#i was supposed to get a fic chapter up today but ao3 crashed on me

[heraldofcrow]

Sky Burial and Blasphemy Theory

I believe I may finally have answers for Eileen and Bloody Crow’s implied rivalry.

(I was stumped for a while, but thankfully, I have very smart friends. You know who you are).

Note: I will be using screenshots of retranslated Japanese descriptions and dialogue from the LastProtagonist document. This is to ensure a more accurate reading of Bloodborne’s lore. The document can be found here.

—

Sky Burial

(Painting by Ronan Boyle)

Eileen the Crow is, as her name suggests, a crow-hunter, or as the Japanese translation puts it, a “hunter-hunter.”

She and her predecessors dressed as crows to represent the art of sky burial.

~~

What is sky burial?

It’s been discussed many times before in this fandom, but for the sake of context, here is a definition from a Tibetan website:

“Sky burial is simply the disposal of a corpse to be devoured by vultures. In Tibetan Buddhism, sky burial is believed to represent their wishes to go to heaven. It is the most widespread way for commoners to deal with the dead in Tibet.”

~~

This what led us to believe that the first hunter-hunters, those that were said to come from the hinterlands/a remote foreign land, were Tibetan. We do not know if this is the case for Eileen, but either way, she upholds the tradition as a crow, and likely reveres it as a solemn duty.

The choice of crows to represent this practice instead of vultures, though an altered form of symbolism, fits quite naturally as well. Crows and the Carrion Crows in Bloodborne feast on the dead, on blood, and take the bounty with them in their beaks.

Even the common folktale of crows foretelling death and decay as dark heralds is something that could easily be tied to sky burial.

Furthermore, the symbolism deepens when we realize that Carrion Crows have a clear association with blood consumption in-game.

Had they not consistently devoured the tainted blood of the many corpses throughout Yharnam, they likely would not have become mutated. This is a sure sign that these creatures thoroughly eat through carrion, blood and all—much like vultures.

Crows suit the more respectable method of burial, and as such, crow-hunters cloak themselves in black-feathered garb, take down mad hunters, and leave them to be consumed by these birds of carrion.

Another key detail to this tradition is the association that blood may have with the soul. Throughout FromSoftware games, there is a theme that adheres to ancient cultural beliefs about the human/animal life force.

Just as Dark Souls 3 confirmed that Gael sought for the “blood of the dark soul,” or in other words, the “blood of humanity” for his lady’s painting, so does Bloodborne ensure to clarify that human souls are found within their own blood. This very notion is suggested through the explanation for sky burial.

If the soul is in the blood, then a crow consuming the ichorous remains of any body and returning to the skies with this carrion in its beak would mark the “salvation of a soul.”

The human was not damned to the under earth or cremated to ash, but was “lifted to heaven” in the hope of rest, peace, and sanctification.

This is what crow-hunters wish for their befouled and wayward comrades, who sin in their final moments under the influence of blood-drunken impulses. Any warrior lost to such madness would be likely to fear for their post-mortem fate if they were able to think clearly for even a moment.

Crow-hunters understand this, and offer mercy by way of cutting their ruined lives short before giving their souls to the birds of heaven. Perhaps those hunters would find their way to the Dream instead of the Nightmare.

This would have been a sacred ritual, preserved and taught among crow-hunters as something never to be fumbled, twisted, or forgotten. It is their native tradition—something even linked to their religion.

Anything less was considered blasphemy, particularly the savage burial methods of Yharnam.

—

Blasphemy

Now, when observing the visual and contextual aspects of the “Bloody Crow of Cainhurst,” it becomes apparent that there is a darker implication to his character—one that is eerily dualistic.

You are required to have a firm grasp on what it is that crow-hunters do, and what the Vileblood royal guards were in service to Annalise for. Yet once the pieces are put into place, we can see the Bloody Crow for what he truly is, and why his methods violate those perpetuated by the crow-hunters.

He is a heretical warrior with a blasphemous personification and purpose. He is the embodiment of sacrilege in regards to the hallowed art of sky burial and the respectful guardianship of ambivalent souls. Every hint given to us in-game contributes to this image of heresy that the Bloody Crow presents.

What are these hints?

They are left among the descriptions for Vileblood assets, particularly the Guard’s armor set and the Corruption + Blood Rapture runes.

I will share a link to this reblog that my friend and I discussed this particular element of the lore on, but to sum up what it is that Annalise’s guards do, we must first understand blood echoes.

As the Japanese states it, they are “the dying wills” of the slain. The “last wishes” of those that have passed on. In this way, we further discern the association with blood and soul in Bloodborne.

Now hunters themselves rely on blood echoes to gain strength, and as we have seen, some of these hunters become addicted to this odd relationship. These are the blood-drunks, or “echo fiends,” and thus are the very hunters stated to be targeted by Annalise’s guards.

To simplify it as acutely as possible, the Vileblood queen’s hunters kill blood-drunks in the same manner as crow-hunters, but with an altered purpose and enterprise. They seek for the writhing “dregs” within the frenzied hunter blood, only to deliver it all to Annalise, who will then consume that unnatural life force.

She does this for the sake of bearing her promised Child of Blood, the heir of Cainhurst and of the Vileblood line.

Now we can put two and two together when studying Bloody Crow.

From his appearance alone, we can deduce that he owes some allegiance to Cainhurst, and to the modus operandi of Annalise’s guards.

He dons their ornate armor, he wields their famed sword, the chikage, and he drops the Blood Rapture rune upon death. This rune is not to be taken lightly. It is a secret resonating with direct servants of the queen.

Blood Rapture itself is a supplement for those guards of Annalise that crave her blood, but cannot yet receive it. They instead find ecstasy in the warmth of blood itself. A brief solution for an unbearable longing.

All of this, in theory, is in direct conflict with the values of a crow-hunter.

The souls of drunken hunters being ripped from their mutilated bodies and brought to a queen for consumption must have been a dark heresy. It violates every principle of sky burial, and twists the nature of a fallen warrior’s salvation.

The Vilebloods could have argued that all of these stolen souls were being used for the better, given to a being that would birth a new and divine form of life, thereby resurrecting the amalgamation of lost lives.

In a sense, it could have the potential to be a form of reincarnation for those warriors.

Yet it does not matter, because a violation of tradition and belief is just that, and if anyone ever blatantly spat in the face of sky burial, it was the Bloody Crow.

And so, in the game itself, we see the culmination of this strife come into full fruition.

—

The Conflict

Eileen, soaked in blood, lies before the Grand Cathedral when we come to the end of her questline. We discover that she has been wounded in the process of hunting down her new “prey.”

Whoever or whatever takes the shape of this “prey” has proven to be too much for Eileen, and though she is older, she is undeniably formidable. This enemy hunter stands apart as an unusual threat.

When we fight him, aiding Eileen, we discover that he shows no signs of normal blood-drunk behavior. He is calm, focused, he stands his ground, refusing to leave the cathedral. He does not rave about and wail in anger, nor does he declare his mad intentions the way an unstable Eileen does in the alternate quest-line.

He has a purpose.

He is the crow that feeds on the blood of hunters, but he does not return to the sky as he was meant to. Instead, he carries his prizes back to Cainhurst and presents them to his queen, blaspheming against Eileen’s covenant and defiling his own honor.

Does he do it purely out of loyalty to Annalise? Does he do it merely to defy Eileen or to torment hunters? Is it vengeance for Cainhurst? For his own life? Is he simply insane in a different way than most blood-drunks?

We could even wonder if he knows that the aspect of sky burial that involves allowing lost hunters to find the Dream is something to be dreaded. Could it hearken to the story of Gideon Ofnir in Elden Ring?

After all, the truth of how gods puppeteer warriors and use them to carry out their schemes can be a devastating thing, sometimes sending the most insightful into a frenzied, desperate state, and Crow does seem to be placed in front of one of the central lanterns. Could this be a possibility?

We may never know for certain, but regardless of his own wishes, he has rebelled against Eileen’s. He is the shame of every crow-hunter before him, so we must put him down after a long and bitter duel.

When we finally overcome this devil, we earn Eileen’s full trust, and her own mantle as a Hunter of Hunters. It becomes our sworn duty to preserve the ancient tradition of sky burial, and to refrain from falling into blasphemy as the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst did.

And that my friends, is my theory on our infamous crow-feud.

—

Thanks to my mutuals (Lore Council gang 🫡) for all the help with this!

[dumfanting]

Same Heart ch 35- Riddur (Finale)

AO3 Link

Rating: E, explicit

Warnings: proposal, handjobs, fingering (f receiving), squirting, PiV, body dysmorphia, Emotions, oral (giving and receiving), blowjobs, face sitting, vibrators | fem reader, present tense, second person PoV

This was originally supposed to be just three chapters, and I didn’t expect anybody outside of a small discord server to see it. Now it’s a full-blown multiple volume series and I can’t even imagine how many people have read it at this point. I wanted to quit multiple times, but the support everyone’s shown me and this work is what kept me going. I can’t really put into words how it feels to reach this point. Thank you all so much for making this what it is today, and a huge thank you to @kaminocasey @madameminor and @mcganns for (gently) pushing me to break out of my comfort zone and write fics in the first place. I love y’all so much.

Illustration is my own work

Consider this a ‘season finale’. There will be more, and the next volume will pick up just before ‘Aftermath’. I hope you’ll enjoy that just as much as you have this.

6738 words

F! Reader/ Echo | F! Reader/ Crosshair

All is right in the galaxy again as you both drift off to sleep.

It’s immediately clear where the glowing stone had gone. It’s been cut and faceted into a kind of cushioned oval and set into a thin ring of bright silver, the colors of the stone reflecting off of the metal in the low light. It’s nothing flashy or even all that fancy, but it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Echo clears his throat and speaks. 

“I kept saying half of me was missing, but I realized today that it isn’t. It’s you, and it always has been. You’ve done so much for me, I don’t have the words to express how deeply I love you and how grateful I am. I… I never want to be apart from you again,” he says, and you’re taken aback by the emotion in his voice and the way he stumbles over his words.

“Echo, w-wha-?” you say, but can’t speak further due to the thundering of your heart in your chest. He clears his throat and calls you by your formal name. 

“Keep me whole. Be my riddur?”

It takes you a solid thirty seconds to process what’s happening, but when it does, it hits you all at once. His odd behavior throughout the day, why he and Shalka kept looking at you, what he and Crosshair had been talking about, even the slight jealousy you sensed from Crosshair, it all adds up. You can’t decide whether to laugh or cry, and wind up doing an odd combination of both. 

Startled by this, Echo tries to get to his feet, but you drop to your knees in front of him and pull him as close to your chest as you can, still laugh-crying. After a minute or so, he shifts back from you and sets the small box aside before carefully cupping your face in his hands. 

“Should I not have-?” he starts, but you interrupt him by crashing your lips against his. He’s caught off guard, at first, then eagerly reciprocates. After a minute, Echo pulls away for air, panting. Before you can kiss him again, he firmly holds you by the shoulders and doesn’t let go until your breathing returns to normal. 

“Good Maker, are you alright?” he asks, incredulous, though his voice is soft and low. 

“Y-yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” you say. Echo still looks concerned. You sit back on your heels and wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand, a feeble laugh escaping your lips every now and then as you take a moment to collect yourself. 

“I’m just relieved,” you say. He makes a confused sound at you and you explain: “You’ve been acting off all day, and after the Force thing last night I was worried you were afraid of me.” 

“It was startling, but no, not at all,” he says. He leans forward and kisses you again, softly this time, and picks the small box back up. He holds it open within your line of sight. 

“So…?” he says pointedly, glancing nervously between your eyes and the ring.

On the verge of being overcome with emotion again, all you can manage to do is nod with a wide smile when you meet his eyes.

It takes a few seconds for him to realize that you’ve said ‘yes’ before he throws his arms around you and kisses you deeply again. You hold onto each other as tightly as you can, neither wanting to let go. 

Eventually, the two of you sit back, and Echo delicately picks the ring out of the box and slips it onto your finger. It’s a little snug, but you can still slide it on and off without getting stuck. You stare at it, watching the blue and purple colors of the stone swim as you move your fingers, and Echo is captivated by the way its glow reflects in your eyes. 

He gets to his feet, then pulls you upright at the foot of the bed. He holds his hands to your hips and softly rests his forehead against yours. As he does, you sense a rush of things from him all at once, but most prominent are feelings of gratitude and love so intense that your entire body tingles. 

“I love you so much,” you whisper. 

“I believe you,” he says, just as quiet. 

He kisses you, and the air feels electrified. Soon, whatever has been holding you both back vanishes, and you’re kissing and touching each other with the same intensity that you had back downstairs. 

Echo lays onto the bed, pulling you down with him as he goes. You hover over him on your hands and knees and start to undo the snaps and straps of his armor, moving entirely by muscle memory as you go, despite how long it’s been since you last did this. With your hands busy, he’s putting his to good use by quickly unbuttoning your shirt. You break away long enough to free your arms from the sleeves and drop the shirt onto the floor, followed by your pants. Echo takes this opportunity to shuck off the remaining pieces of his armor you haven’t already freed him from. 

Once you’ve stripped to just your bra and panties, and he to his blacks, Echo grabs you by the shoulders and crashes his lips into yours. You open up for him and as your tongues dance, he shifts his weight and rolls the two of you over so that he’s on top. Without breaking away, he moves his hands underneath you and manages to unhook your bra on the first try. Surprised, you pull back and can’t help but smirk at him. 

“Nice having two hands again, huh? What else can you do?” you say with a laugh. You slip your arms through the straps of your bra and throw it aside too, freeing your breasts and making Echo groan. He dips his head down where your neck meets your shoulder and mouths at the delicate skin there, making his way up to your ear. 

“Let me show you,” he says, making you shiver. He ghosts his cybernetic hand over the wet spot in your panties, and when you excitedly nod at him, he moves the thin, lacy material aside and slips his two middle fingers into you. You flinch and he glances back up at you, then starts to move back out, but you stop him by holding his wrist in place.

“No no, I’m okay! It’s just a little cold,” you say, apologetic. Echo cringes, but you softly kiss his forehead. “Please touch me, Echo,” you say, the faintest whine audible in your voice. 

He shrugs in an ‘if you say so’ manner and you unhand him. He moves slowly, giving you time to stretch around him, then twists his wrist in a way that wouldn’t be possible with his organic hand. Your brief confusion over this is immediately forgotten when you feel his fingers start to vibrate inside you, and you gasp at the new sensation. He starts to move his fingertips in a tight, circular motion, quickly and expertly finding that specific spot that makes you moan loudly and arch your back. 

After a minute of this, he slips his fingers out of you long enough for you to ditch your panties and for him to take off his undershirt before plunging back into you. He’s still kissing you, and his free hand is cupped around the back of your head, his fingers buried into your hair. Once he’s found a rhythm between your legs, he makes you curse when he uses his vibrating thumb to gently stroke upwards along your clit. Your hips buck involuntarily against his hand and you whimper. 

“Oh god, Echo-oh!” you cry, but the sudden force of your orgasm stops you from finishing that thought as you clamp your thighs together and draw his name out into a loud moan. He keeps his hand moving, working you through your orgasm and beyond it; he only stops after your hips buck once more and you come a second time with a yell as you soak his hand and the duvet below. He twists his wrist in that unnatural way again and pulls his stilled fingers out of you, sitting up and watching you pant and gasp. 

“Wh-,” you try to say, but you need a second to collect yourself and catch your breath. “Who’s idea was that?”

“Tech’s, according to Shalka,” Echo says, clearing his throat. “They’d been talking for so long I just tuned it out and didn’t hear him bring it up. She told me the next day.” 

There’s a surge of heat that rushes to your core when you hear this that you’ll examine later, but you ignore it and laugh a little as you shake your head. You make a mental note to thank Tech when you next see him, then quickly put everything aside from Echo back out of your mind. 

You clasp your hands behind his neck, pull him down to your level, and kiss him deeply, humming softly when he kisses you back. As this happens, your hands move along his back, his sides, and his chest while you delicately trace your fingertips around where the edges of his modifications meet his skin. When he notices what you’re doing, he freezes and you take your hands off of him immediately. He turns his head and swallows hard, unable to meet your eyes. You softly apologize and carefully hold one side of his jaw before gently pulling him back to face you. 

“This is entirely at your pace Echo. Just tell me to stop and I will,” you say, your voice firm. 

“God, please don’t ever stop,” he whispers, and rests his forehead against yours, failing to hide a hiccup. “I… I  need you,” he continues before trailing off and looking away from you again, making your heart ache for him.

You’ve seen him naked often by now and got a pretty thorough look at how his body changed, but you know that right now is different. Completely alone with you and so emotionally charged, you’ve never seen Echo this vulnerable before. You realize how much he trusts you, to completely let his guard down like this, and your heart aches for him again.

Unsure of what to do, you glance around the room until an idea strikes you. You’re able to sit up and stretch your arm far enough to reach the single lit lamp and click it off. You settle back into place and softly pat your chest, and Echo correctly interprets this by resting his head to your chest, right over your heart. You gently set the palm of one hand between his shoulder blades, and trace your nails over his scalp with the other. You keep this up for a minute or two and notice when he relaxes significantly. He props himself back up and dips his head down to shakily whisper that he loves you into your ear. 

“You too, Echo. Tell me what you need,” you say, your voice soft and warm as he kisses his way back up and down your neck.

“Just you, Meds,” he says. After a moment’s hesitation, he nervously takes hold of your wrist and guides your hand to his groin. 

You gently cup him there and he groans. You feel his cock twitch against your palm and look pointedly up at him, biting your lip. Echo says “Please,” in an almost desperate tone and kisses you again.

Permission granted, you slip your hand into his blacks and free his cock from its confines. You spit into your palm and begin stroking him, making him moan. After a moment, you cautiously tug at his waistband, and he quickly strips off the last of his clothing. 

The two of you slip between the sheets and you lie underneath him, your hands resting on his lower back as your legs open. You nudge your knees against his, and immediately after, he takes a deep breath and carefully lines himself up with you. He glances between your hips and your face, making sure you really want this. You move your hands to the sides of his head and pull him down to you, whispering your consent before crushing your lips to his.

With this, Echo slowly starts pushing himself forward and finally, finally penetrates you, making you both moan as he hilts. You’d almost forgotten how perfectly he fits into you, and it’s so familiar that you suddenly think of Fives and have to fight off a lump in your throat. Echo notices the change in your expression and quickly slips out, clearly knowing what you’re thinking. 

“I know, cyare,” he whispers, cupping your cheek, “you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you say, also whispering. 

“Promise?” he asks, quiet enough that you almost don’t hear him. 

“I swear,” you say, looking into his eyes. “Please, Echo. I need to feel you again, it’s been so fucking long,” you continue, almost begging him. 

He believes you and gives you a soft kiss, then seconds later gradually pushes himself back into your hot, wet pussy, the both of you moaning loudly as he bottoms out. You wrap your arms tighter around his upper back and hold him, softly panting. He repeats the motion, and when you moan his name, he begins moving in earnest. You wrap your legs around his hips as they smack against yours, and the sound of skin on wet skin is obscene, though it’s nearly drowned out by the equally obscene sounds the two of you are making. You’re idly aware that there are people who might hear you, but you don’t give a damn. 

Echo starts to thrust into you harder, and you already feel a familiar tension in your lower belly. You stretch your neck and kiss him, and when you break apart he presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and breathing you in. The feeling of being so intensely loved makes you shudder in the best way.

After a moment, you move your hands to grip his shoulders, and with a little effort you manage to roll the two of you over until you're on top. You sit up and straighten your back as you straddle him, moving your hips in slow, languid circles. His hands settle there and he holds you in place, moving his hips like a piston upward into you. Your lower back tingles from the feeling of being so full, and you bend at the waist until you’re chest to chest with him. You take his hands into yours and lock your fingers together, all the while never letting your lips leave his for more than a second. 

After a minute of this, Echo imitates you by gripping your shoulders and rolling the two of you over until you’re under him again. However, his movements slow, then stop altogether. You can tell he’s holding himself back, and the pained expression on his face grabs your attention. 

“Echo? What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice so soft that it’s almost inaudible. He doesn’t answer you right away and in fact is having trouble looking at you. 

“N-nothing,” he eventually says, and his voice is thick, which startles you for the second time tonight. “It’s just…” he trails off.

“Just what?” you ask, concerned and slightly confused. You prop yourself up on your elbows and when his eyes meet yours, you’re hit with an unexpected wave of sorrow and loneliness. 

“I… I told you that I’d dream about you, back on Skako…” he says, and you nod, recalling the conversation clearly. 

“It was always like this,” he continues, then takes a moment to clear his throat. “But every time you and I would… I- I’d wake up just enough to realize that I was actually alone.” He hiccups and hides his face in the crook of your neck, a single warm tear falling onto your skin. Your heart shatters and you hold him with one hand on the back of his head and the other between his shoulder blades.

“I don’t want to wake up and lose you again,” he says, his voice trembling badly. 

You make a quiet shushing sound and rub a hand up and down his back in a soothing, gentle way, taking care to avoid his modifications. 

“Echo, baby, look at me,” you say, calling him that for the first time, and when he looks up at you, you cup his cheek, then gently brush a stray tear away with your thumb. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ll never have to be alone again, I promise you,” you say, turning your hand around to remind him of the ring he’d just put onto your finger. He hiccups, but the fear is starting to fade from his eyes as he looks at you. He takes a deep breath and lets out a shuddering exhale a few times, gradually calming himself back down. 

Once it seems that he’s leveled off, you gently kiss him, then subtly shift your hips around him as he stays inside of you. He curses softly under his breath and when you do it again he meets your eyes. The trace of doubt you find there slips away when you tell him that you love him. He cautiously starts to move again, and you lay flat on your back, raising your hips to meet his thrusts. Before long, he’s returned to the same hard, feverish pace he’d set earlier, and much too soon, that tight feeling in your lower abdomen returns. 

“I’m so close, Echo,” you whine. 

“Good,” he says, panting. “I won’t last much longer.” 

You kiss him again and as you do his hips stutter and his muscles lock. As you feel his cock twitch deep inside of you, the tension in your gut is released and you come with a loud cry, clenching around him and milking out everything he has. 

Seconds later, his muscles abruptly relax and he collapses into your chest. The two of you gasp for breath, clinging onto each other for dear life. You remain like this for about a minute before Echo shakily props himself back up on his elbows. When you look into his eyes, you involuntarily sense what he’s feeling again. Everything you’ve been through, the loss and horror and especially the grief, are all washed away by the powerful, indescribable warmth of love and euphoria that crashes over you from him. 

You only notice the tears in your eyes when Echo softly brushes a few away with his thumb, then you reach up and return the favor. You press your foreheads together again, and you both start to laugh and cry at the same time. 

Once this passes and he goes soft, he pulls out of you with a groan, and you feel his release spilling out, but you don’t care. Nothing in the universe could distract you from Echo right now. He pats your shoulder and you move over a little, giving him space to lie on his back. You, now on your side, rest your head in the hollow of his shoulder. Eventually he turns and faces you, and the two of you hold each other tight, not speaking a word but still saying so much. 

All is right in the Galaxy again as you both drift off to sleep. 

Hours later, the mid-morning sun shines through the enormous window of the room. Echo quickly regains consciousness, but stays still with his eyes shut tight. Last night replays in his mind and he’s afraid that once he fully wakes up he’ll find out it was just another dream. That is, until he feels movement on his left side and hears you yawn softly before whispering his name. He steels himself, and reluctantly opens his eyes. When he does, he sees you, backlit by the sunlight and smiling at him. He lets out the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and you chuckle at him. 

“I told you I’m not going anywhere,” you say, your voice raspy from sleep. Echo doesn’t say anything but the relief you sense from him and see on his face is overwhelming. 

You press your nude body against his and kiss him passionately. When you break apart after some time, Echo groans and you feel his cock twitch against your thighs. In response, you push him onto his back and slip down past his waist, coming to a stop with your head over his pelvis. The sensation of your warm breath breezing over his skin gets him achingly hard almost immediately and he groans. You giggle and lick a wide stripe along your palm before you firmly take his cock into your hand and jerk him off at a slow but steady pace until his hips buck up into your hand.

You let go of his cock, but still hold it up with a single finger under the tip as you drag your tongue along the underside, eventually reaching the head and tracing around his slit, lapping up the sticky sweetness of his precum. His hips jerk again and he whines your name. You look up and softly smile at him before wrapping your lips around his cock head, making him twitch again. As you suck his dick, rapidly moving your head up and down along his shaft, you draw the most deliciously sinful sounds out of him. You giggle and hum, and the vibration of your throat proves to be too much. 

“Fuck, don’t stop, I’m gonna-,” he says, the last word melting into a long groan and his hips twitch violently as he cums. You swallow around him, sucking out as much as you possibly can, humming in pleasure all the while. Only once he curses and jerks back away from your mouth do you sit up and free him. He watches you, panting for breath, before he suddenly sits up, grabs your hips, and pulls you forward as he lies back down. 

Knowing what he wants, you shift to your knees and hover your dripping cunt over his face. He grabs your hips again and yanks you down, making you sit on his face as he slips his tongue into you and slurps up as much of your arousal as he can. When you moan his name, he takes it a step further by twisting his cybernetic’s wrist and holding his vibrating thumb to your clit as he eats you out like a man starved. The sudden additional stimulation makes you inadvertently grind down against his strong tongue and you whimper. 

Echo looks up at you with a satisfied expression and doubles his efforts, increasing the vibration of his thumb with another odd twitch and making you cry out as your legs clamp around his head. He pushes you back enough to look up at you and you hold eye contact as you orgasm with a shiver and a loud gasp of his name. You grind yourself downward again and it intensifies when he nips at the head of your clit and sucks at it between his teeth. Your entire body tenses up before you slip sideways off of his face and bonelessly drop back onto the mattress, your hips still occasionally spasming forward from the aftershock of such a powerful orgasm. 

After you catch your breath, you sit up and find Echo watching you, his back straight against the headboard and his cybernetic hand lazily stroking himself. He cocks an eyebrow at you and you eagerly nod at him. He sits up a little straighter and folds his legs, then you quickly climb into his lap and squat as you lower yourself down onto his leaking cock. Once you’re seated properly, you move your legs and wrap them around his waist, locking your ankles together against the small of his back. The newfound tightness this position creates makes you so full that your lower back tingles, and you clench around him. He groans your name and grabs a handful of your ass before he starts to undulate his hips and fuck up into you. 

You can’t remember the last time you’d been hit so deeply, and you arch your back as you moan Echo’s name. He takes his free hand and cups one of your breasts, the cool durasteel of his palm against your warm skin making you shiver. He repositions his hand, now holding your pebbled nipple between two fingertips and gently rolling it between them. You let out a shaky gasp and grab the sides of his head, pulling his mouth to yours and kissing him. He thrusts into you harder, and as you moan into the kiss he opens up and swallows all the pretty sounds you make to keep for himself. 

You begin to grind your hips into his in loose circles and slip one of your hands down to where your bodies meet. Before you can touch yourself, Echo snares your wrist and softly tuts at you. He moves his replaced hand downward and away from your breast, his fingertips barely brushing along your skin as he goes. With a twitch of his thumb he’s vibrating again, and when he grazes the very end of your clit you cry out his name. 

“Oh fuck, Echo!” you whine. He smirks at you and presses the pad of his thumb against your clit, making you almost convulse around him as your eyes roll up towards the ceiling. 

“God damn it you’re perfect,” he says, growling lowly into your ear and nipping along your neck again. When you shiver in response, he sits back enough to commit the look of near-ecstasy on your face to his memory. Still working your clit and thrusting his cock into you, he leans forward, grazing his teeth against the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. You whimper, and he raises his head just enough to breathe into your ear. 

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he says, his breath hot on your skin. 

“I-I’m right there, please Echo,” you say, setting your pride aside. 

“Will you a good girl and come on my cock, riddur?” he says, chuckling darkly when he notices the way you whine and clench around him when he uses the Mando’a word. 

“Yes! I’ll be good for you Echo, I need-,” you say, nearly begging him, but he cuts you off by making you cry out as he bites into your shoulder and sucks a dark bruise into your skin. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as you finally orgasm, your entire body locking up with the intensity of it. 

Satisfied, Echo returns his hands to your hips and holds you down tightly against his pelvis as his cock twitches and he fills you with so much cum that it leaks out. His hold on you loosens at the same time your muscles relax and the two of you slump into each other, both completely fucked out and panting for breath.

About an hour after your senses return to you, you and Echo have both cleaned yourselves up, gotten dressed, and packed your things. As you take the long ride back down to the ground floor in the lift, Echo wonders aloud how often, if at all, you’ll be able to get that close while on the Marauder. You admit that you don’t know. 

“It doesn’t matter how quiet we are, Hunter is always going to be able to tell,” you say with a sigh. 

“His hearing really is that good, huh?” Echo says, allowing you to step out of the lift first and lead the way into the lobby. 

“Well, there’s that, yes, but I inadvertently found out on Anaxes that he can fucking smell it too,” you say. 

“Damn, even in the shower?” Echo asks, failing to hide his disappointment. The two of you step into the queue for the front desk and continue talking.

“Despite the shower,” you say, rolling your eyes as Echo curses under his breath. “But don’t worry, we’ll figure something out,” you say, briefly pecking his cheek. 

“Oh, we’d better,” he says, tracing a fingertip across the dark spot on your neck and making you twitch. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to go without tasting you again,” he says, his voice low in your ear. You loudly clear your throat and try to ignore the blossoming heat between your legs. 

The conversation ends right when you reach the front desk. The same young Chiss man that you’d spoken to last night is there again, and he greets you with a wide smile. “Well, good morning!” he says. “What did you think of the view up there?” 

“Oh, we didn’t notice,” Echo says, taking your hand into his and glancing over at you. The young man looks between you with a knowing expression and finishes out the transaction with no further comments, aside from thanking you both for staying before you walk away. 

You’re almost back to the hangar in yet another taxi when you suddenly think about Crosshair. You stare down at the ring on your left hand and wonder if this will change things with him. You must be wearing your concern on your face, because Echo speaks up as if he knows what you’re thinking. 

“You wanted to know what Crosshair and I were talking about, right?” he says, and you nod. He takes your hand and holds it up to the light, making the colors of the glowing stone on your finger shine brightly. 

“It was this,” he says thoughtfully. 

“What, did you ask his permission?” you say, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Of course not,” Echo says, interlacing your fingers with his. “It’s not like either of us own you.”

“Good answer,” you say, and he softly shakes his head at you. 

“I just told him what I was planning,” he says. “He didn’t seem to object to it,” he adds with a shrug. You huff in an exaggerated manner. 

“And he clearly told the others so they all could pitch in and upgrade the room,” you say. “I really was the last one to know, wasn’t I?” you say. Echo softly kisses your cheek. 

“Yes, but that’s kind of the point,” he says. 

“So, what did he say?” you ask, fidgeting with the strap of your bag. 

“Ask him yourself,” Echo says, nodding towards the window behind you as the taxi slows to a stop. Outside, you see Crosshair and Wrecker waiting on the sidewalk for you. After paying the driver, you both step outside, and Echo leaves you with Crosshair while he and Wrecker gather up your things from the trunk. 

