#i wonder if they question everything right before going into the void fluid

[ambassador-blip]

as the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind ill search without sleeping 'till peace i can find i fear not the weather, i fear not the sea i remember the fallen, do they think of me? when their bones in the ocean forever will be

[ilomilodailystuff]

If You Love Me || Sylki Fanfic

...really love me

Loki x Sylvie fanfiction

[LOKI FINALE SPOILERS]

dt @entertainmentforgods

(every mean comments about this ship will be deleted. If you don't like this ship, please just ignore.)

They did it, it was over. The impossible had come true.

Their heart beating wildly, the anguish of their uncertainty gradually fades as they understand the finality of it all.

Loki and Sylvie had joined forces to destroy the true mastermind of the TVA. The overpowered individual who pulled the strings behind the curtain.

The Goddess of Mischief dropped her bloodstained sword on the dark ground, making a loud metallic sound. He Who Remains had just gave his last breath.

Sylvie took a deep breath while staring at the inert body of the one who called himself The Conqueror. As Loki stood behind her, he watched her worriedly. She had just accomplished what she had fought for all her life. So many years feeding a justified anger towards one man, for it turned out that the Time Keepers were nothing but a sham. So many years of hiding, of surviving in the midst of so many apocalypses instead of just living fearlessly. Instead of living happily, instead of laughing, smiling, dancing, singing, enjoying the present moment, observing the universe and its many wonders without them being destroyed around her, loving and being loved in return... All of that was taken away from her, because The Ruler had decided to do so. Because only one man had made the decision to sacrifice her timeline and her family and those she loved. She had lost everything as a child, because a human had condemned her existence.

And now, the latter had just died. He had lived millions of lives, and the last had just ended, killed by the vengeful hand of an innocent orphan.

Slowly, Loki moved closer to her as he kept his eyes on her. Then when he was right behind her, he gently took her hand to try to get her out of her torpor. Her face turned to him as her gaze was drawn to the ground. She was still trying to regulate her breathing and realize the previous events.

"Come with me…" He half-murmurs, his blue eyes tinted with green watching his partner's reaction carefully, anxious to see her breaking down despite her strength to contain her emotions.

It was then that she nodded softly, still too absorbed by this decisive moment in her life. Sylvie turns to him with the intention of following him, no matter where he wanted to take her.

A few seconds later, both found themselves outside the entrance to the Citadel.

Loki went down the few steps, before sitting quietly on one of them. His teammate was not far away and she watched him get comfortable, while thousands of thoughts jostled in her mind. Curious, Loki brought his attention to her. When their eyes met, she began her steps to him to sit beside him on the step.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she sat down comfortably, her eyes fixed in front of her, finally noticing the awe-inspiring beauty of the sacred timeline they both would have admired sooner if it were in a less disastrous context. But now as they ran after time, it was as if it has just stopped.

The variants observed this painting before them, this masterpiece born from space and the end of the universe. For a moment, a pleasant silence rocked them in a surreal dream. Their eyes shine brightly, illuminated by the cosmos and time materialised in a perfectly fluid and sparkling line. But also, their intense feelings took over and tears had formed.

Hesitant but at the same time strangely confident, Loki turned to Sylvie, only able to imagine how she felt now.

"You're okay ?" He dares to ask softly.

Suffering of an internal conflict, Sylvie keeps her eyes wide open and try to look indifferent.

"I accomplished my mission, how do you think I feel ?" She replies naturally, almost on the defensive.

"Relieved ?"

"Yeah, among other things." She confirms with obviousness.

Amused by her slightly aggressive responses which, according to him, are what make her what she is, the god of mischief ends up stretching a tender smirk, realizing that this tone will never leave her no matter the situations in which they find themselves, as dramatic and catastrophic as they may be.

Innocently, Sylvie ends up looking at her partner.

"Why do you smile ?" She asks.

He smiles a little more.

"The real question is... why don’t you ?" Loki retorts, eyebrows raised.

The Enchantress raised her eyebrows in turn, that desperate, lonely look that makes her charm appearing on her face. What to answer to that? She had learned that Loki was insightful about her, but she wasn't used to being the center of attention that much.

"Why seek answers to trivial questions." She asks rhetorically as she looks away from him.

After a while, Loki also turned away, dissatisfied with her answer but still preferring to let go.

"So this is it..." He starts. "It's done."

"It's done." Sylvie asserts, nodding her head a little.

His eyes going here and there, Odin's son was asking himself lots of questions. Including one in particular.

"What do we do now ?" He wonders, seeming lost.

Sylvie took a deep breath again, ignoring like him the future of events.

"Should we go back to the TVA ?" Loki continues, bringing his gaze back to the one person he trusted.

