small button on her white coat that said “Ask me about the Procedure!”; as if smugly dangling the idea in front of him.

She looked too perfect ; a mere shell of a human, frozen in time,

and so full of life.

Then, a bitter thought: You’re never going to go through this.

“Have a good day, Doctor,” he gritted out, the air growing thin enough that it escaped through his teeth. He didn’t even turn to acknowledge her when she morbidly said “Take care” as he walked away. Part of him wanted to, though — make a scene, maybe throw a chair at her. 

I can do things like that now , he thought, because what does it matter, anyway?

And, as if a switch flickered in his brain, he stumbled out of the clinic and towards the nearest trash can he could see to throw up.

He felt himself sweat and shake, holding onto its cold, metal edge as if it was the last real thing he was ever going to hold. 

When he felt like he was done, he made his way towards the parking lot, hoping to get to the bus station on the other side without being sick again. 

But it was no use. His vision was suddenly blurry, and he felt as if the pavement was slowly being flipped upside down. 

Patton went to the car closest to him, and leaned against it, doubling over and holding onto his stomach. He could feel himself breathing loudly, as if there wasn’t any air in the world left for him and–

 --- 

Patton woke up in the passenger seat of a car he didn’t own. 

His first instinct was to scream, but he felt a cold hand on his shoulder and his entire body froze. He could feel his breathing start to pick up again. 

“You’re awake,” a new voice floated into his ears, which were still receiving any and all noise as faded murmurs. 

“I imagine that the situation you find yourself in is rather daunting and confusing,” the voice continued, “but I would ask that you try your best to remain calm.”

Patton blinked, trying to clear the lines from his vision. He pushed his glasses up and turned his head to see a man wearing glasses as well; though his were darker, more square than his light brown ones. His hair was dark brown and slick back, other than the strands that fell across the side of his face. He wore a black polo shirt, with a navy blue tie rested on top of it.

“Who…” He coughed, his own voice sounding so foreign in his mouth. The man frowned, fishing through his bag before pulling out a water bottle. He offered it up to him. 

“I will answer your questions as you drink.” 

Patton opened his mouth to protest — “I have water,” he would say, or “I’m allergic” (Something stupid like that) — but the man just shook his head. 

“It is important to stay hydrated after all; especially after passing out.” 

A beat of silence. Patton didn’t even have the energy to be shocked because yeah, that would make a lot of sense. 

Instead, he just nodded and took the bottle. He nervously fumbled with the cap as the man began to talk. 

“My name is Logan.” He cleared his throat. “Logan Fray. You passed out in front of my car and I didn’t want to keep you outside in the cold so I brought you into my car.”

“Kind of an odd choice of action,” Patton mumbled, taking a long sip of water and wincing. What kind of response was that?

Logan, to his surprise, chuckled. 

“I suppose it is,” he hummed. “I apologize if I scared you, I only intended to take care of you.”

Patton sighed, lowering the bottle and looking at Logan meekly.

“I’m sorry too,” he said quietly. “I...I really appreciate your help,” he chuckled, hoping to lighten things up. “It’s sort of like you’re my hero or something, heh.”

A pause. Logan just nodded. “It’s what I do.” 

Patton took another sip of water and stared straight ahead in the uncomfortable silence. He saw the Clinic sign through Logan’s car window, its bold font proudly flashing down at him in the sky. 

“Did you receive bad news?” he heard Logan suddenly ask.

Patton felt his lip begin to tremble as he closed the water bottle and put it in the cup holder between him and Logan. He kept looking at the sign, nervous tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. 

He heard Logan sigh. 

“My...my deepest condolences.” He sounded so sincere ; which was admittedly a nice change of pace from the cold demeanour inside the clinic. 

“It’s okay,” he looked up at Logan, giving him a tearful laugh. “You have to know eventually, right?”

Logan looked at him with some kind of indescribable remorse. 

“...I suppose you’re right.” 

They sit in silence again, staring at the damned building. 

“Could I drop you off somewhere?” Logan finally asked. Patton shrugged. It didn’t really matter; he took a bus, after all. Then again, he didn’t really want to sit in a bus full of strangers, surrounded by their full and hopeful lives. He felt awful just thinking about it. And then, he felt more awful thinking about what he’d tell his mum when he got home…

“I don’t know,” Patton murmured. He looked at Logan. “Where are you off to?”

“Um, I was supposed to go to McCather’s,” he replied with a frown. “It’s a bar fairly close-by.”

“Supposed to?” 

“I was going to meet with a friend,” Logan explained, “but I cancelled after finding you.”

Oh. Patton tried not to sputter out a teary, pathetic apology. 

When Patton didn’t say anything, Logan just nodded; moving his stare down to his lap as an awkward silence filled the car. Patton snuck a glance at him and noticed that he was tapping on his thigh, seemingly deep in thought.

“Can I be your friend?” Patton suddenly blurted out. 

The tapping stopped. Logan raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a confused expression. Patton shook his head. 

“Sorry, that was weird, heh.” He cleared his throat, smiling nervously. “Let me start over. My name is Patton. And I know I just threw up then passed out in front of your car, but I...I promise I’m much cooler than that, heh.”

Logan chuckled, still not looking up at him.

“And now that... that is out of the way,” Patton continued, “I’d like to be your friend and go with you. To, um, the bar. If...if that’s okay.”

A pause. Logan finally looked up at Patton, and his gaze felt more intense than its absence. He was looking at Patton as if he was studying him. 

Logan then cleared his throat.

“Usually, I would be entirely against this,” he finally said, but was already putting on his seatbelt and starting the car. 

“Me too,” Patton replied, and leaned his head on the window as the car began to move. He smiled sadly. “Today’s just different, I guess.”

 --- 

Patton had always remembered bars to be bright and loud; with neon lights hanging on red, brick walls and people cheering every two seconds for something. 

But for whatever reason, this one didn’t live up to the expectation. Maybe it was because everyone looked like they all received the same news. 

“A week.” Logan winced as Patton took another sip of his drink. “That’s...awful.”

“It is .” Patton closed his eyes at the bitter taste. He set the glass down and stared at it. “It’s such a stupid system. And– and it’s such a stupid place. The Clinic–” he hiccuped– “is stupid .”

Logan just nodded solemnly, sipping his drink until it was done before raising his hand to catch the bartender’s attention. Patton sighed, shaking his head. 

“I really shouldn’t have any more,” he said. 

“That’s fine,” Logan hummed. When the bartender came over, he said, “One more glass for me, then the bill.”

He began to take out his wallet and Patton’s eyes grew wide. 

“You don’t have to–”

“Nonsense. My treat.” A pause. “For a friend.”

Patton broke into a small smile, which soon turned into a long sigh as he slumped over on the bar counter, his chin resting on his folded arms. 

“You know,” Patton sniffled, “I– I didn’t even get to go everywh’re.”

“There are not many people who do, you know. Statistics and all.”

“ Still .” Patton buried his face in his arms, his voice muffled as he continued. “Now I can’t go anywhere .”

“Oh, come now,” Logan scoffed. “You can go anywhere you want. I know it may not seem like it, but you have all the time to do that now. I am sure that there are services for predicaments like this — if you wanted to go somewhere, they would most likely assist you with that.”

“I’m not some Make-A-Wish kid, Logan.”

“And what I’m saying is that you can be.” 

Patton giggled as he made a move to finish his drink. The bartender came back with Logan’s drink and the bill underneath it.

As he fished through his wallet, he asked, “What would you wish for?”

“What?”

“Right now,” Logan repeated, “what would you wish for?”

The question, for some reason, made Patton giggle again. He forgot how giggly he got when he was tipsy. 

But when Logan looked at him with a certain kind of knowing he couldn’t deflect, Patton sighed. He looked down at the counter surface that was so close to his nose before lifting his head. 

“The Grand Canyon,” he declared. Logan chuckled. 

“You want...the Grand Canyon?”

“I– I wanna visit it.” He looked at Logan. “My dad tried to take us– he tried three summers in a row, actually– but...well, it never really panned out the way he wanted it to.”

He smiled, more sure of himself. “I wanna go to the Grand Canyon and– and yell something at it.”

“And what would that be?”

Patton slumped back down on the counter. “No one’ll ever find out.”

Logan rolled his eyes slightly as he counted the bills in his wallet. 

“You know–” Patton hiccuped loudly– “maybe I should’a just done the Procedure.”

In the corner of his eye, he watched as Logan froze. 

“It sounds like such a grand adventure, doesn’t it? Being a Doctor?” The words came out as a sad drawl. If Patton wanted to be bitter, he clearly wasn’t capable of it. “I’d have unlimited time to just rain on everyone’s parades; pitter-patter, pitter– ”

“Patton–”

“And then!” he exclaimed loudly. “Then I could go anywhere I want. I mean, if they’re even allowed to leave the Clinic.” He scoffed. “But hey! It’s the ‘ultimate sacrifice’ for unlimited time, isn’t it?”

Logan said nothing in response, but Patton could see his face scrunch up in thought as he put bills on the counter next to his now-empty glass. 

“Whatcha thinkin’?” he mumbled. Even quieter, he added, “Was I too much?”

Logan shook his head with a small frown.

“I’m...deliberating.” 

“Deliverin’ what?”

Logan gave him a tired laugh then, after a bit of silence, turned to face Patton.

“I want to tell you something,” he said. “Two things.” 

Patton perked up from his seat and stared at him. 

“Number one,” Logan smiled. “I want to take you to the Grand Canyon.” 

Patton became sober in almost a second.

“You...you what?”

“It’s a two day trip,” he continued. “You’ll be back before you know it, then you can spend your last few days with people you care about.”

“ Logan .” Patton laughed, almost nervously. “You’re...you’re not serious about this, are you?” 

“I’m always serious,” Logan said, seriously. He pointed down at his shirt. “Necktie.”

“Logan, you’re drunk.” 

“Evidently, you are as well,” he replied pointedly. 

“Logan!” Another giggle. Patton almost wanted to fall right against him as he swatted at him playfully. “Shut up, shut up, shut up… ”

“We can take my car,” Logan was practically beaming now. “We can exchange numbers and I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We can split gas and the cost of the motel, or we can just sleep in my car– I don’t mind.” 

“ Logan …”

“It just makes sense , Patton.” Logan suddenly took his hands into his own. Patton blushed even more; they were so warm . 

“Say no if you want to,” Logan murmured, staring down at their hands. “But I think– I think we should do it. I know it is illogical to believe in fate of any sorts but fuck. This could be our last leap of faith– our last big... thing .”

Patton frowned. “ Our? ”

A beat of silence. 

“That is, um, the other thing,” Logan finally said, his voice now barely above a whisper. 

“I have a week too.”

 ---

Patton stared at the ceiling of his empty apartment, lying still on his bed. For some reason, he was antsy; as if every second that passed was a wasted one. 

So many seconds then, he couldn’t help but think. There’s been so many seconds…

He sighed, sitting up and squinting at the rising sun that peeked through his window. He rubbed his eyes, reaching over for his glasses on his bedside table. 

As he did, he felt the surface of the table buzz. He frowned, slipping his glasses on and looking at the source of the noise. 

His phone. His heart nearly sunk at the realization and he softly muttered, “Shit.”

That’s why his head was hurting then, he assumed. Parts of the night returned to him. He remembered giggling on a barstool, he grimaced at the memory of him humouring the idea of even considering becoming a Doctor, and his heart nearly stopped as he recalled exchanging numbers with a complete stranger who offered to take him to the Grand flippin’ Canyon…

Patton picked up his phone carefully, as if it would set him on fire upon contact. He turned it on and winced at how bright it was. 

Logan | Today | 7:03 am

Dear Patton, 

I hope you did not find that I was too forward last night. 

“That’s an understatement,” he muttered under his breath.

I am messaging you to apologize for my actions. While I was sincere in my sentiment, it was incredibly foolish to suggest such a concept so persistently and without much regard for how you felt. I do not know why I was so insistent about travelling with someone I barely know, but...well, there is no more time for logic, is there?

Regardless, I hope you are feeling better this morning, and I wish you the best with the time you have left. 

Sincerely, Logan.

He stared at the text for a few more seconds, almost perplexed, before closing his phone and looking out his window once more. 

“The time you have left.”

Patton sat there for a while, watching the sun rise in the slowly-awakening sky. Across from him was another apartment building, its windows filled with the silhouettes of people moving around their homes.

They all moved with purpose ; like they all had somewhere to go. 

Then, Patton looked down at his phone. 

For whatever reason, his mind couldn’t stop going back to the conversation with Logan. He never really stopped to think about the odds of bumping into someone with the same fate as him. It made him wonder how many people were given the same sentence by the Clinic. It was almost ridiculous. 

The whole situation was ridiculous, actually. Patton couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh; a stranger wanted to go to the Grand Canyon with him…

His mind suddenly drifted to the Clinic; to the grey walls and the grey chair the Doctor sat him on as she went through his files. He remembered her cold stare as she lifted her eyes to her computer screen, the green digits almost burning into his head. He thought about the way her eyes never met his as she told him.

A week. 

They only gave him a week.

Without even thinking, he opened his phone and pressed ‘ call’ as soon as he saw Logan’s name. 

“...Hello?”

Patton inhaled sharply upon hearing him. His voice was quiet and muffled, and Patton could still hear the sleep in it.

“Um, hi.” He straightened his back. “It’s...Patton.”

A pause. 

“Oh. Hello, Patton. Did you receive my texts?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.” 

“I see.” Patton could feel himself grow stiffer; why was this suddenly so hard? He had drinks with the guy, after all. 

“Was there something wrong?” Logan continued. “Or is there something you need further clarification on?”

“No!” He sounded too loud, all of the sudden. He softly continued, “No, no there wasn’t. I...I appreciate you letting me know.” 

“Of course.”

A beat of silence. Patton shifted slightly in his seat. 

“Um, Logan?” Patton suddenly asked, his voice small. 

“Yes?” Logan replied readily, as if he was just as anxious for noise as Patton was. Patton sighed.

“Last night–” Patton tried to focus on the window and the rising sun; move with purpose – “I...I don’t know if I really understand what you were offering.”

“Oh.” Logan sounded so echoey, so distant. “In all honesty, I do not know either. It is as simple and absurd as the offer of a preposterous road trip with a stranger.”

Patton paused. The way Logan phrased it made the whole situation...well, preposterous, for lack of a better word.

And then, Patton winced. What was he doing? He should be going home . He should be on a train back to his mum’s so he could tell her that he failed to live past 21; and that yeah, he gave it his all, but he didn’t give enough. 

“Patton?” Logan cut through Patton’s thoughts like a knife. “ Are you still there?”

His voice was filled with so much knowing. 

Patton squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tug at the longing in his chest.

I can do this, he thought. 

Then, he decided: I can give something– anything– for once. 

To me.

“Do you really have a week?” he finally asked.

Patton heard some shuffling on the other side, before he heard Logan speak. 

"...I do.” 

Patton’s breath hitched. His hand was shaking and he didn’t even know why. 

“I apologize if that information made you...uncomfortable,” Logan continued slowly. He heard him clear his throat. “My intention was not to guilt trip you into a decision you did not want to make–”

“No, no,” Patton said firmly. He felt himself inhale sharply, as if gathering the words that sat in his throat in one place on his tongue. “Gosh, you know what? You...you’re right.”

“About?”

Patton held his breath as he took a leap of faith.

“There’s really no time for logic now,” Patton finally said with a small smile, exhaling in relief as he did, “is there?”

---

next chapter >

[willelbyers]

Rupture (fault lines and rifts)

Chapter 1

_____

June 28, 1985

Hey, Will?

Will rolls over, discarding his sketchbook onto his nightstand and sticking his pencil behind his ear. Yeah?