You meet Crosshair’s eyes and nervously bite your lip, waiting for him to say something. He lifts your left hand and gets a good look at the ring on your finger. 

“Surprised it fits,” he says casually. You blink at him, confused. He looks between you, the ring, and Echo, then smirks at you. 

“This changes nothing, I hope you know. Told him that too,” he says, then holds you about the waist and pulls you in for a deep kiss. You sigh into him, relieved. Almost immediately, you feel someone’s eyes on you, and when you step back from Crosshair, you spot Wrecker staring at you confused. He glances between the two of you and Echo a few times.  

“That’s allowed?” he says in disbelief.  

You’re about to say something but Crosshair, with his hand on your shoulder, rolls his eyes and leads you back toward the ship, leaving Echo behind to explain it to him. 

“At this rate Hunter is the only one who hasn’t asked about it,” Crosshair says as you both walk up the Marauder’s open ramp.

“Oh, I already knew,” Hunter says, meeting you inside. Crosshair shakes his head, somewhere between amused and annoyed, and mumbles something about an application process. He walks past Hunter and tugs you, laughing, behind him. 

Once inside, Crosshair goes into the refresher and you spot Tech in the cockpit going through his usual preflight checks. You stand quietly in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt him. He’s startled by your unexpected presence when he turns around, but quickly regains his composure, adjusting his goggles as he approaches you. 

“There you are Meds, I was wondering when you would get here,” he says. 

“Missed me that much, huh?” you say. 

“I have,” he says, surprising you. Before you can react, he moves past you and continues speaking. 

“I’m sure you’re aware that I and the others have been modifying the ship,” he says, leading you to the bunks. You’re about to answer him, but you stop short when you both get there. 

When you joined the squad, there were six bunks on the ship, three to a side, and the extra two at the back were used for temporary storage. Your first night aboard, Wrecker had readily given you his spot and moved into the emptied spare behind it. 

Looking at them now though, you’re confused when you only see four, then you notice a wall and a small closed door that definitely wasn’t there before. You only realize that Echo has caught up with you when he inadvertently voices your thoughts. 

“What the hell did you do to the bunks?” he asks, just as confused as you are. You step toward the door and it slides open, revealing an entirely separate room. You poke your head inside and find a bed, in one piece, made up of the two missing bunks. It’s tucked against the left wall, and there's a small intercom speaker and switch near the door, a fair few compartments, and just enough room to stand upright and move in front of the bed.

You back out, allowing Echo to get a look at the space, and Tech catches your eye, looking quite proud of himself. 

“That’s what you’ve been doing all week?” you ask in disbelief. 

“Where’d ya think we’ve been?” Wrecker says, approaching with your bags. He squeezes his way past everyone and into your room, then drops your things onto the bed, surprising you when it makes no noise. 

“The idea occurred to me after seeing the two of you cram into one bunk once we left Anaxes. I was originally going to just clear out the last extra bunk, until Hunter informed me that you and Echo would likely prefer to share a space. I had to rearrange a large portion of the ship's components and wiring, but I believe you’ll find it satisfactory,” he says. You simply stare at him for a moment while you try to find your words. 

“But that must have been an ass-load of work!” you eventually say. Tech waves this off.

“Hunter did insist on one thing,” he continues, then nods at Wrecker, who grins and shuts the door. About a second later you hear a very muffled sound from inside, which impresses you, knowing how loud he can be. 

“It’s almost completely soundproof,” Hunter says, speaking up from the back. “Thank god,” he adds, giving you and Echo a stern look. Echo meets his eyes and awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck. Meanwhile, Crosshair, who you only now notice is in the vicinity, smirks and rolls his eyes from where he’s standing behind Tech. 

Once Wrecker leaves your room, everyone disperses, save for you and Tech, who’s stayed behind to keep telling you about the new space. He leads you inside and points out a few key things, mainly the lock on the door and intercom controls. He realizes that you haven’t said anything else in a while and looks over at you. He finds you watching him with a soft expression, which catches him off guard.

“This is so thoughtful of you,” you say, looking around the room. 

“It simply made the most sense,” he says, shrugging at you. You turn towards him and smile. 

“Well, I’m very grateful,” you say. Tech simply nods at you and turns to leave the room, but before he does, you remember something. 

“Oh, by the way,” you say, recapturing his attention. When he stops and turns back toward you, you take a few steps closer to him, then glance around to make sure you won’t be overheard. 

“Echo told me while we were alone last night that a specific feature of his cybernetic was your idea,” you say, keeping your voice low. Tech’s lips part and his eyes widen. 

“What,” he says, then pauses to clear his throat. “What about it?” he asks, matching your low volume.

“Just that I really enjoyed it, so I wanted to say thank you,” you say, holding his gaze. It takes him two attempts to speak.

“E-everything functioned to your, um, needs then?” he asks, and you barely manage not to chuckle when you notice that his face is flushed.

“Oh yes, it all worked perfectly,” you say, keeping your tone casual, as if discussing the weather. You startle him for a second time that day when you very briefly kiss his cheek. 

“Thank you Tech, for everything,” you say. He seems unable to speak, and it occurs to you that you probably crossed a line. 

“Oh damn, did I-?” you say, speaking quickly and taking a step back. 

“N-no, it’s,” he says, finding his voice. He clears his throat. “It’s fine, Meds. I don’t mind,” he continues, then abruptly slips out of the door without another word. He glances back at you over his shoulder as he goes and you can sense a faint feeling of want drifting from him in your direction. 

You start to feel bad for flustering him, but the feeling is quickly forgotten when Tech’s place is almost immediately taken by Crosshair, who shuts the door behind him. He kisses you, then sits on the bed and pulls you into his lap, resting his chin on your shoulder, your back to his chest.

“I see that things went well last night,” he says, pressing a finger to the mark Echo had left and making you inhale sharply. “Did you two-?” he says, leaving the question open-ended. 

“Finally, yes,” you say with a laugh. A laugh that morphs into a soft gasp when Crosshair moves and starts kissing along your neck. 

“Good,” he says, and although you can’t see his face, you can practically hear him smirking. “That means it’s my turn,” he says, nipping at your pulse. You turn around in his lap and roll your eyes at him. He rests his hands on your ass, then leans in and kisses you with surprising gentleness, humming softly when your lips meet. 

“I missed you, kitten,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. 

Before you can say anything, there’s a knock at the door. You reach over and open it to find Hunter standing there, and you can’t tell if he’s annoyed by what he sees.

“We haven’t even left the ground yet, you two really can’t wait?” he says, leaning against the door frame. 

“The entire point of this room is so you won’t bother us,” Crosshair says, definitely annoyed. “What do you want?” 

“Orders just came in, they want to do a full work up with Echo on Kamino,” Hunter says, then shakes his head again as he walks away. Before the door slides shut, Echo steps inside and looks at you two, amused. 

“Tech wants me up front,” he says, then steps forward and briefly kisses you. “Can you two contain yourselves, at least until we reach hyperspace?” he says, trying to hold back a smirk. You and Crosshair exchange a glance and say ‘no promises’ in unison. Echo rolls his eyes and steps back out, closing the door behind him. 

You return your attention to Crosshair and find him watching you with a soft look in his eyes. He leans in and kisses you, then lies back onto the bed, pulling you down with him and holding you closely to his chest. You meet his gaze and sense nothing but love and adoration. You abruptly remember Fives’ warning about Crosshair, but easily chase the thought away, surprising yourself. 

Whatever the future may hold, you think, you’ll handle it as it comes. Right now, all you want to do is be with the men you love. 

Taglist/ thank yous: @kaminocasey @madameminor @jennamelinda12 @arctrooper69 @the-cantina @jedi-hawkins @wolveria @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @whore4rex @echo-is-worth-more-than-2000 @vanyaluxz1007 @jane8675

[jjtheresidentbaby]

Behind Closed Doors | Mike Wheeler

- this work contains mature topics and themes, if you are not suitable to interact with such things please click away

Find it on Ao3 here

Background: classification au, flip!mike, caregiver!Nancy, caregiver!Will, established Mike x Will, established Nancy x Steve x Johnathan, everything canon happened but eddies alive, takes place after season 4 with vecna dead

Summary: Ted and Karen do some things behind closed doors that Mike desperately tries to hide but what happens when it all comes crashing down?

Genre: heavy angst, comfort

Authors note: this is my first stranger things fic so please be nice, I think I kept the characters in character but if I didn’t let me know (also this got long as hell sorry) this is based off the conversation me and @berrymoos have been having for the past like week hsudheudbj. I could make a second chapter to this if anyone wanted

Warnings: major trigger warning for abuse, bruises, crying, swearing, self conscious!Mike, panic attacks, hair pulling

~

Mike wipes the blood off his nose with the towel Karen holds out to him, she doesn't even look mad at her husband for hitting their kid. No. No she looks disappointed in Mike. As if he didn't know he wasn't supposed to slip, like there wasn't past bruises and scars to get it through his head, he fucking knew that going little at home was a bad idea, he knows!

But tonight was different, Nancy wasn't home and Holly was at a friends which means both Wheeler parents were out of the house for a few hours. School was really rough today so Mike knew he was teetering on the edge of falling into his small headspace but thought he could push it away long enough to get home to Nancy. Then Nancy wasn't here.

Mike has regressed without even noticing it, mistake number a hundred of today it seems. So when Karen and Ted came home two hours later to Mike sat on the couch chewing on his shirt entranced in a cartoon, they were livid and Mike was taken off guard. Taken off guard to the point of not even being able to dodge the first slap Ted threw.

Things spiraled so quickly that when Mikes little headspace did go away, as it does almost instantly when someone hits him, the beating was half over. His torso’s purple and yellow with bruises, lip split, nose aching as blood dribbles down, tears welled in his eyes unwilling to fall and his mothers face. She looks like getting beat up and screamed at by Ted wasn't enough, like she's about to give a lecture about how they are a bloodline of caregivers and being a flip is unacceptable as is, going little is out of the question. But again, Mike knows this all.

He's heard it so many times that he can basically recite the exact words his father or mother would pull out. Not to mention just how much he's been doing to stay big and a caregiver, it's practically all he thinks about, sure he regresses at the Byers house and with Nancy but that's about it. He also is very careful about when he regresses, if there's even a chance of his parents stopping by he won't.

Mike Wheeler would say himself that he's a smart kid - scratch that- a smart teenager. He's not a kid and won't act like one. No freaking way, after what happened tonight? There's no reason or person that can make Mike slip.

It's not like he goes little all the time anyways, nowhere near as close to as much as Max or Dustin do. But Dustin's a full little and Max has a little lean, Mike wouldn't say he didn't lean to his little headspace but he wouldn't admit that he did either. He's neutral? Middle? He's a flip but is pretty good at staying in that blank space of nothingness.

It's probably why he's so stressed out so much though. His resting face of being over it and clenched jaw proves Mike could do a bit better at relaxing. He can't though, if he falls in caregiver space then he'll be around littles and while he loves all his little friends, there's a sick sour twist of jealousy in his gut watching them be so carefree. His little headspace claws it's way to the front of Mikes brain anytime it comes out even when he does feel safe and comfortable but being achy doesn't really help matters.

~

Five days later and Mikes done a damn good job at covering bruises and staying in that neutral ground. He's had a few almost slips, at Wills house the other day, then when Nancy had come in to check in on Mike that night after he got kicked in the ribs by a steel toe boot, that was a hard time to fight off. Nancy's always the one to get his little side to come out and she could tell something was wrong so she was trying really hard to help, Mike felt extra guilty pushing her out of her room with the excuse of a headache.

He's had a "headache" for almost a week now. Avoiding anyone and everyone for whatever shitty excuse he can race to come up with. The party's noticed, Nancy's noticed, Steve and Johnathan have noticed, hell even that girl Robin has taken notice to how off Mike is. He doesn't care.

Except he has to care tonight as it's game night and he can't exactly skip it. He had promised Max to play uno with her tonight, he made the promise before everything went down but he's not about to break it. He can do this, it's one night at the Byers, with the whole party, and Nancy's two boyfriends, and Steve's best friend Robin and her best friend Eddie. It's so many people. He can't do this.

"Mike? You okay?" Nancy turns to look at him in the backseat of Steve's car, Johnathans in the passenger seat, even already being at the Byers he wanted to come for the ride.

"Yeah I'm good." He stops the ringing in and out of his hands that he was doing to try to reassure Nancy.

"Yeah? You've been a bit off for the past few days." She tips her head to look at his ducked down eyes. Mike clenches his jaw even harder, he is fine. Kind of. Sort of. Not really. He really wants to go little as it'd no doubt help with the stress but he can't.

"I don't know, just an off week I guess." He shrugs trying to get past this conversation.

"If you need anything I'm here and so is Johnny and Stevie." Mike smiles a bit wider, he always found it admiring how Nancy pulls out nicknames for her partners.

"Yeah man Will said he's worried about you." Steve calls over his shoulder which earns a punch to his arm from Johnathan.

"You weren't supposed to tell him idiot! What Steve meant was- we’re all a bit worried." Johnathan turns around in his seat with a short sigh. Mike nods looking at how the boys hair falls into his eyes with blows of air through Johnathans mouth to try to get it out of the way. Mike relates, he loves his long hair but that problem arises every now and again.

"Mike? You see something on my face kid?" He shakes himself out of his slight trance at Johnathans chuckle. Shit. That's definitely not good, zoning out always means his little headspace is coming out and being called kid is making everything worse.

"No sorry- just, your hairs getting long." Mike mentally slaps his forehead, his hairs getting long? Seriously that's what he comes up with? Ugh.

"You don't like? Steve's been telling me to leave it long." Mike shakes his head.

"No- no- I like it! It reminds me of when Will grew his hair out when we were kids and he would twist his fingers into it during math and when he thought really hard- he did it a lot- he use to keep pushing it out of his face during lunch and-." Mike shuts himself up. Nice one Wheeler gush about your boyfriend to his brother, real smooth.

"Yeah I remember that. Maybe he should grow it out again if you liked it so much." Mike can feel the heat rise to his cheeks which has Nancy and Steve chuckling lowly.

"Nice talk Johnny! Gonna go inside now!" Mike stumbles himself out of Steve's car as soon as it stops and he goes searching for Will. As much as he's been pulling away, he feels bad leaving Will all lonely.

~

"Hey bab-." Will can't get his sentence out as Mikes hands hold his cheeks in a firm yet gentle grasp and his lips are pressed into Wills. He loves him so much and wants him to know he'd never hurt him, Mike can't bear the thought of Will thinking he'd ever lay a finger on him. He wouldn't. He'd never be like his awful parents.

"Mike- Mike- let me breathe." And Wills laughing as he pulls away but Mikes almost crying. He doesn't know why. He's supposed to be staying big right now, be in that middle ground, he just feels overwhelmed and he shouldn't. He can't is a better way to put it.

"Mike?" Wills brows furrow ever so slightly and Mike finally lets the fact that there are ten people in this room looking at them set in so he does the logical thing- grabs Wills hand and pulls him to Wills bedroom with the door closing too loudly behind them.

"Mike? You okay?" He nods then pushes Will onto the bed so Mikes legs can straddle over Wills lap. It's more sexual than he meant it but he's not going to pull back now.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." He murmurs between sweet kisses, he remembers El thinking he didn't say it enough when they were still a couple, now he makes it a point to say it. Even if it sometimes makes him uncomfortable as he never said it out loud before Eleven.

"I love you too, Mike- are you okay?" He feels like sobbing but pushes it away to nod and cradle Wills cheeks. Will looks so- so good compared to Mike.

He'd never worry about slipping into headspace if he was a little, he'd probably embrace it just like he embraces his caregiver headspace. Will would never ruin his family's bloodline or be a disappointment to his mother. Joyce's pride and joy is her two sons, Will especially as he's never so much as lied about brushing his teeth. He's too good for Mike, he deserves someone better than Mike. Someone who isn't a flip and isn't a fuck up.

"Mike? Baby? Why do you look like you're gonna cry?" Wills hand is soft against Mikes cheek that's burning red as he urges tears back.

"I just- I love you so much and I feel like I don't say it enough or- or I don't show it. But I love you and I don't want you to doubt that." 'I don't want you to be disappointed in me' is what Mike wants to say but doesn't.

"Of course I know you love me Mike, I've never doubted that. I never will. But are you sure you're okay? You've been all distant and now you're on my lap." Mike tries to think of a reasoning but he can't, he just leans forward to lay his head down on Wills shoulder and wrap his arms around Wills middle.

Mike can't justify why he's been distant without exposing what his parents do to him on a, becoming more regular, basis. And as much as he trusts Will, he could never tell a soul what happens behind closed doors. Not when his family is oh so perfect.

"The perfect nuclear family" as Nancy's put it. The oldest daughter with big dreams and amazing grades, the middle son who has tight nit friends and loyalty like no other, the youngest daughter still living in the innocent childhood their parents provide. Their parents who are a man that makes a good living and provides for his family, the mother who washes all the dishes and puts on fresh red lipstick just before her husband gets home.

Abuse would put a major dent in that perfect family, just like being a flip, they are caregivers. The Wheelers are a family of caregivers who walk proudly and smile for every picture. They help the littles that wander into their house unknowing that Ted looks down on them simply because of their classification or that Karen, despite not being as open about it as Ted, has a very passive aggressive way of opinions when it comes to littles. Mike gets the brunt of all those opinions and it hurts just as bad as it did the first time.

He can handle all the bruising and anger but the wording stings. "Weak", "immature", "worthless", "amount to nothing", it slices through his skin deeper than the whiskey glass smashed against the wall. He's not weak and he has dreams, big dreams just like Nancy, his are just kept between himself and sometimes Will or Lucas. Mike fantasizes about traveling, maybe to California, and getting away from it all to be a photographer.

While Mike hates getting his own picture taken and never really dabbles in it aside from the occasional lesson he gets under the table from Johnathan, he loves it. He can capture a perfect moment and hold it in his hands to never be tarnished. It would be amazing, Will being an artist like he always wanted and Mike being a photographer that can take picture after picture of whatever he wants. Mostly Will. He has a lot of pictures of Will.

"My love are you sleeping?" Mike startles a bit at Wills soft tone but he pushes himself off of Wills chest. That was too close, he could feel himself starting to slip down that tricky slope of regression and trying to not let the beating from days prior get to him. Mike knows he'd be a crying mess if he became little and while that’s have him less stressed, he’d rather avoid that tumble of emotions.

"Sorry- not sleeping." He has to focus, stay big, that's the only thing he should be worried about right now.

"Mm, the drool on my shirt says differently." Shit did he actually fall asleep? He didn't mean to and quickly wipes the wet patch on Wills shirt. He's never been good at sleeping with his mouth closed or just not drooling in general.

"I'm sorry. Are- are you mad?" A pang of terror spikes in Mikes chest as he stops to stare at Will. He doesn't look mad, why would he? He has to be use to Mikes excessive drooling by now, but what if he is mad? He could be sick of Mike and think he's gross or-

"Of course I'm not mad darling, I'm pretty sure it's a bit late to be mad when we've been dating six months and this is far from the first time you've drooled on me." Right. Of course. Whats Mike even thinking? It's Will of course he isn't mad, he'd never be.

"Yeah- yeah. Sorry." Mikes eyes drop to his lap as he swallows quickly. He's not sure why he's so nervous or why he's betraying every plan he had for tonight.

Mike had thought out how tonight would go and this is definitely not it. He was supposed to stay big and be a safely away from things that could make him slip, like laying across Wills chest. He even wore his most uncomfortable jeans to make sure he didn't get the normal comfort he gets when small. His long sleeve Hellfire shirt to cover bruises, tight black skinny jeans to keep him sort of stiff, black nail polish picked partly off to distract himself and even his watch that will beep when his parents arrive home from the house party they went to tonight.

While game night is always ended with a sleepover in the Byers living room, Mike still wants to know when his parents will be home. Maybe he can get Nancy to drop him off? It might be better for him to be at home away from so many people. Or maybe that's worse? If he slipped at home he could have a repeat of before. He can't tell which risk he wants to take.

"Mike what's wrong?" He looks up at Will with a head tilt, he's fine. Or he thinks he's at least acting fine.

"You keep pulling your hair, you only do that when you're stressed." Shit he's right, Mike untangles the hand he had at the nape of his neck with a tug. He's always hated that habit, it only got worse after receiving his classification. Then again it makes sense, he always seems to be stressed out in some shape or form.

"Schools just been kinda hard and I have homework to do when I go home." It's not a lie but it feels like one. Mike does have homework to do and school has been extra rough lately, it still feels like he just lied straight to Wills face and Mike hates that feeling. It has him nauseous.

"Well you can worry about it later because tonight's about relaxing." Will grins as he leans up to put his arms around Mike shoulders then flop them both onto the full size bed. A few laughs coming from both partners as Will legs end up tangled in Mikes and Mikes head tucked under Wills chin.

"Yeah, you're right." He can relax without slipping, it won't be that hard.

~

It is that hard and Mike has no idea what to do but panic. He was playing uno like he promised Max, it was them, Dustin, El, Will and Lucas all playing. The whole party while the older kids did some board game with Hopper and Joyce. It's fun and has relaxed Mike a significant amount but that is the issue it seems.

He's so relaxed that he can feel his headspace practically pushing his brain into little mode. He needs to get out of here or he's gonna slip and he's gonna start to cry because his ribs still hurt and his parents would be so mad at him if they knew he was regressing and-

"Mike?" He genuinely jumps away from the hand Steve put on his shoulder. He flinched so hard that he's now standing across from everyone in the room with labored breathing. Shit! Shit! Not a panic attack right now! The last thing Mike needs right now is a panic attack.

"Honey just breathe, it's okay." He jolts at Wills hand on his forearm.

"Don't touch me!" Mike feels his stomach drop through his throat at just how loud that was and how taken back Will looks.

"I'm- I'm sorry- I didn't mean to yell at you- I just- please don't touch me- I can't- I'm sorry." He stops even attempting trying to talk and instead lets his feet stumble backwards til he's pressed against the wall beside the couch and where the hallway begins.

Mikes hands tremble when he peers down at them and that's definitely not a good sign. Shit. He takes in a shaky breath while reaching to press flat at his chest, he can feel his heart beat, but also how fast and heavy his chest is heaving. He needs to calm down, he knows that, everything is going to go to shit if Mike doesn't get himself out of this panicked state.

"Mike how can we help? Tell us what to do." Nancy's right there and Mike almost just reaches for her. She'd hold him into her chest and murmur things about how adorable he is, he loves his sister for that, that loving sisterly energy she always gives. He can't have that now though, he's still fight against his little headspace.

"Too- too much-." There's too many lights and sounds and people around. He wants to be alone where he can curl into a ball and stop being so concerned with other people seeing him.

"Too much what? Was it too loud?" It was but it was a good kind of loud until Mike realized that it was having him slip. He nods to Nancy before sliding down to the floor so he can prop up his knees and tuck his face into the fronts of them with his arms shielding his head away.

"Okay, okay, we turned off the music and tv. Does that help?" Not really. It's apparently too late for that as Mikes brain can't even focus on one solid breath or even just not replaying the events of his parents.

"Do you hear me?! You are ruining this family!"

Mike feels like screeching but refrains to rather choke a sob into his knees. He hates this, he's use to panic attacks by now but still hates the crying bit. It doesn't always happen and only really gets like this when something bad has been going on. It's still somehow worse than any of the beatings or arguments combined, Mike would rather light his skin aflame than cry willingly.

"Darling what can we do to help?" Leave him alone, make him a caregiver, make his life more than a big disappointment. But none of that's reasonable so Mike just tries to sniffle the already falling tears back.

"It's- it's still too much. Everything is too much." The lights are far too bright and he knows there’s more than an acceptable amount of eyes on him as he crumbles apart.

"Okay, alright Steve and Johnathan can take everyone else outside." Mike nods shortly to Joyce's worried words.

"Can you try to look at me? Just look up here bub." That makes a sob crack loose of Mikes chest. Nancy only ever uses that nickname when he's regressed, it originates from his childhood and the nights he'd sneak up into her bed after a bad dream. She'd lull him back to sleep with sweet murmurs and that damn nickname spoken in a gentle whisper.

"I can take you home if you want-."

"No! Please don't make me- no! I can't go there, no, I don't want to, I want to be safe. Please I just want to be be safe." He cruses his little side for being so honest with Nancy and how he knows for sure she heard the fear in his tone.

"Honey all the monsters are gone, you are safe and everyone is here safe too. We're all okay." Mike has a spurt of love spike as he hears Will reassure so gracefully, not a single doubt behind the words.

Although it's not monsters that scare Mike, not the 'other-dimension' kind at least, his monsters sleep down the hall and eat bad meatloaf together every Tuesday evening. They aren’t gone and definitely make him far from safe, if Mike lived in a perfect world where there was a never a monster real to him, he’d be halfway across the world with a different set of parents and maybe a better childhood. One that wasn’t plagued by demons and death, one lived out in the Byers backyard not a thought of worry, eating spaghetti with extra cheese and not having to skip the meal all together as it reminds Mike of what he saw in the upside down and has him gagging. He would go live in that world in a heartbeat. Maybe too quickly if he’s being honest, but there’s a main point that stands out in that world, he’d be a caregiver.

A caregiver that helps his little friends all the time instead of just sometimes. He’d be able to stay big at all times, go live out his dreams not worrying about what awaits him at home. His father would throw those punches or drink that sour smelling alcohol. His mother would look at Mike with adoration and pride instead of disgust and disappointment. His sister wouldn’t have to deal with him crawling to her for comfort. His friends could lean their heads on his shoulder instead of the other way around.

Mike longs for that life. But he knows it’s out of reach. He hates that he can’t have it and it only has him more stressed. Maybe his parents are right and he’ll never be anything in life, maybe he’s bound to rely on them til the day he dies, never leave this cursed town or even that house of horrors. Maybe he really is just a disappointment!

“Mike! Mike stop! Stop- kid- kid calm down you’ll hurt yourself even more.” He can’t calm down and he has no idea why Hopper is restraining his arms back. He doesn’t want to be touched and he definitely doesn’t want his wrists pinned like when his father leans to burn his cigar out on Mikes collar bone.

“Get off! Get off! Please stop!” Mike takes a moment to realize that he’s yelling and crying extremely loud. Louder than loud, he’s almost screeching while thrashing in Hoppers hold.

"I can’t do that kid, you were pulling your hair too tight.” He was what? He doesn’t notice it til that moment but his scalp is tender with pain and hands are in tight fists. Shit.

Mike stills and looks up at Hopper with confusion that quickly switches to dread. He has him pinned- Mike can’t do anything to get out of this grasp. He can’t defend himself in any way shape or form. Shit, shit, shit!

“Don’t- don’t hurt me, I’m sorry! Please I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He begs and takes all his energy to stop crying, his father always got more angry the more Mike cried and maybe Hoppers the same.

“Woah, Woah, Mike breathe. I’m not going to hurt you, I’d never hurt you kid.” It’s not all that much helpful but Hopper does let his hands loosen over Mikes wrists. Mike breathes a short breath of calm.

“Can you let go? I- I won’t pull my hair.” Not purposely at least.

“Okay kid, just try to keep breathing.” His breathing isn’t perfect or anywhere close to it but it’s enough that has Mikes chest not so tight.

That calmness is quickly thrown out the window when Nancy’s appearing beside Mike with a loud gasp. Mike furrows his brows but peers down to where Nancy’s staring, his shirts pushed up enough to show the purple bruise still on his ribs, Mike quickly gets the shirt pulled down and sits up to look at Nancy wide eyed. Shit.

“Mike what happened….” Nancy trails off as tears well up in her eyes. Mike stumbles to his knees so he can try to explain that very incriminating bruise that’s surely enough for Hopper to go arrest his father.

“It’s not what you think! I- I fell, yeah, I fell.” It’s an awful lie but Mikes never been good at keeping secrets from his sister once she had an idea of what could’ve happened.

“Oh baby.” Joyce puts a hand on Nancy’s shoulder and Mike squirms under the gazes. Hoppers putting the pieces together as his eyebrows raise up his forehead, Will has a few tears sliding down that he’s quick to cover, Nancy turns her head into Joyce’s neck and Joyce just gives this look of understanding mixed with concern.

“I swear I fell! I totally fell, like- like down the stairs at home and- and…..” Nobody seems to be believing Mike so he stops talking all together.

“Mike did dad do that?” Nancy wipes her puffy eyes with a turn to Mike. He bites his bottom lip and urges his hand away from his still pained scalp to instead fidget with the hem of his shirt.

“Mike you need to tell me.” He closes his eyes with a breath, all he has to do is say it. He knows how bad everything will be afterwards but he can’t not say it.

“Yeah he did. But- but I deserved it and I should’ve known better and-! Nancy please, I deserved it, you can’t be mad at him!” His sister stands in a fury of sisterly protection that Mike follows quickly to try and stop.

“Mike, listen very carefully, no matter what happened or what you think you did, you didn’t deserve any of it. Nobody deserves to get hit by their father.” Joyce cuts in as her eyes flick to Will for a moment.

“No- no I did! I- I slipped at home and I’m not supposed to do that! I know I’m not, I broke the rules! It wasn’t even that bad! It’s far from the worst I’ve had!” Mike brushes his hands through his hair a few times as his volume raises throughout the explanation. He really did know it was a bad idea and what would come if he ever regressed at home.

“Wait- is this because you regressed?” Shit.

“Nance it’s fine, I should’ve known better.” He gives the most assuring tone he can but Nancy’s eyes light up like flames.

“I’m gonna kill him!” She’s spinning on her heels to grab the nail-filled bat that sits by the front door since everything with the upside-down went down.

Nancy storms out the door, bat up by her shoulder, walk like she’s running the world and nothing can stop her. Mike rushes to follow her outside, he knows how serious she is and it’s not going to be pretty if she gets to that house.

“Steve, Johnathan let’s go!” Both her boyfriends jaws go partly slack jaw at Nancy snatching Steve’s keys out of his back pocket and stalking to the car but they jump to follow her.

“Nancy wait!”

~

[thealmostgoodartist]

How Not To Help Your Favorite Hero— a Guide by Tim Drake

Since AO3 is still down, here are three more chapters.

Chapters 1-3:

Rating: T (for language, blood, and themes.)

warnings for major character death (aka. This is based on that one interactive movie in which Bruce dies instead of Jason).

Relationship: Tim & Jason, and Dick & Clark

Summary: The one in which Dick tries to hold his family together, Tim hates cardio, and Jason kidnaps a “whole child”

Enjoy,

Chapter 4

It was most definitely not training.

Jason would insist it was— he would catch Tim whenever he would stumble over a branch or slow down to keep pace with him and then point out in his I’m-speaking-to-a-child voice how “necessary this kind of training is.” And yes, Tim did acknowledge running was not his forte (as demonstrated by the growing number of bruises on his legs), but he knew that there had to be more to the training than running through unstable terrains.

He told Jason as such, but the only response he got was the same… “you are not ready, kid.”

And so the training would continue.

Their “training” took place every other day after “school”. Tim would meet Jason at the park just outside of The Bowery, and then they would make their way into the trail. They would run on until Tim would say so, which usually occurred around their fourth mile and Tim’s third tumble to the ground (though at the beginning it had been much worse.) It was slightly humiliating each time, but the terrain would be muddy and slippery after Gotham’s usual morning fog and he had to keep up with Jason who ran with such ease even with the weighted backpack he would carry… Tim liked to believe he was doing ok.