"Why ?" She asks softly. "They don't need us anymore."

"But we don't have to hide." He responds with a comforting smile. "We are their allies."

"Is that what you want, to go back to the TVA ? But to do what ?" She asks again, looking into his eyes.

He thought for a moment, trying to unravel this enigmatic knot, stepping into the unknown.

"The Sacred Timeline is free" He said, emphasizing the first words in an exaggerated and caricatural way. "Maybe once we get there, we can look for another timeline where we can... fit in ?"

A silence took hold of them, leaving for only words the looks they exchanged.

Sylvie then ends up lowering her gaze in the direction of her own hands, revealing between her fingers the object that the Conqueror kept around his hand. The tempad.

"How about we take a break, until one of us finds a place to go ?" She offers softly, lost in thought as she doesn't take her eyes off the object.

"What, here ?" Loki asks, uncertain and surprised by her answer.

"Why not..?" She replies, her eyebrows raised, her mind being elsewhere. "When you've seen thousands of apocalypses, The Void isn't as bad as it seems."

Loki takes the time to consider this idea, thinking about everything else. The members of the TVA, the sacred timeline that has become completely independent, the very few people to which he is attached. They had just accomplished something huge, should they just ignore the multitudes of consequences their act caused ?

"It's over, Loki." Sylvie said, looking up at him.

Again, his gaze plunged deeply into her eyes

"We did what we had to do." She continues, looking serene.

"What if they still need us ?" He asks, referring to the TVA, specifically Mobius and hunter B-15, the only two people who believed in them and offered their precious help.

Sylvie watched the sacred timeline as it gradually divided, and she sighed.

"I am tired." She admits, ignoring Loki's question. "And you ?"

Loki admired the many timelines that continued to split, before taking a deep breath.

"Yes, me too..." He answers softly, releasing his breath, releasing the pressure he had been holding since his arrival at the TVA and which he hadn't known he had kept in him all this time until now.

However, he couldn't shake off his negative thoughts and all his apprehensions about the completion of their mission and the impact it will have on the trillions of people the universe can create. The god of mischief had, against all odds, developed a conscience and a moral code. Yes, they had delivered the world by giving it back its free will. But for some reason that he didn't quite understand, he began to doubt.

And buried into his torment, Sylvie brought a comforting hand to his.

Loki laid his eyes on this delicate hand, yet belonging to that of a warrior, his heart missing a beat at the gentle contact of the one he had become crazy about. In this moment of complexity, in this major turning point for the multiverse, he almost forgot his feelings. He almost forgot the way they looked at each other in the Citadel as they walked into the darkness. He almost forgot the moment she had gripped his hand in the Void, in front of Alioth, hoping to help him unleash his enchantment powers.

Suddenly caught up in his emotions, he looked up uncertainly in the direction of his partner. Then, she gave him a brief smile, but oh so genuine. The same smile she had given him on Lamentis, while everything around them was death and destruction. Apparently everything was written. But he decided to ignore this detail that the conqueror had shared with too much pride.

Still confused by these unusual feelings, Loki returned that affectionate and heartwarming smile. Only, looking into her expressive eyes - but in the greatest secret, a loving gaze- he realized that the very thing he wanted above all now was to never leave her again. To stay by her side, as long as possible, even forever, better than that : beyond death. His desires made him all the more nervous. He never thought he would be so consumed by his moods, let alone by a loving emotion that possesses him more and more after each day he spends in her company. Nevertheless he wanted to seize this desire and make it come true.

This time, it is the TVA that he forgets, it is the universe that he neglect, it is the time that he ignores.

It is his glorious purpose that he gave up, because he found a new one...

"Sylvie..." He said, drunk with love for her. "I..."

"No, Loki, wait." Sylvie interrupts him, being totally lost and frightened at the same time. "I have to tell you something..."

"Yes ?" He asks, innocent, patient, in love.

She looked at him intensely, trying to express herself. Something seemed to upset her. Loki was trying to read into her eyes, to read her face, when no word could break the barrier of her lips. Disturbed by this confession, it turned out that it was getting stuck between the walls of her throat.

So the Prince of Asgard frowned, intrigued by the torture she was inflicting on herself through this mysterious revelation.

"I..." She starts before her lips instantly seal.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for another attempt, as Loki's piercing, loving gaze dug into her pupils until it consumed her whole being.

When finally, in complete disarray, she ends up throwing herself at his neck.

Her lips crashed against his, tenderly, passionately but mostly timidly. Surprised but more than grateful for this proof of unexpected love, Loki was not long in returning her kiss with just as much fervor.