El’s voice is frustrated, and in his mind’s eye he can see the way her nose is crinkled at the paper in front of her as she chews on her pen. What’s the word for when someone is really smart? Not intelligent. The other one.

Will ponders this for a second, tucking a hand between his head and his pillow. Knowledgeable? he suggests, and he feels her whoop of joy in his chest.

Thanks! Have fun at the movies!

The movies—

“Shit!” He scrambles to his feet, dragging his blanket to the floor with him, and shoves his shoes on. His mother is in the kitchen as he bolts outside, and he says something along the lines of iamsolateforthemoviesihavetomeetmikeokayloveyoumombye! as the door slams shut behind him.

_____

“You, good sir, are late,” Max greets him as he pedals to a stop, the neon lights turning her hair green and purple.

“Sorry,” he pants, hoisting his bike into the rack. “I lost track of time.”

Lucas shrugs. “Well, you’re not as late as Mike, anyway.”

Will frowns, casting an eye over the row of bicycles. “Isn’t that his right there?”

Before either of them can turn to examine it too closely, the mall’s doors open and Mike rushes out.

“What the hell were you doing in there?” Max asks, doing a double take as Mike approaches from the opposite of the expected direction.

“I got here early, figured I’d look around inside for a present for El,” Mike says. “Lost track of time.”

Will frowns again, because he and El have been talking a lot and El has some… opinions about all this. “I thought she didn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lucas interrupts, glaring at Mike. “The point is, we gotta hurry.”

“But—”

No one hears him; Mike is already back inside, and Lucas has Max by the hand and is pulling her along as well. He sighs and chases after, narrowly dodging a few mall-goers. A steady stream of sorrys escape Will and Lucas as the four of them make a mad dash up the escalators, and Will barely manages to pull Max out of the way of a stray elbow.

“Thanks,” she says, offering him a small smile once they get to the landing. Immediately, that smile turns to an accusatory glare. “We wouldn’t have to rush to the movie if Mike wasn’t so hung up on El.”

“I am not hung up on her!” Mike insists, turning to Lucas for support.

Lucas doesn’t give it. “Hey, man, it’s been like this all summer. Oh, how can I convince El to date me? What can I get her so she’ll love me more? I should spend all my time doing that and ignoring all my friends!”

Max snorts and Mike sticks his tongue out. “I don’t sound like that. And I’m not ignoring you!”

“You’re sure trying,” Lucas jabs back. “And it doesn’t even matter, because El likes you, she’s just not gonna date you until everything’s normal.”

Mike folds his arms, and Will has a sudden flashback of about ten years of Mike pouting the exact same way. “Doesn’t mean I can’t try.” He swivels on his heel and into Scoops Ahoy, where Robin is at the counter.

“Hey, dingus!” she calls over her shoulder once she spots them. “Your children are here!”

The partition slides open and Steve peers out, already looking resigned. “Again? Seriously?” Mike just obnoxiously rings the bell on the counter a couple times before Steve lets them behind the counter.

“Hi, Robin,” Will says softly as he passes, and she grins at him.

“Hey, kid. Don’t get too scared at the movies, I hear it’s a creepy one,” she teases, handing him a spoon with cookie dough ice cream on it.

He jokingly glares at her. “I won’t. And I’m not a kid.” He follows Mike out the back door into the service passage, tossing the used spoon into the trash.

“Just remember,” Steve preaches for the fifty thousandth time. “If you get me caught—”

“—we’re dead,” they all chorus back, already halfway down the hall.

Lucas giggles. “We know.”

By the time they get into the theater, the lights have already gone down, but the movie hasn’t started yet. Lucas and Max, hands still joined, pick their way down to the fourth row, and Mike appears to spot an open space. He grabs Will by the wrist and tugs him over the the fifth row, a couple seats down from the other two, and Will sinks down into the cushy seat.

“Here,” Mike whispers, tugging a package of gummy worms from his pocket and handing them to Will. “I know you like these.”

Will can’t help but smile in the dark as he takes them. “Thanks.” Out of his bag, he digs out a couple soda bottles and other snacks, passing some over to Lucas and Max.

The booming movie voice has been droning on this whole time, but Will hasn’t been paying much attention—and as soon as he looks up at the screen, everything goes black.

A few people gasp, taken aback by the sudden darkness.

“Did the power go out?” Mike says lowly, and Will opens his mouth to respond when something like lightning hits him full force.

He knows, suddenly, that the lights are out everywhere. Everywhere. The mall, the town, every house for miles. He knows it the same way he knows that Mike’s hand is on his wrist.

And of course, as soon as he thinks it, the warmth of Mike’s fingers disappears and Will’s next breath is acidic. The worried murmuring of movie watchers fades out, and he only hears static.

“No,” he says, only it catches in his throat before he can really utter anything. The seat he’s in turns slimy and rough, and he stumbles to his feet. Everything is buzzing, like there’s electricity in his very bones. It’s not real, he thinks. Just relax, it’s not real. But then chills creep up his neck and he swears he can hear someone (something) creeping up behind him, and he thinks, fuck this, I’m out.

He feels so numb, but he somehow forces his feet to move, and he runs. Out of the theater and into the atrium, where the lights should be shining; but when he looks up all he sees is gaping blackness through the windows. Even out of the dark room, the walls seem to be closing in on him, and he moves forward once more. He’s sluggish, tripping and sliding over slimy vines, but he manages to reach the escalator—unmoving, of course—and launches himself down. He slips on the bottom step and tumbles onto his knees, catching himself with his hands, and when that sharp pain snaps through him it almost jolts him back to reason.

It’s not real, he reminds himself. El closed the gate. I watched her do it. This isn’t real.

He remembers, suddenly, something Mike told him once. He had been curled up on the floor of Mike’s basement, his knees tucked beneath his chin, and Mike had knelt beside him and whispered something until he came to his senses.

“Find what is real.”

So Will closes his eyes, because nothing he sees here can be real. But the floor beneath his feet—that’s real. The feeling of a steady, albeit fast, heartbeat in his chest—that’s real. The hand on his shoulder—

“Will!”

His eyes snap open, and Mike’s worried face fills his vision. Glancing around, he notes that the lights are back on and people are milling around as if nothing happened. A few are staring at him curiously.

“What happened?” Mike asks, even though Will knows he already knows the answer. “Can you still see it?”

Will swallows, his throat raw. “No. No, I’m good.” He shrugs Mike’s hand off his shoulder, feeling instantly remorseful at the hurt look on his face. “I… I think the lights just freaked me out. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Mike presses. “Honestly, we can just leave Lucas and Max, have some ice cream and go home—”

“I’m fine, Mike,” Will insists, because while a chill lingers on his neck, he doesn’t see any flicker of the Upside Down. And if he’s honest, he’s a little embarrassed. “Let’s just go back to the movie, okay?”

Mike looks dubious, but he nods. “Okay.” He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder, and though the contact makes him shudder he won’t push him off again.

As Mike leads himl back to the escalator, a voice barges into Will’s head.

Will, what happened? I felt your… fear. And…

The power went out, I panicked.

I know, it went out here too. But I thought—

El, Will interrupts her, because he’s scared to hear what she’ll say. I’ll call you when I get home. Okay? I’m with Mike. I don’t want him to worry.

Okay, she says after a beat. Be safe.

_____

The house is quiet when he slips inside. Jonathan’s shoes are tossed near the front door, but the light in his room is off—he’s probably sleeping. His mother isn’t in the living room, either, and her own door is shut, but there’s a note on the table with her scrawl across it telling Will that there’s leftovers in the fridge if he’s hungry.

He isn’t.

It’s nights like this that he misses the way things were. Jonathan is working all the time, now. Dustin is at camp, which leaves Will hanging around Lucas and Max, who are annoyingly joined at the hip—although they’re still well-grounded and include him, which is nice—and Mike, who has been trying all summer to convince El to go out with him. It’s a tricky thing, because El has been pouring all her time into studying, so she can join the Party at school the upcoming year. Not to mention, Hopper has been very strict about who comes and goes in the cabin. Will is allowed more than the others, but it’s still not often. He’s pretty sure Hopper has racked up a fairly high phone bill.

Speaking of phone bills.

“Sorry if I kept you up,” he says into the receiver. It’s easier to call than to have a full silent conversation—Will isn’t exactly eager to turn his nose into Niagara Falls again.

“It’s fine, of course,” El says, as easily as ever despite the fact that the clock says it’s ten minutes to midnight. “I just… I thought I felt something. Something that wasn’t just you.”

And, shit, he’d hoped she wouldn’t say that. “Me, too.” He sighs. “I was hoping I was just imagining things.”

“But I don’t understand,” El continues. “We closed the gate. We saw it. What could this be?”

“I don’t know.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Maybe it’s the scientists they haven’t found yet. Maybe… maybe it’s another sibling of yours. I mean, we both could feel it when Kali made a big move in January.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t heard anything since then.”

Will sighs. “I know. But that could just mean she’s been laying low for a while. My point is, we just don’t know what caused this.”

“Right.”

“We’ll just have to be careful,” Will says. “Keep an eye out. Hopefully this won’t happen again.”

“Okay.”

“Oh. And…” he hesitates. “Can we not tell Mike? Until we know anything for sure. You know how he gets.”

For the first time, she sounds amused. “Yes, I know. That’s fine.”

After her little laugh, her voice trails off, and Will listens to her breathe for a moment. Their heartbeats are perfectly synched, and Will can feel where El’s finger stings from a paper cut.

“Will? You there?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I’m gonna sleep, okay?”

“Okay. Me, too.”

Will grins, just slightly. “Actually do sleep, please, El. I know you like to check the In Between, but… just rest. We’re gonna be fine. Sleep.”

She huffs playfully. “Only because I know you’ll annoy me in my head if I don’t.”

“Goodnight, El,” he laughs. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Will.”

The line clicks.

_____

Subscribe to the story on my ao3, EmeraldTulip.

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, P3 Peter Parker x Reader

Author’s Note: Thank you again to everyone who liked Part 1 and Part 2! Each notification I get makes me embarrassingly happy - it really means a lot. I appreciate your notes more than I can say! (and if you want to leave a review, that’s super appreciated as well!)

About the story: I am so excited for the next chapter update! It’s awful writing Peter being as rude as he seems during this section, but upcoming chapters will fluctuate between his P.O.V. and the reader’s. Hopefully, that’ll clear things up and he'll seem more in character. I really love writing his chapters, they’re my favorites.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Anyway, here we go!

Then Again, Part 3:

(Word count: 1,813)

Aside from Peter’s obtrusive moodiness, the dinner ends up better than I imagined. We try to avoid too much debating - to save our brainpower for the coming tournament... and, though no one says it, to avoid being kicked out of the restaurant because Peter was getting way too loud while arguing with Flash.

Instead, we go a different route. We breathe life back into a handful of school memories, the kind I hope we always remember, even when we’re eighty. A personal favorite of mine is the time the captain of our baseball team misheard “shoe string” as “g-string” during the “Lost and Found” pep assembly game and, without hesitation, reached into his pocket and threw one down to Mr. Harrington (whose face was appropriately horrified). Or, a favorite of everyone’s, the time Abe spilled saline on Flash in Chemistry. Most of us were there when Flash pulled the emergency shower and started stripping in the middle of class because he assumed the liquid was acid and Abe was laughing too hard to tell him otherwise.

“Seriously? That’s so old!” (It was only two months ago.) Flash can’t let that story slip without protesting, yet he has to force his own laughter down. His mouth might be running, but I can tell he’s mostly amused, partly embarrassed. For once, he doesn’t seem like such an asshole. “And you shouldn’t laugh, Y/N, given what you did in first grade!”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Me? What about first grade?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow back to me as I squint, trying to recall. After a long pause, I remember. “Oh.... That about first grade.”

Of course he remembers. My face is changing colors, I know it is.

“Are you blushing?” Ned asks, astonished and intrigued.

I try to stifle the laughter rising in my throat. It bursts out anyway. I really can’t believe I forgot about this. If Flash hadn’t mentioned it, maybe by the grace of God, it would never have crossed my mind again. Damn you, Flash.

Peter shifts in his seat. His arm brushes mine as Flash begins to boast; he pulls it back. It makes me jump, just barely, from the warmth.

“Miss Goodie Goodie Two Shoes dragged me,” Flash says, “an innocent young boy, under the slide - during recess - to kiss me. And boy did she.”

Flash leans back in his chair, arms crossed, with an I won smirk that he directs at me, then Peter.

Screw you, Flash.

“You did not,” Michelle says in disbelief. “You kissed Flash?! And never mentioned it?”

“Hold on!” I say. Side conversations have halted for this piece of old gossip and there is no way Flash gets to bring me that low with something from a decade ago. “Back then, he was little, brainy Genie. And to be fair, he had a gumball machine delivered to my house. Yeah, Flash, don’t think I won’t bring up the fact you liked me, not the other way around. I assumed he was a rich prince and that if I kissed him, he would turn into a frog and I could steal his money from his locker and his desk. It wasn’t like I got naked in front of twenty-eight students and my teacher two months ago!”

“That’s so not how the fairytales go, Y/N,” Ned mutters. “Was your childhood okay?”

“You thought he was a frog?” Peter asks, speaking to me for the first time tonight. He crosses his arms.

“Yes, Peter Parker. I thought I could rob a magic frog prince. It borders on childhood criminal fantasy, but the point is: I was a child. You can’t make fun of me for something I did at six years old.”

“Oh, really? And what does frog taste like?”

His shoulder nudges mine as he leans in close, his eyes flickering to my lips for emphasis. My heartbeat is pulsing at the tips of my ears. I untuck my hair from them in case they turn red. I never thought he would look at me like this. Even if that look is for the wrong reason, it’s like a finger curling around my collar bone building pressure as it pulls downward. My breathing verges on painful.

What was the kiss like?

I pause.

“Dirt,” I say. Make this funny again. “Even as I dragged him to the slide, his hands were stuffing his mouth with dirt.”

Laughter erupts again. Thank God. Soon, Abe is almost in tears over it, clapping Flash on the back as Flash stammers to defend his choice of lunch ten years ago.

Peter goes silent again, eyes on the floor. Against my will, I can picture a tiny Peter Parker sulking inside my brain picking at the loose threads of my mental Perfect Day tapestry. My optimism is coming completely undone. Frustration or anxiety or both are pushing me off of my little “today” high.

We exit the restaurant at 10:27. Goodbyes and “See you in the morning!”’s pass between everyone in a jumble of half-conversations. I eavesdrop on Ned and Betty, both leaning against the window, cloaked in neon red glow with taxi headlights gliding over their kneecaps.

“So lame that Mr. Harrington won’t let us bring non-team members,” Ned’s saying. “He’s always being such a stick in the mud. Somebody should just... I don’t know.” He stumbles for words. “Like, kill him or something.”

Betty lets out an awkward chuckle.

“You know,” he hurries, “as, like, a prank.”

She snorts, covering her mouth as she doubles over.

“Totally. I’ll write the Morning Announcement piece on it and everything. See you in Psych in a few days?”

“Yeah! If I’m not in jail for murder, you know?”

Now they’re both laughing. Little stars of excitement bloom in my chest. I’m so glad Betty came. I’m thinking about all the future excuses I can muster up to force them to work with one another in class. My daydream dissolves as Michelle hip checks me back into the present.

“I hope you’re ready to lose a seventh hour buddy,” she whispers.

“Nah. I’ll stay on that love train as a third wheel. Gotta make sure the conductor doesn’t wreck it.”

“Trains have like, 8 wheels per segment.”

“Per car, you mean.”

“Exactly. I think Ned can handle it.”

“This must be a new record for us derailing a metaphor because I don’t follow the tracks you’re laying down.”

“Those are terrible puns and you know it.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes. The phrase I love my friends should be etched into the bone of each of my ribs. The phrase repeats itself so often in my head I like to visualize it that way.