Around the third week of their routine, Tim noticed Jason was leaning slightly to one side as he ran. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that they were crossing a particular area, it was clear that Jason was propping his weight on his right leg more than his left. Was he injured? Tim couldn’t be sure— especially due to part of their agreement being “Tim is not allowed to go out at night and stalk people”— but it sent alarms blaring in his brain. How had he not noticed before? He usually noticed that kind of stuff— and how bad was it? Had Jason received any other injuries he had been able to hide from Tim? How—

Tim found himself on the ground for the third time that day.

“Didn’t you hear me tell you the floor was slippery?” Jason said, stopping and turning around with his hands on his hips looking at Tim like a disappointed parent.

Tim, in fact, did not remember Jason telling him that the floor was slippery.

Jason took his silence as an answer, and with a sigh, he approached him.

“Ok, that’s it for today,” he said, “We are leaving.”

“What? No.”

“That’s the third time today, that means we are done.”

Tim glared at Jason.

“How am I supposed to get any better if you don’t allow me to try to prove myself? This is not even training! I could be doing so much more— ”

“That’s not my problem.”

“What do you—“

Jason glared back at him and in one fluid movement he scooped Tim up into a fireman carry.

Tim was too shocked to react.

“You think this is not training?” Jason said his voice sounding cold, “Well then, here is your first lesson: if you don’t listen and follow introductions, people get killed.”

Jason carried Tim through the trail back into the park and Tim didn’t argue and he didn’t fight. The older boy barely tolerated him as it was— after all, he was the nuisance who had put a stop to three of his latest plots— and so Tim had been careful about it all. He had watched his words making sure not to reveal anything he could keep to himself (which had proved to be hard due to Jason’s insistence on questioning him), and he had prepared contingencies for anything that could go wrong.

But maybe he has been too careful— he had thought he would have more time, and that Jason would be more cautious about his mission, but alas, Tim had been wrong.

By the time the canopy of trees above their head finally opened, Tim had come to a decision: it was time for plan J.

—

The kid looked blankly up at him, and Jason couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being judged.

“Ok look, Kid,” Jason said suddenly feeling that he had messed up, “that sounded harsher than I intended, but you have to listen to me if you want to keep doing this. Do you understand?”

The kid nodded from where he was sitting on the bench but didn’t say anything. He still had the blank look on his face, and Jason couldn’t be sure he had actually listened to him.

Jason sighed and crouched down taking his backpack off to rummage inside for the first aid kit.

“Your knee is bleeding,” he told Tim, who just looked down at his knee as if he had just noticed the fact, “Do you want help with that?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Debatable.”

“I managed the last time—“

“Barely.”

Tim rolled his eyes but nodded toward the kit. In truth, he knew the kid could do it himself, but it was funny to see him try to argue about such petty matters.

The kid frowned at him during the whole process.

“I could have done that by myself,” he said once Jason was finished.

“You would have managed to mess it up somehow.”

Tim stood up and gave him a look, which Jason managed not to laugh at.

With a quick goodbye, the kid walked away, back to his home, and Jason watched after him to make sure no weirdos approached him until he arrived at the bus.

And then it was time to go back to the real world.

He hasn’t expected when they got started— he hadn’t even expected it after the first three training sessions in which neither of them had talked more than necessary— but he continued to look forward to those days even though a part of him was telling him to stop. It was just… it was so easy to not think about how shitty the rest of his life was when he was focusing his attention elsewhere. Tim was like another mission, but it was a mission that wasn’t based on revenge like the other one. It was nice, but he was sure it wouldn’t last long. Soon enough, the kid would give up and they would go their separate ways. It was for the best, but the stupid part of his brain wished it wouldn’t happen too soon.

Chapter 5

Honestly, the kid had already lasted longer than Jason had thought he would. Jason hadn’t expected him to come back after their first run in which he had fallen a total of five times, but alas, the kid was at their agreed meeting stop two days later. For what he knew about him (which wasn’t much) Timothy Jackson Drake proved to be a contradiction. He was from a rich family, but he dressed in hand-me-downs; he lived in a relatively safe neighborhood, but he knew how to take a hit; and he spoke like any other rich brat, but didn’t act like one.

All of it was enough to pique Jason’s curiosity and if he had been anyone else, he might have looked into it. But as it stood, there had been no need to look into Timothy Jackson Drake. (Yes the kid was a bit too skinny for Jason’s liking, and he was way too quiet for an almost thirteen-year-old, but that was a problem for the Kid’s parents, not him.)

Jason wouldn’t waste any unnecessary time on the kid— there were so many other things he had to take charge of like the shipment of weapons that was set to arrive at any moment.

He was perched on top of some rusty containers as he watched the men walk down the dock. He couldn’t hear what they said from far away, but that was ok. He already had all the information that he needed from his informants.

Some lower gangs had seen Red Robin’s entrance as an ample opportunity to take power now that Black Mask had lost most of his resources.

It shouldn’t be a hard takeout once the other gang members showed up.

It was just a matter of waiting.

A car pulled out slowly, Jason readied himself, the door opened, and out began to step someone—

A sudden sharp, searing pain in his left arm caused him to drop his gun. He turned around to see a pale figure staring down at him just a few containers away.

Zsasz aimed his weapon at him, just as Jason raised his gun. He angled himself, and with his other arm, he reached into his utility belt. The pain was immense, but he was used to dealing with much worse.

“How long can the little bird last without the Big Bat?” Came the chilling voice of the serial killer, “I already have a mark ready for you— but we shall see how much of a fight you can put.”

Victor pulled his trigger just as the smoke bombs went off.

—

Plan J was named as such not because it had to do with Jason (though Tim admitted it was a funny coincidence), but because it was Tim’s 10th plan.

His original idea had been to just follow them around and hope that things would go back to normal. It had been a stupid and naive plan, and when he saw that wouldn’t happen, he made multiple plans to intercept his heroes. He had intercepted Nightwing three times (with one of those interceptions having been when he had broken into his house in Bludhaven), Jason two times (preventing two of his plans to come to fruition), and Mr. Pennyworth once (when the man had been grocery shopping). None of these had yielded any positive results (with Mr. Pennyworth ignoring Mr. Grayson having had gotten angry at him for “breaking and entering”) but they had at least been more successful than his eighth plan which had been to find and intercept Batgirl. That one had yielded no results. The most successful by far had been becoming Jason’s sidekick, but as he had found out, Jason tended to hide stuff and so Tim couldn’t count that one as a win.

He really hoped Plan J would count as a win. He was running out of plans, and there was not much time left.

And that’s how Tim found himself breaking into one of Jason’s safe houses as step two of the J plan (which relied heavily on sheer luck and his 3 am ventures.)

He hoped Jason wouldn’t mind— it was for the greater good after all.

Finding out which safe house Jason was most likely to be in had been relatively easy, and so had been the “breaking and entering.” Jason’s security measures were horrible and it was something Tim would talk to him about the next time they saw each other.

Jason’s safe house was a simple two-bedroom apartment that lacked any substantial furniture, being occupied instead by speckles of dust.

The place was so inconspicuous that, if Tim hadn’t known any better, he would have thought it was just a vacant apartment.

Tim moved silently through the empty apartment until he reached the main bedroom. He opened the door to reveal a sad-looking double-sized bed. He was hoping for a bit more in terms of setup, but he guessed Jason would at least see the files if he placed them on the bed.

He crouched down and opened up his backpack to pull out the manila envelope when he heard the sound of the door opening.

Shoot.

Tim was sure he hadn't been followed— he had been so careful! But there was always the chance, and if that was the case— how had he managed to mess up so badly?

His heart raced and his vision blurred as panic surged inside his body.

No, no. It couldn’t be. He had been so careful. Why now? Why here? Why—

There was a heavy grunt in the hallway followed by the sound of movement.

Tim’s blood froze and all his brain functions seemed to seize for a few seconds before it— thankfully— rebooted.

He needed to do something.

If not for his own sake, then for Jason’s safe house. He owed him that.

He reached once again into his backpack, and this time he grabbed the old, rusty kitchen knife he kept for emergencies. It wasn’t the best weapon (he had lost that one a few months ago during an annoying rouge’s attack) but it had the advantage of several bacterial colonies.

He grabbed it as tightly as he could with his shaking hands and slowly began to make his way to the door.

He could hear the steps and grunts approaching it.

The intruder was near.

Just a bit more and he would be close enough.

Tim waited, and then—

He pounced forward, knife in hand, and swung the door open ready to attack—

And he was swiftly disarmed by the intruder in a single maneuver.

Tim stared at his attacker and winced.

Jason cursed under his breath.

“What the fuck are you doing here, kid?” Jason said.

Tim was about to sputter some excuse when Jason slumped sideways.

He rushed to help him grabbing his arm. Jason made an uncharacteristic sound, and Tim immediately stepped back letting go of him. It had sounded like—

Tim looked down at his hand.

It shined with red blood.

There was so much blood.

Chapter 6

Black dots pranced around his vision as he slowly came back into the moment. He knew he had been extremely lucky in his encounter with Zasz (he was still alive after all) but he was losing blood fast.

He pushed himself away from the wall and towards the bathroom located between the two bedrooms. He felt the air leave his lungs unsteadily and his vision swam as he struggled to complete the simple task.

He hadn’t thought that his injuries were that bad but he hadn’t had time to examine them properly. It wasn’t often that he had been hurt in the field— he had every skill to take care of himself when the situation did occur, but it had always been Bruce doing all the fretting. Dick has always pointed out how annoying that action could be— “he is too controlling,” he would say— and Jason had always been quick to agree. After every injury, training would be harder, Bruce’s mask more expressionless, and his words harsher. Early on, it had irritated Jason to no end— he would give it his all on the training sessions, and still, Bruce would endlessly correct him and pick at every action— but it had quickly become clear that the worried look and remarks were not mere aggravations— they had been how Bruce (in his permanent emotionally-stunted state) showed he cared, and Jason…

He crashed through the bathroom door and onto the floor, pain running wild through every inch of his body. He slammed the door closed behind him and reached into the bathroom cabinet, pulling out the first aid kit. He hadn’t used that safe house in a while, but he was glad to notice that his kit was still well stocked. He pulled out bandages, a suture kit, and the disinfectant, and lined them up neatly on the floor in front of him.

Jason took a deep breath and got to work slowly removing the top part of his suit, wincing when the blood-soaked undershirt pulled gingerly at his injury.

Based on the location and the amount of bleeding, Jason assumed that the gunshot wound on his shoulder had not perforated any arteries.

It wouldn’t be so bad— he knew what to do— he just had to—

He grabbed the gauze and the disinfectant and got to work.

To be fair, Bruce had always insisted on doing the stitching. No one could expect him to be an expert at it if his whatever-Bruce-had-been-to-him never allowed him the chance to try it for real, but still…. He hadn’t expected his hands to shake so badly.

If it turned out to be a nasty scar, he would blame it on Bruce.

Jason sighed inspecting the bandages across his chest, before turning towards the door. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, he felt exhausted. He really needed to rest.

He opened up the door, and—

“Do you need some water?” A tiny voice asked as the glass was pushed up to him.

Shit.

“You look very pale… should I call someone?”

No no no—

“Google was extremely unhelpful, but…think you need some water.”

Jason closed his eyes hard, hoping the kid was just a blood-loss-induced hallucination.

This could not be happening— there was no way—

He opened them again, and the kid remained.

Okay, great.

“Did you break into my fucking safe house?”

Tim looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

“It wouldn’t be the first time—“

Jason glared at him.

“But this time it was for a good cause!”

“I thought we had agreed—“

“You said stalking,” Tim interjected, “this is breaking and entering. Two completely different things.”

Suddenly Jason felt even more exhausted.

“It is not better, kid.”

The kid looked at him and shrugged. Jason would have tried to dissuade the kid from pursuing such endeavors, but— as he had previously demonstrated— it wasn’t easy to do so— Jason didn’t have the energy to even try.

Tim pushed the glass of water even more toward him with a wide-eyed innocent expression plastered upon his face.

It was truly an unfair expression.

Jason took the glass and downed the liquid only to be presented with a simple manila envelope as soon he looked down.

—-

So plan J was going better than expected—

“So are you going to tell me what you are doing here?” Jason asked from where he sat on his bed, carefully examining the folder in his hands.

Honestly, Tim had expected Jason to kick him out immediately, so the fact that he hadn’t and that he was now looking at what Tim had given him—

“I believe that folder contains some information you will find useful,” Tim said, to which Jason responded with a sigh.

Jason opened the folder and took out one of the pictures. His eyes widened comically at the image.

“Kid—what?” Jason said as he rummaged through the folder.

Jason took out the contents and placed them in a row next to him on the bed.

The first picture on the row was the first one Tim had taken that night. It showed the abandoned Schott’s Toys factory located outside of the warehouse district. The picture was taken from far away, and though it was evident some people were lounging around outside the building, the resolution was not good enough to pick out any distinguishing features. It was truly not Tim’s finest work, but he had managed to fix that problem in the next set of pictures by getting considerably closer.

“Who took these pictures?” Jason asked, looking back at Tim.

“I did,” Tim said after a bit of hesitation. He had considered lying but then trying to explain how he had gotten his hands on the pictures if he hadn’t taken them— it was just too much work.

“How did you get so close?” Jason said, quietly, almost to himself.

“It does not matter! Just look—“ Tim grabbed one of the other pictures and handed it to Jason— “You see?”

Jason looked at the picture— that of a man in a black and white suit holding a rifle— and then looked back at Tim with a horrified expression on his face.

“Tim, this is one of Two-Face’s men— what were you—“

“Yes! But you are not seeing—“ Tim grabbed two more pictures— one of a man wearing a leather mask, and one of a man in a suit holding an umbrella— and handed them to Jason, who just looked increasingly worried.

“Tim—“

“Don’t you see?”

“Tim, how did you even find this?”

“The Nurse at the hospital— she said that her brother had begun working again, and she had previously mentioned that he worked with Two-Face.”

“What wherever you doing at the hospital?”

“It doesn’t matter! Jason don’t you see!” It said, “People who would have never worked together in the past— Two-Face, Penguin, Black Mask— have now united forces and it is because of you. This is bigger than you are! You need help!”

“And what?” Jason said sounding annoyed, “You are gonna help me?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I’m already training you, I don’t know what else you want.”

“Well, the ‘training’ is taking too long—“

“I can’t do anything about that.”

“There is no time, Jason! I’m not asking to be out in the field, but you need someone to help you.”

Jason took a deep breath, and massaged the bridge of his nose. “How do you propose you can help then?”

“As you can see, I am good at gathering intel. Let me help you with that— and coms. I want to help with coms.”

“No.”

“But—“

“I said no, Tim,” Jason said, trying to sound intimidating.

Tim looked at him intently. Jason seemed to have reached a verdict, which meant it was time for the final part of the plan—

“I will tell Nightwing the location of your safe houses if you don’t let me do this.”

Jason looked at him shocked, and Tim couldn’t help but smile a little. It had worked!

“Are you blackmailing me?” Jason asked.

“Yes,” Tim answered.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44748827/chapters/119066449

[dreamingofscully]

Surely, to the sea (6/7)

read on ao3 - chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5

Rated: T Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Horror, Established Relationship

Playlists: Spotify, Youtube.  

@today-in-fic

CHAPTER 6

For the third time, Scully found herself standing in the hallway outside Boyle’s room. She couldn’t remember walking over here, or why she’d done it. In her hands, she held the empty glass vials that she was supposed to be using to collect samples. Water and scrapings of dust and mold from the cellar.

Shaking herself as if from a trance, she returned to the living room. Placing the vials on the table, she sunk back onto the couch. She didn’t trust herself to move. But did it matter? Would she find herself, once more, waiting outside Boyle’s room, or entering it by herself? Leaning forward, she wiped her hand on her face and waited for Mulder to return.

It wasn’t much longer. He crashed through the front door like a kid who’d finished playing with his friends, bringing his frenetic energy into this God-forsaken house.

“Hey, Scully. I couldn’t find any more symbols etched outside, though I don’t think that means we’re on the wrong track. It really is a strange thing to be outside in complete silence, almost drove me a little batty. Did you find anyth–”

She peered up at him, his eyes filled with concern. He approached and she gave him a wan smile.

“You okay, honey?”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Mulder. I feel something… pulling on me. Like last night. Towards Boyle’s room. I don’t… I don’t trust myself.”

Mulder looked over his shoulder, noticing the empty vials and other tools lying haphazardly on the table. Kneeling in front of her, he wrapped her hands in his large, warm ones.

“Do you have a sense of what’s pulling you? An image or a name?”

She scoffed. “No, Mulder. I-It’s probably just my imagination. I didn’t sleep well, and…” She trailed off, catching his look. “I don’t know what this is.”

Everything that happened last night felt insignificant. She could handle strange noises, lights. Even the smell and the mucus. But not knowing what was happening to herself? Feeling out of control in her own body? What if this was how things were, now? She was terrified she was losing herself. That she was forever changed. That the woman who stood next to Mulder and fought the darkness was forever lost.

Mulder squeezed her hands. “Let’s talk to Boyle. Insist upon it. Or we leave.”

“Mulder.”

He stood and held out his hand. “Let’s get you some answers.”

She exhaled, wiping her hands on her slacks. Stood next to him.

He watched her as they maneuvered through the main floor, drawing the curtains closed. With each window blocked off, the house returned to its normal state. Shadowy darkness and warm lamplight. A return to Boyle’s present and his reliance on the tools of the past to survive.

All of their equipment was packed away except for three things: the camera that swung around Mulder’s neck, his Buck 119 knife sheathed at his waist, and the large flashlight that she’d wielded last night. The lingering graze of his fingers across the back of her hand was his only acknowledgment of their earlier conversation. It would take constant work to avoid slipping into the habit of putting up a brave face. Trying to fool herself, and therefore Mulder, that things would be fine if only she could withstand the storm just a little bit longer.

“Now or never,” she said.

They left the aura of the flickering oil lamp, moving down the hallway towards Boyle’s room.

At his door, Mulder rapped his knuckle against the wood. Only yesterday they arrived at his house, waited at his front door. And like last time, like last night, there was no response.

Mulder turned the knob and the door creaked open.

“Boyle?” he called.

Nothing.

Mulder looked at her, his lips pressed together, and though most of his face lay in shadow, she saw the same concern she felt etched upon it. Were they too late? Silence hung heavy in the air, surrounding them as surely as the darkness and sweltering heat.

“Boyle?” Mulder raised his voice. “We just need to ask you a few quest--”

The beam of light swept across the bedroom, catching on the weighty four-poster bed shoved into the center of the room. She doubted Mulder could have moved it more than a few inches, so how had Boyle managed it? The rug that laid underneath was pushed aside, its soft ridges curved around thick posts.

A sharp pain struck her between and behind her eyes. Squeezing them shut, she drew her brows together and held her fingers at her temple. Felt the throb of her pulse.

Mulder’s hand was on her arm, steadying her.

“Scully…”

She swallowed. “Yeah.”

When she opened her eyes, she saw it. Instead of the crumpled rug, something else was strangling the bedposts. Monstrous tentacles as thick as Mulder’s thigh, trembling like a great cat about to pounce. Underneath its slippery, translucent skin, a thick vein rippled. Following the movement, a wave of glowing green washed through the creature, lighting the room a sickly green.

They… no, it beckoned to her. An icy fist enclosing her heart. Somehow, she found the strength to take a step backwards. Expelling her breath like she’d been punched to the gut, she felt as if she’d lost something in the struggle. She’d resisted, but at what cost?

She turned away and muttered a quick prayer, but when she looked back, it was gone. In its place was the same wrinkled medallion-patterned rug that was there earlier. That had always been there? Bouncing the light around the room, she searched for something that wasn’t there. Nothing she could see, but the picture remained, burned into her retinas like an afterimage.

Mulder’s hand warmed her back. His eyes were gentle, patient. Watching her instead of searching the room.

“Talk to me, Scully.”

“Th-there was something under the bed. I don’t know if it was really there, or if--”

Drip… drip… drip…

Mulder whipped his head towards the room. He’d heard that, at least. But what was worse: that the apparition was real, or that it wasn’t?

Suddenly, he slipped from her grasp. With three long strides into the room, he reached the other side of the bed. Without thinking, she stumbled after him, avoiding the coiled rug. Did she move to be next to him or was something else responsible? At his side, she grabbed onto his arm for balance.

Beneath them, right where the bed once stood, was a hole that extended through the floor and into darkness. The floorboards had been removed, the edges jagged as though they’d been ripped instead of cut. It was roughly three feet in diameter, wide enough for one person to descend at a time.

Mulder knelt down and touched the edge, then yanked his hand away. The same mucus from last night glistened on his fingers. Grimacing, he wiped it with a handkerchief he kept in his back pocket before peering down into the pit. The walls were uneven, but a strange pattern ran through the soil and clay, something that pricked at the edge of her mind.

“Someone dug this with their hands, Scully.”

The pattern coalesced. Lines of four for fingers and fifth for the thumb.

“Not someone,” she breathed. Boyle.

“Tell me what you saw,” he said, peering up at her.

He didn’t demand an answer, but he deserved one.

“There was… I-I think I’m going crazy.”

“You’re not,” Mulder stood, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck. “I believe you, Scully.”

She huffed. “You’d believe it if Samantha claimed she saw a Sasquatch on her camping trip.”

“Did she?” He raised his eyebrows.

She smiled halfheartedly, her fear coiling in her gut like a snake.

“There’s things in those books I’ve been reading. Creatures from other worlds. These rituals… they’re meant to summon them.” He watched her with trepidation instead of his usual enthusiasm. She missed it. “That could be their motivation, Scully. They feed on Boyle, on his misery, on the wildlife around here. They want to summon something.”

“I guess they’ve succeeded?”

Mulder glanced at the hole, at the finger-marks. “There’s something we’re missing.”

“Then let’s find out.”

He turned to her, searching her eyes. She met them, not trying to hide her fear behind a veneer of false bravado. What would be the point? He kissed her forehead. After securing the camera, he began his slow descent down the crudely carved steps.

She followed his progress with the flashlight as he climbed into the murky darkness, although the shadows seemed to strangle the light and she couldn’t see the bottom. Worried he’d vanish from her sight, she was relieved when he stopped about ten feet down and looked up at her. Then his head disappeared from view.

“Ahh, fuck!” he shouted.

“You okay?” Her heart hammered in her chest. “Mulder?!”

He appeared again, his face twisted in disgust rather than pain. He stripped down to his undershirt, using his button-down to wipe the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Some of that… goo… dripped on me. Just avoid the right side.”

She exhaled.

“C’mere, Scully, I got you.” He reached upwards, arms bare and a cheeky grin spread across his face.

She tossed him the flashlight, taking a deep breath before following him down. The combination of crumbling steps and kitten heels forced her to move a lot slower than Mulder, but at least she knew he would catch her if she fell. The warmth of his hand against her leg and then her back steadied her during her descent.

“I should have worn different shoes,” she said as she hit the bottom.

“Did you bring any?”

“Well, no.”

Mulder chuckled, and guided her by her shoulder to one side of the cavern. The flashlight couldn’t penetrate farther than five or so feet, scattering against dirt walls. Ahead of them, an ovoid tunnel about six feet high and no wider than three or four feet in diameter stretched out into the dark. She eyed the walls with trepidation, wondering at its stability. The ground was well-worn, though. And the geology in this area would be conducive to something that would be resistant to collapse.

And she just knew. Whatever the nature of its construction, the danger lie ahead of them, not above.

The creature’s pull was stronger down here, like this passage gave it strength. An escalating pulse that beckoned her forward, tying her stomach in knots. Somehow she knew how far it was down the cramped tunnel - roughly a mile. West, she surmised. To what?

“Towards the river,” Mulder whispered, their minds working in unison. “Wonder how far this goes.”

“Far,” she said.

“It must have taken him years,” Mulder said, awed. Eyes fixed forward and barely visible in the low-light.

“This is impossible, Mulder…“ Her fear settled somewhere in the back of her mind as she made rough calculations in her head. “Not even taking into account the time it would take to remove the displaced soil, of which there is no evidence, someone working 24 hours a day in ideal conditions would take at least 3 years to complete this tunnel.”

“Is this the right time to tell you I’m extremely turned on?”

She ignored him, stepping carefully on the uneven ground. “Mulder, it is physically impossible for Boyle to have done it. Someone must have started on the other side…”

“All the marks go in one direction, Scully. No, he did it. I can’t explain it. But maybe…” She glanced upwards, catching Mulder’s grimace. “Maybe he ate it?”

“Mulder.”

“No, no, think about it. If these creatures' sole purpose is to consume… what’s left after all the wildlife is gone? Cthonians are earth-dwellers. Maybe they consume the soil as they burrow.”

“I thought we were talking about Boyle.”

“You saw how he kept sucking on his fingers. Maybe… maybe they use him as a vessel. It works through him. Gives him supernatural strength as well as other gifts.”

Scully huffed. “I don’t know if he’d call them gifts.”

“Either way, I don’t think Eisenhower will be able to utilize this method for his highway project.”

They continued in silence, the awe of witnessing such a construction fading as they progressed into the darkness. Behind her, Mulder directed the flashlight downwards so they could avoid falling over rocks and loose soil. Their pursuit encompassed the bubble of light five feet around them, like they were standing still. The tunnel pressed down upon them, entombing them in dirt and darkness, and an eerie silence just as suffocating. What drove her forward, and therefore both of them, was that instinctive feeling inside of her, the thrum that pulled her inevitably towards the creature. Step by step, they drew nearer.

To what? Surely, they’d faced worse.

Worse. The monotony of their surroundings and her simmering dread forced her mind back to memories she would sooner forget.

Back to the hallways of the abandoned hospital. Was she stepping over uneven dirt, or was it a mound of broken ceiling tile? Methodical scratches and scrapes of Boyle’s fingers into the dirt, or the frenetic scrawl of multicolored graffiti? Thankfully, in her present situation, Mulder was beside her in their chase, instead of the reason she forged ahead. With his steady breaths, the warmth of his hand pressing against the small of her back, she could handle anything.

After several minutes of cautious progress, the humid, earthy air shifted. A draft flowed towards them, not cool and refreshing, but frigid. Their breath tore from their lungs with each exhale. With the breeze came that same rotting, fetid odor they smelled last night.

The dark brown soil transitioned into a lighter composite of limestone and clay. Chiseled into these harder surfaces, the unmistakable marks of Boyle’s fingers. Dark streaks where he bled as he dug. She shuddered.

They pressed on. Scully held a hand to her nose to cover the smell, but it only grew stronger as they progressed. So did the lure of the creature. She was tethered to an unknown force, malevolent and unnatural, and it took all of her will to resist the urge to run forwards at full speed.

It wanted her to follow. Beckoned with a sickening grip. She should run as fast as she could in the opposite direction, dragging Mulder with her. But she couldn’t. She had to go forward, despite her reservations. Despite her fears. Knowing that this is what it wanted. She needed answers and she needed to help Boyle. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late.

Mulder pulled on her hand, and shone his light on the wall next to them. Gouged into the rocky surface was some sort of inscription, the same script as the symbol etched above Boyle’s front door. Like its match, it hurt to look at, the text itself a weapon.

“I recognize it.” Mulder reached out to run a hand over the etchings.

“Don’t touch it!” she warned. It was offensive, wrong.

Mulder looked back, pulling his hand away as though he’d been about to burn his fingers. Maybe it would have. He searched her face, then turned back to the wall, holding her hand instead.

“I don’t… know if I can translate it. Something about a… door?” He shook his head, and handed her the flashlight before retrieving a notebook and pen from his back pocket.

Scully aimed the light down the tunnel, towards darkness and the unknown. Towards the pulsating command that issued from somewhere down there. “I don’t think we have time.”

Come…

She surged ahead without him, driven towards the creature. After only a few feet, Mulder caught up with her, his hand clasping her shoulder and keeping in step with her faster pace. He muttered something, but her focus was into the silent darkness beyond.

Their path became rockier and more treacherous as they advanced. A natural cavern, the ground littered with sharp rocks and the occasional deep chasm that they had to avoid. Not large enough to fall into, but a twisted ankle, down here, would be almost as deadly.

They slowed, the ground slick with something she couldn’t see or feel, reminding her of a rocky shoreline at low tide. She held onto Mulder’s arm to steady herself, although he didn’t seem to be affected by it. Was it his determination that kept him on his feet, or was she experiencing some sort of psychosomatic effect of the fear that was welling up within her? Or, God forbid, was she experiencing something as real as the stone and dirt surrounding them? The visions that only she could see?

Then the tunnel began to twist upon itself, a chaotic meandering that made no sense. Her brain told her that they were walking on the wall and ceiling, upside-down and sideways. Not possible. Not possible. Not real.

“What?” Mulder leaned towards her.

She sighed, apparently she’d been muttering the words aloud. “Just feels strange.”

“As though it’s twisting around?”

The relief she felt at their shared experience was only temporary. After traversing across the rocky ground for a few more yards, something skittered at the edge of her vision. She stopped, shone the light in its direction. Nothing except the choking darkness.

“Scully?”

“I thought… I saw something. I can’t… it’s gone.” Her voice was low and breathy, and she gulped the cold air into her lungs.

Their light flickered. Darkness intensified around them: hungry for light, drowning it. A gust of putrid air blew past, and the temperature dropped by several degrees. It was now so cold that condensation puffed from their mouths, obscuring their vision. She shivered.

Their flashlight sputtered and died.

Mulder wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, the camera bumping into her back. With no light, it would be nearly impossible to traverse the tunnel. Her imagination took over, one or both of them lying on the rocky ground, bleeding out with no hope of rescue. She turned her head, leaning into him. Willing some of his warmth to seep into her bones. Some of his courage.

He ran his hands along her trembling arms. His lips grazed the shell of her ear, whispering something she didn’t hear. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she clasped onto her rosary, slipping the warm beads between her fingers and began to pray. She prayed for her strength to return. The strength she knew she possessed, that fled the moment they’d driven up to Boyle’s house. The strength that perhaps she’d exchanged for the power to rescue Mulder, all those weeks ago.

It was worth it, and she would do it over and over. But who was she now, and could she ever be the partner that Mulder needed? The woman who stood side by side with him and fought the darkness with a straight back and steady heart?

She felt her throat close with the threat of tears. Squeezing her eyes shut, she held onto Mulder’s arms that circled around her chest. The murmuring voice intensified, pulling at her. Her nerves frayed, holding her back. She was tired, so tired, of having to do what they asked.

A thought emerged, then slipped away. She fought for it. Her nails dug into Mulder’s forearm. She bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood.

Starbuck.

Her father called her that. His voice of reason. The steady rock in the storm. Even as a child, she wasn’t afraid. To scramble into dark places, to go against the wishes of her family and society. Damned if she’d let this creature, or herself, get in the way of that now.

Calm settled over her. She felt her terror, but it was muffled. It was cold, but it didn’t bother her. Even the smell faded, and became tolerable. Like she was back in the morgue, scalpel at the ready. In control once again.

And… there was no voice. No interminable pull.