As Cindy, Abe, Sally, and Betty wave goodbye, I turn to Ned. He’s waving back at them, a grin sprawled across his face. Eventually I catch his eye and smirk.

“You saw what you saw,” he mouths, jerking his head slightly to where Betty had been standing and giving me his best “cool guy” attitude.

Before I can respond, Flash finishes his conversation with Peter (which... though tense, didn’t seem hostile for once), and addresses the remaining four of us.

“You know, I thought this dinner thing was a joke at first, but it was actually... not the worse idea in the history of Midtown Tech. It gets an official Flash rating of Not Totally Lame.”

Michelle raises her eyebrows. Ned and Peter look vaguely annoyed. Personally, I’m not that surprised. (I’m kind of surprised - that he vocalized it.)

“You’re wel-”

“Yeah, dude, well, you were only invited a few hours ago,” Peter says. He scratches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyebrow before making eye contact with Flash again. “And the rest of us planned this last month. Like, ages ago.”

Everyone freezes.

“Cool,” Flash says. “Bye guys. Fuck you, Penis Parker.”

Peter doesn’t speak a word as we walk back to his and May’s apartment. His behavior is so foreign, so drastically cold even compared to how he’s been all week, that Ned, Michelle, and I keep our mouths shut too. Until we reach the door.

Peter unlocks it and turns around.

“You guys staying here tonight?”

“Yeah,” says Ned with the tone of obviously.

“Do you want us to go home?” I ask.

He looks at the ground as he shrugs. He seems almost as shy as the first time I met him, years ago.

What is going on in Spider Town?

“Just thought you guys might sleep better in beds. I know that couch sucks.”

“The couch is fine,” I say, wondering if he needs the reassurance of us wanting to be there. “MJ is what sucks. She pushed me off in her sleep half a dozen times. This time, she gets to sleep on the edge.”

Michelle nods. “But if you try to spoon me even once, I’m going to roll over and crush you.”

Peter stops listening and pushes the door open.

I fight the urge to kick at his heel while I follow. Peter Parker has always been the sweetest person in this city. Right now, though, he’s genuinely pissing me off. He’s acted worse than Flash has tonight, completely unlike himself. If anything, he’s making Flash look like a better friend.

After faces are washed, teeth brushed, and retainers stuck into place (everyone but Michelle - her teeth are naturally perfect), we turn off the lights and head to our usual sleeping stations. Michelle and I on the couch, Peter and Ned in the bunk beds. I lie on the couch for fifteen minutes, itching my index finger.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. Don’t steal my spot.”

Because of my retainers, it sounds more like, “Don’t thteal my thpot.” I take them out.

Maybe I can end this on a good note.

I stumble in the dark for a few steps until I find the hallway with my hands. I reach Peter’s door and turn the knob. A quiet conversation stops.

“Ned,” I whisper from the doorway. “Before I go to bed, I just need to clarify: if you do murder Mr. Harrington, legally I’ll have to testify against you. And I don’t want to see you behind bars. Try a different way to impress her, maybe?”

“Oh my goddd,” Ned groans. “I.... I still have no idea why I said that.”

I imagine Peter smiling on his bunk. He probably isn’t. If he were in a good mood, he would laugh and ask what we were talking about. If he were in a better mood at all, he would know by now.

“I know,” I say. “Goodnight!”

As I pop back out of the room, I hear Ned’s reply and Peter’s quiet, “Yeah.”

Who says “Yeah” to a “Goodnight”?

Peter Parker, apparently.

Tomorrow, I’m either going to hug him or kill him.

Part 4

Next update: Saturday 7. 

Or Friday 6 - whichever day you guys prefer.

I hope you guys enjoyed this! Let me know what you think!

P.S. I apologize for my awful frog jokes in P2 and P3.

[frederickwiddowson]

The writings of Luke the physician starting with his version of the gospel - Luke 22:39-46 comments: prayer on the Mount of Olives

Luke 22:39 ¶  And he came out, and went, as he was wont, to the mount of Olives; and his disciples also followed him. 40  And when he was at the place, he said unto them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation. 41  And he was withdrawn from them about a stone’s cast, and kneeled down, and prayed, 42 Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done. 43  And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him. 44 And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground. 45  And when he rose up from prayer, and was come to his disciples, he found them sleeping for sorrow, 46  And said unto them, Why sleep ye? rise and pray, lest ye enter into temptation.

 From this we see that Jesus regularly went to the mount of Olives as evidenced in Luke 19 and 21 plus the other three gospels. Jesus’ prayer here is an example to us. There are difficult things we must face in this life and we ask for mercy, that we do not suffer, but we should and must always acknowledge that it is God’s will that must be done, not ours. We make it clear that we acknowledge our dependence on God and that all things are by His hand. All we can do is to ask for mercy acknowledging His authority over our lives and giving Him the glory.

 This is very difficult for modern Christians who have bought into the evil that has divorced the God of the Bible from reality. We have created a caretaker God who stands off but is not active in every moment or function of life and existence. We call on Him for help, assistance, or for a blessing but do not see His hand in every difficulty, every joy, and, indeed, in every cell function, heartbeat, and stirring of a breeze.

 It was the era of Isaac Newton that began to relegate God to a sort of ‘First Cause’ who set up processes that function normally just fine without Him. You’ll even hear preachers talk about things like childbirth or the death of someone as if, when something goes wrong, God needs a phone call or a text message to know what’s going on. God isn’t an absentee landlord who you call when the plumbing breaks. He either broke the plumbing or allowed it to be broken for a reason you may never know, if you study the book of Job, and you need His mercy, His wisdom on how to fix it or have someone fix it and understanding of what He wants from you as a response to this life challenge, blessing, or sorrow.

 Here, the visible image of God, the very body of God, the man who is fully God and yet fully man, shows that while He is not looking forward to the suffering He must face in order to die for our sins, the sins of the world, He acknowledges that the will of God, which is also His will as He is God, must be done.

 Hebrews 5:7  Who in the days of his flesh, when he had offered up prayers and supplications with strong crying and tears unto him that was able to save him from death, and was heard in that he feared; 8  Though he were a Son, yet learned he obedience by the things which he suffered; 9  And being made perfect, he became the author of eternal salvation unto all them that obey him;

 An angel or appearance of someone from heaven ministers to Him.

 Psalm 104:4  Who maketh his angels spirits; his ministers a flaming fire:

 Hebrews 1:7  And of the angels he saith, Who maketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a flame of fire.

 This reinforces our understanding of what Christ knew about His upcoming physical death and relates it to our suffering if we are not drugged or unconscious when it happens to us.

 Indeed, dying and death rank highly among some of mankind’s greatest fears and we go to great lengths to increase our years or try to ameliorate the suffering of death with drugs. God came as a man, in part, for this very reason.

 Hebrews 2:14 ¶  Forasmuch then as the children are partakers of flesh and blood, he also himself likewise took part of the same; that through death he might destroy him that had the power of death, that is, the devil; 15 And deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage. 16  For verily he took not on him the nature of angels; but he took on him the seed of Abraham.

 By Christ’s agony in the garden and from other events detailed in the Bible we can relate our own fears, anxieties, and thoughts over the end-of-life suffering and be comforted. You are not sinning or showing faithlessness if you resist the agony you may face because even our Lord did not look forward to it. God comforts us with the Bible when we see that we are not alone and that it is not wrong to not be a Stoic with the proverbial stiff-upper-lip when it comes to life’s pain and grief.

 2Corinthians 1:4  Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.

 From the Bible we learn that we are not condemned when we suffer because we respond to it in our humanity. We are also taught how to respond to the suffering of others.

 Romans 12:15  Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.

 A temptation is something that can cause you to doubt God or calls into question your faith or makes you deny Christ. Prayer here is one answer to the danger of temptation. Remember the prayer Jesus taught His disciples that mentioned temptation. See the comments on chapter 11:1-13. This is not tempted to do wrong but tempted to doubt God or turn from Him, to not do what Jesus has done, acknowledge that it is God’s will that must be done.

 The disciples are said to be sleeping for sorrow. Only Luke gives us the cause of their sleepiness. It is the result of emotional exhaustion. The disciples have been experiencing an emotional overload. Different people respond to such things differently. But, here, these frail human beings who follow Christ can bear the extreme stress placed on them as the Lord they love told them that He must die no more. In an ongoing time of grief and sorrow that is unremitting and merciless some people eat a lot, some go about their daily trivialities with an obsessive-compulsive attitude, and others fall down exhausted in their hearts.

 It is also possible that these exhausted disciples were being oppressed by Satan although it does not say so in the text. Remember;

 31  And the Lord said, Simon, Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat: 32  But I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.

 Simon Peter’s emotional catharsis, that moment of relief as the floodgate of tears opens and he is enabled to be the Apostle he would become, the one Jesus prayed for, is coming up here in verse 62.

 Finally, keep in mind that as it were is an idiomatic expression that means “so to speak”. Having bloody sweat is a rare but real condition called hematidrosis and has been recorded at times throughout history even into modern times. I have seen pictures purportedly of the condition.

[mypoorfaves]

Yoi sickfics masterpost

I said I would and I did! This list contains every sickfic I have read and enjoyed from fanfiction and ao3, sorted by character and tagged for symptoms. Please read the tags carefully for any potential triggers!

If you liked this list, you can check out a similar masterpost I did a while back for whumpy yoi fics focusing on injury and angst.

(Fics all listed under the cut)

～～～

～～～Otabek～～～

The Tale of a Sick Hero by 2D_Earth

1000~ words

In which Otabek is sick, and Yuri dotes.

Tags: aged-up characters, coughing, cold, fever, mentions of emeto

～～～Yurio ～～～

after the cold comes warmth by orphan_account

1400~ words

Yuri lets out another sigh. A cold during the off-season is one thing because then he can just sleep it off and make up for lost time on his own but now… Now is his chance to prove himself; to Victor, to the other Yuri and to the rest of the figure skating world that he’s someone to look out for—a force to be reckoned with—as has his moniker, ’The Russian Punk’, seems to imply.

Tags: cold, sore throat, fever, headache, dizziness, nausea, emeto mention

Ruffled Feathers by Bam4Me

1600~ words

This is all Yuuri and Victor's fault. Yuri felt FINE until one of them suggested that maybe he didn't, and now he's sick. Those assholes.

*

Or, the YOI Wingfic that no one was expecting to be a secret fluff fest.

Tags: wingfic au, cold, sore throat, chills, coughing, dizziness

Intertwined by stella_polaris

5900~ words

Yuri comes down with a bad cold and has to take a break from training. That gives him lots of time to think about the relationship with his best friend and is he maybe not just his best friend?

Tags: aged-up characters, cold, fever, coughing, fainting, passing out, headache

Promise by _Angel_ (Meganekko_Misery)

1400~ words

Yuri Plisetsky gets sick during ballet class.

Tags: stomach flu, emeto

Of Sick Days and Movies by BunniesofDoom

1200~ words

Yuri is feverish and grumpy. Yuuri tries to help.

Tags: fever, more fluff than sickfic

Raincheck by CalamityK

1100~ words

“You’ll be better before I leave.” Otabek hums; tracing the patterns of his upcoming routine on Yuri’s thighs.

Yuri meets his eyes. “And if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll just take a raincheck.”

--------

Or that fic where Yuri is sick and Otabek is simply the best.

Tags: sore throat, more fluff than sickfic

Even Tigers Ain't Always Tough by CalamityK

1500~ words

“I don’t mean hot like attractive. I mean hot like I could fry an egg on you.” Otabek says rather sternly. “You have a fever.”

--------

Or that fic where Yuri gets sick and Otabek gets worried.

Tags: aged-up characters, established romantic/sexual otayuri, fever, coughing

～～～Victor ～～～

Practice Is Cancelled by Arisprite

4900~ words

Victor gets a cold, and the Katsuki family is there for him.

Tags: cold, fever, coughing, chills, overheating

Feverish by SarkaS

4900~ words

Yuuri should have known this was going to happen. He warned Victor it was not good idea run that far with what weather forecast said, and in such light clothes.

Tags: fever, sore throat, chills, headache

Safe & Secure by glim

1100~ words

He hates this, though; he hates being sick and how being sick reminds him of cold hotel rooms after long flights and mornings spent in colder airports.

Tags: sore throat, headache, coughing

Ill-Timed by glim

3100~ words

Yuuri glances at Viktor, working to keep the frown off his face. If you weren’t looking too closely, you might think that it was mere fatigue that made Viktor look pale and shadow-eyed, or made his voice sound quiet and rough.

Tags: cold, coughing, chills, sneeze

Two Minutes by GooberFeesh

1500~ words

Even though Yuuri knew it was just a cold and that it could have been much, much worse, it didn’t really eliminate the feeling of dread when Viktor awoke two mornings ago to a sore throat, stuffy nose, and tight chest.

Tags: cold, fever, congestion, sneeze, coughing

Love So Sick by rinhoshinya

300~ words

Viktor is whiny and clingy when he’s sick and Yuuri doesn’t quite mind this.

Tags: cold, fever, short and sweet

Calling us home by Vampiric_Charms

3400~ words

Anxiety, guilt, stress - all par for the course, isn’t it (then tripled when Victor is concerned). Double that triple when Victor is suddenly not around when Yuuri comes from from practice, and then add in a few unexpected text messages, some maybe not-so-helpful off-hand words from his sister, and even more baffling responses from Victor himself, and of course Yuuri’s afternoon goes much differently than he really expected - or wanted - it to.

Tags: mentions of emeto, headache, chronic headaches, bit of self-depreciating victor and sadness

Porridge by Sitrus

800~ words

Viktor's sick, Yuuri takes care of him. You can't find Viktor's go-to sick day food in Hasetsu.

Tags: stomach flu, nausea, mentions of emeto

Delirious by MeowshmallowX

1000~ words

In which Yuuri does funny things to Viktor’s heart—right up until he passes out.

Tags: flu, fever, collapsing, passing out, delirious, delirium, coughing

Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch (You Know That I Love You) by RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus)

3500~ words

Viktor catches himself and doesn’t even hide his smile when he asks, “Did you just call me ‘honey’?”

By the way Yuuri hurriedly glances to the side, it looks like he hadn’t even realized he’d done it intentionally. It had just slipped out, and that’s what makes the occurrence of it all the more lovely to replay in Viktor’s head again, and then again, and then maybe thrice more.

Viktor bats his eyelashes at Yuuri. “Say it again~”

Or, moving in together in St. Petersburg takes some adjustment, some stressful and some very, very sweet.

Tags: fever, lots of petnames, more fluff than sickfic

Easy Now with My Heart by braveten

12 300~ words

“Fast, Yuuri. Pow pow.”

“Pow pow?”

He giggles—Victor Nikiforov, figure skating champion, Olympic athlete, Yuuri’s idol, who is currently sick and delusional, giggles—and puts his hand on Yuuri’s chest, pillowing his head there, too. “Pow pow,” he repeats as he feels his heartbeat. “Pow pow, pow pow. Fast, see?”

Tags: cold, flu, fever, nausea, emeto, delirious, delirium, coughing

don’t worry by JMonCheri

21 700~ words

Time seemed to slow to a stop, at first Viktor seemed to falter as he slowed alongside with time, his flush obvious on his cheeks. Viktor stopped skating, his form stayed frozen on the rink, before promptly dropping to the ice like a ragdoll. Yuuri gasps alongside with the crowd. Viktor did not do any jumps, spins, or anything. Viktor Nikiforov, his undefeatable champion, his naive Fiancé, his love, his everything, has simply fainted.

Viktor did not look like he was going to get up anytime soon.

For the first time that night, Yuuri allowed himself to listen to the announcer’s booming voices.

“Viktor Nikiforov has fainted! Where are the medics? I repeat, Viktor Nikiforov has fainted!”

Tags: !!character death!!, cancer, leukemia, keeping secrets, hiding illness, collapsing, fainting, hospital, iv, fever, time skip in second chapter, yuuri has child, lots of feels, wow just really depressing, the ending is bittersweet, like not heartbreaking imo but still feels

～～～Yuuri ～～～

Practice Should Be Cancelled by Arisprite

2100~ words

Yuri has had a low key cold for days, and it’s really grating on his nerves. It doesn’t help that the forced inactivity is pushing up anxieties he’d thought he had under control.

A companion story to Practice is Cancelled but the only connection is that they’re both sickfics, so no need to one before the other.

Tags: cold, fever, slow build, coughing, anxiety

Crash by cosmicrelief

2800~ words

Yuuri comes down with a cold and Viktor has no idea how to deal with it.

Tags: cold, fever, shivering, chills, headache, dizziness, collapsing, passing out

Reunion by CheekyPotato

2000~ words

After a month apart due to competitions, Yuuri finally reunites with his fiance but it doesn't go as planned.

Takes place after Season 1

Tags: cold, sore throat, headache, sneeze, fever, coughing

Breakfast in Bed by glim

1600~ words

"You have a cold," Viktor confirms. "And I have breakfast for you."

Tags: cold, coughing, sneeze

Tender Care by Sabinasan

7400~ words

When Yuri comes down with the flu, Victor takes the opportunity to strengthen his budding relationship with him while nursing him back to health.

Tags: flu, nausea, emeto, fever, chills, overheating, headache

Sniffle, Sneeze, Skate…? by pendots

1400~ words

Victor gaped. Yuuri didn’t look fit to be standing, much less skating!

(In which poor Yuuri is sick but still insistent that he and Victor go to practice. Victor won’t have it.)

Tags: cold, fever, coughing

Dizziness is not Contagious by Lazchan

3000~ words

Yuuri is determined to skate; however a cold makes it a bit difficult to stay upright.

Tags: fever, dizziness, collapsing, passing out, bit delirious

I'm right here by your side by Alliwriteistrash

1100~ words

Yuuri is feeling sick and Victor does everything he can to help him get better.

Tags: chills, fever, short and sweet

Caring by BunniesofDoom

1100~ words

Yuuri gets sick, Victor panics, and Yuri saves the day.

Tags: fever, coughing

Arrivals by youaremarvelous

6700~ words

Yuuri falls ill shortly after moving to St. Petersburg. With Viktor away on a sponsor meeting, it’s up to the Ice Tiger of Russia to nurse him back to health.

Tags: sinus infection, strep throat, sore throat, fever, chills, emeto, congestion, headache, coughing

Auspices by youaremarvelous

8000~ words

How many Russians does it take to cure a sick person?

Yuuri probably doesn't want to be the punchline to that joke.

A sequel to Arrivals

Tags: sinus infection, strep throat, sore throat, fever, emeto, chills, headache, coughing, dizziness, blood

to where the reality grows by CarbonFootprint

3000~ words

“Victor had been through enough long seasons of vigorous skating to know how the off-season went: first came the exhaustion mixed with a burning need to continue to train as hard as one would when in-season, and then, as if on queue, came the crash afterwards.

It was different for each and every skater of course, and probably for most athletes of any rigorous profession. Victor had always gotten some kind of bout of the flu that kept his bedridden for several days, but Chris, for example, seemed to always come down with allergies and muscle aches that kept him away from the rink for a week at least.

For some it was a cold and for others it was aches and pain, but either way he knew he should expect something similar from Yuuri. ”

In which Victor dotes on sick Yuuri as any fiancé should.

Tags: cold, slow build, fever, dizziness

I’m Right Here by merigold

8800~ words

Yuuri’s sick. Viktor’s more than a little charmed at the chance to take care of him.

Tags: bronchitis, fever, clinic, hospital mention, fever, coughing, anxiety, home remedies

Of Sickness and Healing by Tonys_Loki

1700~ words

Yuuri’s eyes flutter open and Victor smiles softly at him despite the haze in the warm browns.

“Victor?” Yuuri rasps.

“Hello, my love. How do you feel?” Victor asks.

“Better,” Yuuri answers.

Victor has to suppress a laugh at that, because if anything Yuuri looks worse and sounds just as bad as he did that morning.

In which Yuuri is sick and Victor is trying his best to make him better.

Tags: fever, mentions of emeto, nausea

The Fundamentals of Caring by braveten

20 800~ words

“Let me guess, you’re going to go take care of Yuuri while he sleeps? Just in case he sneezes or something?” Yurio rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “Viktor, you’re whipped.”

Viktor rubs the back of his neck as he leans against the wall. “What does that mean?”

“It means that if Yuuri asked you to do a little dance for him in nothing but a coconut bra and a hula skirt, you’d do it.”

Viktor pauses, confused. “And that’s a bad thing?”

Tags: flu, fever, delirious, delirium, emeto, !!sexual content!! (in the second chapter; easily skippable)

The Razor’s Edge by kitykat17

29 500~ words

Yuuri was used to a hard life. But this was a whole new level.

Yuri’s life is going well. He as at the peak of his career, and has started his life in Russia with the man he loved, Victor Nikiforov. However, things take an unexpected turn when he finds out he has cancer. How will he tell Victor? What will these mean for his career?

Tags: cancer, leukemia, emeto, hiding illness, angst, clinic, hospital, spinal tap, chemotherapy, crying, pneumonia, coughing, fever, !!alternate ending available with character death!!

～～～Both Victor and Yuuri～～～

a little room to breathe by qynntessence

9000~ words

Viktor blows his nose wetly and blushes, turning away from Yuuri’s kind eyes. “Can-Can I have another tissue?” He blows his nose again, a thick, congested sound, which turns into thick, congested sneezing. “I’m sorry, I know it can’t be much fun to take care of your sick fiancé when you have a cold. Asthma sucks.”

In which Yuuri has a cold (and also anxiety), Viktor has the flu (and also asthma), and they’re messy and in love and try their best.

Tags: cold, flu, one past emeto mention, asthmatic victor, asthma attack, coughing, headache, fever, chills, overheating, sneeze, anxiety

Insult to Injury by glim

8000~ words

Almost a whole week alone with Viktor might not be worth one of them made victim to a sprained ankle and both of them to a winter head cold, but maybe it is worth all that, at least in some small way.

Tags: cold, sore throat, sneeze, headache, injury, sprain, sprained ankle, contagion

Ice Gays by iceprinceofbelair

4900~ words

A collection of sickfics for my fave ice gays.

Tags: cold, fever, overheating, crying, jetlag, tired, asthmatic victor, asthma attack, trans victor in one chapter, period cramps, soreness

[marybeatriceofmodena]

chance may crown me - a story for the 2017 reylo fanfiction anthology: celebrate the waking

chapter I (AO3/Tumblr) | chapter II (AO3/Tumblr) | chapter III (AO3/Tumblr) | chapter IV (AO3/Tumblr) | chapter V (AO3/Tumblr) | chapter VI (AO3/Tumblr) | chapter VII (AO3/Tumblr) | chapter VIII

Maz’s cantina had closed down for the time being. In the meantime, there was a reunion, where people of many different species and social status assembled for a common goal: to restore the Queen of Naboo at her rightful place, and rescue Leia.

There was no mention of Kylo. And the more time passed by, the more anxious Rey became.

Meanwhile, Finn was fitting in well. For the infiltration plan, he provided useful insight about breaking into buildings and slicing security systems. Despite all her worries and her guilt, Rey couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Finn. Perhaps this would finally be his chance to prove his worth, and be the hero he was always meant to be.

People around Rey started getting up, heading out of the cantina, towards whatever business they would have to attend in the upcoming mission. She got up as well, running towards Finn and Rose.

“I want to help. No one mentioned anything about Ben-- I mean, Lord Ren.” Rey shook her head, trying to forget about her slip, which was gnawing at her mind for some unknown reason. “I know you already have a lot on your hands, so… I can take care of him. I’ll go and rescue him. I can slip in the palace alone and--”

Rose and Finn glanced at each other. “We… understand you want to help, Rey,” Rose replied gently. “But considering the circumstances, it would be better if you stayed behind.”

“What?”

“Rose is right,” added Finn. “With what we’ve just discovered about you, King Prana will want to get his claws on you. And if the news come out about who you are--”

“I don’t care! I’m not going to stay here and do nothing!”

“Rey, I’m sorry,” said Finn with a sympathetic smile. “It’s for the best. And I-- we want you to be safe.”

“Oh, it’s a we, now?”

Rose blushed, staring at the ground. “Rey! This is not the moment!” Finn said, his voice a pitch higher.

Rey crossed her arms, glaring at Finn.

“You might tell me to stay behind, but I won’t,” Rey said.

“Rey, please…” Finn pleaded. “Don’t come with us.”

Rey scrunched her mouth, turning away. “Fine.”

Rey didn’t know for how long everyone had left the cantina. The only people left were her, of course, BB-8, beeping in concern near her, and Maz, who busied herself by cleaning the tables. Rey was sitting on one of them, her chin resting on her knees. In other circumstances, Maz would have grounded her for doing so, but this time, she probably felt indulgent enough not to.

She eventually came in front of Rey, staring at her.

“So you’re just going to stay there and do nothing, mm?”

Rey raised her eyebrows. “No, of course not! I want to help. I just don’t know how.”

Maz rolled her eyes and left the room, leaving Rey and BB-8 alone. The little droid gently purred, in an attempt to cheer Rey up. Her lips twitched upwards, but she didn’t have the heart to smile.

Maz came back in again, carrying Rey’s staff and the lightsaber in her arms.

“You’ll need these,” she said as she entered the room.

Rey’s eyes widened in surprise. “For what?”

“To rescue your prince in distress, of course! What else? You’re the last person in the galaxy who’d just stand there like some damsel. Now, shoo! Get up! We don’t have all night, and I need to give you some instructions before you run off.”

“B--but how will I do that?”

“By the ghosts of Dathomir, you’re a scavenger! And you know how to get into the palace unseen? You got a staff! And the lightsaber! Take them! Come on!”

She smiled. “Remember what I’ve taught you all those years, child. I’m no Jedi, but I know the Force. Remember how I made you meditate? When you’ll arrive in the palace, do the same. The Force will guide you to where you have to be.”

Rey picked her staff and the lightsaber from Maz’s hands, and nodded in determination. “I’ll do it,” she replied.

Maz grinned, pinching Rey’s cheek. “I know you will. BB-8 will stay here with me. It’ll be easier for you. Tut tut!” Maz added when the little droid protested. “I need a bodyguard in case First Order agents come and ask me questions.”

“It’s better this way, BB-8,” agreed Rey. “You’ve done a great job protecting me at the palace, after all.” She winked, and grinned as BB-8 beeped in agreement.

“Before I go, Maz… whose lightsaber is this? And how did you get it?”

Maz sighed. “How I got it is a long story… but I can tell you whose lightsaber this is. It has belonged to the Skywalker family for many generations, before it was lost, once by Luke Skywalker, and the other when I was to guard it. When the time comes, it will go back to Ben. But for now, it is yours to wield.”

She tapped Rey on the shoulder. “Now quit staring, child, and go! You’ve got a prince to rescue!”

Rey didn’t need for Maz to say it twice. Without another word, she rushed out of the cantina.

When Rey arrived at the palace, the first place she decided to search was the lower level: more particularly, the prison sector.

It wasn’t too hard for her to find it, and Rey was so used to going around unseen and hiding in dark corners that escaping the guards’ notice was a small feat for her.

What would be more difficult, however, would be finding Kylo’s cell.

Finding refuge in yet another dark corner where no one would find her, at least for a few minutes, Rey put the advice Maz had given her earlier into practice. She sat on the ground, crossing her legs together, and took a few deep breaths, exploring her surroundings through the Force, searching for something that would be unmistakably Kylo.

Was it still right to call him Kylo Ren? Rey wasn’t so sure, anymore. She recalled how Leia always called him Ben, as if he was still a little boy running around in the royal palace of Alderaan. He was probably already insufferable. Rey suppressed a laugh and scolded herself: she needed to focus on a Force signature. Ben’s Force signature.

At first contact with the Force, she gasped. Even if she couldn’t see anyone, she could sense them all through the Force, hear them breathe, hear their heartbeat… but there was one, among them all, vibrant with power, sounding very similar to a feline growling. As she focused on it, she sensed the person’s pain, fright and heartbreak. And, beneath it all, there was something that made it all even worse: resignation.

Without further ado, Rey got on her feet, and followed the purr as it became louder, bringing her closer to Ben.

She knew she had arrived at the right place as she came face to face with a cell closed by a force field rather than a heavy door. Two guards were standing side by side outside it, their black garb making them look somewhat more intimidating than the Naboo guards Rey would come across every day.

Rey prepared herself to attack, hesitating for a split second then reaching for her staff. She expected the guards to do the same. To her great surprise, as she grabbed her staff, the two guards lowered their heads, setting one knee on the ground.

She didn’t have time to react: the guards’ bodies were lifted up from the ground, to be smashed on the wall and fall, rendered unconscious by the crash.

“Your lightsaber! Quick! It can break through the forcefield!” Rey recognized Ben’s voice. Without further ado, she ignited her lightsaber, smashing it through the forcefield until it disappeared.

As she entered the cell, the corners of his mouth twitched up, his eyes lighting up.

“You came back,” he whispered, his voice uneven.

“Of course I did,” Rey replied, her throat tightening. “And I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Two arms were encircling her. She turned off the lightsaber, hugging Ben as well.

“Don’t blame yourself, Rey,” said Ben. “You had no reason to believe me.” He chuckled bitterly. “Even my mother thought I was going to murder the Queen.”

“Your mother loves you,” replied Rey, and as she drew away from their embrace, she found herself removing a few strands of hair from his face, not realizing her gesture. “She misses you, too.”

He took her hand in his, setting a knee on the ground and kissing the back and the palm. Rey was reminded of the valiant warriors from the tales of old she’d hear as a little girl: almighty and powerful in battle, but undone in front of the fearless ladies they’d fall in love with.

Rey kneeled as well, her face at Ben’s level. There was an intensity in his gaze she wasn’t quite able to identify, and she didn’t notice how ridiculously close they were to each other. For a split second, he appeared as if he was about to tell her something, but Rey managed to snap out of their daydream.

“We need to go,” she muttered. “The guards could wake up any minute. They’ll call for  reinforcements.”

Ben looked slightly disappointed, but he nodded. “You better leave,” he replied. “Snoke knows who you are. He wants to use you. I can’t risk him getting his claws on you.”

“And leave you on your own?” Rey sighed in exasperation. “And anyway, who’s Snoke?”

“King Prana. Well, Snoke is his true identity-- the real King Prana died a long time ago. I don’t know who Snoke really is, or what he is. All I know is that he’s some sort of being who… feeds on Force-sensitive people, I guess. It could be like the Queen of Ktath’atn, but she and her court have bodies of their own.  Anyway, I don’t feel like learning more. I need to deal with Snoke, by myself. You go and run back to safety.”

“I won’t!” Rey interjected. “First thing that’ll happen once I leave you is you doing something stupid. I can defend myself. We need to go and rescue your mother together.

“Hey, I’m not that stupid!” Ben snapped back. “Oh, and don’t roll your eyes like that.” He smirked, his eyes gleaming like a little boy who was just about to play a trick. “You’re irresistible when you do that.”

“Do shut up!” Rey sniped, but to her great embarrassment, she felt her cheeks heating up. “Here, take the lightsaber. I trust you can fight with it. And I got told it was yours, apparently.”

Ben’s face became solemn as he picked the lightsaber from Rey’s hands. “It is… it was my grandfather’s. How-- where did you find it?”

“Long story,” Rey replied. “We’ve chatted enough. We need to go, now. Do you know where they might be keeping Leia?”