The light flickered back on, blazing a steady path for them over treacherous terrain.

After squeezing Mulder’s arms and placing a quick kiss on his palm, she stepped forward, her rosary wrapped around her wrist.

“Let’s go,” she said.

They moved more quickly, their progress hastened by her newfound confidence. She could no longer sense how far they needed to go, but thankfully, it wasn’t far.

Mulder exhaled sharply and his hand tightened on her waist. A pale green glow. So faint it seemed miles away, and yet in this inky darkness distance was impossible to determine.

“Tell me what you see,” he whispered.

“Same as you.”

“How do you know?”

“Fair point.” She nodded. “The same color as last night. Pulsing in and out.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

“Want to go closer?”

She turned to face him, lighting them from below. The effect would have been spooky in most other circumstances, but seeing his familiar face and gentle eyes added to her determination. What were they doing here if not to reach the end? He was giving her an out, a last chance to turn away, and she loved him even more for it. But there was no turning back now.

She smiled, then clicked off the light. “Step carefully.”

She took out her switchblade, flicking it open. Behind her, Mulder had the same thought, unsheathing his belt knife with a rasp of steel against leather.

Before they knew it was there, they’d reached the end of the tunnel, its exit obscured by jagged rocky columns jutting from the walls. The passage opened up into a huge underground cavern, swathed in greenish light, craggy damp walls stretching out into darkness. Stalactites hung like dripping fangs, shadows clinging to the ceiling far above. A treacherous floor with shadowy pits and stalagmites jutted upwards to meet their mates.

This place reminded her of a trip she’d taken with her father and brothers when she was nine years old. She was not the youngest, but the smallest. And had crawled into the most cramped places, searching for undiscovered treasures. Her brother Charlie getting lost and hurt cut their adventure short, and they never returned.

In the midst of the natural beauty, something unnatural made its home. In the center of the room a throne of deadly sharp stalagmites stretched into the limestone drapery above. Upon it, massive tentacles choked the rocky pillars, unmoving except for the occasional shiver along its slick semi-transparent skin. Glistening mucus seeped from its rubbery flesh, coating the rocks below it.

Drip… drip… drip…

They wedged themselves against the wall, out of sight of the creature. Scrambling against the rock, she grasped his hand. The air, sick with decay, felt heavy and electric.

“I see those, Scully,” he whispered.

A trace of fear flicked through Mulder’s wide eyes. She felt it, too. Her muscles tensed, causing the hair along her arms to stand on edge. But it also made her hyper-alert. It served a purpose. She wrestled with it, searching for strength and demanding that it serve her rather than the opposite.

“You believe me, now.”

“I always believe you,” he murmured, his eyes softening for a mere second before hardening again. “We need to find Boyle.”

Scully swallowed. “Those books you read didn’t happen to mention anything useful did they?”

Mulder laid his head against the stone, his silhouette back lit by the creature’s glow. His fingers danced along the lens of the camera that hung around his neck while his other hand caressed hers, his thumb moving in small circles over her knuckles. It did little to settle her racing heart.

“The light. It doesn’t like the light.”

She hefted the flashlight doubtfully. Kneeling before her, his eyes flashed with something dangerous: an idea. Something reckless and stupid and liable to get himself hurt. Her heart sank.

“I’ll create a distraction,” he said. She stifled a groan. “I saw something on the other side of the cave, some sort of globe. Glowing faintly. It might be the key. You move towards it and hopefully it won’t notice you.”

“Mulder, no.” The roiling in her belly returned, and she swallowed thickly. “Even if you manage to keep from getting hurt, what am I supposed to do? I-I don’t know what to look for.”

Once again, regret pierced her heart. An acute reminder that she was wholly unprepared for what lay ahead.

“You think I’m going to let some tentacle monster stand in the way of figuring this out? You gotta trust in yourself, honey. I’ll be fine.” He kissed the back of her hands and stood. She held onto him, locking her fingers around his own.

“I don’t appreciate your faith in me at this particular moment,” she muttered, though his words had the ring of truth. “You might piss it off. Mulder, I can’t do this without--”

Pulling her against him, he crushed his lips against hers. Before she could react, he pulled away, giving her one last crooked, devastating smile before extracting his hand from her tight grip. Instead of taking the flashlight that she held protectively at her side, he slid the camera from around his neck and aimed it forward.

The rock scraped her hands as she grasped it, watching Mulder move surreptitiously between stalagmites. They were too small to conceal his large frame. The creature would notice.

Her breath hitched. That was the point.

He only moved about ten feet when sudden movement drew her gaze to the center of the room. Three tentacles rose into the air, wriggling violently in the direction that Mulder now crouched. He hadn’t seen it. He was looking for his next spot to hide.

Her cry of alarm was lost in the crash of the tentacles slamming down near him, smashing a stalagmite into rubble.

Her heart dropped. No. No no no… Then the dust settled, and she saw the flash of the camera, several feet away from where he’d almost been crushed. A horrid sound came from the center mass of writhing tentacles, a high-pitched cacophony like no creature or noise she’d ever heard in her life.

Mulder continued to sprint away from her, ducking behind boulders and rocks, with the tentacles trailing him. Five, no six now joined the chase. She wouldn’t let his risk be for naught. The flash of his camera caused the creature to recoil, but as she surmised, it only grew more violent with each furtive burst of white light.

She stepped out of her shoes and took two deep breaths before entering the room.

The noise the creature made masked the clattering of stone under her feet as she scrambled towards the other side of the chamber. With every crash and terrible scream, her heart warred with her mind. She longed to rush over to where Mulder was, to assure herself that he was okay. To stand by his side and fight this thing together.

Instead, she kept moving forward, placing her trust in Mulder’s plan. In Mulder’s faith in her.

Peering out from behind a boulder, the flash of Mulder’s camera caught the edge of something smooth. Where Mulder directed her to go. The orb. About fifty feet away nestled into a cupped palm of rock. Having a target instead of a direction narrowed her focus. She hopped between rocky shelters, tuning out Mulder’s shouts and the ongoing chase on the opposite side of the cave. If she got to the orb, maybe she could stop it. It was their only chance.

Drip… drip… drip…

Something held her in place. Bands of invisible tethers. Her mind turned to mist.

There was no crumble of rock, no shouting or screaming. Only the flash of Mulder’s camera, frantic and searching. She turned her head.

It saw her. Above and along the ground, it watched with eyeless appendages. Pulsing green veins thumped in sync with her hammering heart. A memory tickled the back of her brain, of her brother Bill holding a captive insect, watching it under a magnifying glass. Tearing its wings--

“SCULLY!”

She shook her head and dove to the side, as the tentacles crashed down where she’d once stood. Crumbled dust flew against her skin. Her hands burned as she landed.

A terrible screech echoed through the chamber. Scully scrambled up and ran, unsure if it was in the right direction. Desperation guided her now. The rocks cut her feet, but the adrenaline surging through her veins made it easy to ignore the pain. She tried to turn on her flashlight, but her sweat-slicked hands slipped on the switch. She couldn't run like Mulder. It would only be a matter of time before—

“HEY! SQUIDFACE!”

The screaming broke off. Mulder had taken advantage of the creature’s distraction. He now stood about fifteen feet from her, hoisting the orb in the air with a triumphant expression on his face. Her lungs burned. Sinking against the base of a large boulder, she sucked air into her lungs, hoping at least for a momentary reprieve. Switching on her flashlight, she aimed it at Mulder.

The orb he held aloft was about the size of a child-sized basketball. Flashes of greenish-blue floated underneath the delicate-looking shell. A trail of greenish-blue light, littered with dancing dust particles, connected the object to the creature.

Mulder’s eyes glinted triumphantly, before he spiked the object to the ground with all of his strength. It landed with a hollow thunk onto rocky ground instead of the shatter she expected.

UAAAHHHGHHHHHH--

The creature’s yell pierced into her head. Some terrible language that hurt to hear. She covered her ears, squeezed her eyes shut. Prayed that this would be its end, not theirs.

But then, laughter. A familiar rasping voice. She twisted around the rock and watched as the tentacles trembled. Beyond them, from the twisted throne, rose the body of Boyle. The ghostly trunks of the tentacles manifested from the center of his chest, solidifying into the slippery appendages that coiled around him. Four of them acted as legs, holding him aloft. The rest spread around him, a mane of glowing, slithering limbs.

Boyle grinned, his maw a cavern of pointed teeth and impossible darkness. Glowing yellow eyes stared behind her.

She spun around. Mulder’s face twisted in shock. “Oh, sh--”

He raised his arms to cover his head… and then he was gone. A wall of rock and tentacle swept down in a terrible crash where he’d stood. What remained afterwards was only a cloud of dust.

“Mulder!”

She ran for him: heedless of the creature’s laughter building around her, of the sting of cuts on the soles of her feet, of the tentacles that writhed along the ground like snakes but did not touch her. He looked like a boulder himself, covered in dust and debris. But something soft and rounded instead of spiked with calciferous deposits. Kneeling beside him, she reached a hesitant hand towards his unmoving form.

The dust cracked. Her very own Thinker appearing from a marble slab, rocky mounds became his arms. His face emerged, eyes wide and clear in his dusty face. A ghost of a smile. Death defeated once again. She exhaled.

Then, his gaze widened in fear, fixed upon something behind her.

The rest of the world came back into focus. The laughing had stopped. Tentacles advanced, hesitant. Curious, almost. Held at bay by the beam of light she shone at them.

She turned.

Boyle, no not Boyle, the creature floated five feet from her, head cocked. His face split into a triumphant grimace. Rotting breath making her gag. Despite the terror that welled up, the instinct to flee, she pulled herself up to her full height, standing between the creature and Mulder.

It laughed again, a bubbling crackle that increased in pitch and volume. High-pitched and low, smooth and grumbling. What they faced today was not just one creature, but the manifestation of something joined together. She winced. Aimed her light directly in their face.

The creature recoiled but continued to laugh. In her periphery she saw tendrils inching closer, moving behind to reach—

“Leave us alone!” she yelled.

“You. Cannot. Stop. What. Has. Already. Begun,” it said, pronouncing each word with a different voice, yet all belonging to the thing she once knew as Boyle. Discordant and horrendous. She glared at it, as if sheer will alone could withstand the onslaught. Her hand trembled, and the beam of light wavered.

Boyle leaned forward and the flashlight sputtered out.

Lit only by the greenish glow emanating from the tentacles and Boyle’s yellow eyes, the rest of the world sunk into darkness. Somewhere within her, she felt her courage waning. She stood between the creature and Mulder, not knowing how injured he was, not knowing how much longer she could protect him, and yet she remained. She had to.

The creature’s sneer widened into a crooked grin that went from ear to ear, splitting its face in half. She felt a tentacle caress her ankle, and another along her arm.

A smooth sphere, almost too large to fit into her palm, was placed into her hand. Mulder.

She squeezed it. Boyle’s grin faltered.

Holding it in front of her, she ran her hands along the slick surface. It reminded her of a spherical egg shell, and yet it remained whole and undamaged. She shook it, and felt a liquid sloshing around inside. When she held it up the surface shimmered, and Boyle backed away, the tentacles retreating. Inside of it, deep green and blue wisps churned like violent eddies.

“You’re not happy that I have this, are you?” she said, her voice steady despite her terror and uncertainty. If Mulder couldn’t break it, she had no hope of doing so. Her hands glided across the surface. Perhaps they could make their escape, come back once they knew what to do with it?

She felt Mulder stand up behind her, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “Don’t think, Scully.”

She shook her head.

“Y'ai 'syha'h. Y'ai 'ph'nglui,” the creature chanted. “We shall consume all, we shall have all.”

The creature resumed its monstrous laughter. The darkness closed in and the chill returned, like they’d been transported to the bottom of the ocean. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, raising the hair on her arms. Fear needled down her spine.

Yet, Mulder’s breath warmed the back of her neck. His hands cupped her shoulders. Leaning backwards, she pressed into him. He was real - standing behind her in this terrible place. His faith in her was real. For once, she needed to take that leap of faith with him. She needed to trust herself.

For a brief second, she existed in that liminal space between doubt and action. She saw her future if she waited. Death and darkness. So, she let go. It was easy, after it was done. Simple.

Pure energy welled up inside her, threatening to break the shell of her fragile body. It hurt. Burned. And yet… she knew what to do. Knew that she could save them.

Her eyes, squeezed shut in concentration, opened. The creature had backed away, its mouth turned downwards and all of its appendages hanging limp at its side.

“You can’t have us!” she shouted. And whatever light, whatever energy, that pooled inside of her flew along her arms and into the orb, crackling like electricity.

The creature's eyes widened. Yellow and green drowned out by brilliant white.

CRAAACK!

Fine lines splintered along the orb’s delicate surface. It was ripped from her hands, knocking her and Mulder backwards against the rocks. She landed atop him, her breath knocked from her lungs. Cold replaced burning heat. Fuzziness crowded in at the edge of her consciousness.

The last thing she saw, illuminated by the orb that now stood floating in the center of the room, was the creature shattering like glass, thousands of shards exploding throughout the room. Mulder covered her with his body to shelter her from the onslaught.

Then, there was nothing.

[dp-marvel94]

I am you (and you are me)

For Invisobang 2021. Art by @bibliophilea

On AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Summary: Set post Kindred Spirits. Something has been different since Danny came back from Vlad's and it started when the older half ghost had the tiny clone overshadow him. The half ghost remembers: His own screams. A pain in his inmost being, in his core. A tug back and forth. Being squeezed. A crash, a collision. And then... the blackness of death.

Danny comes back from the experience changed, with the memories of two lives stuffed in his head and new powers. The fire powers are pretty cool but shrinking, often involuntarily, makes him feel weak and vulnerable. All of it, the powers and memories, terrify him as he learns what they mean. And the thought of telling his loved ones...How can the half ghost hope that Jazz, Sam, and Tucker will understand and accept him now when he himself cannot?

Warnings and Tags: Self harm, Identity confusion, Self-Hatred, Ectoplasm and melting clones related gore, Clone Angst, Nightmares, Memory Issues, Involuntary Shrinking. Panic Attacks, Frostbite is Danny’s Icedad.  Evil Vlad Masters, Bad Parent Vlad Masters, Split Danny, Ghost Catcher, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual acceptance (by Danny and by his loved ones). Sibling Bonding, Friendship, Danny finally gets a hug.

Note: Welcome to my Invisobang fic! This is a semi-sequel to my story "Nothing and Everything." It's set directly after that story, though assuming an alternative ending. It is not necessary to read the older story to understand this one. All you need to know is, it deals with the aftermath of Danny being overshadowed by one of the clone's in Kindred Spirits and the emotional impact of the experience.

All that being said, big thanks to my amazing artist @bibliophilea for the amazing comic, and for beta reading! Thanks to @welcome-tothe-mystery-shack  for your comments and feedback on this story. And finally, a huge thanks to my dearest sister @nervousdragonrebelpie for looking over chapters and listening to me ramble about this story for the past few months. I wouldn’t have been able to finish this without you.

Preview Below:

Chapter 1:

“No! I’m a person. People have names! I have to have a name. I’m not….” A sob tried to break free from his throat.

A knock suddenly rattled the door. “Danny!” Mom called.

Both boy’s heads popped up, focusing on the door. They turned to face each other. “Don’t do this.” The real Danny begged.

“What?” The being asked.

“Every time you get close to the truth, you dream up a distraction.” His eyes widened in desperate panic. “Please don’t-”

Danny’s eyes popped open, a dream swirling in his mind. His heart raced, the sheets sticking to his sweaty body. His brow wrinkled, one shaking hand moving up to rub his aching head. Aching…. He still had that damn headache.

The boy closed his eyes, trying to push the pain away, to coax his heart rate down. He breathed. In and out. In and out. Slowly, so slowly, the throb in his head dimmed, his heart calming. But still, anxiety ate up his insides. 

Blearily, the boy opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Dissatisfied, he groaned and rolled onto his side. He clenched and unclenched his fists, balling up the fabric on his bed. His bed. Yes, this was his bed…. Sleeping in a bed was so nice and comfortable but at the same time... something about it felt…. off.

The boy pinched his eyes closed, trying to make sense of the feeling. His stomach flopped. Something was off. Something was different. After today, after he’d come back from Vlad’s, after the man kidnapped him, after the man clo-

Danny cut off the cursed word, his mind refusing. He buried his face in his pillow. Vlad’s. Something had happened, something had.. had changed at Vlad’s but he couldn’t... quite... remember.

It flashed in images. Being locked in a pod. Electrocution. His own screams. Pain. A pain in his inmost being, in his core…. On the bed, Danny’s core throbbed at the thought… A tug back and forth. Then being squeezed. A crash, a collision. And then... blackness.

He’d passed out. Danny knew that much. And he’d woken up at some point later but everything between that and when he had arrived home was a blur.

Confusion. His head swimming. Danielle.. sister… frowning in worry. The hiss of the pod being released. A sigh of relief. An ectoblast. Twisted metal and glass. Ectoplasm. Ectoplasm on his hands, on the floor. Oh god, oh god. He hadn’t meant to do that. He wasn’t... the others weren’t supposed to…. weren't supposed to...

Vlad... Master... Vlad... glaring in pure hatred. “Get behind me.” His ears ringing with a scream. The older halfa being knocked into his shelves. His knees wobbling. He fell and turned human. (Human... why did the fact that he could do that make him so happy?) But then horror. Vlad was still up and moving.

Then Sam and Tucker crashed through, hitting the older man. Locking Vlad (Master) in a pod. He needs... he needs to find Danielle. He needs to find his baby sister. But she’s gone. She’s gone.

His friends’ worried faces. “Danny, you’re not making any sense.” “Hey! Hey! Stay with us!” He wobbled…. where was Danielle?..... falling forward….. Sam and Tucker caught him.

At some point later, he’d woken up on his bed with worried friends and sister who he couldn’t adequately comfort. His head had been pounding and he couldn’t remember what happened to him… and what he did remember made little sense. Sam had checked his eyes; he didn’t have a concussion or any other injuries. With his head throbbing, he’d dismissed the confusion as being from the stress of the kidnapping and electrocution. His friends believed him, though anxiety was plain on their faces. But after a few minutes, his friends had said their goodbyes, leaving him to get some much needed sleep.

But now, the night after, Danny laid on his bed. His headache was gone, his mind clearer. He should feel better yet... his heart was sinking like a stone in his chest. That dream. That dream. That was familiar. So familiar. Like it had really happened. Like... it meant something. And yet…. Danny yawned, sudden tiredness overtaking him. He closed his eyes.

Maybe this was the ramblings of a sleep deprived brain. Yeah, maybe he was just tired. Maybe he’d wake up in the morning and everything would be okay. The boy pulled his covers more tightly around himself and fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The next morning, after quickly getting ready for school and rushing off, found Danny at his locker. The boy frowned, wracking his brain. What was his locker combination again? He spun the lock, landing on 25. That was the first number, right? Then….56. And finally….12? The lock clicked and he pulled the door open.

Danny sighed. Why was that so hard to remember? He’d had to open his locker just yesterday. He should remember… but why did that feel like a lifetime ago?

“Hey! Danny!” Tucker’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Danny gasped in surprise. In his chest, his core swelled and his body reflexively flickered invisible. A second later, he reappeared, rubbing his chest.

The next thing he knew, Sam was at his side. “What was that?”

“Yeah.” His technogeek friend took a step forward, voice quieting. “Your powers haven’t slipped up like that in months.”

Danny frowned, shaking his head. “I guess... I guess I’m still kinda shook up after….” He wrapped his arms around himself.

Sam’s face softened, seeming to understand. “Do you feel any better?” She asked kindly.

The halfa’s brow wrinkled. “Well, my headache’s gone.”

“You do look better.” The goth commented, her brow furrowing with worry. “You looked rough last night.”

“Yeah, you were really out of it too.” Tucker frowned. “You kept asking where someone called Danielle was? And for your sister?” Clear confusion rang out in his voice and just a hint of teasing…. “We kept telling you Jazz was at home, covering for us.” as if the idea that he was worried about his older sister, when she wasn’t even involved, was funny.

But something in the recollection made Danny shiver. He remembered worrying about Danielle. But…. sister... he hadn’t been talking about Jazz. He’d been asking about another girl, with blue eyes and-

“Then you passed out.” Sam continued. “And we took you home.”

For a too long moment, his friends looked at him questioningly. Finally, Danny bit his lip. “I think I remember that.”

The confirmation seemed to encourage his friends. “That’s good.” Said Tucker.

Danny wasn’t sure it was. But he had no more time to think on it before the bell rang and they were walking to their first class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

During lunch period, Danny sat down at their familiar table, the same one as yesterday and every day since the start of freshman year. He placed down his tray and looked over the tables, waiting for Sam and Tucker to join him.

The boy’s brow furrowed. The cafeteria looked the same as every day. The same as yesterday when…. Danielle phasing through the table, a tiny green speck racing passed him…. At the lunch table, Danny’s core pulsed anxiously. Yes, that had happened but at the same time…. Looking back at the two chasing him. Laughing without sound at their fun game.

Danny shivered, feeling cold. He rubbed his chest, nervously.

“Danny?” Someone was waving a hand in front of his face. “Danny? You with us man?”

The halfa blinked and turned, meeting Tucker’s eyes. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“What’s with the spaciness?” Sam said bluntly. She stabbed at her salad. “You were like that all during English too.”

“Was I?” The boy questioned. He shook his head. “Sorry. Just... thinking about stuff.”

His friends gave him worried looks but didn’t question him. Frankly, it was to Danny’s relief. He couldn’t seem to put his thoughts in order. He couldn’t explain this... weird feeling. 

The friends chatted for most of the lunch period, Sam and Tucker dominating the conversation with a debate about the newest Doomed update.

All the while Danny idly rubbed at his chest with one hand. He picked at his cheese fries. Normally they were pretty good, but he wasn’t feeling it today. He shivered again, flinching as his fork fell through his intangible hand.

“Again?” Tucker questioned with a raised brow.

Danny didn’t respond, instead picking up his fork only for his core to flare and the utensil to fall through his fingers again. With an annoyed grumble, the boy rubbed his chest again.

“Do you think something’s up with your powers?” Sam quietly asked.

The halfa looked up, frowning. “No... I mean…”

The goth pointed. “Danny, you keep rubbing your chest.”

Danny looked down, brow furrowing. Below his palm, his core pulsed. There was something… strange about the rhythm and…. he adjusted the position, pressing just the smallest bit harder. Normally, it fit comfortably under his palm but now... “It’s... bigger?” He muttered.

“What?” Tucker asked.

Danny lowered his hand. “My core?” He shook his head. “No... I’m imagining it.” His core pulsed unhappily, even as he rubbed his forehead. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

Sam and Tucker again looked like they wanted to argue, but the bell rang and they split up, each hurrying to their next class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the school day was surprisingly normal. Just his typical classes, without even a ghost fight to interrupt his day. Danny should have felt relieved for such a chill day after what happened last night but yet…. The boy tapped his pencil on his desk. He felt anxious. He must still be shook up, like he told his friends this morning. 

Danny bit his lip, shaking the writing instrument in his hand again. It went flying out of his grip and clattered onto the floor. The boy huffed as he bent down to grab it. His hand hadn’t even turned intangible this time.

With that, the boy straightened in his seat. He glanced at the clock. 20 more minutes left in class. Just 20 minutes. Then he could go home and take a nap. He rubbed his eyes. He was still tired after getting back so late. Maybe some sleep would help him feel better.

Soon enough, the bell rang. Danny stood and walked to his locker. This time, he remembered the combination without wracking his brain. He pulled out his books and turned to his friends, who were collecting their own belongings.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Danny said.

“Yeah, see you later.” Tucker replied.

“Call us if something comes up with the ghosts.” Sam frowned. “I’m grounded but…. I’ll sneak out if you need me.”

The technogeek groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m grounded too.”

The halfa looked down guiltily. “Sorry.” He bit his lip. “You guys shouldn’t be grounded because you had to save my sorry butt.”

“It’s fine.” Sam comforted. “We weren’t not going to save you. We’re your friends.”

“Yeah.” Tucker agreed. “It’s just the price to pay for being superheroes.”

Danny half-smiled, though he didn’t much feel like it. He wasn’t much of a hero. Guilt still choked his heart. He hated getting his friends in trouble. But still…. “Thanks for having my back.”

“No problem.” Tucker confirmed.

Then down the hall, someone called his name. “Danny?”

The boy turned. It was his sister, Jazz. He frowned. Oh right, he hadn’t talked to her since he’d been half out of it last night.

The girl quickly approached. “There you are. Come on. I’m driving you home.”

Jazz didn’t give him a choice as she started leading him towards the entrance. Danny waved at his friends, watching their worried faces until he turned the corner. 

Less than two minutes later, the pair were seated in Jazz’s car. The girl didn’t start the vehicle, instead turning to face her brother. “Are you going to tell me what happened yesterday?”

“I... Uh…” Danny stuttered, trying to collect his thoughts.

“You disappeared during the middle of school. Sam and Tucker said some weird ghost girl showed up. You went off to fight some ghost and the next thing they knew, Vlad was carrying you away.”

The boy crossed his arms. “It sounds like you already know what happened.” He muttered.

Jazz pinned a serious look. “I know Vlad kidnapped you but…. what did he do to you?”

Danny paled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Something happened. You were unconscious when Sam and Tucker got back. And you were super out of it when you woke up. But you weren’t physically hurt. What did Vlad do to you?” His sister pushed.

Danny swallowed, his stomach flopping. “I... I don’t…. It’s fuzzy….” 

Jazz rose a brow, her tone suggesting she knew there was more to it. “Danny.”

The boy flinched. “I... he... Vlad electrocuted me?” He remembered. Being locked in a pod, electricity running through him. The creepy hologram of his mom. But... but... there was more.

His sister paled. “Oh... I’m so sorry.” Her voice softened and she didn’t say anything for a while, then… “Do you know why he did that?”

Danny stiffened, looking up. The reason sparked in his mind, with the image. Vlad hissing in front of him, boasting his plan. The man had explained but…. the words stayed just out of reach. Danny's face set in a pointed frown. He shook his head.

Jazz’s own frown deepened. “That little girl…. Sam and Tucker said she looked just like you in ghost form. What does she have to do with all this?”

The boy avoided her eyes, heart fluttering nervously. The little girl.... her face snapped into focus in his mind. Danielle, that was her name. But... there was another word. Started with an S or…. a C. She was like him; she was a clo-

Danny shook his head. No, that wasn’t right. Well…. part of it was right. Danielle had been there. She’d been helping Vlad. She helped the man hurt him; painful betrayal stabbed at him from the thought. But at the same time…

“She helped me. She helped me fight Vlad.” The half ghost said quietly, awed realization sparking as he remembered.

“But… who was she?” Jazz asked, equally quietly.

Just like that, the boy paled again. The word, the cursed word, formed in his mind without his permission. Clone. She was a clone of…. him?... No... that didn’t sound right... he was the same as her but... it had to be true. His frown deepened.

“Who was she?” His older sister asked again.

The boy shivered. “I... I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Danny.” Her voice softened. “You can tell me. It’s-”

“I... I can’t... I don’t wanna talk about it.” He focused on his hands in his lap, trying to keep them from shaking.

“Clearly, whatever happened is bothering you. You can tell me.”

“No. I-” Danny bit his lip, reaching for the door. He couldn’t stay in here with her, couldn’t deal with the questions he had no answers for or rather... questions he couldn’t bear to answer. The… the c word... he couldn’t say it, could barely think it. How could he explain how everything felt wrong, like he wasn’t actually-

“Wait.” Jazz cut off his thoughts. “You don’t have to talk until you’re ready. Just... let me drive you home.”

The boy lowered his hand and slumped back in his seat. “You... you promise? You won’t press?”

His sister’s brow furrowed. Her face was tight, like she didn’t want to agree; but after a long moment, she sighed. “Alright. I promise.”

Danny nodded. “Let’s go then.”

Jazz turned the car on, put it into drive, and pulled out of the parking lot. They drove home in silence. Once they arrived, the boy went straight up to his room. He rubbed his head, flopping down onto his bed. He needed... he needed a nap. Yeah…. That was it. He was still tired.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sister smiled down at him. “Look at this!” The black haired girl held up her crayon drawing. “This is me.” She pointed. “And Muscles. And Bones. And Daniel.” Her smile widened as she tapped at the last figure. “And this is you.”

The being tilted his head. He floated up, placing small hands on the green figure on the paper. He blinked owlishly up at the girl.

The corner of the girl's mouth turned down. She placed down the paper and offered him a crayon. “Come on. You try.”

The tiny being hovered forward, reaching out to touch the crayon. It was so big, almost half as tall as he was. He frowned, trying to understand.

“Make yourself a little bigger and you’ll be able to hold it.” She encouraged. “Come on. You can do it.”

The being scrunched his brow and he stretched. He was about the size of a toddler, maybe two and a half feet tall. He reached out, grabbing the crayon with his slightly larger hands.

“Great.” Sister said. She pushed a fresh piece of paper in front of him. “Now you draw. Like this.” She demonstrated, rubbing the crayon against the paper so color transferred onto it.

The being flopped down, sitting on the floor. Slowly, so slowly, he copied the girl. He traced his drawing instrument over the paper. He scribbled, creating a mess of lines and shapes without meaning or purpose.

Sister smiled proudly anyway. “You’re doing it. Good job, Tiny.”

He beamed, something in him sparking at the praise. He continued scribbling but the image changed into something more purposeful. A house took shape, stick figures. A large man and slimmer woman. A little girl and a little boy.

The little boy giggled at his drawing. His hands were chubbier than before. A toddler’s, instead of the miniaturized version of a teen’s. 

“Jazzy!” He looked up, showing off his drawing to the little redhead girl.

His older sister looked up. “That looks great, Danny!” She put her own crayons down, rubbing her sweaty forehead. “It’s so hot.”

The boy suddenly dropped his crayons and drawing. “Outside! Let’s go outside!”

“But it’s hot.” The girl repeated.

The boy was already running off. “Mommy! Mommy! Can we play in the sprinklers?! Please! Please!”

Mommy turned around from where she was making lunch. “After we eat, okay?”

“Okay!” The four year old beamed, already running up the stairs to get his swim trunks.

The next thing he knew, he was outside. Mommy set up the sprinkler. He and Jazzy ran around it, giggling. Daddy came outside with water balloons and Danny let out a happy scream. “Water balloons!”

The little boy grabbed one and threw it at his sister.

Danny blinked awake to bright light on his face. His nose wrinkled. It was still light out? Oh wait, he had been taking a nap. He sat up, yawning and rubbing his forehead. He’d been dreaming again, this time about…. He shivered, remembering. He’d been playing in the back yard with Jazz when he was four. And... he’d been with Danielle. She’d been showing him how to draw. 

The boy’s stomach flopped. That didn’t make sense. That hadn’t happened. Maybe... maybe he was thinking about her because Jazz had asked, earlier, when they’d been in the car but... that had felt like a memory.

Dread balled in his gut. He’d been small, smaller than her hand. And then he’d stretched and he was bigger, about the size of a toddler. Danny looked down at his hands, his human, properly sized hands. That, changing his size, wasn’t something he could do but…. In the dream, Danielle had called him Tiny. It didn’t make sense and yet….