Ben remained pensive for a moment. “I don’t sense her presence in the prison sector, and neither in the lower levels. She might still be in the upper levels. Snoke probably wouldn’t leave her out of his sight. And I think I might know where they could be.”

Their destination was the throne room. Rey could only hope Ben’s intuition was a good one, and that reinforcements from the Queen’s troops would come to their aid.  

When they arrived in front of the great doors of the throne room, they were surprised to see that there were no guards. They cast a worried glance at each other, unsure what to expect on the other side of the door, despite sensing only Snoke and Leia’s presences.

“Let’s go,” whispered Rey, sliding her hand in Ben’s. She felt him jump in surprise at first, but then he squeezed hers, nodding with determination.

Signaling each other with a quick glance, they rammed into the door, slamming it open, finding themselves face to face with Snoke.

Leia was still strapped to an interrogation chair, unconscious. Surprisingly, there were no guards around, but it was easy to assume that Snoke trusted no one else but himself to watch over her.

Snoke was sitting on the Queen’s throne, his smug features clearly showing he considered the game already won. He didn’t move as Rey and Ben entered the room, brandishing their weapons in what looked like a pointless attempt to look intimidating in front of an unfazed Snoke.

“You both came,” Snoke chuckled. “Just as I expected.”

Rey noticed Ben freezing. His gaze was locked on his his mother’s unconscious form, when he needed to focus on the task at hand - defeating Snoke.

She remembered what she had always done when she and Finn were still children,whenever he was frightened of the undercity’s darkest corners. She felt Ben stiffen, but she didn’t have time to remove her hand: he squeezed it instead.

“You fools believe that you can defeat me?” Snoke continued. “A single gesture from me, and your weapons are taken away from you. What will be left? Your fists?” He glanced at Rey and Ben’s intertwined hands, a sly smile appearing on his lips. “The power of love?”

Rey felt her cheeks heat up, and she ripped her hand away from Ben’s. She knew she was  blushing-- and she hated blushing. Glancing quickly towards Ben, she noticed that he was beet red as well, and she could see the tip of his ears poking from his hair, pinker than usual.

“I could find a use for both of you,” Snoke mused. “Let’s forget about the Queen of Naboo. Perhaps host a grand marriage between one of my greatest warriors and the heiress to the Empire-- a story for the ages. Children will come, Force-sensitive, of course. What use would I have for those who wouldn’t be? And living on will be the least of my worries--”

“Keep Rey out of this,” Ben hissed, pushing her away while shielding her. Rey huffed in annoyance, removing Ben’s arm and moving forward. He nevertheless insisted, squeezing her shoulder. This time, Rey couldn’t ignore the gesture’s tenderness, and it was even hard for her not to smile.

“She looks like a feisty one,” Snoke replied. “Just like her mother.”

Rey clenched her jaw, memories of a long-lost life coming back to her, obscuring her mind, anger gnawing and growling at her like a beast in a cage.

“Your father was the calmer one of the two,” Snoke continued, his fingernail absent-mindedly carving on one of the throne’s elaborate motifs. “A lot like his own father, the Emperor. Knowing how to hide in the shadows, and how to strike at the best moment, and right at the time where it would hurt the most and bring him more. Darth Sidious taught him well. Your mother was one of the Hapans - distant cousins to the Nightsisters, but both powerful sorceresses. You could say she bewitched your father the minute he saw her for the first time. And then you were born… I must say, I do wonder how they managed to hide you so well. Killing them was so easy--”

He was interrupted by Rey, letting out what sounded like a roar, but also a cry of pain, as she charged towards him. Ben was unable to hold her back. But Snoke lifted his hand, and Rey found herself suddenly unable to move, a mysterious force crippling her.

“Why, I was right. You really are your parents’ little monster. A Jedi wouldn’t approve.”

As he finished speaking, Rey was released from his hold. Her head was ringing with Snoke’s words. Monster. She shook her head.

“I’m no monster. And if a Jedi doesn’t approve, well, it’s bantha poodoo. I’ll kill you, and I’ll drag your corpse through Theed for everyone to see. Both for what you did to my family, and for Ben’s.”

“Aren’t you sweet,” Snoke mocked her. “But let’s make this all easier, shall we? It’s quite simple. If both of you surrender without any complaining, I will let Queen Leia go. If not… I’ll terminate her. I have full control of the interrogation chair, so think twice.”

Rey heard a thud behind her. She turned around, and to her great horror, she saw Ben kneeling, his lightsaber lying a few centimeters from him, discarded.

“I surrender,” he muttered. “But let Rey and my mother go. That’s all I ask. From now on, do what you want of me. Feed on me, take my body if you want-- but don’t hurt them.”

Snoke gave an amused hiss between his teeth. “Look at you, making the big selfless sacrifice! You’ve always been too compassionate for your own good. But I prefer having a first and a main course.”

“No!” Rey interjected. “It can’t end like this. I won’t let it.”

“So what will you do, scavenger?” Snoke sneered.

Rey closed her eyes, frowning in deep thought. When she opened them again, she stared right at Snoke, his malicious gaze this time failing to intimidate her. “If I am to become your slave, I want it to happen fair and square. I challenge you to a duel. If I win, I get to leave with Ben and Leia. If I lose, you may do whatever you wish with us.”

Snoke howled in laughter, the echo hurting Rey’s ears, but only strengthening her resolve.

“You think you stand a chance against me, little girl?”

“I won’t become your slave without a fight,” Rey replied, her words sounding suddenly very hollow as they bounced against the walls of the throne room. She meant every word of what she had just said - but as much as she had felt brave and invincible a few seconds earlier, against a being she knew next to nothing about, except for his tremendous power and ability to feed on people’s souls, she now felt very small, and doomed to be crushed under his heel.

She tightened her grip around her staff, breathing deeply and summoning the Force to study her surroundings. Perhaps she was no match for someone such as Snoke, but she was a scavenger: and scavengers were well-known for being among the most resourceful. As she concentrated, for the first time, she felt an energy emanating from her staff - something dark, from which she recoiled as she remembered the dangers of the Dark Side. Yet, her instincts guiding her towards it.

Probably yet another remnant of Palpatine’s evils, like the undercity was.

Like she was.

She snapped out of her meditation, terrified, the but first things that immediately came into focus were Ben and Leia’s presences.

And Ben was growing impatient.

Rey saw him igniting the lightsaber, charging towards Snoke, in a last desperate attempt to protect both Rey and his mother. But he had barely made a few steps forward before, with a swift gesture from Snoke, he was frozen, unable to move. He was now forced to watch the next events unfurl while standing, helpless.

Snoke got up, summoning in his hand a long staff: a Force pike.

She was alone.

The darkness within her staff sang to her, promising her the power she needed if only, for a second, she gave into the Dark Side. Like someone trying not to drown, Rey resisted, leading her thoughts to something, anything, that would pull her away from the thrall.

But the more the seconds flew by, the more Rey wondered if it wasn’t a temptation, but instead something that had been dormant within her for a long time.

Her entire life replayed in her mind.

In a parallel universe, she would have been the heiress to the Empire, as cruel and merciless as her parents and her grandfather had been.

But now, she realized she wouldn’t trade her life for any of it.

Yet, she was the heiress to the Empire, with tremendous power despite the fact she had never experienced it fully.

She had never been nothing. And in front of Snoke, she was a force to reckon with, no matter who she was.

Without further ado, she charged. And yet, she felt at peace.

With all his centuries of experience, Snoke was a formidable duelist. But Rey held her own, as she tried thinking he was just another thug in the undercity she had to fight for food. There were clumsy moves, here and there, and some burns to which she let out a few cries, but she pushed away the pain, always reminding herself that her fate, as well as Ben and Leia’s, depended on her.

After a while, however, she realized she was repeating  the same moves, again and again, and it became clear Snoke was toying with her. There were far too many mistakes on her part, and too many opportunities for Snoke to disarm her. Until then, she had avoided all eye contact with Snoke, but as she glanced his way, his smile, like a krayt dragon with its prey, was chilling.

Snoke had become bored. With a swift move, his staff touched both of Rey’s arms, electrifying them, while she screamed and fell on the ground, letting go of her weapon.

It was done.

He towered over her, his smile triumphant and predatory, making Rey disgusted and furious all at once. He lifted his staff off, preparing to land a blow that wouldn’t kill her, of course, but that would leave her badly wounded for a long time. The first of many, until he’d broken her.

In all her life in the undercity, Rey had never let anything of the sort happen to her.

She needed something that could rid her of Snoke, for good.

The lightsaber.

It was still in Ben’s frozen hand, still ignited, and it was just what she needed.

Rey outstretched her arm, praying that she would be strong enough for it to come in her hand, and save her.

In a millisecond she felt it land in her hand. She slashed at Snoke’s chest, stabbing him through the heart.

Snoke screeched, his staff falling on the ground, while Rey got up on her feet, letting the corpse collapse on the ground while she turned off the lightsaber, sighing in relief.

What had been King Prana’s body was crumbling into dust. Dark smoke flew in the air, whispering with malice and fury in her ear, but quickly exiting by the window. And it seemed, all of a sudden, that the sun was a lot brighter outside.

Two strong arms suddenly embraced her, making Rey jump in surprise. She turned around, and a freed Ben was in front of her, his eyes teary but full of immense joy and gratefulness all at once. He grabbed her hands, kissing them, but not quite like he’d do to a lady: Rey couldn’t help but notice his lips were lingering on her skin for far too long.

Her heart was beating faster than usual, and she found herself again distracted by those strands of hair that always seemed to fall over his face. She removed them, her fingers accidentally caressing his forehead, causing her to stop. Ben stared at her, and it was the same intense gaze from when she had freed him from his cell.

Tentative, Rey got on her tip toes, reaching for a hug that seemed awkward at first, but that became a lot more comfortable as Ben leaned down, embracing her as well. She dragged him down, her feet flat on the ground again. He mumbled something, and Rey couldn’t help but laugh.

They pulled back, but not without a certain regret that felt weird and unfamiliar to Rey. Suddenly, Ben got closer again, quickly kissing Rey on the cheek and straightening again, blushing, and looking away, as if he had done something embarrassing.

He could be adorable, when he wasn’t insufferable.

Rey attempted to make eye contact with him, a light smile on her lips. When he glanced at her again, before he could say anything, she grabbed him by the collar, her lips meeting his.

“Are you two going to give me grandchildren any time soon?”

“Mom!”

[scarletjedi]

My wife, gentlepersons

Brig was already aboard the boat when Gimli and Legolas arrived, attending the rigging for the simple sail and making ready to depart.@brydylcai​: All of the writing asks because I worry you don't have enough to do

so. 

all the ones I haven’t answered yet. Behind the cut because long

1. Tell us about your WIP!

Heh, which one? I’ve started writing chapter three of We Are Made Wise because I’m finally getting over my block (I think there was a little burnout). I’ve just updated Old Man Luke, and Pineapple 2 is next. I’m almost finished with my next original short, I’ve figured out where to go next in my novel, and...yeah. :)

2. Where is your favorite place to write?

Where it’s quiet and I can focus. Sometimes that’s the living room. Sometimes it’s my office. Sometimes it’s the Starbucks on the corner. 

4. Do you have any writing habits/rituals?

Depends on where I am. I have to have some sort of ritual to get focused. In my office, I light candles. In the living room, I put on music. At the coffee shop, I have a snack. 

6. Favorite character you’ve written?

My original character, Jamie, from my book is a HOOT. He’s a gay Jewish teen whose convinced that *he* will be the one to capture definitive proof of the Jersey Devil. He’s the non-magical pov in the fic, and his voice is fun. 

7. Favorite/most inspirational book?

Well, on the one hand, I re-wrote the Hobbit, so that’ book is clearly an inspiration. 

8. Do you have any writing buddies or critique partners?

@brydylcai is my in-house sounding board, the same way I am for her. I don’t have a regular beta, but I’ve worked with several depending on the project/story, and they’re all lovely people. 

9. Favorite/least favorite tropes?

I love revelations/coming out stories. I hate deliberate misunderstandings. 

10. Pick an author (or writing friend) to co-write a book with

@brydylcai and I have discussed writing a book together already, so Imma go with her :)

11. What are you planning to work on next?

I have the doc with We Are Made Wise open, so either that or my next short, depending on if I write more tonight or wait until tomorrow. 

12. Which story of yours do you like best? why?

Comes Around Again is the one that earned me what little notoriety I have, and Old Man Luke is doing the same in Star Wars, but I’m most proud of Drowned in Moonlight. That fic was written to excise some grief over Carrie Fisher, and I think I did her proud. 

13. Describe your writing process

I’m tempted to say “Incoherent screaming into the void” but that’s a joke that’s been made before. My process. Hmm. 

I tend to write by the seat of my pants. I like to see what develops and grows naturally. Once I get to a certain point, I’ll stop and make a plot sheet/note page, but I usually have the rough shape figured out before I start to write. 

Once I have a draft, I’ll edit. Sometimes I’ll print and edit on paper. Sometimes I edit online. My original works tend to get more editing than my fanworks. 

14. What does it take for you to be ready to write a book? (i.e. do you research? outline? make a playlist or pinterest board? wing it?)

ha ha ha ha - My original novel has been 15 years in the works, and has gone through many drafts. It’s working now, but I need familiarity. So, I think what I need is research for context and an outline for plot, and a good enough knowledge to feel like I’m winging it. 

15. How do you deal with self-doubt when writing?

I put it down. If I’m not confident on one project, I’ll put it down and turn to another. (This usually means putting down my original work in favor of fanfic, because I’m more confident with that overall, but...). I know what sounds right to my ear, and if I’m not hearing it, there’s usually a reason. Distance/time often lets me see it. 

17. What things (scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing?

I’m a Jersey Girl, so I tend to set things in Jersey. I love dramatic conversations, so I’m comfortable there. Queer characters. 

18. Tell us about that one book you’ll never let anyone read

That I wrote? Or that I read? Twilight/50 Shades. 

19. How do you cope with writer’s block?

I beat it with a hammer unitl it’s writer’s pebbles. 

20. Any advice for young writers/advice you wish someone would have given you early on?

Write what you love. Write the truths that you know, and research to write the things you don’t know. Don’t be afraid to break your characters; you can put them back together in new and interesting ways. You’ll be given a lot of advice over the years--read enough to recognize what you like. Develop your taste. Take the advice that helps taylor your work to your taste. Reject the advice that changes it away. 

21. What aspect of your writing are you most proud of?

Subtle meanings and implications. 

22. Tell us about the books on your “to write” list

Here are 3:

a) The Lesbian Werewolf Romance Novel. 

b) The Teenage Zombie Novel. 

c) The American-Teenager-Falls-Into-Fantasy-Realm-and-there-are-also-dragons novel

23. Most anticipated upcoming books?

Jer Keene’s next book. I read the first as fic, and then read the novelization, and now I REALLY want to know what comes next. 

The Kingkiller Chronicles book 3

25. What’s your worldbuilding process like?

Seat. Of. My. Pants and flailing. Seriously, I write something because it sounds right, and then figure out how it works after. 

26. What’s the most research you’ve ever put into a book?

I wrote parts of CAA with the hobbit, the lotr, the unfinished tales, and the moves on and open in front of me. 

I became a pagan, and my research for that has influenced my writing of my book. 

27. Every writer's least favorite question - where does your inspiration come from? Do you do certain things to make yourself more inspired? Is it easy for you to come up with story ideas?

I mentioned I was pagan? My patron, Brigid, is among other things, a muse. She pokes, and I start thinking (or I think, and she eggs me on. I’m not sure of the order. could be either or both). But, most of my ideas come from things I read. When I want inspiration, I read. 

Ideas don’t come as easily as I would like, but the fact that I have several projects at once means that it comes easily enough. 

28. How do you stay focused on your own work and how do you deal with comparison?

I have a hard time focusing period, so that’s a challenge. I have put effort into being less jealous because it’s ultimately a useless exercise. 

29. Is writing more of a hobby or do you write with the intention of getting published?

I want to be published like JK Rowling or Stephen King - one thing that gives my financial security, or with enough frequency to do the same. 

30. Do you like to read books similar to your project while you’re drafting or do you stick to non-fiction/un-similar works?

tbh, i read mostly fanfic these days. Most Genre fic makes me angry because there’s something missing from the text. it’s usually women/gay people. 

31. Top five favorite books in your genre?

scifi/fantasy

a) American Gods - Gaiman

b) Foundation/Elijah Bailey mysteries - Assimov

c) The Hobbit

d) Guards!Guards!

e) Years of Rice and Salt

32. On average how much do you write in a day? do you have trouble staying focused/getting the word count in?

Depends. There are days i can’t get a word out. There are days I’ve written about 10k. It depends on if I’m having a good focus day. 

33. What’s your revision/rewriting process like?

long. 

34. Unpopular writing thoughts/opinions?

....like what?

35. Post the last sentence you wrote

““The things I do for the greater good,” Gimli grumbled, his frown softening as Legolas’s laugh rang out to echo through the cavern. “

36. Post a snippet

from Old Man Luke, chapter 11 (probably):

Obi-Wan stood just to the left of the closed door, hand stroking his beard ad the sight of those assembled. It took all of his focus to keep his eyes from growing wide, or let his hands tremble the way they wished to.

Before him, sitting at a conference table, was Asajj Ventress (scowling at the table like a chastised Padawan, though she had submitted to the indignity of the locking cuffs easily enough), and the adult twinned children of Anakin Skywalker.

Luke sat much as he had before, calmly and with no outward signs of concern, reminding Obi-Wan uncomfortably of his own master. Leia sat back from the table, her arms crossed and her expression sardonic. She, too, was apparently unconcerned, if outwardly exasperated, and Obi-Wan knew that if hadn’t already been told, he would be able to see the resemblance between father and daughter in a heartbeat.

Still, Obi-Wan had the distinct and uncomfortable sensation of not quite living up to her expectations.

The bulk of her resentment, however, was aimed directly at the only other occupant of the room—Anakin.

Their father.

Obi-Wan needed a drink.

37. Do you ever write long handed or do you prefer to type everything?

I write long-handed when I’m having focus issues. It’s slow enough to make me focus. 

38. How do you nail voice in your books?

I talk to myself. Out loud. Constantly. 

39. Do you spend a lot of time analyzing and studying the work of authors you admire?

When I read, I’m known to stop and think “that was a perfectly crafted sentence!” or “How did they do that?” 

40. Do you look up to any of your writer buddies?

all of them. They’re all awesome, though in different ways. 

41. Are there any books you feel have shaped you as a writer?

Harry Potter. I’m not sure how, but I’m sure it has. 

42. How many drafts do you usually write before you feel satisfied?

Depends on how fully formed the story was in my head before I started. Fanfic gets 2 - rough and beta. Original fic gets rough, first, second, etc

43. How do you deal with rejection?

Badly at first. Then it evolved into a desire to prove them wrong. 

45. First or third person?

Third. 

46. Past or present tense?

Past. 

47. Single or dual/multi POV?

Depends on the needs of the plot. 

48. Do you prefer to write skimpy drafts and flesh them out later, or write too much and cut it back?

the first is what I do. The second is what I’d like to do. 

49. Favorite fictional world?

A Galaxy Far, Far away. (Then Middle Earth). 

50. Do you share your rough drafts or do you wait until everything is all polished?

depends on the fic. I like to show things to @brydylcai, but only in the fandom’s she’s in. I have been known to invite friends into docs as I’m writing, so...

51. Are you a secretive writer or do you talk with your friends about your books?

I’m more open than I used to be about fanfic. I’m less talkative about my original works. 

52. Who do you write for?

She knows who. 

53. What is the first line of your WIP?

Of this chapter: “Brig was already aboard the boat when Gimli and Legolas arrived, attending the rigging for the simple sail and making ready to depart.”

54. Favorite first line/opening you’ve written?

my book begins with a ghost hunt. that’s fun?

55. How do you manage your time/make time for writing? (do you set aside time to write every day or do you only write when you have a lot of free time?)

I try to set aside time while not working, but i also tend to write in whatever little moments I have. Between classes, standing in line, etc. 

[hkvoyage]

Fic: Butterfly Wings - Chapter 30

Story summary A fashion blog started at University launched Blaine Anderson’s fortune and fame. As Vogue’s new editor-in-chief, he is struggling to find an original angle for an upcoming issue. Kurt Hummel has recently arrived in New York City after finishing high school, and is having no luck building a musical theater career, so he decides to explore another passion of his: fashion. He applies for an internship at Vogue, and Isabelle sees in him the perfect fresh face to liven up the magazine, and convinces him to try out as a model. Kurt meets Blaine, and in spite of their 10-year age difference, sparks fly. Can they overcome misunderstandings and sabotage to find their happily-ever-after? Klaine model AU. Rating for this chapter: General (overall story is mature) Word count for this chapter: 6,140 Can also be read on A03 / FF Masterpost is here. The fantastic artwork produced by Cassie at CC-Graphics can be here.   Thank you to the amazing @lilyvandersteen for the beta work and support. ***** Surprise! I want Kurt and Blaine back together in this story as much as you do! Therefore, you’ll be getting two updates a week until they reunite. 

***** “As a kid I quite fancied the romantic, Bohemian idea of being an artist. I expect I thought I could escape from the difficulties of maths and spelling. Maybe I thought I would avoid the judgment of the establishment.” - Peter Wright February “I can’t believe I already have 1,850 followers for Surf’s Up! and every day I get more. I only posted a couple of comics on Tumblr a week ago.”

“I told you the webcomic would be a hit. I’m sure it helped that we blogged about it on our Krian accounts,” Blaine replies. “I have a few ideas for the story, but nothing has prepared me for the comments. I’m not sure what to do, because everyone wants Biffy and Jamie to get together.” “It’s way too early, Sam. The guys haven’t even come out of the closet! Don’t you know that the ship gets together at the end?” “Will readers really want to wait until the end? How do I keep the plot going?” “Sam, it’s pretty basic. Use the OMENS plan - Obliviousness, Missed chances, External factors beyond their control, No effective communication, and Smut in small doses. That usually works.” “Cool. I guess it’s the same formula for most Krian fics. It takes a while to create the comics, so I won’t post anything new for another month. Will people wait that long for an update?” Sam asks. Blaine thinks this question over carefully. He really wants Sam to succeed with his Surfs Up! webcomic. “It’s hard to say with only a couple of comics posted, but I have an idea. Why don’t you set up some dummy Twitter accounts for the main characters and get them chatting to each other? It would be an easy way of filling people in on their backgrounds and how they think about things. Give links to the Twitter accounts on your Tumblr master post and people will flock over to see what it’s about. You can even have a few scheduled Twitter Q&A sessions to answer questions about ‘Jiffy’.” “Hey, man. That’s a cool idea. I need to find something to do now that I can’t read KrianFeel’s fics.” “Did I hear you right?! You’re no longer reading KrianFeel’s fics? I never thought this day would come!” “Mercedes has banned me from reading them during her pregnancy. Something about not wanting to deal with so much kinky action in the bedroom.” “Then I’m not going to tell you about yesterday’s update...” “What happened, Blaine? I need all the deets!” Blaine laughs at Sam’s commitment to the story. “The chapter starts with Kevin and Brian doing homework together at their apartment in New York City. They both look up at the same time and realize that all their roommates are out… And they are alone for once. Brian waggles his eyebrows and Kevin gives him that smile – the one he uses when he understands what’s going to happen. The next thing you know, Kevin has Brian spread out on the couch, slowly stripping him of his clothes. Kevin starts to blow Brian, but then at the critical moment – at least from Brian’s point of view because he’s about to climax - Stan returns home. What a cock-block! It ends with a scene where Kevin tells Brian that Stan’s got to find his own place to live.” “Sounds like a filler chapter, so I didn’t miss much,” Sam replies with a deep sigh. So, how’s Mercedes doing? Is the pregnancy coming along nicely?” “That’s why I called you, dude. We went to the doctor’s this morning and Mercedes had a sonogram. I could see the baby! She’s about six inches long, and I could see her head. I could even hear her heartbeat!” “You know the sex of the baby? I thought that wasn’t possible for another month or so,” Blaine asks. “Nope, we don’t know for sure, but I’m certain it’s a girl. I want the baby to be a girl like Mercedes.” “Awww…” Blaine coos. “So dude, I wanted to ask you something important. Will you be baby Evans’ godfather?” “Oh my god! Absolutely! I’m so honored that you asked me.” “Of course I’m asking you. You’re my best bro. Mercedes definitely wants the baby baptized, and I’ll let you know the deets closer to the time. It will probably be after Mercedes’ national tour.” “Count me in. So how is the country and western singing going? Have you found any regular gigs?” “It’s hard to get into the country music scene in LA. I’d be much better off in Nashville, but that isn’t going to happen any time soon. Not with Mercedes recording and going on tour so soon after the baby is born. I’ll need to take care of my baby girl then.” There’s a pause in the conversation and Blaine can tell that Sam is thinking about how to break into the country music business. However, he waits patiently, because Sam will confide in him when he’s ready. “So what’s up with you, Blaine? I saw some pictures of you on Instagram with some tall hot dude.” “Oh… I went out a couple of times with a lawyer I met when I was signing the paperwork for the Westerville Monarch House. Connor is a really great guy, but I’m not sure if I’m going to see him again.” “Why the hell not?” “I like Connor a lot, but he’s never going to be the special one in my life, because he’s not…” “Kurt. Blaine, I know it’s tough but you’ve got to move on. Maybe Connor is your rebound guy.” “Connor doesn’t deserve to be somebody’s rebound guy. I really don’t feel ready to move on. I don’t think I ever will.” “Promise me that you’ll give Connor a chance and go on a few more dates. It’s not like you’re doing anything else and it beats staying home by yourself.” “Maybe,” Blaine sighs. He knows he should give Connor more time to see if things will develop. “Maybe what you need is a change in scenery. Come visit me in LA. It will be totally awesome! I can teach you how to surf and you can hook up with some of the dudes. They’re pretty buff and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind being your holiday rebound guy.” “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t want a holiday rebound guy either. I’d love to hang out with you, but I just took some time off in India and went home for Christmas. I’m saving all my vacation time this year for when the Monarch House in Westerville opens.” “Just remember, you’re always welcome to stay.” ***** “Did you see the photos I sent you?” Michael asks. “Yeah, Dad. Monarch House really looks like a construction site now. I can’t believe the renovations already started this week.” “Believe it, son. I’ve gone every day after work to see how it’s progressing. Meagan is handling everything well. I think she’s going to make a brilliant director of the Monarch House. She might not have any experience with a project of this scale, but she’s smart, super organized and really committed.” “I have you and Mom to thank for getting everything sorted out. I could never have done it without you… Both of you. I can’t believe that you got the planning permission through so fast.” “You can thank Burt Hummel for that. It’s amazing what a call from a Congressman can do.” “You know Burt Hummel? Do you know he’s my Kurt’s father?” “I didn’t know Burt before this project. When the press release went out for the purchase of Monarch House, Burt called me. He said he was 100% behind the concept and would help in any way he could. When I mentioned we were waiting for the city council to approve all the plans, Burt said he knew the Westerville mayor very well - something about helping out his teenage daughter when her car broke down one snowy night in Lima. The very next day, the mayor called me and said the plans had been approved.” “Wow, I guess it does pay to have friends in high places. You didn’t… umm… discuss us as well?” “Of course we did, Blaine. How could we not? It was mostly pleasantries about how Kurt is doing in Paris and how you’re doing in New York City. One thing I’ll say is that if Kurt is anything like Burt, you know how to pick them. Burt seems like a decent and honest man.” “Well, don’t leave me hanging, Dad! What is the news on Kurt?” “Kurt is settling in nicely and boarding at an old lady’s house in Central Paris. He’s about to start his first modeling job with Dior. I think it’s a perfume ad. He also has a job for the Paris Fashion Week. Kurt is making friends and exploring the city.” “I wish I was doing that with him.” “All in good time, Blaine. Don’t lose hope. Kurt is so young. You have to give him some breathing space to experience Paris on his own. But make sure he knows that he’s still very much in your thoughts and heart.” “I’m not sure how to do that, Dad. Kurt is living on another continent.” “Tweet him, send him something that has a special meaning for the two of you. You’re a smart man, Blaine. You’ll think of something. Andersons are like the Canadian Mounties – we always get our man. Ha! I never thought I would be using that expression to describe one of our love lives.” Blaine rolls his eyes as he chuckles. That sounded a bit awkward, but he knows that his father means well. ***** Blaine has been feeling out of sorts all day. It’s been exactly one year since Isabelle brought one Kurt Hummel to his office as Vogue’s ‘fresh face’. At the time, Blaine had never suspected that his life would be both shaken and stirred. However, life hasn’t been the same since that fateful day. Until September, Blaine has spent most his free time with Kurt and has fallen deeply and irrevocably in love. Blaine has mixed feelings about the fateful night of the diva-off. He was so happy when Kurt finally kissed him. Sure, things went a little too far, but he was so lost in his emotions that there was no way he could pull back. When they left the theater, Blaine felt optimistic about his and Kurt’s future together. Then the ‘Klainegate’ video hit the Internet the next day, and nothing has been the same since. In hindsight, Blaine thinks that he should have gone after Kurt as soon as he left Vogue – when he was at Elle and still in New York City. However, at the time, Blaine felt hurt that Kurt had cut him off so completely by accepting the Elle job, moving and changing phone numbers. When Blaine finally decided to seek out Kurt in Ohio and see if things could be mended, he discovered that Kurt had moved to Paris. So exactly one year later, Blaine is just where he was this time last year. Alone. Blaine reflects on the telephone conversation he had with his dad a few days ago. As much as he wants to book a ticket on the next flight to Paris, his dad is right. Kurt is young and should experience Paris on his own for a while. But that doesn’t mean that he can’t let Kurt know that he’s thinking of him… missing him… wanting him. Blaine just needs to find subtle ways of getting that message across. Thinking that there’s no time like the present, Blaine tweets A year ago today, @KurtHummel walked into my office and life hasn’t been the same since. #InstantConnection, #FriendsForever Connor invited him out to the Comedy Cellar to see Ben Bailey do his standup show, but Blaine declined the invitation, knowing he would be poor company tonight. No-one wants to be with someone feeling blue in a place that’s supposed to make you happy. He had promised Amy he wouldn’t stay home by himself tonight – she emphasized that it wasn’t productive to drown in his sorrow. Blaine knows of only one place where he wouldn’t feel out of place this Saturday night, so he gets ready for a night out. ***** Blaine enters the Treble Club Jazz Club and takes a seat at the far end of the bar. It’s the perfect place to sit on such a busy night, hidden in the corner, but still able to see the stage. “Hey, Blaine. What will you have tonight?” the bartender asks, placing a coaster on the bar in front of him. “Not sure. I’m not in a bourbon and soda mood. Any suggestions?” The bartender nods and spends a minute or two mixing a cocktail. When he slides the tall glass towards Blaine, he merely says, “The Never-Ending Story.” Blaine sees a shimmer in the drink and gives the bartender a quizzical look. “It’s basically a Long Island Iced Tea but with Unicorn Tears gin instead of… well, gin. Blaine slowly nods, because whoever knew there would be a gin liqueur called Unicorn Tears. However, his attention is soon on Marley Rose, who steps onto the stage. She sings a long set - a mixture of soulful slow love songs and more upbeat country blues ones. Once the set is over and the encore performance has been sung, Marley Rose slowly makes her way over to the corner of the bar. “Blaine, what are the chances of you coming here three Saturday nights in a row? You’d think that you didn’t have half of New York’s eligible bachelors knocking at your door.” ‘New York Fashion Week is starting soon and so I’ll be out every night. Today’s a special day, and I didn’t want to be with anybody. Besides, I like it here - I like listening to you sing.” Marley Rose smiles at Blaine and takes a sip from her drink. Blaine is relieved that she gets it – she knows that he’s thinking about Kurt but doesn’t want to talk about him. “How’s the song-writing coming along? I was so excited when you told me before Christmas that you were playing the piano and composing again.” Blaine bows his head and places his two palms on his forehead. “I’m enjoying playing the piano, but the song-writing is another matter altogether. I actually composed a song called ‘I'm Never Saying Goodbye to You’. It is so melancholy that I had even considered submitting it to Adele. Song-writing is unleashing emotions that feel too personal and raw. I’ve got to figure a way out of this funk.” Marley Rose squeezes his shoulder and gives him an encouraging smile. “Maybe we can both do each other a favor. I’ve written the lyrics to a song called ‘All or Nothing’. I’m thinking that it needs upbeat music to accompany it, but I can’t figure out for the life of me a single musical note. Perhaps you could help me?” “Why not? E-mail me the lyrics and I’ll see what I can do.” ***** Blaine wakes up early Sunday morning, thankful that he had only one ‘Never-Ending Story’ drink last night. After a run in Central Park and a shower, he opens his e-mail and notices a new message from Marley Rose. True to her promise, she has sent him the lyrics to her new song. Blaine pours over the lyrics as he eats his breakfast. Then, with a newfound energy, he sits down at the piano. After doing his usual warmup exercises, he starts to compose the music. I can't stay here I am not the girl Who runs and hides Afraid of what could be And I will go there I need time, but know That things are always closer Than they seem Now I'll do more than dream yeah! The lyrics resonate with him, and he can’t help but wonder if the full story with Kurt has been told, or if there’s a new chapter waiting in the future. He hums out possible music to go with the rest of the song. Once he has an idea of where the composition is going, he switches on the mic and starts recording.