He remembered. One of the other clones. The small green one. Danny shivered. That one, that one could shrink. That clone had overshadowed him.

The knowledge hit Danny like a ton of bricks. The tiny clone had overshadowed him. How... how didn’t he remember that until just now? How hadn’t he realized? Danny grimaced, a sickening feeling squeezing his insides. He’d been possessed. Someone else had been in his body, controlling his actions, messing with his mind. The boy wrapped his arms around himself. He felt violated at the thought. That was so wrong. Vlad had ordered one of his clones to overshadow him. And…. more memories of the experience pressed into his mind.

Danny had been semi-aware of the other presence. There had been a fight for control, another core so close to his and…. Memories, thoughts that weren’t his. Flashes of the tiny clone’s memories. And the feeling of tiny hands rifling through his own mind.

Danny pulled his knees to his chest. That must be why he’s felt so off. It was the aftereffects of being possessed. And that dream, the flashes of memory…. he must be remembering what he’d seen and felt from the tiny clone while it had been possessing him.

The boy sighed. But... the feeling would go away eventually, right? It would. He’d felt off after Sidney had overshadowed him as well. It had taken a bit to get used to being in his own body again. And Sidney was more experienced with overshadowing than his clone had been. The ghostly nerd knew how to push Danny’s spirit out of his body, instead of forcing both ghosts to cohabitate. That was why there were strange memories now, unlike last time.

But it didn’t matter. He’d get back to normal soon enough and his friends and sister would have nothing to worry about. Everything would be okay, right?

Danny stood up, rolling his shoulders to stretch. He had homework to do. He sat down at his desk, trying to ignore the way his stomach still flopped.

[theoldguard-recs]

Hi. Do you have any fic with Joe and Nicky as parents?

Hi there! Mod: CactusDragon517 here! I got really excited the other day when I saw your ask because I LOVE AUS so much and I had one that IMMEDIATELY came to mind. As ever, please mind any and all author tags for any fic we recommend. I hope you like the ones I’ve linked here!

All on my own by TerresDeBrume

Closing his eyes, Niccolò leans his head back against the sofa and  wonders how today went to shit so fast. They were supposed to have a  nice day together. Celebrate their first anniversary with Sébastien by  having him finally meet Andy and Quynh in person—Yusuf’s parents usually   aren’t free this time of the year, but they’re coming to visit during   Sébastien’s Christmas break. There was going to be Niccolò’s best   risotto and an apple cake, and it was going to be great. Instead, now,   they have this.

Or: the Al-Kaysani-Genovesi-Le Livre household's very harrowing day.

Tags: Alternate Universe: Modern setting, Kid fic, depression, past depression, past religious extremism,  Kid Booker | Sébastien Le Livre, happy ending, found family, suicidal thoughts, suicidal attempt (offscreen) Pairings: Joe/Nicky, Andy/Quynh Rating: Teen and up Word Count: 20,114 Why I love it: So! I know that those tags are probably not what you expect to see on a kid fic rec post but hear me out: The way that TerresDeBrume writes kid!Booker is marvelous, especially a kid with these big heavy feelings. This AU is dense and layered and every single time I read it, I gain something new from it. Please mind the tags and the end notes, as they are relevant, but I think this fic is such a fascinating world and such a beautifully wrought snapshot of a family that’s as complicated and complex as the one we see in the movie. @terresdebrume is on tumblr as well and has written a couple of other fics for The Old Guard!

Fireproof by goldheartedsky

Nicky’s life is currently balanced like a house of cards. Sure, he’s a twenty five year old single dad, working fifty hours a week minimum wage to support his six year old son, and lives on a steady diet of coffee and day-old donuts, but he’s happy. He loves his life more than anything in the world and wouldn’t change a thing.

Until his hot new neighbor Joe moves in across the hall and it all comes crashing down.

Tags: Alternate Universe: Modern Setting, single dad Nicky, Artist Joe, friends to lovers, parental bonding, first kiss, emotional baggage, emotional hurt/comfort, found family, trust issues, happy ending Pairings: Joe/Nicky, Andy/Quynh Rating: Teen and Up Word Count: 56,632 Why I Love It: OKAY, CONFESSION TIME: I haven’t finished reading this fic. I keep meaning to but real life really dealt me a sucker punch at the end of 2020 (and, y’know, a large part of winter 2021) and I lost track. HOWEVER. I read the first 5 or 6 chapters and was captivated because I cannot tell you how few times I have read and felt the struggle of being a single parent the way that goldheartedsky writes it. Nicky’s struggles are so real and so realized that it’s gorgeous. It feels...gritty, in a way. I’ve started rereading it and I love how the interplay between all the characters feels like a quilt just coming together. SO while I haven’t read the whole thing (imagine my delight to see it’s (A) finished and (B) THERE’S A SECOND ONE??!!), I do think that this is a gorgeous read, just from what I read of the beginning. @goldheartedsky is on tumblr and has written other fics for The Old Guard!

Between Us Two by mehm

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Nicky says.

“Okay, sure,” Joe says, looking like he’s ready to bang his head against the wall. “Because it looks like you just kidnapped our neighbour’s babies, Nicolò.”

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Introspection, angst, Kidfic Pairing: Joe/Nicky Rating: Gen Word Count: 4,820 Why I Love It: Okay, this isn’t strictly Joe and Nicky being parents, but I think that it counts because it shows what downtime for Joe and Nicky can look like at times. Nicky with his big heart and Joe with his vibrant soul deciding, we can make a difference here. It’s a sweet, sweet fic but it has some melancholy moments in the way that you would expect. My favorite way to think about this one, in particular, is thoughtful. It gives such care to how these men think about things and, in this instance, children. I could not find anywhere if mehm was on tumblr or not, but mehm has written more for The Old Guard on AO3!

A Matter of Choice by Fadagasaki

"Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice." - William Jennings Bryan.

When Paolo reaches out online for advice as a single father of his miraculous baby daughter, he receives a reply from a fellow single father living in the Netherlands.

Tags: Slow burn, single parents, Il Padre d’Italia, Hartenstraat Pairing: Paolo/Daan Rating: Teen and Up Word Count: 46,992 (and still going!) Why I Love It: Okay, okay, okay. Hear me out: I know that TECHNICALLY, this is not Joe and Nicky. I know that it may also not be what you’re looking for, but I feel like I HAVE to rec it. This fic is WONDERFUL. It’s wonderful and so well done that you don’t have to have seen either movie to understand it - single father Paolo reaches out and gets help from single father Daan. It’s incredibly slow burn but it’s so well done and I love that it feels like a facet of Joe and Nicky, to be honest. Fadagasaki does a great job of grounding it within the fandom at large and the movies themselves. My vote is to always give a chance and I hope you do! I could not find anywhere if fadagasaki is on tumblr, but they have written more for The Old Guard on AO3!

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Buxom beauty

Oneshot summary; You struggle, as an overweight and taller than average woman, to find the beauty in yourself. However, Loki there to make you understood just how worthy and magnificent you truly are.

Pairing: Loki x reader  

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Oneshot

Word; 2.900

Warnings; will say triggering themes ( e.x serious self-doubt) even if it may not be the case, maybe som angst

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: So a little mid-week surprise everyone! This fic is per request from a user on my AO3 account following their lines of: “Could you possibly do one where reader is tall for a woman but also overweight? She struggles with seeing herself as worthy or beautiful but Loki is tryna make her see herself the way he sees her in his own special way?? Please can you do this?” It started out as a drabble and an hour later it was all of a sudden a whole ass fic. Tbh I’m not even gonna apologise this time.

Your eyes were levelled with the upper edge of the mirror. Although you didn't concentrate on how the top of your head didn't really fit into the reflected image unless you took a few steps back. Instead, your eyes followed the soft curves running along the sharp edges of the mirror.

It was soft. No, you were soft in places which the majority of women perhaps not were. Rather than resemble the figure of the mirror before you, which was slim and narrow. Your body was an even curve all the way from your busts to thighs. Though depending on how you shifted your weight, it could also become uneven. Despite how it looked, some places were more generous than others in exceeding the public image of how you should look.

When you turned to the side, your head stayed twisted towards your figure. Your outline wasn't straight. Nor descending into a slender point of which your feet was the tip. It was like a wave, rising in places and lowering in others. And much like that movement of water, your body didn't have any sharp edges. It was simply soft and natural-looking.

You closed your eyes, turning back to fully face the mirror. However, as you started to walk backwards, you didn't re-open them. Purely because you didn't need to look to know there was no gap between your thighs. Neither how no trained illusion of abs existed as an outline under the shirt you wore. Nor how the fabric covering you followed the curve of your chest rather than fell in drapes.

Not until you had shuffled about a foot and a half backwards, enough so that you knew all of you fit in the length of the mirror, did you open your eyes.

You saw the tiredness in the eyes staring back at you. It was a tiredness of trying to make yourself look another way, tiredness to view yourself as enough. Only if you realised and found yourself in the fact that you wouldn't look any other way and that you didn't always need to be enough, maybe that exhaustion would disappear.

A sigh left you while you closed the dresser door to hide the cursed mirror. It was with the same force as you'd done earlier today when you had shut the locker door in the gym without even putting anything in there, choosing to just head back home instead.

You'd wanted to be there at first. But, discouraged by the little mirror in the changing room and the glances received from the already remarkably trained people working out, you suddenly didn't.

You still contemplated the choice. Because you shouldn't have chickened out so quickly. However, home meant that you only were aware of your own intrusive thought, rather than everyone else's judgement too.

Since this morning, your head had felt heavy with thoughts. Throughout the day, though, it had only gotten worse.

It felt like even though you rested, the little voice telling you you should do something was there. Yet, every time you did something, the other voice, the one telling you to stop trying, also whispered in your ear. This was a day you listened to the second, exemplified by your action of fleeing the gym.

So, ever since returning from the short trip outside, you hadn't done much more than lounge around in the apartment you shared with Loki.

The raven god was, for the moment, on yet another mission with the team. Though he'd told you that he wouldn't be gone for more than three days, you hadn't gotten to know much else of the mission. And despite you felt worried every now or then about the lack of information, it was fine. Because early on in your relationship, Loki said he never would hide anything from you if you asked, but he preferred to keep his work and private life as separate as possible.

You respected and understood that. So most times, you settled with the little pieces of information he willingly gave you. Primarily because you could sense his nerves anyway and know how serious the mission was from that. This time around, however, Loki hadn't been worried about the mission, so neither did you feel like you had a reason you should.

Although now, worried or not, you wished he wasn't away on a mission at all. Instead, at home with you.

You would've made the most out of the day, despite how you felt, if Loki was here. Maybe you would've watched some movies, gone out on a walk, or perhaps cook together. It was mundane activities but still things both of you enjoyed. Now though, the only representation of your mischievous partner was his shirt.

You'd nabbed it from Loki's side of the closet in an attempt to calm yourself down from the scent still lingering in the fabric. Only that it resulted in a critical try.

Because not only did it remind you too much of the warmth and presence of him, which made you miss him even more. It had also become the cause of you suddenly staring in the dresser mirror and becoming ever more conscious about yourself.

You hadn't only thought back on the day while standing there, but also the way his shirt fits you. It didn't hang down to your knees, not even the middle of your thighs. It ended halfway over your bottom, like your own shirt with an inch or two added. Thus, if you hadn't worn any tights, you would've walked around just as exposed as if you had worn one of your own shirts.

Even now, when heading from the living room to the kitchen, you looked down at where the shirt ended. The edge brushed along the very top of your thighs. You tried pulling it down a bit, but the fabric simply inched upwards again, making your brows furrow and lips purse.

That was until you heard something.

Your expression changed so that your eyebrows raised and eyes sought out the front-door from which the sound of a lock opening came from. You hadn't made plans with any friends today. Even if you had, they should've knocked, seeing how none of them had a key to your place.

The second you started to worry that it was a break-in, you saw a silhouette you recognised all too well. It was clad in green and gold. The raven hair that touched the tops of his shoulders, nearly blended in with the darker details of the clothing. You started to move before even registering anything more of Loki.

It was with mere moments to spare you noticed the emerald shimmer surround him and remove the armoured parts of his attire before you crashed into his chest.

A little ouf left the god, as he didn't expect the welcoming he got. But that didn't matter, as your arms encircled his neck instinctively. Unable to do anything else than simply stay put a few steps into the foyer, Loki encircled your waist with his arms, face boring into your neck as yours already had done in his.

"You said you wouldn't be home until tomorrow", you mumbled. Knowing he'd heard what you said from the little kiss he gave the side of your neck.

"Well, you know how my brother is, ever as impatient. Sometimes for the better and other times worse, thankfully this time was not the latter", Loki pulled his head out of the crook in your neck to look at you, consequently making you do the same. "Hopefully, you do not mind?"

"Definitely not", you thought you'd said it casually, but the way the raven-haired god tipped his head inclined you hadn't.

"Something wrong, darling?" You gave him a smile and shook your head as you said 'no' while stepping out of his arms. If you would've guessed, you supposed it was the way you retracted from Loki's touch that gave him more than a feeling that you'd lied.

"If there's something wrong, you can tell me", that he even said this made you understand he was aware that you weren't ok. Nevertheless, you saw the exhaustion in his eyes by being away on a mission with the team. He may have been recruited to the Avengers by his brother, rather unwillingly one may add, on the basis that the god of thunder could keep a watchful eye over his brother that way, though he by now had accepted the fact he wouldn't leave. 

Yet simply because of this, or that he was a god, didn't mean Loki didn't get tired from the countless missions he was assigned. And it was because of this, you didn't want to burden him with what had weighed you down this whole day.

"I know, Loki", you turned then, starting to head towards your shared bedroom and the bathroom that connected to it to run a bath. However, you weren't even able to suggest that before a hand shot out and wrapped itself around your wrist.

It was enough to make you glance over your shoulder with a raised brow, but not enough to hurt.

"I can see something isn't right and that you feel like you can't tell me", your lip caught between your teeth at the pleading way the raven-haired god looked at you. Still, you didn't say anything, now concerned he would find your worry silly. "Darling, please".

"I-I... why do you want to know? You must be exhausted, go take a shower, or I can tap up a bath for us", you tried smiling to convince him he should think about himself before considering you. Yet, it seemed Loki was as persistent as you at the moment.

"Not until you tell me what's on your mind", he took a step closer, now tugging lightly at where he held your arm so you would turn to him.

"It's n...".

"Do not tell me it is nothing. If not because I am the god of lies, then because I am your lover", he cut off the half-ass excuse you'd tried to use and continued to look at you with the intent of not letting you escape with anything but the truth said. Despite he didn't know you knew you wouldn't have tried anything again, the last part of his sentence striking a nerve that made you sigh.

"This day has just been bad", you finally said. "I-I... it feels like I just need a break from my thoughts. And I know you probably need one too, regarding how messy those missions can get", the god of mischief's lip tugged upwards slightly at this.

"You, my dear, are a break from everything that ever could weigh me down".

"How can I be that", you snapped, hand tearing away from Loki's grip. You didn't know why you reacted like that all of a sudden, probably because what he said rubbed so wrong against everything you thought about yourself today. But it got even worse when you saw the slightly shocked look painting Loki's features. "There's so many more that could fulfil that", you mumbled under your breath, feeling the burn of embarrassment in your chest as you turned to head down the hall and not face him after your little outburst.

Yet you were stopped, once again, by the god when he spun you around to face him. The previous shock had now turned into a furrow between his brows.

"But I do not want more, darling, I simply want you", on good days, you may have smiled and kissed him for those words. Now you just cringed at them while trying to escape the grasp he still had on your hips.

"How could you?" You finally said when realising he wouldn't let go of you, head falling forwards to look down on the floor. "Just...just look at me compared to every other woman you meet. What do I have that they don't?"

There was a silence then, one that made you shut your eyes. You prepared to feel Loki's hands leave you where they still rested on your body, hot and anchoring, though that was not what happened. He did move, but not to take his hands off of you, nor away from you. Instead, his finger hooked under your chin.

Even though you followed his gentle encouragement to tip your head upwards, you didn't open your eyes despite feeling his gaze on you.

"Please darling, open your eyes", he didn't need to coax you any further. "There those pretty gems are", you hadn't even opened them entirely before Loki said this, instantly making you smile. Nevertheless, as if your thoughts today really didn't want you to feel happy, worthy, of his love, the corners of your mouth tipped downwards when remembering he still hadn't answered your question.

As if sensing, if not plainly seeing, the change, Loki's brows furrowed. You tried holding his gaze but felt you were unable to do so, which in the end, made you avert your eyes.

What you couldn't know was that your display had made Loki realise something did really bother you today and that the topic of the conversation held moments earlier, maybe a reflection of that.

Suddenly you felt how the touch at your left hip disappeared, to be sensed once more when it rested against your cheek. You were unable not turn towards the god of mischief with wide eyes at his gesture. However, as you once more looked at him, you saw nothing of the playfulness that often accompanied him, just a seriousness as he looked at you.

"You asked what you have compared to what others don't", he began, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek. "You have the ability to calm me like no other. You have a beauty incomparable to anyone else. You have my hearth", you felt a flutter in your chest as Loki's hand trailed from your face down to your waist, only to there pull you close to him, simply waiting for your answer.

Yet, for the moment, you were at a loss of words. Not only by what the god of mischief said. But what you realised and was constantly reminded of when being pressed against him. You'd never needed to crane your neck, nor did Loki need to bend down for the matter, to look each other in the eye.

"B-but how can I have all that?" Your voice was small as the question nearly trembled from your lips.

"Midgard is so harsh and stale that it does not care about anything more than looks. One needs to find softness and in order to do that, one needs to look further than the surface. If people simply choose to do that, they would find so many more like you", the flutter travelled further and further from your chest. Slowly like molasses, the doubt dripped off of your bones for butterflies to instead settle on them. But the dark and sticky liquid stubbornly didn't want to withdraw completely.

"Earth may be like that, Loki, but you aren't from here", you began, fingers twitching against the Asgardian attire, his signum, that he still wore. "You've told me how beautiful the eternal world is, so I know your standard of beauty, like so many other things, are so much higher than mine and everyone else's".

"Asgard is filled with beauty", the raven-haired god nodded, a smirk tugging the side of his mouth. For some reason, it made those butterflies feel like they drowned in the molasses. Because what else than far greater memories than what he's created with you could accompany such a gesture? Apparently, something entirely else, you realised as he continued. "Yet you, my darling, wouldn't fit there because your beauty out-shines all of what already exists. And do you know why none can see this? Because no-one can watch the sun for too long before getting burned".

"But you still do you", you stated incredulously. Thus why, if using Loki's own words, would he do something that hurt him. However, being ever the observant person he was, he caught your doubt. Which made him shake his head and chuckle.

"You seem to forget I am a god, no mere human or simple Asgardian", directly after he stated thus, Loki did something that made you squeal, in both surprise and worry.

His arms tightened around your waist and lifted you, high enough your feet dangled off the floor and your face was a few inches above his. You almost panicked, imagining you were too heavy for him, but you didn't find anything that displayed such strain in his face. And then any caution disappeared as he twirled you around.

A giggle fell from your lips as you felt the air around you shift with Loki's action. You felt light when nearly all thoughts from earlier seemingly were flung out of your mind and even stayed away when he gently set you down again. His firm chest still pressed into your soft one.

"Just think about it, darling, you need a god to love you for someone to find your true beauty. Does not that show how worthy of love you are if no other person can stand beside you and call you theirs", your smile didn't die down this time as you gazed at him.

"I suppose I must agree with said god", you didn't get more time to witness his smirk turn into a smile before his head tilted forward and his forehead came to rest against yours.

"You never must, but oh how honoured I would be if you did".

[babypandawrites]

Allies, Pt. 9

The Northern Air Temple 

Pairing: Sokka x F Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 3,813 Summary: You thought that the chance of there being Airbenders other than Aang was too good to be true, sadly you were right. 

Note: How I completely forgot about this until now I'm not sure but! Another piece of this series I’ve done for the fun of it is outfit designs- If that kind of things in fics isn’t your cup of tea then feel free to act like these don't exist! But for those who are interested or who might just wanna see; here you go.  This is just what I personally envisioned while writing, again feel free to ignore it if you want, but I figured I might as well share :)  I was also going to wait until tomorrow to post this bc Wednesdays is my upload day for it on Ao3 but I’m also a chapter ahead there and wanted to get my tumblr uploads caught up- so back to back post today and tomorrow :) Yay 

-Navigation- | -Atla Masterlist-  -Last Part- | -Allies Masterlist- | -Next Part- 

Taglist: @boomeraangin​ | @brokennerdalert​​​

“So, travelers, the next time you think you hear a strange large bird talking, take a closer look, it might not be a giant parrot, but a flying man! A member of a secret group of air walkers who laugh at gravity and laugh at those bound to the earth by it!”  Aang smiled. “Aren’t airbender stories the best?” “Was it realistic? Was that how it was back then?” Katara questioned.  “I laugh at gravity all the time. Haha! Gravity.”  A pair of hands holding a hat suddenly appeared in the space inbetween Sokka and Y/n. The storyteller shook the hat, the jingling of coins being heard.  “Jingle, jingle.”  The two searched their pockets for any money. Y/n didn’t have anything, and the only thing Sokka pulled from his coat pocket was a small ball of lint and a bug.  Y/n offered the storyteller a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”  “Aww. Cheapskates!” The man left them, going to ask other audience members for donations.  She turned to look at Sokka, a disgusted expression apparent on her face at the bug that wiggled around in his hand. “Why… was there a bug in your coat?”  “Hey! Don’t question a man and his bug.” The bug rolled over, and started to crawl up his hand. Sokka yelped and shook it off.  Her expression twisted into amusement. “A man and his bug, huh?”  “It’s not my fault we can’t afford to keep him fed.” 

The next morning, the group found themselves on the way to the Northern Air Temple. Apparently, the airbenders in the story they heard were seen the previous week. It seemed a little too good to be true, that there might be airbenders other than Aang still out there, but Y/n wasn’t going to be the one to crush the kids' hope.  That was Sokka’s job, not hers.  “Hey, we’re almost at the Northern Air Temple! This is where they had the championships for sky bison polo.”  Y/n looked at Aang with a smile. “Sky bison polo? That sounds fun.”  “It is fun! So much fun!”  Katara moved to sit next to her brother. “Do you think we’ll really find airbenders?”  “You want me to be like you, or totally honest?” Sokka asked, focusing on whittling a piece of wood.  “Are you saying I’m a liar?” Katara crossed her arms over her chest.  “I’m saying you’re an optimist. Same thing basically.”  “They’re not the same thing at all.” Y/n commented. The boy just shrugged his shoulders.  “Hey guys, look at this!”  Appa was starting to approach the Northern Air Temple. It sat up on a sheer peak, several people flew around it, and smoke rose from a few pillars.   “Huh! They really are airbenders!” Aang leaned, crossing his arms unhappily. “No, they’re not.”  Sokka pointed up at the people flying around. “What do you mean they’re not? Those guys are flying!”  “Gliding maybe, but not flying. You can tell by the way they move. They’re not airbending. Those people have no spirit.”  Y/n tipped her head to the side, watching the gliders. “I mean, they look like they're flying to me, but you would know best.”  As she finished speaking, a glider passed over the group's heads, nearly taking them off. The glider’s pilot laughed, turning to pass by Appa again. Getting a closer look at the kid, it could be noted that his glider was built out of the wheelchair he sat in.  Katara pointed in the glider’s direction. “I don’t know, Aang. That kid seems pretty spirited!”  The glider made another pass, and soon Aang was standing up glider in hand, before taking off. Another glider flew in front of Appa, startling him and causing Katara and Y/n to fall backwards into Sokka. The three grunted at the impact.  “We better find some solid ground before it finds us!”  Appa made a landing on one of the temple’s outer terraces, the trio getting off him and watching as Aang and the boy in the wheelchair glided through the sky. Aang eventually came down and landed next to them, the other boy also coming to a landing. A few kids came other and detached the glider from his wheelchair, before he wheeled over to the group.  “Hey! You’re a real airbender! You must be the Avatar! That’s amazing! I- I- I’ve heard stories about you.”  Aang rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Thanks.”  “Wow! This glider chair is incredible!” Sokka rushed over to the kids who had the glider setup, inspecting it.  “If you think this is good, wait until you see the other stuff my Dad designed.”  He began to wheel away, the group following. They were led through the huge main gate of the temple, into the main chamber. The room was dominated by steam-powered machinery with many wheels, gears and pipes.  “Wow!” Sokka ran forward, looking around the room excitedly.  “Yeah, my dad is the mastermind behind this whole place! Everything’s powered by hot air. It even pumps hot air currents outside to give us a lift when we’re gliding.”  Aang took a look around. “This place is unbelievable.”  The boy in the wheelchair smiled. “Yeah, it’s great isn’t it?”  “No, just unbelievable.”  Y/n tried to hold back a laugh, clearing her throat to force down her laughter.  “Aang used to come here a long time ago. I think he’s a little shocked it’s so… different.” Katara said, before following after Aang when he walked off.  “So better!”  Rolling her eyes, Y/n elbowed Sokka in the shoulder. He gave her a look.  “Come on, you don’t think this is cool at all?”  “Not really.” 

Soon they followed the boy, Teo, to another part of the temple. This time it was a courtyard of sorts, it was untouched, and there were statues of airbenders.  Aang was much happier about this, than he had been about the other room. “It’s nice to see even one part of the temple that isn’t ruined.” He spoke, as him, Y/n and Katara looked at a huge statue of an airbender monk.  “Look out!” A voice shouted out, shortly before a wrecking ball crashed through the statue. The three flew backwards with the debris, and everyone started to cough from the dust. As the dust settled, several people could be seen through the hole that’d been created. One of the people walked forward, a middle aged man with a mostly bald head who wore a monocle, a green tunic and an apron.  “What the doodle! Don’t you know enough to stay away from construction sites? We have to make room for the bathhouse!”  “Do you know what you just did? You just destroyed something sacred! For a stupid bathhouse!” Aang, clearly upset with the man, took on an airbending stance.  The man waved a hand in front of his nose. “Well, people around here are starting to stink.”  Aang pointed at him. “This whole place stinks!” He slammed his staff against the ground, sending a strong gust of wind through the hole in the wall, knocking the wrecking ball and it’s rig off the building's foundation. “This is a sacred temple! You can’t treat it this way. I’ve seen it when the monks were here. I know what it’s supposed to be like.”  “The monks? But you’re twelve!”  Teo wheeled over. “Dad, he’s the Avatar. He used to come here a hundred years ago.”  Aang walked closer to the man. “What are you doing? Who said you could be here?”  “Hmmm… doing here… A long time ago, but not a hundred years, my people became refugees after a terrible flood.” He gestured his arms for effect, before moving to stand behind his son. “My infant son, Teo, was badly hurt and lost his mother.” Sniffling, he held back tears. “I needed somewhere to rebuild and I stumbled across this place. Couldn’t believe it! Everywhere pictures of flying people. But empty! Nobody home! Then I came across these fan like contraptions!”  He held his arms out as if they were wings, making flying motions with them as he walked about the courtyard for a short moment. He stopped in front of Aang, who was clearly still upset.  “Our gliders.”  “Yes, little light flying machines. They gave me an idea. Build a new life for my son, in the air! Then everyone would be on equal ground, so to speak! We’re just in the process of improving upon what’s already here and after all, isn’t that what nature does?” Aang was still upset, while Sokka and Katara stood behind him, teary eyed from the story. Y/n rolled her eyes at the siblings, before moving to stand next to Aang, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Sure, the story was sad, but to her the boy’s feelings were more important.  The Mechanist turned to look through the hole in the wall he’d created. “I suppose that’s true. Unfortunately, progress has a way of getting away from us.” He looked down in a bout of sadness, before his head snapped up to look at an odd candle device..? A bit aways from them. “Look at the time!” Three candles burned brightly on a stone pedestal, each separated into their own sections. Next to the pedestal, a large mallet rests, sitting head down. The Mechanist turned to one of the scribes behind him. “Come the pulley system must be oiled before dark.”  Sokka approached the candles, observing them. “Wait, how can you tell the time from that thing? The notches all look the same.”  “The candle will tell us. Watch.”  The candle’s flame snapped four times in a row.  “You put spark powder in the candle!” “Four flashes, so it’s exactly four hours past midday, or, as I call it, four o’candle!”  Sokka let out a laugh, as The Mechanist looked at him, seemingly pleased he was interested. “If you like that, wait till you see my finger safe knife sharpener!” Y/n’s attention moved to the man at the mention of that, watching as he held up his left hand, where three of his fingers were made of wood. He detached them from his hand, before tossing them to Sokka. “Only took me three tries to get it right!” Sokka let out a scream, as he caught the wooden fingers. “Follow me!”  The Mechanist turned to leave, the men who were with him and Sokka quickly followed. As the boy passed by Y/n, he grabbed onto her wrist and dragged her along with him. She offered a quick goodbye wave to Aang, Katara and Teo as she was dragged away. 

Quiet steps echoed through the narrow hallway, as Y/n, Sokka and The Mechanist descending a narrow staircase. Each of them held a lantern, glowing with sparse blue light.  “These lanterns are terrible! I can’t see.”  Y/n ran into Sokka’s back, as he abruptly stopped to open the jar to his lantern. She flicked the back of his head, as he continued to speak. “Why would you want to use fireflies for light- Hey!”  She snickered, watching the firefly that escaped from his lantern.  The Mechanist turned to look at them. “Hey, close that up! They’ll get loose. Fireflies are a non-flammable light source.”  “Are you meaning to say that something down here is flammable?” Y/n asked, as they all continued walking.  “Well, why else would I need a non-flammable light source?” The Mechanist offered a chuckle, as they approached a door. The edges of it were blocked by some sort of sealant, which he felt around, probably to check for leaks.  After checking he turned back to them. “Cover your nose and hold your breath.”  Once they’d done so, The Mechanist slid open a panel in the door, which they all looked through. It just showed a dark and empty room. “Okay, so you brought us all the way down here to see an empty room.” Sokka spoke with a somewhat confused tone.  “Wrong.”  Eyebrows furrowing together, Y/n watched as the panel was slid shut again. “You brought us all the way down here to see a room full of flammable explosive gas?”  “Correct! It’s filled to the brim with natural gas. Came across it my first time here. Unfortunately, I was carrying a torch at the time. Nearly blew myself and the whole place even more sky high. Thought my eyebrows would never grow back! Anyway, there’s a vital problem that needs solving. From time to time we have gas leaks and they’re nearly impossible to find.”  Y/n took a few steps back, as Sokka helped check the door for leaks. “So this place is an explosion waiting to happen?”  “Yes, until I figure out how to locate something I can’t see, hear, smell or touch.”  “Right, is it safe for us to be around this gas? Should we be wearing masks or something, in case we come across a leak so we don’t, you know, inhale it?”  “Oh don’t worry, we should be fine.” The Mechanist paused for a moment, straightening up after finishing checking for leaks. “Well, as long as you aren’t a firebender or something- hah!” He let out a laugh, which Sokka quickly shared.  Sokka nudged her in the arm, as they started walking back. “Oh come on, that was funny. You know that was funny.”  “Yeah, hilarious.”  He threw an arm over her shoulders. “Come on, loosen up. We’re gonna be fine, even if we do come across a leak.”  She put her hands up in defense. “Okay, okay.” 