That it's All or nothing All or nothing Cause this is my life I'm not gonna live it twice There's no in-between Take it too extreme Blaine spends the rest of the day making minor adjustments and re-recording. When he’s satisfied with the end result, he sends Marley a text. Got my muse back and composed the music for the song. Want to meet tomorrow night to hear it? B 

Gathering all his courage, Blaine attaches the audio file to an e-mail for Wes with the following message: I’ve been working on my music again. Marley Rose wrote the lyrics and I’ve composed the music. It’s something that I want Kurt to hear. Could you please forward this to him? Thanks – B. ***** “Prêt sur le plateau,” the photographer calls out when the lighting is ready. “Ready on set,” Louis, his Parisian agent, whispers to Kurt. “Don’t worry, there are only a dozen or so things that you’ll need to learn in French. You’ll pick those up quickly today.” Louis and Kurt step out onto the rooftop of a skyscraper, with the cityscape of Paris in the background. Kurt is freezing, as the sun is weak on this winter’s day, but he’s thankful that the wind is blowing only softly. Kurt is wearing a charcoal-gray suit with a simple white shirt. Instead of a tie, the first three buttons are undone, exposing his neck and his upper chest. Fortunately, it’s slightly warmer with the photography lights beaming at him. Kurt is surprised at the traditional poses he’s asked to take – standing near the guard rail, adjusting his shirt cuffs, lifting up the jacket lapels, and stuff like that. It all seems so easy after posing for Elle on the dance pole. “I want the faraway look. Like you are thinking about a beautiful femme, or homme. And face the city.” Kurt turns and leans his upper half on the guard rail, taking in the mix of historic and modern buildings of Paris. There is only one person to think of to give him ‘the faraway look’ – Blaine. He calculates the time in New York City and wonders if Blaine is awake yet. Is he alone in his penthouse or waking up with the new man in his life? Kurt has seen photos on Instagram and Twitter of Blaine out and about with a tall and good-looking man. They weren’t taken at high-profile events, but rather at coffee shops, the theater and local restaurants. Blaine looks comfortable around this new man, but something’s missing. There’s no hand-holding or shared smiles – nothing to indicate they are lovers… yet. Kurt had zoomed one of the photos and stared at Blaine’s eyes, for they are always so expressive. Blaine’s eyes look warm, but they lack the sparkle – the way they used to sparkle when Kurt and Blaine were together. “Cut. We’ll take a 30-minute break to warm up. The look was parfait, Kurt.” Kurt dashes inside and goes down one flight of stairs, where the model prep area has been set up. Louis immediately comes over and throws a wool blanket around his shoulders. “Kurt, don’t look sad. You were magnificent on set. The Dior manager is very pleased with the shoot,” Louis says. “I’m not sad about the photo shoot. I was thinking about someone towards the end of the session, and I miss him.” “The world is a small place. Why don’t you invite him to Paris to visit you? After this photo shoot, you have two weeks before you’re needed for the next job. Paris can be very romantic, even in the winter.” “I wish that it was that easy, Louis. But the man that I miss has found another.” “Impossible! There is no such thing as finding another after you.” “That’s not what the photos on Instagram and Twitter say.” Louis goes off to get Kurt a hot drink from the canteen. Kurt desperately wishes that Blaine was here in Paris - but Blaine isn’t, and no amount of wishing is going to change that. Kurt finds his phone and opens Twitter. He’s surprised when he reads the tweet from Blaine, reminding him that they met exactly a year ago. Has it really been that long? Blaine’s message has been retweeted thousands of times, with #klaine tagged. Kurt tosses his phone aside when he reads the retweet, Why aren’t my babies together? Before reading the tweet, Kurt thought that Blaine had moved on with his life, with brand-new projects and a brand-new man. But maybe the tweet means that Blaine misses him? He picks up his phone and retweets Blaine’s message, And what an amazing year it’s been. #InstantConnection, #BucketLists, #GoodTimes, #FriendsForever ***** “How did the photo shoot go, Kurt?” “It went really well, Dad, although it was shot outside and it’s cold here. The ad is going to hit the March issue of the magazines.” “Let me know which ones so I can go out and buy ‘em.” “The ad will definitely be in the American issues of Vogue and Elle.” “Then I’ll buy Vogue next month.” Kurt laughs when he notices his dad’s earnest expression, obvious even through Skype. “You’re probably Blaine’s number one fan.” “Of course I am. I really respect what he’s doing in Westerville with that Monarch House project. We had a long chat about it, and I think I might be able to convince him to open the next one in Lima.” “Wait a minute, when did you have a long chat with Blaine?” Kurt can see his dad take off his cap and rub his head nervously. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you about that.” Kurt wraps his arms around his waist and arches one eyebrow. “About what, Dad?” “After I dropped you off at the airport last month, Blaine came to the house looking for you. When I said that you were on your way to Paris, he looked as if his world was ending. Blaine was a mess. A snow storm started and I couldn’t send him back to Westerville in that state, so he spent the night.” Kurt shakes his head. He wishes that his dad had told him about this earlier. “And you just talked about his Monarch House project?” “No, of course not. It was all I could do to convince him not to jump on the first plane to Paris.” “Blaine wanted to come to Paris?” “Of course he did. Blaine is crazy about you. However, I convinced him that you need this time to figure out things for yourself.” Kurt rushes through the rest of the conversation because he wants some time on his own to think about this. When he gets off Skype with his dad, he heads down a floor and runs himself a hot bath. Once he’s soaking in a tub filled with his favorite lavender-scented bath oil, he thinks about what his dad told him. Kurt wonders what his reaction would have been if his dad had told him that Blaine came over when he had first arrived in Paris. He probably would have taken the first plane back. But his dad was right… He does need this time to experience new things and to gain a perspective on his relationship with Blaine. Kurt steps out of the tub and gets into his nightwear. After doing the long version of his nightly moisturizing routine, he heads back upstairs and crawls under the warm down duvet on his bed. Not everything his dad said made sense though. If Blaine is so gutted about Kurt moving to Paris, why is he dating another man? Why is it only now that Blaine is tweeting him? Kurt knows that Blaine is sentimental, so he must still like Kurt to remember the day they first met. But does Blaine like him just as a friend or could there be more between them? ***** “Café au lait et un petit pain au chocolat, s'il vous plaît (A coffee with milk and a chocolate-filled bun, please),” Kurt requests, sitting at the famous Café de Flore on Paris’ Left Bank. Kurt has switched his usual grande non-fat mocha order to something he feels sounds more adult. Besides, the flaky croissant pastry with fine dark chocolate chunks on the inside satisfies his sweet tooth. “Mon chouchou, I’m sorry I’m late. I was painting François and lost track of time,” Antoine apologizes as he slides into the seat across from Kurt. He snaps his fingers to grab the attention of the garçon and orders a double expresso. “Of course, I would prefer to paint a portrait of you,” Antoine adds with a wink. Kurt gives Antoine a tight-lipped smile. This isn’t the first-time Antoine has asked him to pose for one of his paintings. However, Kurt feels uncomfortable posing in the nude. Although Antoine promises he can cover up his ‘bits’, it doesn’t feel right that the first man to see him naked would be like this. Antoine hints at it, but never pushes, and Kurt is grateful for that. Kurt has met up with Antoine a dozen times since they properly met at the afternoon tea with Emmeline. They’ve played the tourist on the Left Bank and visited the Pantheon, the Sorbonne University and The Invalids. They’ve strolled through the Jardin des Plantes (“we must return in the spring when the first flowers blossom”). They’ve also explored the little shops and boutiques in hidden streets that Antoine knows so well. They have gone to clubs and bars and met up with Antoine’s friends. Wherever they go, Kurt notices that Antoine always attracts a crowd. His easy-going nature, good looks, and natural charm draw everyone to him like a magnet, women and men alike. Antoine has always been a perfect gentleman towards Kurt and makes sure that he’s included in the conversations, introducing him to his friends, who are artists, writers, musicians, chefs, and professional students. Kurt always enjoys himself with Antoine’s friends and is curious about their lifestyle. They seem to live in the moment, without thinking about the future. This isn’t a bit like he was raised in Lima, Ohio – where commitment and family are what really matter. “Mon chouchou, I have an idée magnifique (magnificent idea) for next Saturday if the weather is beautiful. Everyone must experience the Château de Versailles.” “I’d love to visit the palace where Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were married. It’s on my bucket list of places to visit in Paris.” Kurt bites his lip and wishes he’d never mentioned his bucket list – that’s something special between Blaine and himself. However, remembering the photos of Blaine with the new man in his life, Kurt is determined to get past Blaine and his feelings towards him. ***** Kurt is glad that he downloaded the audio guide app of the Versailles Palace the previous night. Kurt and Antoine have toured all the impressive areas inside the palace - the King’s Apartments, the Hall of Mirrors, the Queen’s Apartments, and the Chapel, but also lesser known areas such as the Gallery of Battles, and the apartments of Louis XV’s daughters. “This palace is so ornate and over the top. I can’t believe the royal family could live like this for a hundred years.” “Now you know why the French Revolution happened. Come with me, mon chouchou. We now need to explore les jardins (the gardens). If Kurt thought the palace itself was over the top and impressive, nothing has prepared him for the gardens. There are meticulous manicured lawns with paved paths creating intricate designs. The flower beds are mainly empty on this winter’s weekend, but the shrubs provide sufficient greenery. There are statues in small pools of water dotted throughout the gardens. “And I thought the palace was the main attraction. These gardens are something else altogether,” Kurt observes. “We’ve only seen a small portion of the gardens. There are almost 2,000 acres at the Château de Versailles. We’ve visited the most famous parts.” Antoine checks his watch and then adds, “Come with me. Let’s grab some lunch.” They stop in a small café, get ham and cheese baguettes and mineral water to go, and return to the gardens. They sit on a wrought iron bench, which is cold. However, Antoine soon has Kurt laughing with jokes and trivia about Marie Antoinette. “I had absolutely no idea that the children’s song ‘Jack and Jill’ was about Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette getting beheaded. It certainly puts a different slant to ‘and Jill came tumbling after’.” Suddenly, classical music is heard from speakers throughout the gardens and the swishing sound of water starts. Kurt looks up and sees the fountains come to life with spouting water. “You are in luck, mon chouchou. Usually the fountains aren’t switched on until spring.” Kurt puts the remainder of his baguette into his messenger bag and rushes from fountain to fountain to see the spectacular water shows. He makes sure to see the Latone, Saturn, Apollo and Neptune fountains. Antoine remains on the bench and laughs at Kurt’s enthusiasm as he takes photo after photo. The train journey back to Paris takes just over an hour and they arrive at the Left Bank in the late afternoon. “The day is still young. Come to my studio, Kurt. I’ll cook dinner and show you my artwork.” Kurt agrees and they wander back to Antoine’s place. After climbing the stairs up to the fourth floor, Antoine quickly opens the door and leads Kurt in. It is a large studio apartment. Half the space is taken by canvases, easels, and paints. The wooden floors are old and unrestored, with oil paint splatters making interesting patterns. There’s an old upholstered couch and a large king-sized bed, which are surrounded by studio lights – Kurt guesses this is also used for the models. There is a small kitchenette along one side and a door leading to the bathroom. “It’s modest, but it works for me. When I get inspired, I can paint right away. I’m planning to make a cassoulet for dinner. Have you eaten this before? “No, what is it?” “I think you Americans would say pork and beans, but it’s a lot more than this. It takes a while to cook, so let me get the casserole prepared and then we can relax.” Kurt helps Antoine with the prep work by chopping onions, carrots, tomatoes, and garlic. Antoine combines this with cubes of pork, ham, beans, and fresh herbs into a cast iron casserole dish and slides it into the oven. He then pours Campari and mineral water in two glasses to create an aperitif. “Santé, mon chouchou,” Antoine toasts as he clinks their glasses together. Antoine takes Kurt by the hand and leads him to the coach. Antoine then heads to the studio’s corner, where there are at least a dozen oil paintings leaning on the wall in the corner. One by one, he takes a painting and places it on the easel for Kurt to view. The first ones are landscapes of the French countryside – mainly fields of poppies and wheat. The next few paintings are classic stills of fruit and flowers. The last ones are portraits of young men in the nude. “You certainly cover the full range of subjects for your art. Which do you enjoy painting the most?” Kurt asks. “The landscapes are the best sellers and help pay the rent. I paint the others when I feel inspired, and currently I enjoy painting the portraits. I do charcoal sketches at first and then the oil painting later.” Kurt can see that Antoine is passionate about his art, as he rants on about the meaning of each painting, with hands waving everywhere and the same look in his eyes as Rachel gets when talking about Broadway. Antoine puts ‘Lucie’ by Pascal Obispo on the sound system and soon they are discussing other things they plan to do in Paris together. The meal starts with a terrine de campagne (country terrine or pate), served with crusty baguette and red wine. Kurt only nibbles at it because he can smell the rich cassoulet cooking in the oven. The main course is soon served with a simple side salad. “I can see why this is a popular dinner in France. The tastes go together so well and it’s hearty for a cold winter’s night.” “I’m glad you like it, mon chouchou. This recipe is from mami Emmeline. Apparently, she got the recipe from the executive chef at the La Fontaine de Mars restaurant decades ago. God knows how she pried it out of Jean-Guy Loustau.” After the dinner dishes have been cleared, Antoine places an artesian cheese platter and baguette on the coffee table and they relax on the couch. “I’m afraid that I can’t eat too much cheese if I want to be able to get into the suits that I model. I already broke my diet with the ham and cheese baguette at lunchtime.” Kurt’s cheeks flush when he sees Antoine’s glance move from his head to his toes. “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. You are parfait (perfect) in my eyes. I’ll put this away, but I insist you join me for a digestif. Would you prefer cognac, armagnac or calvados?” Kurt has never tasted any liquors before, so he asks for the only one he recognizes. “Cognac, s'il te plaît.” After the drinks have been poured, Kurt takes a sip and finds he can’t stand the taste of cognac. He thinks about how he could get rid of the drink without Antoine noticing. He doesn’t want to appear unsophisticated, but there’s no way he’s finishing this drink. “So tell me about your life in New York City?” Antoine asks. Kurt talks about working at the Spotlight Diner and auditioning for roles in the theater without ever getting call-backs. He then goes on to relate the story of his Vogue internship interview and how he became a model that very same day. “What an incredible story, Kurt. What do you hope for in the future?” “I’m not entirely sure. I want to continue modeling until I get bored with it or people stop paying me lots of money. I’m thinking of studying musical theater and taking another stab at Broadway. I’m also thinking about studying fashion and get into the designing end of things. But for now, I’m enjoying Paris.” “Exactement, mon chouchou. You are young and don’t need to weigh yourself down with plans. This is the time you should live for the moment.” “What do you hope for in the future, Antoine?” “I hope that I continue to be inspired to paint, and people are inspired to buy my artwork. I want a place to live, good friends, and the freedom to do what I want. Une vie simple (a simple life).” When Antoine puts it that way, a life free of commitments and society’s pressures sounds ideal. However, Kurt does want to put down roots eventually, and get married and have kids. “There is one more thing I hope for, and as luck has it, you are here tonight.” Antoine slowly leans towards Kurt and presses their lips together. Kurt can feel the sensation of Antoine’s soft warm lips and it feels nice and comfortable. Kurt is pleased that he’s wanted by such an attractive and nice guy. But there aren’t any fireworks or butterflies in his stomach like he felt with his first real kiss. Kurt doesn’t think anything can compare to kissing Blaine. However, for now, it’s a welcome feeling. “Stay the night, mon chouchou,” Antoine whispers. Kurt jerks away quickly as if he has been burnt by fire. “I’m not ready for that… for things.” “Kurt, look at me. I’m not expecting anything. Okay, maybe more of the kissing. We can take this at any speed that you’re comfortable with. I’m very interested in you and enjoy your company. To see Paris through Kurt Hummel’s eyes is quite magical. So please, spend the night. I can always sleep on the couch if you want.” Kurt likes Antoine. He’s fun to be with, and this would take their relationship - can he call it that? – one step further. Kurt knows Antoine well enough to know he’s not a predator and will honor his word. But something holds him back. He can’t get Blaine out of his mind, and isn’t ready to take things further with Antoine yet. Kurt slowly shakes his head. “I think I better call it a night.” Author’s notes Song Marley Rose writes the lyrics and Blaine composes – “All or Nothing” performed by the Glee cast. Next up: Kurt models at the Paris Fashion Week opens and the Westerville Monarch House opens. It will be posted on Saturday.