The Mechanist led the pair to his workshop, and very clearly told them not to touch anything, before going to look over some papers on his desk. Sokka, of course, did not listen to that and started poking through things the moment the man's attention wasn’t on them.  “Sokka, he said not to touch anything.” Y/n whispered, smacking his hand away from something he was about to mess with.  He gently pushed her away a bit, before going right back to poking around. “Calm down, it’s fine. It’s not like I’m going to break an-” Sokka cut himself off, as he knocked some stuff over. Grimacing, he tried to keep it from falling to the ground.  “I said don’t touch anything!”  When The Mechanist spoke up, Sokka dropped the things to the ground. Y/n crossed her arms over her chest. “Not gonna break anything, huh?”  The Mechanist came over, to help Sokka pick the things up. “Oh, don’t worry, that experiment is old and that egg was just part of last week’s lunch.”  Y/n kneeled down to help them too, as Sokka sniffed the air. “Ugh! Week old egg smell!”   “Quick! Find that egg!”  The three started to crawl around, looking for the egg, but none of them were having much luck.  “How could something that’s so small you can’t even see it make such a big stink!?” Sokka complained as they looked. The Mechanist perked up at the comment. “That’s the solution to our problem!”  “Yeah!” Y/n looked at the two, confused, as they faced each other with excitement. “What?”  “If we put a whole mess of rotten eggs in the cellar where the gas seeps up..” Sokka started the thought, which The Mechanist continued.  “The gas will mix with the smell of rotten eggs…”  “Then, if there’s a leak…”  “You smell rotten eggs! Then you just follow your nose to the place where the smell is coming from..”  “And plug up the hole where the gas is escaping!”  “You’re a genius!” The two spoke in unison.  Still, Y/n looked between the two with a confused expression. “ What? ”  Suddenly, a large bell started to ring, and The Mechanist was quick to get up and rush from the room. “Something’s wrong I’ve got to go.”  “Wonder what that’s about.” Sokka said, getting up himself. He helped Y/n up, grinning. “We should follow him.”  “Always a snoop, huh?” Laughing softly, she shook her head. “Alright.”  Grasping onto her wrist, he dragged her out of the room to follow after The Mechanist. They’d followed him to another room, one that was filled to the brim with different war machines branded with the Fire Nation’s insignia. 

“You make weapons for the Fire Nation!?” Sokka was clearly angry with his words, rightfully so. Y/n was pretty mad about this development as well. She pointed a finger at The Mechanist.  “You! You're terrible. Horrible terrible!”  The Mechanist looked at the ground in humiliation and shame.  Teo looked at his father angrily. “Explain all this! Now!”  “It was about a year after we moved here. Fire Nation soldiers found our settlement. You were too young to remember this tale. They were going to destroy everything, burn it to the ground. I pleaded with them, begged them to spare us. They asked what I had to offer. I offered… my services. You must understand, I did this for you!” Teo turned his wheelchair away, clearly upset. The Mechanist turned on his heel, and walked back down the hall, leaving the five kids in the room.   Teo shook his head. “I can’t believe this…. This is terrible.”  “I know..” Aang looked at the weapons with disdain. “There’s so much here.”  Y/n crossed her arms over her chest. “The Fire Nation could be coming for this soon…”  Aang breathed out a sigh. “Your right… I’m going to go figure it out.”  “I’ll come with.” Teo said, as Aang started to leave the room, before following the boy.  With Aang and Teo’s return, they found out that the Fire Nation was coming soon. And they were intending to burn this place to the ground. They were all outside on one of the walkways, trying to figure out a plan.  “This is bad! Very bad!”  Katara looked over to Aang. “Aang, what are we gonna do? How can we possibly keep them all away?”  “I’ll tell you how.” He pointed to the sky. “We have something they don’t. Air power! We control the sky. That’s something the Fire Nation can’t do. We can win!”  “I want to help.” The Mechanist approached the group, as he spoke up.  Aang offered the man a smile. “Good, we’ll need it.” 

“We finally got the war balloon working, thanks to Sokka. This boy’s a genius!”  “Thank you. You’re a genius!” “Thank you!” Y/n rolled her eyes at the exchange. “Can we get on with this?”  Sokka cleared his throat. “Right. See, the problem with the old war balloon was you could get it airborne, but once you did, it just kept going.” He demonstrated with a model that flew up and hit the ceiling. “You could put a hole in the top, but then all the hot air would escape. So the question became, how do you keep a lid on hot air?”  “Ugh, if only we knew.” Katara commented. Y/n, Aang, Teo and Katara herself all laughed at the remark.  Ignoring them, Sokka pulled the model down from the ceiling, now showing off the mechanism to open and close a lid on the top. “A lid is actually the answer. If you control the hot air, you control the war balloon.” He demonstrated again, but this time the model didn’t fly up to the ceiling, thanks to the lid that could be pulled open with a string.  Katara crossed her arms. “Hmm. That’s actually pretty smart.”  “Okay, we’ve got four kinds of bombs. Smoke, smile, fire and-”  The Mechanist cut Sokka off. “Stink. Never underestimate the power of stink!” 

“We’re going to have to modify this to the new design, and fast.” The Mechanist said, as him, Sokka and Y/n worked on bringing the War Balloon he’d already constructed outside. “With both of you helping we should be able to get it up and running pretty quickly though!”  “Yeah! And I’m pretty sure Aang and Katara will be able to hold off the Fire Nation with everyone’s help.”  Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “They’ll be able to hold them off, but we can’t count on them too for too long, even if we have the skies. The Fire Nation’s army is huge, who knows how many soldiers will show up.”  They got the balloon set up to do the necessary modifications. “Oh she’s right, time is not something we have on our side right now.”  Sokka nodded in understanding. “Right. It’s only one modification though, so it can’t take terribly long, right?”  “Let’s hope not.”  Getting to work on the War Balloon, they probably could have gotten things done a little faster. But nonetheless, they got it done, and just in time too apparently. While Sokka and The Mechanist got ready to take off in the war balloon, Y/n went to find the others to see how they were holding up.  “How are things going out here?” She asked, once she found Katara, Aang and Teo. The three looked at her with slight concern.  “Not well.” Katara started. “Please tell us Sokka is coming with that war balloon soon.”  Before she could give an answer, the war balloon rose up from behind them all, and started moving towards the battle field. From where they all stood, they could see Sokka and The Mechanist dropping giant slime bombs onto the Fire Nation soldiers. The bombs that they had didn’t stop the soldiers, however, and they were starting to advance closer to the Temple.  Katara put a hand on Y/n’s shoulder, to get her attention. “What are they doing..?”  She squinted in the direction of the war balloon, trying to see what was going on. “I’m not sur-” She cut herself off, watching as something fell from the basket of the war balloon. Was that the balloons fuel source? “Did they just push out their fuel source..?!” “What?!”  A sudden explosion set off, a really really big one. The entire Temple got clouded in a ginormous wall of grey smoke. When the smoke dissipated, it was revealed that the Fire Nation was retreating.  Aang pointed to where the army was leaving. “Look! They’re retreating!” Everyone started to cheer at the success, but the joy was cut short, as the war balloon started heading downwards quickly. Thankfully though, Aang was able to get Sokka and The Mechanist before the balloon crashed below.  Currently, they all stood outside on the main terrace of the Air Temple.  “You know what? I’m really glad you guys all live here now. It’s like the hermit crab.” Aang spoke, as he carefully picked up one of the hermit crabs near them all. “Maybe you weren’t born here, but you found this empty shell and made it your home. And now you protect each other.”  Teo offered a smile to the boy. “That means a lot coming from you.”  “Aang you were right about air power.” Sokka pointed to the sky. “As long as we’ve got the skies we’ll have the Fire Nation on the run!”

[myfearless-love]

The Wildest Place You Run (1/?) - Better Safe Than Sorry

It's finally here! My contribution to this year's CSSNS! This is my first time participating in this event and I couldn't be more excited to share my story with you! Recently I watched a lot of supernatural/fantasy TV shows on Netflix and so the concept of this fic was born. It has all kinds of creatures, mixed with adventure, drama, mystery, suspense, and of course, most importantly CAPTAIN SWAN.

Huge thank you to my beta and artist, @thejollyroger-writer for clearing up my mistakes and help me get this story to you. Check out what gorgeous art she made for the fic!! ☝️

I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Summary: Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapters: 1/? - Better Safe Than Sorry

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~1.7k

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The cobbled streets of the city were dripping with rainwater, and the light from the tall lamps hung like balloons in the cool, misty night air. The harsh wind tore at the branches of the balding trees, a vast amount of withered yellow and brown leaves stirred up a path on the uninhabited sidewalk.

The weather had cooled down more than she’d expected. She pulled up the zipper of her red leather jacket and quickened her steps. She knew it would have been wise to get home on time, she was sure David was already working up an ulcer, marching up and down in the living room.

Somewhere nearby, the clock tower struck ten and she shuddered, accelerating her pace as the curfew had just taken effect. Her hand instinctively slid onto her bag where her Glock 19 lay safely.

She dug into the satchel, and the startled hammering of her heart subsided somewhat as her fingers touched the barrel of the gun. She very much hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. In this world, bandits and robbers were the least dangerous kind, as it was enough to just simply shoot them…

When she finally emerged from the cover of the trees in the park, she opened the heavy wrought-iron gate and hastily crossed the narrow street to continue on the main road. Her footsteps echoed emptily on the deserted avenue, not a soul in sight.

Her destination wasn’t far off, and she fought the urge to run the last few yards. She turned around the corner and into a narrow alley, rushing toward the last, albeit slightly shabby, apartment building.

At the front door, her nearly frozen fingers rummaged awkwardly for her keys in her pocket. But before she could slide the key in, she heard the click of the lock, the massive iron door slamming open with a bang.

As she had suspected, she found herself face to face with a seething David, who, for the moment, was still silent. She risked an angelic and rueful smile and quickly slipped into the house beside him.

All her hopes were dashed when the door crashed back into its frame behind her and David turned to her vigorously. He put both his hands on his hips, a move she found rather comical despite the situation - it reminded her of an agitated lunch lady before scolding a kid in the cafeteria. Still, she couldn’t laugh at it. At the sight of his flashing eyes, she squared her shoulders and waited.

Come what might.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Her only brother never cursed unless he was furious.

“I was just taking a walk in the park,” she replied quietly, and by that time, all her humor was gone. David was right. What she had done was really stupid. “I’m sorry. I should’ve kept better track of time.”

“Didn’t you even notice it got dark in the meantime?” David grew angrier by the minute, and her face began to burn with shame.

She hated arguing with him, so when the opportunity arose, she tried to heed his advice. Today’s case was an exception. “I’m really sorry,” she muttered, lowering her gaze to the pave-stone.

After long seconds of no response from him, she looked up cautiously, only to see him disappear behind the door that led to their apartment.

“David!”

She took off her boots and rushed after him, but as soon as she caught up with him, she grimaced. In the living room, on a mahogany-carved coffee table, David’s nearly complete arsenal of weapons lay spread out. Pistols, knives, rifles, magazines…

“What happened?” She dropped her bag on the couch and walked over to her brother, who was lounging in front of the window.

“A pack of werewolves in the middle of town in broad daylight! That’s what happened!” he hissed between clenched teeth, he was still trembling with fury.

“In the city center?” she repeated, stunned. That was a new one. Plus, it was happening during the day? It was getting weirder and weirder.

David took a deep breath, but it didn’t help much. He was still too upset.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Although, it wasn’t up to me. If Killian hadn’t intervened, I would've certainly kicked the bucket," he shrugged as if it was incidental.

"Jesus…" She reached for David's shoulder, but he pulled away.

"At least fifteen people died. We weren't fast enough."

"Stop it," she admonished him. She grabbed im vigorously by the shoulder, turned him to face her, and urged him to look her in the eye. "And tell me, how many people did you save? A hundred? Two hundred?"

He expelled an angry breath. His tousled, sandy blond hair almost resembled a crow's nest, and his five o'clock shadow made his handsome face look unkempt. His light blue eyes stared at her with mixed despair. Meanwhile, he involuntarily stroked the small scar on his jaw.

"David, for God's sake, you’re a Hunter. I understand it's a shitty feeling, but you can't mourn every single person you can't save."

"I know," he whispered hoarsely, finally raising his head, then he shook it slightly, staring up at the ceiling dotted with tiny cracks. Emma could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I was just afraid something had happened to you. I was about to call Killian and the others to search for you."

"I understand and I'm really sorry. I’ll be in my room if we’re done here."

"Alright. I'm going to pack up my things then," he signaled with his head towards the pile of weapons adorning the table.

Emma nodded and picked up her bag, marching across the living room, and heading straight for her room. But before she could peel off her coat, someone outside their apartment started frantically knocking on the door.

"I'm coming!" David's voice was calm, but Emma could still see him securing his favorite rifle as he strode toward the entrance.

"David, open up! It's us!"

When she recognized Robin’s voice, her lips twisted into a relieved smile and she hurried to the front door as well.

"Hey, mate. Are you happy to see us?" Robin laughed at the troubled expression on David's face and the gun in his hands.

"Very funny." David pursed his lips, then stepped aside to let their friends in.

After Robin, Mary Margaret entered, followed by Ruby and Killian.

"We heard Emma had wandered away, so we thought we should sniff around town and look who we found!" Laughing, Ruby flicked playfully at Mary Margaret's back who grimaced as she walked away from the long-haired brunette.

Ruby wasn't exactly your average type of girl. She wore her waist-long chocolate brown hair in wild curls mixed with pink streaks. She invariably wore her favorite black leather garments: military boots, pants, and her signature black studded leather jacket. She looked like a rock star of the nineties.

"I need to make a call,” Mary Margaret said, nodding toward the kitchen, fishing her phone out of her pocket.

"Of course,” David nodded, kissed her on the cheek, and quietly closed the door once everyone was inside.

Robin, Ruby, Killian, and David took a seat in the living room while Emma joined Mary Margaret in the kitchen. Her friend walked over to the counter, unlocked her phone, but her fingers were trembling so badly that she was unable to dial.

“What’s wrong?” Emma anxiously stepped next to the brunette, who just shook her head violently, but her chalk-white face suggested the opposite.

“Didn’t David tell you?” she lifted her troubled hazel eyes to Emma. Her rain-soaked pixie-cut dark hair clung to her forehead, a stark contrast against her alabaster skin.

“What was he supposed to tell me?” she asked carefully.

“Leo was in that run-in with the wolves this afternoon, too. I just found out from Robin that he had to be taken to the hospital right after,” her voice trailed off and Emma could see her shaking.

“He’s probably fine,” she said firmly, trying to give her friend the hope she so often received from her.

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret nodded profusely, then feeling ready, she grabbed the phone and made the call.

While Mary Margaret talked to the hospital receptionist, Emma walked over to the refrigerator and returned to the counter with an unopened orange juice in her hand. She snagged two glasses from the kitchen cabinet and filled them both almost to the brim while tactfully not eavesdropping on Mary Margaret’s conversation because judging by the few words she could pick up, she was already talking to her cousin.

And it was rude to listen in.

“So, how’s our little lion?” Robin entered the kitchen with a grin and plopped casually down on the chair at the dining table.

“Fine,” Mary Margaret replied, not even reacting to Robin’s mocking tone.

It remained an eternal mystery to Emma why they disliked each other so much, but as long as they behaved in a relatively civil manner when they were in the same room together, she didn’t particularly care.

“Anyway, we need to get going soon. Someone saw some of Vampires near the nightclub. So far, they haven’t done anything that would violate the Guild’s rules, but better safe than sorry. They ordered us to look around.”

“And what about the curfew?” Emma raised an eyebrow.

“Humans are stupid. They don’t take Mages seriously. A lot of people aren’t willing to accept the existence of Werewolves and Vampires, even after what happened…”

Robin fell silent at Emma’s expression. He coughed sheepishly, then ran his fingers through his rich brown hair. “I didn’t mean to… I apologize,” he muttered and walked out of the kitchen with his head down.

“Emma…” she felt Mary Margaret’s hand on her shoulder. “Neal wouldn’t want to see you like this. You have to let him go…”

“I know… But… he shouldn’t have been the one to die…”

[ruewrites]

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 8: Change of Heart

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo, Diavolo/Lucifer

Word Count: 4550

Warnings: None

A/N: As always comments and feedback are appreciated! I hope you all are still enjoying the fic so far!

Prev

Next

Diavolo’s face was a welcoming sight to Solomon that morning as he left his room. He beamed the moment their eyes met and crossed the room in order to meet him. “Good morning! I trust you slept well last night?” his booming voice was almost too loud for Solomon, but it still brought a smile to his face.

“As well as a scholar can, yes.”

Well, books hadn’t been the only thing keeping him up last night. His dreams hadn't been too terribly helpful. If only he could have a little peace of mind while he slept. Maybe he’d crash tonight after his little outing. Asmo was rather high energy and Solomon had no doubt that he’d most likely be worn upon their return. Maybe he’d even sleep for a day. That would be rather nice the more he thought about it.

Diavolo nodded, “I will admit, it took me a while to get used to things here as well. It’s easy to become homesick, but Lucifer and I take visits back home every now and again. I promise it will get easier.”

“Were they all as welcoming to you as they are to me.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t here with the late king,” Diavolo shook his head, “Or maybe he would have liked you a little better than me. You aren’t the one who wanted to marry Lucifer.” That’s right, neither Azazel nor his brother had wanted Diavolo to marry the crown prince. From what he could gather, it sounded like Azazel still wasn’t fond of the union. “The point is, it takes them a while to warm up to people, but they will soon enough.”

Hopefully. Solomon seemed to be making way with the family, so he could only assume they’d start to like him soon even if just a little bit.

“In any case, how have things been with Asmodeus?”

Ah.

Oh.

“I know he was excited by the fact that you took the whole ‘Lilith’ thing well, a little melodramatic, but still happy,” Diavolo continued, “He’s been talking about how his eventual wedding would be the ball of the century ever since Lucifer and I got married.”

Solomon hadn’t even talked to him about the wedding. He’d been so caught up in learning about Arcadia that the wedding seemed more like a concept to him than an actual event that would occur soon. When was the coronation? How much time did he have left? Why had it not been more focused on his radar? Now that he thought about it more, he didn’t have a single clue about what any of his wedding plans were going to be. What food were they preparing? What times was everything occurring at? What was he supposed to wear? Were people going to witness their union? They were only a few of a long list of questions that Solomon should have known the answers to, and yet he didn’t.

It seemed like whenever Solomon solved one problem, another one arose. For whatever reason, it never occurred to him that their union would be a big event. Lucifer's would have been since he was the crown prince, but his? A small ceremony to seal them together would have sufficed. Did it really need to be big?

"He certainly has been dreaming for a while now hasn't he?"

"He certainly has," Diavolo nodded, “He has rather vivid dreams, they’re not always big in the grand scheme of things, but they’re very specific.”

So that probably meant that Asmo was hellbent on what he’d said to him last night. No matter how he tried to change the direction of his thoughts they always came back to the outing he was supposed to have today. Solomon knew love couldn’t be forced and that love was a rare thing to occur within an arranged marriage, but would Asmodeus accept that? Surely he had to know this small fact. Perhaps he was just in denial.

But why?

Why not just accept what life had given to them and be excited for the opportunities that it could provide?

“Has he talked to you about it?” Diavolo’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“About what?”

“His ideas. Surely you’ve heard some of them.

Solomon's blank expression must have said all that Diavolo needed to know. His face fell slightly. Solomon couldn't read the expression well. At first he thought that perhaps it was confusion. Disappointment? He couldn't place his finger on it. What he did know was that it made him feel uncomfortably guilty.

"Oh. I see," the pause between them was only a second too long, "You should spend more time with him. He's a kind person. Just a little-”

“High energy?” Solomon finished. Kind? Well if him ensuring Solomon that he’d fall head over heels for him was considered kind, Solomon would agree. This was the first positive thing he’d heard about his fiance the moment he’d stepped onto the grounds. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he really hadn’t heard too many good things about Asmo, only the things that he couldn’t do quite right. What could be the truth?

“Well yes, but I may have a soft spot for him,” Diavolo continued, “He was one of the few who made me feel welcomed here. ‘Anything for my big brother’s husband’ he’d say. We spent a lot of time chatting and sometimes he’d offer to take me to various places in Arcadia. All when Lucifer was busy of course.”

Maybe he had been a bit more well behaved because Diavolo was more than willing to spend time with him. Solomon was a busy man, he had research to do among other things. He couldn’t just drop his research at any time. Nonetheless, he could still contribute to the conversation. “Forgive me for saying so, but I find that a little hard to believe. Only because you seem to have a soft spot for most people you come into contact with.”

There was that booming laugh.

“Am I truly that easy to read?”

“Only a little.”

Diavolo was a genuine man. Solomon had to wonder if he had some sort of magic of his own to cause people to loosen up around him, or was he just that charismatic? Either way it made his marriage to Lucifer feel even stranger to him. How could there possibly be anything there deeper than the arrangement? Then again, according to Azazel, Diavolo seemed to have more of an influence of the crown prince.

What allowed someone to become that close?

Well, Simeon had some influence over his own decisions, but their relationship was different. Solomon would have had to been naive to think the two were equivalent. Diavolo and Lucifer had something beyond a close friendship and Solomon could see it even if he was rather confused by it.

“I think Lucifer might be your favorite person though,” he wanted to see what he said. He wanted to see how Diavolo talked about Lucifer. In a way, it was a roundabout way of him wanting to know more about the elusive eldest.

Diavolo seemed to melt right before him, his eyes turned gooey and warm and his body relaxed. “Perhaps, he’s a wonderful man and stunningly beautiful. The most ethereal being I’ve ever seen, sometimes I doubt that he’s human,” he sighed, “He’s intelligent too and an absolutely capable ruler.”

“You admire him.”

“I love him,” Diavolo corrected, “I’d do anything for him, I’d give my own life for him.”

Solomon didn’t know why those words threw him off. Giving up your life. Would Solomon do that for anyone? He wasn’t sure. He had people that he wanted to protect, yes. But giving up his own life? Thinking about that wasn’t something he wanted to do at the moment or later. It was a morbid concept.

“Asmo is quite smitten with you,” Solomon was vaguely aware that Diavolo was still talking, “He was completely fine when he left, but when he came back he was spellbound. I think it was good for him to have a little joy.”

It was easy to forget that the family was dealing with two deaths: the King and their sister. There had also been supposed assasination attempts. How much tragedy followed the family around?

It didn’t mean that he was going to give in to Asmodeus’ every demand, but he would try to keep those things in mind.

“It feels good to see him lively again, he was so anxious when it came to pretending, I know I was relieved that you took it all well.”

“I’m happy he’s not anxious anymore as well, I was worried I was doing something wrong. I’m glad to know that that wasn’t the case.”

Diavolo’s hand grabbed the handle to the door to the caverns as he turned back to Solomon, “We should talk more, I heard you’re going to have an outing today and I’d love to hear more.”

***

“Will you ever be on time for any meal?” Asmo huffed, crossing his arms.

“Maybe one day,” Solomon hummed, taking a seat, “But I did show up.”

“If you showed up early we could spend a little time together before everyone else got here.”

Solomon noticed that Asmodeus wasn’t looking at him. Following his gaze, Solomon saw that he was staring at Lucifer and Diavolo. Diavolo had his hand on the crown prince’s shoulder. He leaned down close to his ear and said something that made Lucifer smile ever so slightly and chuckle. He mouthed the word sit, and Diavolo took his place next to him. It was incredibly tender. No one else seemed to pay it any mind, but Asmo’s fingers gripped at the table.

“I might be able to come sooner if someone wouldn’t mind teaching me how to navigate the castle.”

He noticed Asmodeus nod slowly, but he didn’t look towards him. What had gotten into him? What about Lucifer and Diavolo had him so fixated? Unfortunately his little novice charm didn’t give him all of those answers. Did he dare reach up to see what he was feeling? It could give him an idea of how to steer the conversations.

His hand wandered towards his chest. But before his fingertips could brush against the pendant, Diavolo’s butler entered the room. “Breakfast will be out shortly, but I do have tea ready.”

Barbatos started at the head of the table, pouring tea for each member and setting out small biscuits. When had been the last time he came to breakfast? He came to other meals sure, but most of the time Simeon brought it back to him as he often slept through it.

“Welcome your majesty,” Barbatos said, pouring the steaming liquid into his cup, “It’s lovely to have you join us this morning.”

“Oh thank you.”

“Your scribe seemed to be getting tired of you missing meals.” Wasn’t he the bold one? “Anything in your tea?”

“No thank you.”

Barbatos nodded and moved on to Asmodeus.

“No cream or anything? Really?” Asmodeus leaned over to look at his cup.

“Really. I stay up rather late, and sugar makes you crash.”

“Then what about sugar rushes?”

“It’s a temporary rush. It won’t last in the long run.”

Lucifer had taken his tea black as well, so why was it so intriguing to Asmo that he might drink his own in a similar fashion? It was almost like it was some sort of secret or big surprise to his fiance.

“You really are a serious guy aren’t you.”

Now what was that supposed to mean?

“Does that mean you no longer want to go out?”

“No!” Asmo jumped in quickly, eyes going wide, “No we’re still going out. You can’t get away from me that easily.”

“I didn’t suspect that I would, You seemed rather determined.”

“Well good! You shouldn’t think that you could get away.”

Solomon snorted. He looked around the table to each of the members. Levi wasn’t fighting with Mammon like they’d been on the first day he got here. While the two of them weren’t talking, they seemed to be getting along better. Satan was focused on a book from his library, one that he’d have to remember to ask him about later. The twins sat silently. Well, Beel sat silently, Belphegor was asleep. Solomon also noticed that unlike the rest of his siblings, he was dressed in black. Had he been dressed in mourning attire when he arrived?

“Husband!” Asmo sang waving his hand in front of his face, “You should be paying attention to meee.”

“He ain’t your husband yet Asmo,” Mammon chuckled, before Solomon could even get a word in, “And he won’t be if you scare him away.”

“I won’t scare him away!”

A few of the other brothers snickered from around the table as Belphie opened one of his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, “When you met him you weren’t you.”

Solomon heard a bit of an edge to his voice. It wasn’t playful like Mammon’s had been.

“Enough,” Lucifer held up his hand, “It’s too early for this. We’re going to have a nice breakfast as a family or else I’ll banish you from Arcadia.”

“Aw come on Luci, you wouldn’t banish your baby brother would ya?” Mammon asked, leaning a little closer and batting his lashes.

Lucifer only narrowed his eyes, “Don’t test me.”

***

“Mammon runs the treasury, Levi is the head of the navy, Satan holds the records, and the twins split agriculture. Belphie takes care of the animals when it comes to stuff like milk and eggs and Beel takes care of crops and beef,” Asmo had been talking the entire ride down to his sector. He counted off each one of his siblings on his fingers as he named them off. He’d chosen to sit shoulder to shoulder with Solomon instead of across from him. Not that he was surprised. Asmodeus was rather clingy. “Lucifer as the head stays in the center and oversees all of Arcadia. He wasn’t always the welcome committee, but he had to take over. Luckily he has Diavolo for that now.”

Solomon shifted trying to give himself more room only for Asmo to follow him, “And what do you do?”

Asmo grinned, “Oh showing interest? Well, if you must know, my district takes care of little self care items. Lotions, perfumes, flowers, pretty things. Honestly mine is the best. Sure the other things are important I suppose, but what is life without beauty? My district is the most beautiful and therefore it's the best.”

Well, that seemed a bit shallow. Was looks the only thing he really cared about? All of the other things he had listed were equally important. How could he undermine them for the sake of his own? Every element came together to make a community. No one aspect held everything together alone.

“You’re going to love it. I can’t believe I haven’t taken you here sooner! Well I kind of can, after all I wouldn’t have been able to if- Well, you know.”

The carriage stopped and Asmodeus immediately seemed to perk up. The carriage bounced with him as he waited for the chauffeur. As soon as the door opened, he took Solomon’s hand and walked the two of them out. The first thing he noticed was a few timid townsfolk peeking out from behind their doors or windows or even stared from their stands.They seemed fixed on Asmo. Of course Solomon remembered that many of them most likely stayed hidden or on a low profile because of the death of the king along with the threats. It was nice to see some other life around. A royal being around probably put them at a higher risk.

“Hello my adoring darlings!” Asmo sang, “I’ve decided to treat you all with a visit today, and I’ve brought my soon to be husband to see all of you! Make sure you show him just how wonderful you all are!”

Solomon caught the sweet scent he usually associated with Asmo wafting from one of the shops. So, they did come from here. How frequently did Asmo visit? Slowly people emerged from their houses and stands and continued to go about their days. Asmo grinned at him and took his hand.

“Come on, I want to show you around.”

Asmo spent most of the time talking about himself. Asking if Solomon thought he looked pretty, if his town was the best one he'd ever seen. That was the last thing he really remembered as he started to tune Asmo out at that point. There was so much he could take of this man just talking about himself. He figured that he might learn something about his fiance, but it turns out he was wrong. Did Asmo seriously think that this would get Solomon to like him? He knew what Diavolo had said, but still.

Was he really that nice?

Or was he more like what he'd heard Azazel describe?

Whatever the case, he was trying too hard to impress him.

Asmo led him towards the center of the square and turned to face Solomon, “If I can get some musicians together, would you like to dance with me?”

“Oh, well, I’m not the best dancer,” he could at social events if he had to, but it wasn’t something that he would do in his free time. The idea of there being a possible audience also made him nervous. He stepped back and looked around, "Perhaps another time."

Asmo's face fell slightly, but he let Solomon step back. It almost seemed as if he was trying to think about what to say to convince Solomon to change his mind.

"I think I'd like to meet some of your people and to look at the products they create," Solomon continued, taking note of the plant life around him. Each of them seemed to have some sort of pink tint to them. At least the color themes seemed consistent.

"Of course."

The people were seemed rather intimidated by him. Not that he blamed him. He was an outsider king and a rather prominent figure at that. He was going to marry their prince. He took notes as they wandered. After all, he was going to have a say when it came to this place, he should know more about it.

Asmo’s chattering eventually dulled with each increasingly listless response Solomon gave and he scribbled away in his notes. Perhaps he finally understood that Solomon needed to focus, that he needed quiet if he was going to make any progress in his studies. He paused in his strides when he came to a patch of flowers surrounded by tiny metal arches.

They smelled impossibly sweet, almost as sweet as Asmo's perfumes. What were they? They weren't anything that Solomon was familiar with. He was certain they didn’t have them back at home. This was something he could ask his fiance about. It was only when he turned to ask him did he realize that Asmo wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen actually.

His eyes glanced around the area. Surely he couldn’t have gone that far? Was he really that upset by the fact that Solomon wouldn’t dance with him?

He plucked one of the flowers and started to try to retrace his steps to find his fiance. This was supposed to be a date between the two of them. Of course he would lose his fiance here. Of course his fiance would run out without telling him. Of course. Of course it had to be this way. Of course his fiance couldn’t have been reasonable. Of course-

There were children laughing.

Children?

“You’re doing so well!” his fiance was standing among them, engaging in their little games. This was a different side of him. They were all in a little circle with their hands linked. Sometimes the children would break the chain and run around before finding new spots.

He wasn't striving to impress them, perhaps because they were children (and easy to impress).

He's a kind person.

Diavolo had said he was kind. Solomon had been skeptical. The more he watched, the more he realized that perhaps he’d been wrong. He’d judged him too harshly. Perhaps he hadn’t been as level headed as he thought.

Watching him laugh and play with the little ones was certainly an experience all on it’s own. He seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Solomon also had another realization.

Asmo had a different type of worry plaguing his mind. He’d been nervous that Solomon would reject him because he wasn’t Lilith sure, but after he’d been worried that Solomon wouldn’t be impressed with him. His worries transformed and were presenting themselves through a different outlet. Solomon hadn’t been paying attention because Asmo was smitten with him, which was the minimum that he needed.

He could be good to him.

He could be kind to him.

It seemed like Solomon hadn’t been doing the best job at doing those things the more he dwelled on it. To put it frankly, he’d been ignorant. Solomon couldn’t even say that he wasn’t completely unaware of how he’d been acting. He hadn’t been terrible to Asmodeus, but he certainly hadn’t been good or kind either. He could have been better.

One of the kids must have tripped or something, because the next thing Solomon knew he heard sobbing.

“Oh darling, it’s alright, hush now. It’s only a scrape,” Asmo’s voice carried to Solomon’s ears. It was soothing, it felt safe. It lit something inside of him, a feeling that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Whatever it was, Solomon knew he enjoyed it. His voice alone could convince the tension to leave his body and place his mind at ease. It felt like if Asmo said it was alright then everything had to be alright. Slowly the sobs settled and the child buried their head into Asmo’s shoulder. Slender fingers ran through their hair in an attempt to sooth them.

Solomon realized that this was a third face he had never seen from his fiance before. How many more could he possibly have? What more did Solomon have left to discover?

“I thought you didn’t like kids,” the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. No thought ran through him, only an action that he chastised himself for.

Asmo jumped ever so slightly and turned to face him. He seemed surprised to see Solomon there, more surprised than Solomon thought he should be. “What brought you to that conclusion?” he asked.

“Your reaction to the rabbits.”

“Ah well,” Asmo laughed slightly, “You still thought I was someone else then, and I’m not exactly capable of giving you children in that sense. I do love the little ones though, they’re the cutest little things.” Asmo poked the child’s nose earning a soft little giggle, “Aren’t you all?”

He stopped for a moment, scrunching up his brow before turning to Solomon, “What brought you here? You seemed… busy in your own little world.”

Oh, so he’d been ignoring him, and unfortunately Solomon knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been aware of this. He was just more aware of it than he’d like to be at the moment.

He cleared his throat before holding up the flower, “I had been curious about some of your plants and wanted to ask you a few questions, but I see that you’re busy right now.”

Solomon glanced at the rest of the children standing behind him and thought. He was curious about the game, and he hadn’t been giving his fiance much mind as of late. “Would you mind if I watched your game?”he asked.

It was fun to watch them play. The way the children interacted with the fifth prince was adorable to say the least. At some point, they’d managed to talk Solomon into playing. There was no better way to learn than to participate. He wasn’t great at it, but the children seemed to enjoy him fumbling about squealing with absolute delight. Asmo had even joined in, and oh Solomon had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed his laugh.

When it came time for the children to return to their families for lunch, Asmo led him into town to meet more of the locals. They showed him their wears and how they went about making their soothing lotions and sweet perfumes. To his surprise a few of them had also been magic users. They didn’t have strong magic, but it did help with relaxation, recreation, and with what plants the little town did have. In other words, it seemed like it could also be utilized for healing in the form of muscle relaxants or even helping in the production of certain medicines.

They all also seemed to enjoy Asmo.

This hadn’t been what he thought it would be at all. In fact, Solomon was enjoying their little date. Watching Asmo interact with the people of his sector was certainly more enjoyable than him trying too hard to impress him. Solomon liked this side of Asmo. He was relaxed and his eyes were soft and tender. There was a beauty about him that was being reflected outward.

For the first time, Solomon truly felt like he was getting a glance at his soul.

“Your majesty?” a young woman approached Asmo, violin in her hand, “Would you like music?”

Solomon wasn’t sure what possessed him to look up in that moment, but he realized how many eyes were on them. No. How many eyes were on him. Then he remembered. Asmo would be giving up his position in marrying him. That meant that Solomon would now have say over anything that happened. For the first time what that really meant hit Solomon. Asmo would no longer have control over his sector, and his people were worried. They didn’t know anything about Solomon, and neither did Asmo.

He wanted him to love him.

He wanted him to respect him.

Asmo was just as scared, and Solomon had been stupid enough to miss it all.

“On any other day that would be lovely my dear, but I’m afraid my-”

“You mentioned wanting to dance earlier,” Solomon cut in, bowing ever so slightly, “Consider this my apology for being so rude and ignoring you.”

Joy radiated from the prince. Solomon could feel his warmth buzzing all around them as they headed back to the center of town.

This didn’t mean Solomon was in love.

But this did mean that he was going to try harder.

He was going to give the prince what he deserved and show him that he didn’t need to worry.

Solomon would take care of things.

The music started up, the woman with the violin leading in a few other instruments as they joined hands. Solomon wasn’t a fantastic dancer, but it didn’t seem to matter to Asmodeus. It was such a simple want.

Ah. Yet how quickly a fairytale-esque picture can shatter.

Solomon didn’t even register hearing the whistle of the arrow as he pulled Asmodeus in close and it scraped his sleeve, barely missing his fiance.

[sxfik]

darling, you're the one i want

chapter one | two | three ....

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: Kang Sol A was never known for her luck, but she suspected it to be more like a curse when after almost 5 years, she bumps into her rival and the bane of her existence: Attorney Han Joon Hwi. What's worse? She has to work with him and she's sure that she'll either kill him or kiss him before this is all over

After Kang Sol B was freed from the clutched of her mother, her new found freedom spurred her into a night in bed with the mysterious Ji Ho. Yet, when he walks into her office the next day, she is faced with the realization that she is now working with the same man she slept with. What's worse? He's insufferable and she just might have to kiss him to shut him up.

a/n: hello hello! it's been almost a month since i've written a fic and probably even more time since i've truly been active on here. this fic is a product of me, @akinosakiya, @am-bi-vert and @thenerdywriter creating 20 different threads on twitter about an idea (which eventually got turned into a whole group chat just for hc and fic ideas). truly this fic is dedicated to all of them, the hanguk law school gc on tumblr and twitter. this fic is multi-chapter and written from 6 povs (basically it will be pretty long). as always, enjoy!

KANG SOL A was not known for her luck. Maybe it was a curse, or maybe just her destiny to be unlucky in life. She was irrevocably late this morning, despite setting 6 alarms and taking extra care the night before to ensure everything was in order before she left. But of course, in classic Sol A fashion, she was late despite every effort.

She was greeted with the shining sun and chirping birds as she speed walked towards her office building, her hair slightly disheveled in the breeze. Her hand clutched her briefcase as she speed walked towards the office, her lanyard swaying as she moved with purpose.

It had been almost 2 years since she started working for Kang's Toy Co. and 3 years since she graduated from Hanguk Law school. Life had been a rollercoaster since then, an endless ride of ups and downs as she tried to stabilize herself into her new life. She had clawed her way up from the struggle of her 1L year, getting to be an expert on late nights and sleep deprivation. Nonetheless, she graduated with an offer set up at Attorney Park's office which kickstarted her career and her life.

She'd be lying if she said everything was smooth from then on; it was quite the opposite. Just like she predicted, she had to take clients that she disliked and didn't trust, but when you were trying to make rent and put food on the table, it didn't matter. Luckily, she never had to compromise her beliefs too much during those years, and she was able to build her reputation as a trustable and hardworking lawyer in the community.

Soon enough, she was taking on higher profile clients, and gifted with the ability of being picky about who she defended. All of a sudden she was going to events and mingling with the upper class of Seoul. What was a poor girl, raised by a single mother, doing in such a ornate hall, sipping champagne that was worth more than anything she'd ever owned. Yet, those very same events led her to her name twin, Kang Sol B.

Kang Sol B, clean cut and straightforward, was one of her closest friends and CEO of the company she worked for. They met by chance at an event, after a particularly successful case, and somehow, the two women who were so unlike each other, hit it off. They ran into each other by chance again and they met for drinks. Sol B's level-headed, confident attitude balanced her energetic, eager mind. Not to mention, she fit right in with Ye-Seul and her dynamic, the three being thick as thieves. Soon enough, Sol was offered a job at her company as a corporate lawyer and she jumped on the chance at working with her. The rest was, as they say, history.

Shaking off her thoughts, her legs propelled her forward, her vision almost hazy and her mind clouded with the need to rush, rush, rush. The morning was particularly busy, with so many employees rushing into work and walking in their own world. Still, today was especially important as the company is announcing a joint enterprise between two of the biggest toy companies in Seoul. She picked up her pace, nearing the entrance, when, in her frenzy, she crashed into the oncoming figure.

"I'm so—"

"Sorry!"

Her head shot up, her eyes widening at the familiar voice. And there he stood, in all his glory, Han Joon Hwi: Second Round Judicial Exam Passer, and the bane of her existence.

She had the unfortunate luck of meeting Joon Hwi during their 1L, during a particularly intense class where she was grilled to death by her professor. The actual ordeal was a haze, all she could remember was her throat tightening and instant panic flooding her mind and body. Joon hwi, thinking himself some kind of knight-in-shining armor, swooped in to save her, answering in her stead.

And then, he decided to rival her during one of their constitutional code classes, arguing in favor of a law that was, in her mind, despicable. "You have to look at it in perspective," he coolly replied to her smoldering anger when she questioned him on how he could support such a thing. It was set in stone, then, that Kang Sol A did not like Han Joon Hwi.

From the moment they met, it was like he was specifically designed to drive her crazy. The way he smirked, the way his whip smart comebacks would leave her stumped, the way his arms filled out that stupid white shirt, the way he'd look at her like he could see right through her. Just about everything about him made her want to scream.

Dislike was an understatement when it came to Joon Hwi. It was more like a never ending annoyance, his presence and every move frustrating her, making her lungs tight and her heart race with exasperation and irritation.

She was nicknamed Lady Justice, after a particular comment from Joon Hwi himself. If it was to shame her, it clearly didn't work as it only fueled her headstrong attitude. In fact, it spurred her into more arguments with the illustrious Joon Hwi, the temperature constantly rising as they would circle each other and argue until their lungs burned and they were breathing heavy. The whole school would gather to see them spar, the tension so thick that they wouldn't notice the crowd they would draw as soon as the two would even look at each other.

He was the genius of her school, that much she couldn't deny. Still, the what he said about her in their final year...

His hand gripped her wrist, startling her out of her thoughts in an attempt to support her, and his warm touch seared into her cold skin as he pulled her up slightly. Joon Hwi blinked back at her, his face shocked before settling into a familiar smirk that drove her up the wall.

"Long time no see, huh, Lady Justice?" his eyebrow quirked up slightly as he took her in, and the scowl settled into her face. Like this day could have gotten any worse, it was just her luck to meet him.

"Not quite long enough, Attorney Han," she quipped back, snapping her arm away from his grip. She blew out a soft breath, in an attempt to get her bangs out of her eyes to face him properly. He continued to look down at her, his eyes never leaving her face as he chuckled in response.

He didn't look any different than he did 3 years ago, except that his shoulders had grown broader, his chest a little firmer. He wore a black coat, and underneath, his signature black suit that he had worn during his internships during school. His hair was styled differently, now styled up rather than down in bangs that used to give him an innocent look back in their law school years. It suited him.

"So, you work for Kang now?" he asked her, rushing forward to catch up with her fast pace. Her hand gripped tighter on her bag as she picked up her pace, trying her best to not let his sudden presence taint her morning.

"No, I'm definitely just walking towards the building with the large sign that says KANG TOY CO. for absolutely no reason," she replied, her voice laced with impatience.

"You haven't changed one bit, Kang Sol," he laughed, tilting his head forward, blinking and looking at her as if he knew something she didn't.

She paused in her tracks, looking up to the man who scrambled to turn to face her. "Why are you here, Joon Hwi?" she asked him, suspicious of his sudden presence.

He raised an eyebrow in response, and she could feel the irritation build in her chest as she looked up at him, impossibly confused. They stayed in place, their feet glued to the pavement and she forgot all about her earlier mission to get to her office asap. His face hadn't changed too much from their school days, his expression overflowing with mirth and mischief. But his face did hold a tiredness that wasn't seen before, as if the time has taken a toll on him. What happened to you, Han Joon Hwi, for your face to hold exhaustion that was never seen before?

"You'll find out," he replied curtly, before spinning back and walking towards the building. Her office building. She rushed forward now, trying to catch up with him as she looked up curiously, but he avoided her looks as they walked into the office.

They marched on in, flashing her badge at the entrance of the office, and Joon hwi, somehow, managed to follow. Did he start working here and never let her know? Does he even work as a lawyer? How could she not know? She let out a deep breath, trying to calm her racing mind as she walked into the elevator, and he marched in right by her side.

People filed in one after the other into the elevator, everyone in their morning rush to get to their cubicles and start their days. The elevators was filled to the brim, yet Kang Sol was still aware of Joon Hwi's presence, almost like her mind was blaring an alarm that He wasn't supposed to be here.

She momentarily shut her brain off, a task that she trained herself on after her struggles in her 1L, choosing to focus on the people milling around the elevator. Her eyes would flit through every person, and then the ceiling, and most importantly, she refused to let her mind stray to Han Joon Hwi, despite the curiosity eating her from the inside out.

The elevator was next to empty when she reached her floor, and she picked up her pace as she marched out of the elevator before he could. Sol kept her gaze trained ahead, but her body was feeling for the presence of someone else marching behind her.

Somehow, he managed to get ahead, probably with those stupidly long legs of his. His hand jutted out to open the door to the meeting room, and he paused, turning slightly towards her.

"Ladies first," he said, his expression almost neutral. If it wasn't for the slight crinkle near his eyes as he smiled, she would have taken the gesture as genuine and not intended to mock her. The gesture morphed from chivalry to a taunt that he knew something she didn't.

"Thank you, Attorney Han," she shot him a tight smile, before marching her way towards her teammates.

Ye-seul, her best friend and fellow lawyer, caught Sol's gaze and patted to the seat next to her and finally, Sol sank down into her chair, letting out a final sigh of relief.

"You're only a couple minutes late, the director isn't here yet," she said, taking a sip from her hot coffee. Ye-seul narrowed her eyes at her, and then looked up at Joon Hwi, before looking back down at her.

"Oh thank god," Sol, opened up her briefcase, getting out one of her legal pads and a pen incase she needed to take notes, as she expertly avoided her best friend's questioning gaze. The silence between them stretched, as Sol tapped her pen against the paper impatiently and Ye-seul let her gaze bore into her.

"Why was Han Joon–"

"Good morning," the baritone voice of Director Yang boomed across the meeting room, his voice loud despite the lack of a microphone. "Let's go through this meeting smoothly, as it is a very important day for both Kang Toy Co and Seo Media. Today, we have gathered to announce a collaboration for a toy line between both companies."

Applause filled the room as the director paused, looking at each team assembled in the room. Oh. So that's why Han Joon Hwi is here.

"As such, we will be needing our talented lawyer teams from both companies to help draw the legal terms and details between the two companies, as well as negotiate the terms for the toy line itself. This is an exciting time for both companies and we hope that this partnership is fruitful for both parties. Now, I will be announcing the teams and their assignments for this coming quarter and in preparation for the toy line itself," he paused, flipping through the notes he held at the center of the room.

"I'm proud to announce that Attorney Kang Sol and Team One from Kang Toys will be working with Attorney Han Joon Hwi and Team One from Seo Media." Sol's eyes shot up to Joon hwi, both their eyes wide with surprise. "Your teams will be heading the terms of the collaboration as well as working closely with both CEOs for any legal issues that come up," Director Yang nodded to both parties, before continuing down his list.

Her eyes were still on his, her mouth close to gaping open before she quickly shut it and avoided his gaze. Out of all the people, it had to be her that was paired up with him.

Kang Sol A had bad luck, indeed, but she was starting to think it was more like a curse instead.

[jwillowwolf]

Magic and Miracles - Prologue

Tag List: @sandersidesbigbang @thomassanderssidesbigbang2021 @theimprobabledreamersworld

First Chapter > | Masterlist

This is a multi-chapter fic I've been working on for the last couple of months as a part of the 2021 Sanders Sides Big Bang. The original idea came from this post by @remy-please-come-back [thanks again for letting me use the idea 💜].

Summary: Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings. The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone. It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone. Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained. In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind. In the veins of all creatures, including humankind. For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.

For the longest time, Logan wanted to learn magic. So, when he was offered the chance to study it at a new magic school, he decided to follow his dreams. Along the way, however, he'll learn about so much more.

Warning/s: food mention.

Characters: Logan, Emile, Remy, OCs.

Read on AO3

0 | The Underdog's Debut

Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings.

The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone.

It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone.

Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained.

In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind.

In the veins of all creatures, including humankind.

For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.

Perhaps this was why people found it so intriguing from such a young age. They wanted answers to what magic was, and while they didn’t find what they sought, they did learn how it could be used to their advantage. Spells were created to do anything that their caster’s heart desired. From creating a small orb of light for reading in the night to manipulating a tidal wave that could crash down on your enemies.

Magic was something not easily understood, which was one reason why the Council of Wizards evaluated all potential magic users. They wanted to gage that these young mages could safely use the power they were wielding. If not, then they needed to be properly dealt with before things got out of hand.

This was a good thing, but also not because to learn magic safely you would need someone else to teach you first-hand.

Now that doesn’t seem like much of an obstacle, except the only established wizards were of the nobility, and therefore only worked with nobility. The system was pretty much rigged to make it hopeless for average people to learn and use magic. Or it was until our protagonist came along.

He rose from poverty to royalty, became a hero among heroes, and faced off against one of the greatest threats to humankind that ever existed! But I’m getting ahead of myself -sorry- let's start from the beginning, shall we?

Oh, but where to begin? Ah! We’ll start from his first test with the Council of Wizards when he was only a young lad of 15. It was the beginning of spring, which is when the COW always held the learner’s test. This test evaluated your magical potential and gave the council a heads up on how many new mages there were. Yes, COW, don’t ask me why they went with that acronym.

The ceremony was being held in the grand hall of the palace, and it was open for anyone from the Srednas Kingdom to come and watch. The test itself was rather simple but the festivities that came with it made things feel like a special holiday. Nobility and common folk alike were gathered to watch and see what new wizards would be taking on learning magic. There was even a small market of sorts set outside the palace to take advantage of the crowds and sell foods, drinks, and commemorative merchandise.

Inside, people were everywhere, talking excitedly to one another and trying to find good places to view the proceedings. At the end of the room, there was a dais with two thrones where King Thomas and his husband, Prince Consort Nico, sat to watch. In front of the dais were nine chairs for the COW members, who talked with the royals and amongst themselves. Even they seemed eager for what was about to happen, and yet no one knew truly how monumental today was going to be.

The event had begun the same as any other year. Noble children from across the land showed off whatever three spells they’d learnt for the test. Most were common tricks like lighting candles or making plants grow. A handful showed off with advanced versions of these spells, such as holding the flames in their hands or making entire trees grow. Still, regardless of how many times these spells were cast, the crowd watched in awe with each new user who passed their test.

And then a young man in a simple navy tunic and black trousers stepped forward. He looked to be in his mid-teens, the same as most of the young mages and walked with an air of subtle confidence. He had a slender form and soft features that pronounced his youthful appearance. His hair was raven black, swept neatly to the side, and his eyes were such a dark brown that they seemed almost black.

“Please state your name and title.” Silvia, the eldest council member, said.

“My name is Logan Picani.”

“Title?”

“I don’t have any.”

Silence fell over the hall. “Pardon?”

“I don’t have any titles.”

“How do you not have any titles?”

“I’m not a noble.”

Some people audibly gasped and began whispering conspiratorially to one another.

“Young man, you do understand what this test is, correct?” Allen, another council member, asked with a thinly veiled look of disgust.

“Yes sir, I do. I also know for a fact that there are no rules against my taking the test because of being a commoner.”

Allen frowned and opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Silvia. “I suppose not. Well then, let’s see what you can do.”

Logan took a deep breath and then held up his hand, “Ignyght.”

The tip of his little finger began to glow with golden light. The crowd watched on in silence as he carefully moved his hand to draw the necessary rune with the trail of light that flowed from his finger.

Once the rune was complete, he spoke again. “Solhart.”

The rune turned stark white and then disappeared. For a moment nothing happened, then a small white orb appeared where the rune had previously been floating. This earned a few excited claps from the crowd and an approving nod from two council members. But Logan didn’t stop there.

“Groh.” This time the light from his fingers was bright green. He made a different rune then repeated the sealing word, “Solhart.”

The orb multiplied until nearly fifty of them were floating in a cluster before Logan.

“Stahwynd.” A deep blue light flowed from Logan’s finger as he drew the final rune. “Solhart.”

The orbs burst apart from one another like birds flying off a tree in fear. Some people from the crowd shouted in shock as the balls of light zoomed off in all different directions until finally, they stopped. Now they were floating all around the room above the spectators who gasped as they realized what Logan had done. The hall’s ceiling was pitch black, so the lights looked like stars in the night sky. It was a breath-taking sight that inspired many to cheer and clap for the young mage.

“Alright, please settle down,” Silvia called over the noise before looking at Logan with a thoughtful expression. “Where did you learn this?”

“I taught myself.”

Silvia nodded then turned to talk with her fellow council members in hushed tones. Allen and two others seemed upset, while the rest of the council were neutral if not mildly impressed. After a few minutes, she looked back at Logan with a soft smile.

“Mr Picani, you are officially granted your learner’s license. I hope when we see you again in a few months time, you will once more surprise us all.”

The crowd cheered and Logan nodded before walking away with a look of pride. As he made his way through the crowd, he received congratulations from many strangers. And then he was tackled to the ground by an enthusiastic brown-haired girl.

“You did it! You did it! I knew you could do it!”

“Everleigh, my ribs.” Logan wheezed, causing the girl to release him.

“Oops, sorry. My bad. Is your chest okay?”

“It’s fine.” Both youths got up with smiles on their faces. “I did it.”

“Yep. In a couple of months, you’re going to be an official grand wizard.”

“Considering I just got my learners, I don’t think I’ll reach such a title that quickly.”

“You just created a night sky in the palace ballroom! I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

Logan smiled softly, “Come on, we should head back to the bakery to celebrate.”

Everleigh nodded in agreement and linked their arms so they could walk side by side. As they walked, Everleigh excitedly told Logan about how incredible it had looked from the crowd, and what kind of reactions the people around her had had.

Logan was uncharacteristically grinning by the time they’d reached the bakery. Walking inside only made his smile widen as the smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries filled his senses. It was after all the smell of home, so of course, it made him feel warm and welcomed. His father, Emile Picani, was standing by the counter helping an elderly customer when Logan and Everleigh walked in.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Oh, I should be the one thanking you, Mrs Goldstone. The brownie recipe you gave me has become a bestseller.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Have a nice day dear.”

“To you as well, ma’am. Oh, Logan, Everleigh, you’re back. And smiling,” Emile gasped, “did you get it?”

“He’s a wizard!” Everleigh dramatically announced.

“Not yet, I still need to finish the second test in a couple of months. I do have a learners’ license though.”

“Well, I think this calls for some celebratory tarts,” Emile said, ushering both youths into the back of the shop where the Picani’s sitting room/kitchen was located. “I’m proud of you logan. That hard work really paid off.”

“Speaking of hard work, you are going to take a break, right?” Everleigh asked.

Logan looked away from her sheepishly. “Well…”

“Come on, Lo. You’ve been working hard non-stop for months.”

“Yeah, kid, you work with me in the bakery all day, then study well into the night. And don’t think I haven’t seen you pull an all-nighter here and there.” Emile chastised.

It was true that Logan had worked long hard to get to where he was. it wasn’t exactly a simple task when books on magic were hard to find, and what knowledge they had was even harder to grasp. Figuring out pronunciation for the initiation/sealing words and learning to keep his hand steady as he drew the runes.

It had taken him many long nights of studying by candlelight to figure out the spells he’d performed. But with Everleigh’s library apprenticeship and his own persistent nature, he’d managed to learn a good deal about the basics. And now it was paying off. He officially had a learner’s license and would get a chance to become a genuine wizard.

Then he could use magic to help so many of the villagers who couldn’t afford the high-priced assistance of other magicians. Medicinal potions? Enchanted prosthetics? Transition spells? He would be able to give all this and more at prices his peers could afford.

Logan knew that what he was doing seemed near impossible, but he was going to do it or die trying! …okay, so maybe Emile and Everleigh were valid in their concern for his health, but this was his best and only way to study magic.

Before Logan could argue this, however, a stranger walked into the bakery. He was tall and slender, with a bronze tan and confident bearing. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a clean white tunic, black trousers, and dark brown riding boots. His short curly hair was the same dark brown shade as the boots, and his eyes were hidden by black tinted glasses.

“New customer, how do you how do?”

The stranger smiled. “Hey there, gorgeous. Sorry but I’m not a customer today. Is this where Logan Picani lives?”

“Yes, that’s my son.”

“Son? No offence honey but you look too young and handsome to be a dad.”

“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” Logan asked, taking over the conversation for his blushing father.

“Ah, yeah, I’m here to offer you a very special opportunity on behalf of the crown prince.”

Logan and Emile gaped. “The crown prince?”

The stranger nodded. “My name is Remy Animosni, and on behalf of his highness, I’m here to extend an exclusive invitation to the Srednas Magic School.”

Logan frowned. “I wasn’t aware that there was a magic school here in Srednas.”

“Well, that’s because there wasn’t, not until now anyway. It’s something that the prince arranged to start this year with a few students to show how good it could be to the council. You particularly caught his interest today with your starry spellcasting, hence the personal invite. You would learn alongside six other students under me about everything there is to know concerning magic, from the full basics of spells to how you can modify your own enchantments.”

“That sounds incredible,” Emile said.

Remy nodded. “Yep, and not only that but you will be given your own room at the school and anything you may need or want during your stay will be provided by us, free of charge. The location of the school is just an hour out of town, so you could visit home on weekends if you desired. So how about it, kid?”

Logan was gobsmacked. The crown prince had not only seen him but was impressed enough to send an invitation to learn magic at a special new magic school.

“Wait, what do I have to do for the prince in return?”

“Absolutely nothing. The offer is completely free of any fees or deceptive dealings. I promise. The prince even sent this with me to make sure you could have physical proof if so desired.” Remy stated, producing a scroll from inside his jacket.

Emile and Logan both looked over the document and found no problems. It was a straightforward invitation for Logan to study magic at the prince’s new school, with promises to provide anything he could need while he was living at said school, and nothing more. The father and son shared a thoughtful glance. It was definitely an opportunity.

Emile smiled. “Do it.”

“Really? You think I should accept?”

“A chance like this only comes around once, and I can always hire someone if I need the help. Follow your dreams kiddo.” Emile said with an encouraging smile.

Logan bit his lip as he considered things. He really hadn’t thought today could get any better, then this happened. He was worried about leaving his dad, but Emile had told him to take this chance. And he was right about this being a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides, Remy had said he could still visit the town on the weekends…

“Okay. I accept.”

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask. [Also, here's a link to chapter 1]

I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 3.6k 

Masterlist link here

AO3 Link here

Genre / Pairing: Romance, Akaashi / Reader

Summary: 

Loosely based on the anime filme ‘Your Name’, also known as Kimi No Nawa.

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her songs to the gods in the wind.

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

Pro tip: Italics denote scenes in Akaashi’s dreams / past.  

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

He is seventeen again. 

Practice is hard especially with his new captaincy, with first years to train and a mountain of paperwork to clear, but even as each jolt of the train home settles exhaustion further into his bones, he’s more concerned at the sustained silence from her. His phone is empty of her text messages - no funny stories, no silly jokes, no pictures of sun drenched flower fields - but he tells himself she’s fine, she’s probably occupied herself with something vaguely illegal that she’ll tell him later about and laugh away his disapproval.

He’s in the middle of dinner when his father turns on the television to watch the news. It’s just background noise, newscasters droning on about which dignitary is visiting Tokyo this week, how the stock markets are doing, when monsoon storms are forecasted to sweep across Japan, but his interest is piqued when the newscasters mention ‘the tragedy of latchkey kids - the death of a schoolgirl in a rural Hokkaido town’.

It can’t be, he thinks, swiveling around in his seat to stare at the screen. It can’t be, he thinks, in frozen shock, as the screen shows a familiar wooden house in flames, broadcast live on national TV. 

‘The police are investigating this tragedy as an unsolved murder -’

(It can) 

‘The victim was seventeen years old -’

(It is) 

‘Calling for any witnesses to step forward -’

(She’s dead) 

‘Keiji, what wrong?’ he faintly hears his mother ask, and he looks down. His chopsticks lie slack in his hand, the other hand clenched and trembling so hard he’s knocked his bowl over, rice spilling onto the dinner table. 

‘Sorry - I don’t feel so good’, he mutters, stumbling his way into the bathroom, his stomach retching at the horror tearing down his throat like acid. Even as he clutches the cold porcelain with shaking hands to empty his stomach of its contents, his gut burns from the realization that she’s gone - there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Wait a minute. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sprinting to his bedroom to snatch up his omamori, before bursting out of the door, deaf to his parents’ worried shouts. He doesn’t stop running, doesn’t even stop to take a breath until he’s leapt up all twenty six steps to the shrine where he first prayed to the gods to grant his wish for more time, a wish binding their souls together in a fated knot. 

(Except that’s not true anymore, because she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead - unless he can use their bind to twist fate and bring her back from the dead)

His hands are numb when he claps them together, his head spinning as he bows, fingers barely able to grasp as he scrawls another prayer on the ema, hanging the wooden plaque on the wishing tree. 

‘You’ve already upended my life by tangling it up with hers. Please - please  grant my wish and I’ll give up anything, including what’s dearest to me’, he silently pleads, closing his eyes in prayer. 

But the gods stay silent. The shrine remains still.

The shrine attendant chases him out when it’s closing time, and he fends off his parents’ concerned looks by feeding them a lie about forgetting to help one of his teammates with homework, shutting himself in the room.

But the problem is he can’t seem to fall asleep, not when the image of a white sheet draped over her cold body is branded into the back of his eyelids. Not when he can still hear the echo of her laughter as she teases him about his old fashioned book recommendations that she still ends up reading curled up under a tree. Not when his soul has traced the constellation on her back, the crescent dimple in her right cheek -

Damn it all - he needs to fall asleep to have any chance of waking up in her body in her yesterday or is it her today - he’s not sure, doesn’t dare look at the clock for fear of chasing sleep further away, why can’t he fall asleep - he’s done this countless times before, waking up in her body in her yesterday while she wakes up in his today which resets when he then wakes up in his own body tomorrow - 

Time flutters through his fingers like fallen petals scattering in the wind and he can tell from the growing sliver of light through his curtains that it’s almost daybreak - so he stumbles desperately into the bathroom to break into his mother’s medicine cabinet, swallowing twice the recommended dosage. It’s dangerous he knows, but he can’t bring himself to even think twice about it. 