[high5nerd]

The Misadventures of Fanty and Pitch Black---Chap. Two

Something, something, here’s an update. Old yep.

Fanty lay in her bed, her legs crossed and happily snug under the blankets. It was springtime in Burgess, and the nights were still a little chilly. During the fall, winter and spring seasons, Fanty was always grateful for this fluffy blanket Drago got for her a year ago. It had many pictures of chocolate candies, and fancy script in red letters dotted areas of the blanket with sayings like 'Love Chocolate, Die Chocolate' and 'I remember when they first invented chocolate' and 'Don't steal!'

Fanty typed up the last chapter of her latest fanfiction and closed off , her duty done once more. She went onto the chat room she, Xion, Star, Mystic, Drago and Angel shared and typed a quick hello.

Fantasydreamer244: Wuuuuuusup.

Fanty waited for a while, when suddenly a ring sounded. She eagerly leaned forward. It was Star!

Starskulls: Fanty, it's almost eleven at night. Go to bed!

Fanty frowned, and then typed up her response.

Fantasydreamer244: Hey, the same goes to you!

Starskulls: Touche, my friend. Touche.

Fantasydreamer244: What's your plan for the upcoming Buffet Sunday?

Starskulls: Take a guess. ;)

Fanty grinned, knowing immediately what the answer was. "Mmm...cupcakes." she literally got hungry just thinking about her excellent dessert making skills! Once she and Star said their goodbye, Fanty closed her laptop and placed it on her end table, right next to her sketchbook. She then laid there, thinking on the subject of the trick she's about to pull. As she stared at the ceiling, her mind reeled about what was to happen if the booby trap was set off and whatnot. What if it gets triggered but Pitch just morphs through it? According to Jamie, he's a spirit. Wouldn't spirits do that? Mystic also warned that the trap may backfire. Who knows, maybe Fanty would forget about it in the morning and get the surprise herself.

But then there were the other terms. What if Pitch Black did in fact come? How would she react?

...most likely fangirl. Yep. Fangirl.

Or she could possibly scream bloody murder and try whacking him with her pillow and mistake him for a creep.

Those thoughts led Fanty's eyelids to slowly droop shut, one last sigh escaping her throat as she snuggled into the pillows. She quickly scratched her nose before falling into a light sleep, her heartbeat slowing to a steady rate.

Without her knowledge, the room seemed to grow darker. The window she left open, with the pale green curtains fluttering in the soft breeze, seemed to open just a tad bit more. Out of the open cracks danced in golden sand, swirling in the wind and elegantly making its way to Fanty. She turned over in her sleep and dug deeper into the blankets, feeling the chilly breeze on her back. The sand danced over to hover above Fanty's head, and then made a circle, fluttering there for just a minute. Then, the sand formed into her very own dream. This sand was special, for it was called 'dreamsand'. Fanty did not know what it was, nor did she notice the sand above her, so she could not tell what was hovering above her head like a UFO. The sand slowly morphed into the form of her, and there, the magical sand gave her dream for the night. The little sand image of her giggled, made a silly face, and began dancing around the little space she hovered on to some music that could not be heard. Fanty softly smiled in her sleep, liking the warmth her bed was radiating and what her dream was about.

Now, this magical dreamsand wasn't just acting by itself alone. There was a man behind it all, and he happened to be Sandman himself. He floated on his golden sand cloud above Burgess, sending dreams to all the children in the little town. He smiled as each person welcomed their dreams, and unknowingly cast Fanty's in her direction, unaware of what was to happen next. He was a stout little man, with a bright smile and happy, golden eyes. He donned his signature, golden outfit and had his yellow hair spiked straight up into the sky, like the rays of the sun. Never before has Sandy failed in sending a dream, for he always won the fight against anti-sleep children. Little did he know that there was to be a great change in the town of Burgess...and it may or may not be hectic, annoying, and slightly...disruptive.

Not only was Sandy on his daily rounds, but so was Pitch Black, the Nightmare King. We could go monologuing on and on about his defeat, his immense hatred for the Guardians, blah blah blah, you get the picture. But the most important thing is that Pitch is quite often careful, skilled, a tactical kind of man. Each nightmare is conjured with careful precision mixed with a hint of no mercy, but when he was truly desperate, he was reckless and his yearning for fear was unleashed. Like now, for example. Because he was literally sucked dry of fear by his own army of nightmares after a week of war, he wasn't careful as he treaded into each child's room. He would lunge at the dreamsand and watch in contempt and hunger as it turned into a nightmare, savoring the delicious taste of fear as it bounced off a child. Fanty was nothing but another target, another source for power and survival.

Yet he was the one that would be outmatched.

As he licked his lips and stepped out of Fanty's closet into the open bedroom, hoping to destroy her dream and take in more fear, something tight wrapped around his ankles. He froze and looked down at his feet, realizing his utter mistake.

"SON OF HADES, WHAT THE HELL!?" he shouted as the netting wrapped around his body, the rope pulling him upside down tightly so he couldn't escape.

That instantly woke Fanty up. She sprang out of bed, her hands in tight fists and her wide, brown eyes scanning the room for the loud disturbance. "Who's there?! I got a gun!" she scrambled to her desk and opened the bottom drawer, taking out a Nerf gun that looked a lot like a rifle with a plastic yellow magazine at the bottom. She aimed it at the trap, watching whoever was in it struggle and yell in fury.

Realizing what she caught, Fanty whooped and raised the gun in the air in victory, leaping onto the bed and jumping up and down in excitement. "I got him! I got the Boogeyman! I can't believe it!"

"GET ME OUT OF HERE NOW!" Pitch screamed, feeling the bindings around him tighten the more he struggled. He slowed down, for his muscles were giving up on him in his time of desperate escape. He has been weak for far too long.

"Not until you tell me who you are first!" Fanty demanded, aiming the Nerf gun at his stomach as the net swayed back and forth from Pitch's thrashing.

"You already know who I am! You just screamed it to the entire world!" Pitch snapped, glaring at her in pure hate.

Fanty grinned, and raised the gun up towards the ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. "I know. I just want you to say it. I had this whole thing planned out and I want it like how I imagined it."

"YOU planned this?!" Pitch screamed, staring at her in horror.

Fanty nodded excitedly, stopped, then shook her head. "My friend helped me set up the trap. It was the Ben-uh, certain children-that told me you've been seen a lot around here. So I came up with the idea and decided to take you as my hostage until I say so."

Pitch sighed, already feeling a headache coming on strong. "As if Man in Moon hated me enough...now this."

"Tell you what, Mr. Booger-"

"Boogeyman!" Pitch snapped again, and then mumbled, "pubescent witch."

"OI!" She hit his net-covered back with her Nerf gun, "No name calling or I'll leave you there for decoration!" she cleared her throat, stepping down from her bed, "As I was saying, I'll let you go-"

"Thank the stars." Pitch mumbled.

"IF!" Fanty held up a finger, "I still own you as a hostage, and you have to leave the Bennett kids alone."

Pitch stopped to think and stare at her as if she were a madwoman. She certainly looked mad, especially with the toy gun and wearing Avengers PJs. It's as if she didn't grow up at all. Wow, that really convinced him to stay with her. Note the sarcasm. But there was a consideration on his part. Every time he would return to the lair, he would be the one injected with fear, since the fearlings and nightmares all still prey on him while he's weak. Why go back and face more torment when he could be here in her care? Wait a minute, think rationally, Pitch. Her care?

"I can make a really good apple pie." Fanty sang teasingly, thinking that would change his point of view.

"I don't eat." Pitch said coolly, not blinking.

"I have horror movies, if that makes you more at home." she wagged her eyebrows, knowing he'll say yes.

"Ooh, how intriguing! Nothing like a predictable psychopath chasing teenage girls with a kitchen knife. I vote no." Pitch tried folding his arms, but his wrist was stuck in the netting like a bind.

"Okay, okay...I understand if you don't wanna stay...I'm pretty boring anyway…" Fanty's lower lip quivered, her eyes becoming sad.

Pitch blinked. Wait...she wants me to stay? No one has ever asked Pitch to stay, the thought was too ludicrous for anyone, even the bravest person alive. No one liked nightmares, or even the mention of the Boogeyman. Pitch found himself considering to accept the offer, but he shook his head, trying to regain his thoughts.

This bitch better be insane.

Fanty sniffed, and wiped at her eyes, her lower lip still quivering. Pitch scoffed, "Are you crying?"

"N-no. I...I just don't want you to go. I'm so lonely...I'm always cast out, forgotten...it's not as if you would know that feeling." Fanty dropped her gun to the floor and covered her face with her hands, shaking with controlled sobs.

"I...um…" Pitch was getting a tightness in his chest, something he hasn't felt in quite some time. Am I seriously pitying her?! This is ridiculous! I am the Boogeyman, unfeeling, and-!

Fanty let out a wail, her cheeks pink and her eyes starting to water up.

"Hey, quiet down. People will hear you!" Pitch tried commanding, but to no avail.

"Aauuuughh!" Fanty cried.

"Tone it down a bit!...Please? Oh come on, for crying out loud. Please stop crying. It's a rather terrifying sound." Pitch winced as Fanty's pitch rose higher.

She fell to her knees, crying into her hands and mumbling incoherent words.

Was he seriously going to bend to this level? She was nothing to him, just another meager life not worth caring about. He had better things to do...did he? But the more he saw her on the ground in tears, he came to a careful consideration. If he stayed with her, he would be out of the fearlings' way until he was strong enough to control them again, and maybe, if he was extremely lucky, Fanty could help him get the fear he desperately needed.

Without backtracking or a second thought, he caved in.

"Alright, alright! I'll stay for a year, okay?! One! Now, just shut up!" Pitch was close to whining, the crying of Fanty clearly bothering him to the bone.

Fanty shot upright, an excited grin on her face. "Great!"

Pitch's mouth fell. That was all an act?!

Wow. She's really good.

"Yeah, yeah, just get me down from here now. You can go back to bed and I'll just, I dunno, watch you or something." Pitch pulled at the netting, but to no avail.

"Yeah, totally! Just don't move." Fanty said, raising the Nerf gun up and squinting one eye.

Pitch's eyes widened. What….the hell.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Was that fear that edged his voice?

"Mystic said to shoot at the base in order to release the trap, so hold still." Fanty said, still concentrating on her target.

"WHAT?! NO! I DON'T TRUST YOU WITH A GUN!" Pitch yelled, swinging the trap back and forth.

Fanty fired, the foam bullet hitting him right in the buttocks.

"OW!" Pitch screamed, thrashing in the trap even more.

"Hold still! I almost got it!" Fanty grinned, knowing she was going to nail the target.

"Are you insane?! Stop shooting at me-OW!" another foam bullet hit him right in the side.

"Stop thrashing!" Fanty snapped, shooting three more bullets.

All three hit him right in the chest.

"OH GODS THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR CREATING A WAR!" Pitch wailed, covering his face with his hands for protection.

Suddenly, a loud click sounded from above, very close to the ceiling. Pitch stopped thrashing, stunned at the sound. Just as he muttered an 'uh oh', he fell to the ground, netting and all.

Fanty stood there, frozen. She did it! But was the Boogeyman okay? He kept on groaning and muttering words in a different language. Fanty placed the gun on her bed and watched him as he started to get up. First on his knees, and then slowly rising up like in those dramatic movies Fanty was so fond of. Her heart stopped at how tall he was.

Holy crap...I hope he doesn't kill me.

Six feet really was intimidating against a five foot two girl.

Pitch yanked the rest of the netting off with a snarl and glared at her, pure anger in his golden eyes. Fanty blinked, shocked into silence. If she could, she'd be on the floor begging for forgiveness. This dude, this six foot one tall guy who apparently has the power to give fear and destroy dreams, was pissed off at her.

Then again, she couldn't help but just stare at him. This so called Nightmare king, was legitimately a spirit. All her childhood fears of the Boogeyman she had in the past were real. She was staring right at it, towering above her! As a child, she imagined the Boogeyman as a zombie football player, or at least a hulking mass of a goblin-like creature wearing a helmet. She didn't know why she thought the Boogeyman looked like that, she just did.

She liked this version better. Pitch Black looked like the son of Hades and Eris, except doubly attractive with double the power.

"Erm…hi." Fanty stammered, taking a step back.

"Now you fear me?" Pitch rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his lean chest.

"Well, I didn't know how tall you were since you were scrunched up in that trap. Um...yeah." Fanty rubbed the back of her neck, feeling extremely small and awkward.

"Height shouldn't only be the thing making you feel stupid. This should as well," Pitch sneered, and with one flick of his wrist in her direction, a cloud of black sand sprayed her face, causing her to cough and splutter at the horrid taste and the sand creeping into her eyes.

"Hey-!" she exclaimed, but before she could say anything else, she fell asleep, falling to the ground in a crumpled heap.

TURN DOWN FOR WHAT?!

Pitch: Don't do that. Ever.

Yeah, Vines overplay it too much. Still, it's funny! Alrighty then, see you all in the next chapter! :D