A prayer is still on his lips when his eyes finally drift shut and sleep finally overtakes him. 

 He cracks his eyes open. 

Ah, he’s in her living room. She must have just reached home from school because the irori only emits thin ribbons of smoke, flames licking the kindling in the heath. But that doesn’t explain why he’s lying face down in the dust - 

Then a dull pain hits him. Copper pools in his mouth. Hot liquid drips down his forehead. 

He curses the gods for their sick sense of humour.

‘What are you doing here, Keiji?’ he hears her whimper. ‘You aren’t supposed to be here, he’s going to end up killing us both.’

‘Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. Tell me what happened’, he answers, trying his best to inject a commanding tone to cover up the fear seeping into his words. 

‘Hana-chan must have told her father I managed to get records of whatever awful shit he’s been doing to her, because he was waiting for me when I came home from school. I refused to give the recordings to him and tried to bite his hand and I guess he lost his temper…’

‘We need to have a conversation about your lack of self-preservation when we get out of this mess’ he points out, terror building up in his throat when he’s suddenly aware of the way his arms are twisted behind his back, cloth rope binding his wrists together in place. But before he can even try to struggle against the binds, he’s pinned in place by a knee on his back.  

‘Awake already, little girl? I would’ve thought you would stay asleep a little longer considering how much you bleed from a silly little smack on the head.’ Nakamura chuckles, threading his cold fingers into his hair, and with a swift flick of his wrist, slams his face back against the floor. 

Crack. 

Akaashi gasps for air, dazed at the pain that blooms across his face. 

‘You’re not as pretty as my little Hana-chan, but it would be a pity to smash your face in. So are you going to tell me where you’ve hidden your dirty little recordings, little thief?’ Nakamura coos, and Akaashi can feel the hair at the back of his neck rise in alarm. 

‘Don’t give in to him’, she shrieks, her panic echoing in his mind. But Akaashi’s in the driver’s seat this time, and he’ll be damned if he lets her die on his watch - not when he already knows the pain of losing her once before.   

Think, Akaashi. You have a brain, think!

‘It’s on my phone in my bedroom’, he mumbles thickly, keeping his voice weak. ‘You can go get it yourself.’ 

Nakamura relinquishes his grasp on his hair, brushing the dirt from his pants onto him. ‘I’m glad you have some sense at least, little lady. But if I find you’ve been wasting my time, I’ll make sure no one even recognises your face by the time I’m done with you’. 

Akaashi waits for his footsteps to fade.

Then he rolls his body across the flow, tipping himself straight into the irori. This probably ranks as one of the most reckless things he’s ever done in his entire life, but it’s not as if he has many options with both his hands and feet bound. It’s also possible he’s been infected by her particular strain of insanity. It’s the only way he can think of to break loose from his bonds, using the flames to singe through the rope binds, but it hurts to place naked flame directly on bare flesh, blisters forming and popping and he bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds because oh gods it hurts, it hurts, it hurts – 

Thank the gods it works, he’s able to wriggle free - not a moment too soon because he can hear the door to her bedroom crash open. Between the daze from the concussion and blood loss, he’s not going to be able to outrun Nakamura to get to safety, especially not when he’s in her body, what the hell is he going to do – 

‘Store room’, he hears her gasp. 

He grits his teeth as he crawls out of the heath, mentally calculating the distance to the back of the kitchen, divided by the blistering pain in his hands and feet. 

’Move, Keiji!’ She shrieks, the thud of heavy footfalls resounding through the house ominously. 

Adrenaline and terror floods his blood. It’s barely enough to fuel his sprint to the storeroom. He doesn’t dare to look back when Nakamura snarls - ‘what the fuck are you doing, you piece of shit’, only stops to breathe when the lock clicks in place. But he doesn’t get a moment’s reprieve, the door shuddering with the weight of a deranged man’s rage. 

‘It would be easy for me to burn the house down with you in it. No one would question any foul play if a wooden house goes up in flames. Or would you prefer it if I wait for little Toya-chan to get home and bash his little head in? It’s your choice, bitch.’ 

‘What should we do?’ he asks her desperately. 

‘You’re going to think I’m crazy... ’ 

‘Let’s not waste time on foregone conclusions, thanks.’

‘Right. Remember how I told you fire is life?’

 It’s a testament to how well he knows her that he knows exactly what she means. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ He breathes, horrified. 

‘Do you have any other ideas?’ she retorts.

But she’s right, they’re essentially stranded on a flaming shipwreck, there’s nowhere else for them to run. Cursing the gods over and over again for their twisted sense of humour, Akaashi scrabbles around the store room, grabbing the ingredients to light this powder keg of an escape plan. 

‘Ready?’ 

‘Ready when you are.’ 

‘Okay’ he says, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to keep his anxiety at bay. ‘Okay’ he repeats, loud enough for Nakamura to hear him through the door. ‘I’ll unlock the door if you leave Toya alone’. 

‘Smart girl.’ He can hear the menacing chill in the older man’s voice, but there’s no time to second guess his decision as he unlocks the door. He lets Nakamura make the first move, lets him yank the door open, and with the benefit of years of setting experience (thank you, Bokuto-san), he flicks his wrist to send a perfect arc of an entire bottle’s worth of liquid petrol splattering against Nakamura’s front. 

‘Stand back or I’ll set you on fire’ he threatens, holding her ridiculous pink lighter like a weapon as Nakamura splutters in shock. 

But the man only shakes off his surprise with a menacing laugh, slowly straightening into his full height, leaning against the door. ‘You don’t have it in you, little girl, you’re just like my Hana-chan. She used to put up a fight, always trying to scratch my eyes out but now she’s learnt that little girls should be good and docile - ‘

He can feel the brewing firestorm of rage from her. It’s not unwarranted, not when he’s seen through her eyes the abuse Hana’s suffered at his hands and in a spurt of impulsivity that shocks even himself, he surges forward to grab the man’s shirt, the naked flame from the lighter mere millimeters away from his face. ‘How dare you, disgusting pig - she’s your flesh and blood’, he spits.

Nakamura grins, deranged. ‘Exactly. She’s mine to use, and you’re going to regret ever trying to get in my way.’ He slams his head against Akaashi’s already broken nose (or rather - her nose) and  - oh gods pain bursts across his face and he trips, falling onto his back. Nakamura doesn’t waste any time, climbing on top of him, fingers digging into his throat. 

‘Let go of me’, he rasps, his vision starting to blur. Nakamura only tightens his grip, nails digging into the tender flesh of his neck.

But even with air being choked out of his lungs, her refrain ‘fire is life’ smolders in his mind. The gods must feel some pity for him today because Nakamura is so intent on going for his throat that he’s left his hands unchecked, so he closes his eyes in prayer and desperation, twisting his face as far away from his target as possible and presses his thumb on the lever on her lighter -

Everything goes up in flames. 

Nakamura screams, stumbling away, and the sound should spark a sense of cruel satisfaction if blinding pain exploding in his face weren’t a more immediate concern. There’s fire everywhere, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts -  but he already knows what hell feels like, this is nothing compared to the nightmare of her dying, so he gathers the last of his strength to fight against the ash suffocating the oxygen from his lungs, stumbles out of the backdoor to drop and roll in the mud until the flames on his clothes recede. 

He’s alive. She’ll survive. 

But it's at a high cost - the white hot pain of blistering burns all over his - well, her body slamming into him like a freight train when adrenaline recedes. Gasping in pain, he welcomes the gathering darkness at the edges of his vision. He tries not to think of the survival rate of burn victims, nor the risk of infection should medical treatment not be administered soon enough - this is as far as he can possibly go. He lies on his back, completely depleted. 

The grass rustles. The wind blows. 

Toya stands over him, eyes wide. ‘Nee-chan, what’s going on?’

Oh. Thank the gods. 

‘Toya. You have to run and get help, ok?’ he manages to rasp before darkness finally devours him, swallows him whole. 

He opens his eyes and finds himself back in the forest shrine. 

It takes him a split second to gather his bearings before he leaps to his feet, his lungs still burning from the taint of smoke, his mouth still acrid with the bitter taste of ash, and he doesn’t know if either of them are alive or heaven forbid - if he failed and she’s dead – 

‘Keiji, you idiot!’ He hears her shriek as he’s tackled from behind, crashing face first into the forest floor. 

He’ll thank the gods again and again for the rest of his life because -she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive - 

She throws herself into his lap, crying as she beats her fists against his chest. ‘You fool! You dummy! You scold me for being reckless, but what if you died when your soul was stuck in my body –‘  

‘You’re alive’, he breathes in disbelief, cupping her face in his shaking hands, letting the warmth from her cheeks bleed into his skin. 

She flushes, burying her head into the crook of his neck. ‘You’re not getting out of being scolded but yes, I think so’, she mumbles, her words muffled. 

 His heart grows cold. ‘What do you mean you think so?’ 

‘Where we are isn’t real - is it?’ 

She motions for him to be silent, to listen. There's the faint beeping of a hospital monitor, barely discernible over the whispering of leaves. ‘I think we’re in my mind for now. Or my consciousness, I’m not sure. I woke up to a bright light that beckoned me to follow it, but I saw you lying here and wanted to wait for you.’ 

Fear grips his heart, the spectre of black smoke and white sheets haunting him anew. ‘Don’t follow it’, he demands, latching on to her shoulders. ‘I’m not losing you again.’ 

‘I’m not going anywhere’, she promises with a smile, the sight quenching the fear in his heart. ‘I’m here, Keiji. I’m here. You said you wouldn’t let anything happen on your watch, remember?’ 

‘That was before you got yourself killed when I wasn’t looking’, he retorts dryly, though he’s unable to fully smother the smile blooming on his face.  

‘It wasn’t my fault!’ 

‘I told you not to get caught in the first place!’ 

‘Yeah - but you came for me nonetheless’, she says, eyes sparkling. ‘You came for me, like Perseus saving Andromeda from her shackles, snatching her from the very jaws of the sea monster.’

He chuckles, amused that she remembers the stories he tells her. ‘Nakamura was definitely uglier than a sea monster, so I’m sure that’s an accurate comparison. ’

‘Stupid!’ she laughs, raising her hand to playfully smack him again when he catches her hand in his. He steals a moment to marvel at the constellations in her eyes, wondering if the stars in the sky are jealous of her light. He wants to bask in the spotlight of her warmth and songs and laughter forever and oh gods -

He’s in love with her.

The realisation strikes him like a hammer blow to the chest. 

Has it already been a year that he’s spent mapping out the infinite breadth and depth of her soul? A year that he’s spent watching her wield her kindness like a sword and a shield. A year that fate has spent trying to smother her fearlessness to no avail - she still burns like an undying flame in the night sky. A year of unwritten poetry buried in spring flowers, stanzas of the wind echoing her songs to the gods. A year's worth of lessons in patience and exuberance and laughter, reminding him that life is a miracle to be treasured and not to be dismissed as a mere series of goals.

It is only now that he understands why his heart crumbled into dust, why his soul tore itself apart when he found out that she died -  because he loves her, this silly scrap of a girl.   

Her eyes widen as he tugs her forward to lean his forehead against hers. For once she’s at a loss for words. 

I love you  –  he wants to whisper against the rosebud of her lips, wants to shout it loud enough for the whole forest – nay, for every speck of stardust in the galaxy to hear. His mouth moves to form the words, but suddenly his tongue grows thick, his mouth goes dry. 

His heart stutters to a painful stop. 

He can’t remember her name anymore. 

He tries to say her name again, tries to spell out the syllables with his tongue but it’s no use, his mind remains stubbornly blank. It can’t be. He must have said her name a thousand times in this lifetime, recited each syllable like a sacred verse. 

How could he have forgotten her name?

‘What’s wrong?’ She pulls away, noticing the horror taut on his face. 

Beep. 

He looks down at his hands. Flesh and bone start to fade to dust.

‘Keiji’, she calls, and he can hear the Kodama in the trees echo his name. Keiji, they call. Keiji, she calls again. 

Beep. 

‘I’m starting to forget you’, he whispers, heart breaking anew as despair dawns in her eyes. 

‘No - ’ she cries, desperation in her voice, repeating his name again and again - Keiji, Keiji, Keiji and he wants to respond with her name, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t -. 

Beep. 

His memories of her are golden hued and bathed in starlight, but slowly they all wash away into shades of grey. He tries his best to grasp onto them, but it’s  hopeless -like trying to capture the sea with his bare hands. 

Beep. 

He thinks of her, dancing in grassy meadows, with moonbeams as her lone light. 

Beep. 

He thinks of her, singing to the gods in the shadow of the forest shrine. 

Beep. 

He thinks of her, brimming with laughter and joy and kindness and love - and gods - 

Beep. 

How is it even be possible to forget the birdsong in her laughter, the blossoms in her cheeks - 

Beep. 

‘Keiji! ’ She reaches desperately for him, tears spilling from her eyes.

Beep. 

 His time runs out. His soul starts to fade into the night.

Beep. 

Her eyes shine bright, the constellations liquid silver in her eyes. 

‘I’ll find you, Akaashi Keiji - even if it takes me a hundred lifetimes, even if I have to wait a thousand years. So you better be ready for me when I find you, because - because I love you -  I love you, you fool.’ 

Beep. 

It’s the last memory he forgets of her, her vow losing its light in the darkness of his mind. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

He wakes up with a gasp. 

He is twenty five again, lying on the forest floor with a halo of fireflies dancing above his head.

It’s been almost a whole decade since he was seventeen but finally - he remembers her. 

Taglist

@animeflower26​ @forgetou​ @kageyamakock​ @underrated-fruit-tarts-official​ @bongofrito​

[2manyfandoms2count]

I love you (not) - Chapter 6

Aaaand we're back on the main fic! I am very proud to announce that I managed to fit an AU in here without it being weird (I think). It was really fun to write! Feel free to ask me more about that universe if you feel like it :) Hope you enjoy!

@marichatmay

First | Previous | AO3 | Next

---

Chapter 6: In which we change worlds but it makes sense, I promise

“Princess!”

Marinette stirred in her sleep as she heard the call and the distinct sound of curtains opening. She felt the morning’s soft light warm her face and sighed contently.

“Princess Marinette, you need to wake up! Today’s the day!” The feminine voice called again, closer, this time.

Her eyes flew open and she sat up, feeling her heartbeat quicken with excitement.

“Oh Tikki, you won’t believe how well I slept!” She jumped out of her canopy bed, her white nightdress flowing in her wake as she rushed towards her handmaiden, who stared out of the window. “I really thought I wouldn’t sleep a wink, but really, the herbal tea you gave me worked wonders!"

“I’m glad to hear it! It worked well on Chat Noir, too, apparently. I ran into Plagg, his squire, in the kitchen earlier.”

“Good,” Marinette sighed with relief.

“Come on, now, we need to get you ready!” Tikki took her hand and led her to her dressing table. “How are you feeling about your engagement day?” She asked as she started brushing the princess’ hair.

“Very good. I’m very happy about the outcome of yesterday’s rounds - I know I’m not supposed to have favourites within the contestants but…” Marinette paused, hesitating to say anymore. It wasn’t a matter of trust (she’d known Tikki long enough that the two had become close friends, despite the rank difference); she was just unwilling to criticise the way things were too soon.

“You have every right to be, your Highness. The Joust of Valour explores your suitors’ ability to protect you, but there’s more to marriage than just that. It’s good that you feel comfortable with the two final contestants.” Her handmaiden smiled warmly, starting to braid her hair. “If I may, does your Highness have a soft spot for one contestant in particular? I could pass the message to the relevant people, maybe it would give him some extra luck for today…”

“I don’t, Tikki,” the young lady said firmly. It wasn’t a lie; she’d asked herself who she’d rather see emerge victorious of the tournament as she fell asleep the previous night, but she hadn’t reached a solid conclusion. It was better this way, really. Whatever the outcome, she wouldn’t be disappointed. “Anyway, you said Chat Noir was doing well?...”

Tikki repressed a smile, and told her what she knew.

---

Marinette proudly walked up to her place in the stands, her arm linked to her father’s.

For once, she would be the one sitting front and center of the Royal Balcony, relegating her parents, the King and Queen of the Croissant Kingdom, to the back of the stall with their guest. Neither King Tom or Queen Sabine seemed to mind, though; both were beaming as they waved to the crowd that had travelled for the event. Their cheers lifted the princess’ spirits so much that even the stern figure of King Gabriel of the Butterfly Kingdom failed to make her mood waver. Maybe this was what growing up felt like.

“Mesdames et Messieurs!” The voice of the announcer boomed over the ambient noise. “Welcome to the final round of the Joust of Valour! The joust will soon commence. Sparring for the heart of our beloved Princess Marinette, having victoriously arisen from all their duels, are Prince Adrien from the Butterfly Kingdom, and our local Knight Chat Noir!”

The crowd roared as the two men came forward, leading their horses.

Prince Adrien’s silver armour glistened in the sunlight, and so did his smile as his gaze met hers. Her heart skipped a beat. Her crush on him, which she’d developed during one of their first encounters as children, really hadn’t faded much over the years, despite what her friend, the Duchess Alya, had told her.

On the other hand, Chat Noir’s appearance was a lot starker. His whole armour was black, matte, the whole hint of colour being his forest green spear. There was something radiant about him, though, in the way his tousled blond hair danced in the breeze, in the way his green eyes sparkled with laughter and mischief as he approached the stands, that drew her to him. He’d been at her side for years, valiantly working with her when she’d been taken hostage by one of the Papillon’s sbires. They’d brilliantly defeated him, earning him his knighthood at the age of only fifteen, and a place in her personal guard. Despite her father’s warnings that Marinette shouldn’t meddle with the Papillon’s affairs, Chat Noir still managed to get her involved. They were a team.

“I hope I’ll be up to the challenge, dearest Marinette,” Adrien squeezed the hand she presented to him; she squeezed it back and smiled as she watched him head towards his noble steed.

“My Lady Princess,” Chat Noir bowed reverently before her, “please accept this rose as a token of my affection.” He pulled a pink rose out of seemingly thin air and presented it to her. The crowd gasped delightedly. Then, delicately taking her hand, he pressed a kiss to the back of it with a wink; Marinette felt herself blush.

“Thank you, Chat Noir,” she barely managed to enunciate.

He bowed again, and went to ready himself.

Marinette looked at the rose, and noticed there was a piece of paper wrapped around the stem, maintained by a thorn. She made the most of everybody’s attention on the contestants to unravel it.

My dearest Lady Princess,

I’m sorry.

Love you always, CN

“Princess Marinette will now announce the beginning of the joust!” The announcer declared, startling her as she tried to understand what Chat Noir had meant by his message. She rapidly shoved it in her pocket and stood up uneasily, hoping all the eyes trained on her wouldn’t detect her fluster.

“Best of luck, gentlemen! May the best man win!”

The two horses set off towards each other, spurred on by their riders. The contestants’ spears crashed against each other’s shield, unsettling them a little. Both knights trotted to the end of the track and prepared to set off again.

The crowd oohed and aahed during the next rounds, both men barely wavering at the other’s assaults. Marinette held her breath each time, anxiously awaiting the outcome, only to let out a relieved sigh when neither fell.

Then, as the two men were about to set off again for the thirteenth time, Marinette saw Chat Noir’s helmet turn briefly towards her, and she felt her stomach drop. She didn’t need to see his face to know what was about to happen. The rose slipped out from her fingers as she realised what the note had meant.

As the knight and the prince came up to each other at full speed, Prince Adrien’s jousting spear collided violently with Chat Noir’s chest, and the latter fell to the ground with a deafening clank .

The crowd erupted in clamour as Adrien started to tour the track at a low trot, a victorious smile on his lips. Finally reaching the royal stand, he elegantly jumped off and extended a hand towards her.

“I’m truly honoured to be your future husband, your Royal Highness.”

He kissed her hand before guiding her out of the stand and helped her up to ride his horse with him. She smiled the whole time, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Those were looking for Chat Noir.

---

In the middle of the boisterous banquet, Marinette felt like she couldn’t breathe anymore. She had to get out of the hall, before her plastered smile broke, and she exposed her true feelings.

She excused herself, reassuring Prince Adrien that it must have been her prolonged time in the sun and her unusual mead consumption, and made her way to her quarters.

There, she rapidly grabbed a cloak from her trunk and sneaked out, head hung low until she’d exited the castle’s gates.

She started running. Her legs carried her as her mind raced, as her tear-ducts gave way to her tears.

She hadn’t thought the joust’s outcome would mean so much to her. She thought she’d be happy, whatever happened on the track. But as much as she’d dreamed of this match… It just didn’t feel right.

She tripped and fell to her knees, out of breath, and recognised her surroundings. The clearing had been where Chat and her had been taken hostage, and where Chat took her to practise fencing when he knew no one was looking.

A rustling sound startled her and she put her hands up defensively, although she didn’t feel like getting up.

“Hi, Princess,” Chat Noir emerged from the trees, carrying a bag. “I couldn’t find you in your room, but I figured you’d be here.”

“You had no right to sacrifice yourself like that,” she sobbed, her hands dropping to her knees.

“You know you’ll be much happier with Prince Adrien, Princess.” He smiled sadly. “You two are meant to be - you’d already be betrothed to him, were it not for the Kingdom’s Joust of Valour.”

“You don’t know what would make me happier,” she angrily wiped the tears from her eyes.

“You know I’d do anything for you, my Marinette.” He rushed to her side and cupped her cheek.

“Then run away with me.” She looked straight into his eyes.

“Why?” He whispered, his face inching closer to hers.

“Because Prince Adrien might have my hand…” She started, her breath hitching as she computed their proximity. “... But you have my heart.” Her eyes fluttered shut as she closed the distance between them and…

BIP-BIP-BIP-BIP

Marinette woke up with a start as her alarm clock started blaring. Her heart raced in her chest at the already fleeting memory of her dream. She caught her disappointment at not having witnessed the outcome, and covered her face with her hands. She felt like she was burning up.

She was so confused. The dream had been so out of place. So unexpected. What did it mean? She didn’t love Chat Noir! And she definitely didn’t want to run away with him. How absurd.

She only had a week to hold out for, she thought as she got dressed. It wouldn’t come soon enough.

She didn't know if her heart would survive another trick of her brain.

[twokinkybeans]

Touch Me, Please [Starker Fic] Pt.3

Summary: Tony Stark has never told anyone that he’s still a virgin. He doesn’t want to sleep with people who only want him because of his outward persona. So instead, he hires an escort. Things get a little more heated than either of them had expected. Tags/Warnings: Escort!Peter, Virgin!Tony, nff, nsfw, sexual tension, teasing, Peter is 22, Tony is 53, oral sex, 69. Taglist: @starkerswonderland @staticwhispersinthedark @starkerprince @parkers-stark​ @bluestarker (let me know if you want to be added!)

Notes: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S BEEN 2 MONTHS SINCE I POSTED FOR THIS I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT Y'ALL!!! I come bearing good news though! This was supposed to have three parts, but the plot started living its own life and now we're definitely having a fourth part as well ehehehe. Hope y'all enjoy! -Kim

Read the fic here on AO3

Or click here to find the previous chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2

-

Peter knows he’s fucked. Absolutely, terribly, fucked.

And to be honest… Even that’s an understatement.

Peter clutches his coat tighter and fastens his pace. He’s snuck out of the enormous labyrinth that’s Tony’s home, and is now on his way to the bureau’s HQ. It’s still early in the morning, a little over 7 am, and Peter hopes to catch one of his managers before they start their meeting.

Peter made a grave mistake, and all he can do is spill it all out and pray that he can keep his job. He’s had unsafe sex with a customer. If there’s one thing that he should pay close attention to, it’s that. He never made a mistake like this before. However, with Tony, he completely threw his cool and composed sugar baby persona out the door; his mind lost to the wealthy man he only met last night. Tony may claim to be a virgin, which according to his eager yet sloppy techniques isn’t too hard to believe, but still. Peter shouldn’t have risked it.

He eyes the building in front of him and hesitates. He could just get a test done without his bosses knowing; play sick until he gets the results. But if they were to find out… He’d lose his job for sure. And contrary to popular belief, he’s not in the industry just for the money. He likes his career. 

In good faith, Peter steps forward and presses the doorbell.

-

Tony wakes up when a golden glow casts over his body. He smiles groggily. In his haze last night, he must’ve forgotten to close the curtains. He sighs and turns around, grabbing the sheets to tug them up a little higher. Slowly, the surroundings are getting to him. The distant sound of traffic rushing through the busy streets of NYC. The buzz of the elevator as it sweeps past his floor...

...and the complete lack of another human’s breath.

Tony swallows and his eyes flutter open. A harsh sting rips through his chest when he sees his bed is indeed empty.  “Peter?” He calls out, half-heartedly expecting an answer but not at all surprised when it stays dead silent.

-

It’s safe to say that the following days, Tony is in such a sour mood that his employees nearly cringe each time he walks across the room. He should’ve never hired an escort to have his first-ever sexual encounter with. The plan was destined to fail from the get-go, and it had. 

“Tony?”

Tony turns around to find Pepper standing in the doorway of his private office. Pepper has been his personal assistant for years now, and he is aware that he wouldn’t survive a single day without her skills in his company. She’s seen his worst more often than not - and she doesn’t deserve to be the one to take his anger - but Tony can’t help but glare. “What?” “Jeez, they were right. You’re a fucking asshole today.” Pepper says calmly and raises her eyebrows as she closes the door behind her. Tony can feel some of the tension fade from his posture and he casts his eyes down.

“What happened?” She proceeds to ask. Tony shrugs. How could he tell her? “I did something stupid.” “I figured as much.” The PA places a stack of files onto his desk and sits down in the chair opposite of him. “Personal troubles, or Stark Industries-related?” “Personal.” “Ah, good. That’s one less of a worry.”

Tony glares again, but this time it’s more playful. Pepper smirks. “Gotcha,” she hums, seemingly pleased with herself. “Now, tell me what happened.” “I can’t.” “I’m sure you can, it’s-” “It’s too embarrassing, Pep. Please, I gotta deal with this by myself.” Pepper raises her eyebrow at his words and leans onto the wooden surface.  “Then deal with it before you drag Stark Industries into whatever it is.” She shoves the stack of paper forward and smiles faintly. “After you deal with these, of course.”

“Of course.”

-

It’s late in the evening, and Tony swirls the whiskey around in his glass. He finished the work right before dinnertime and decided to take the rest of the night off.

Deal with it.

Tony snorts. How could he? Peter left. It’s plain and simple that the kid didn’t want to stay. His pretty, sweet words had been nothing but lies and deception, and Tony feels like a goddamn fool for falling for the act. Peter is an escort. Pleasing people, telling them what they want to hear, it’s his job. Tony can’t blame him. He only blames himself.

Yet, it doesn’t keep him from grabbing his phone and navigating towards the escort website. He sniffs once, finding his way to the catalog. It should be easy to find Peter. Right? Tony scrolls down the list and frowns when he hits the bottom of the page. Mmh. He scrolls back up and sits a little more upright when he can’t seem to find Peter’s picture. He taps the search bar and types in his name.

No results found.

In a wave of panic, Tony types out the bureau’s number to contact them and waits anxiously. He has no intention of bothering Peter ever again, but now that it seems he vanished, it makes him feel strangely panicked. As if every link he had to the boy is simply gone. As if nothing ever happened.

Except something did happen.

“Good evening, this is Eva. How may I help you?” “Uhmm- Hi. It’s Mr. Stark. I’m, eh, I’m looking to book Peter again? He was here last night?” “Oh, I’m terribly sorry to inform you, sir, but I’m afraid Peter is temporarily unavailable. I could put you on the waiting list for when he returns?” “Please.”

And like a stupid idiot, he disconnects straight after. He sniffs and lowers his phone. He wonders if he just made another mistake.

-

Peter sucks at his teeth, his foot restlessly tapping onto the floor. He looks at his scheduled bookings and stares at the one empty spot. There’s only one client left to call, but Peter doesn’t know if he should. After a long tirade, and thankfully, a negative STD test, he’s back in the game and good to go. But, if he couldn’t keep himself together last time… He’s not sure if it’d be professional to go back to Tony.

Sweet, innocent, handsome Tony.

“Hey,” Harley pokes his head past Peter’s shoulder and grins. “I see you’re free tonight. My pal Dave is throwing a party at the Frizzles. Wanna come?” Peter rolls his eyes at his coworker and grins. “And get Dave to hopelessly flirt with me again? No, thank you.” “Oh, come on!” Harley throws his hands into the air in desperation. “Dave is your type!” “He’s not,” Peter grumbles, nearly shuddering at the idea. “Good fella, but no, not for me. Y’know I’m into rich old classy dudes. Heck, so are you!” “Hey, no need to attack me.” Harley lowers his bum on the edge of Peter’s desk and cocks his head. “You barely ever have a night off. Don’t you wanna have some fun? I’ll try and keep Dave off your back.” “Well…” Peter sighs and stares back at the empty spot in his schedule.

“I actually have a client.” “What do you mean?” “It’s the last free spot, and I have one more client to secure a booking with me. I just…” Harley frowns, his face displaying a sudden seriousness. “Peter, did this client hurt you?” “What? No!” “Then why are you looking all gloomy at the mere thought of that one client? Is he- Did he force you to not use protection? Peter, we can have him blacklisted, and-” “It’s not at all like that, please Harls, I promise.” “Then tell me why the fuck you’re so strange about it. You’re never strange around clients. Fuck ‘em, get them hooked for more and tadaa, that’s a healthy clientele, it’s how you taught me.”

Peter groans out loud in frustration and shoves his chair back a little, trying to distance himself from the scribbled down phone number at his desk. “I like him!” “What?” “I… I like him. Dammit. He’s really fucking different than the rest of them. I’ve only slept with him once, but he’s got me hooked, not the other way around.” “Then why’d he call us again? Eva told me he sounded pretty nervous.”

Peter’s face loses all color when Harley’s words crash down on him, crumbling the reality he’d build around himself. “No, no Harley, don’t enable me on this one. It’s bad luck. I shouldn’t do it.” Peter scrunches his nose. “Tell Dave I’ll be at the party.”

Harley simply grins, his eyes glimmering mischievously as if there’s something only he knows and Peter doesn’t. “Sure thing.”

-

It’s been two weeks since the damned party. Peter doesn’t feel any better about himself. As expected, Dave had followed him around all evening. Harley, traitor he is, was nowhere to be found. In the end, Peter couldn’t take it anymore, and he straight up told Dave he wasn’t interested. Thank god the lad took it pretty well, but it doesn’t make Peter feel any less shitty about it.

Peter really should just focus on his job and put his mind away from both Dave and Tony. It’s for the best. He sighs and stares at the next appointment on his list. The name is hidden, a feature they have for clients who are high in on their privacy. Peter sighs and grabs his car keys to go to the appointment. 

-

Tony’s tapping his foot anxiously while he tries not to stare at the elevator. It’s needless to say he’s not doing a very good job at doing so. Peter’s going to be here again. Oh, God. Tony can’t shake the feeling that maybe he shouldn’t have accepted the booking when Peter’s coworker called him.