Sylvie had never been attached to anyone. She never wanted to be weak because of her feelings. She would never have dedicated herself to someone body and soul, for trusting and breaking down the imposing and solid walls she had built around her was inconceivable. And yet, faced with the many selfless acts of the one who had irrupted into her plan, she had found herself giving him importance. She hated knowing that she was only considering trusting him. She hated the fact that he could climb these walls she had locked herself between.

Worse yet, she was terrified to find herself reaching out to help him climb.

Eyes closed, they kissed each other with fragility, embarrassed to feel such intense emotions but oh how much they surrendered to them.

Sitting side by side, they relished this moment of sincerity and calm after all they had endured. The highlight of their journey. The completion of a battle for freedom, the same cause that the rightful king of Asgard fought against to make it inaccessible to the people of the earth. This cause that he finally chose to defend ; for him at the beginning, but for her on the way, and for the others at the end of their fight.

Slowly, they parted. Loki then dared to rest his forehead tenderly against hers. They kept their eyes closed, as if to immortalized this moment in their memories, for who knows what might happen to them tomorrow.

That's why he whispered these few words :

"You're right, I... I'm a little tired..." He admitted again hesitantly, unsettled by this moment of pure sincerity.

Keeping her forehead against his, Sylvie nodded gently, not daring to open her eyes to face the truth she still had trouble swallowing.

"Let's stay here..." Loki continues.

"Only for a little while." She continues nervously, muttering her desires like him, probably too afraid that someone will hear them or too embarrassed to admit she is weak in front of him, while he is weak in front of her.

"Yes, after all... If something goes wrong, they know where to find us, right ?" He responds with a raised eyebrow as he still kept his eyes closed, trying to reassure himself by making excuses to stay.

"Yeah, of course, nothing prevents Mobius from coming back here." She confirmed casually.

"Well, unless... Unless he had to prune himself." He said worriedly. "But it’s not as if we have no way to reach them !" He adds anyway, optimistic and trying not to feel guilty.

“Yes ! We have the--” She mimics his optimism, as she pulls away from his forehead to observe the object in her free hand.

"T-the tempad..." He confirms by muttering and nodding his head, bringing in turn his attention to the latter.

The taste of her lips was still too present on Loki's for him to think properly. However, he was trying.

Shyly, he finally looked at her again, a quiet smile displayed on his face.

Of course, Sylvie had noticed it. How to ignore him ? So, embarrassed, she gave him an uncertain look, having no idea how they should react now. After all, despite their thousand years of life, the variants had never really been devoted to feelings or romance that seemed more than superfluous and unnecessary at the time. Although they were aware of their emotions, repressed or not, knowing how to react to them was still an area to be explored.

The landscape around them gradually brought her back to reality. Then, looking worried, she turned her gaze to the entrance to the Citadel. She remembered the corpse of the He Who Remains, the one who had wiped out her timeline and certainly thousands more.

Loki frowned, noticing the change in expression on his partner's face.

"Are you sure you’re okay ?" He asks once more with patience.

Lost in thought, Sylvie continued to look at the place where everything had changed with a blank stare.

"No..." she sighs slowly.

The god of mischief was envious to possess the complicated mind of his variant for the sole purpose of finding the source of her ill-being. It would be enough for him to touch her to enchant her, now that he knows the secrets of enchantment. However, would he dare ? He hesitated for a fraction of a second, before totally rejecting the idea away from him. He was incapable of defying her trust, for he knew full well that he would risk a lot if he tried. Especially since he was still cruelly lacking in experience concerning enchantments.

"But when I wake up tomorrow knowing that the one responsible for all this horror is only a memory, then I could savor every second of my life." She asserts returning her attention to Loki as if nothing had happened, speaking with confidence and lightness.

Perplexed but somewhat reassured, he just nodded briefly, straining to accept her answer. However, something in him told him that she wasn't being entirely truthful.

"...Glorious purpose." He said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Mh..." She only answers, a quiet smirk nestling in the corner of her lips.

Calm eventually took over. Neither of them spoke, only watching the story of trillions of lives forming before their eyes in those many fluorescent lines.

"We're not leaving." He speaks up, his statement sounding more like a question mark.

"We're not leaving." She repeats with a little more conviction than him.

Slowly, he finally took a light breath, before sighing in contentment.

After an extremely difficult journey that could have cost them their lives, even though the Ruler had decided that they would be spared so that they could both achieve their goal, they were going to be able to rest, they were going to be able to breathe. Because even if the gods have more ability than humans to resist fatigue and pain, they could do nothing before the effervescence of their emotions. And as tough as they could be, they were tired, mentally and physically.

Thereupon, on this mutual agreement, the two variants had decided that it was time for them to rest for a while. They didn’t know what they were going to do. But they had decided to figure this out…

Together.

[sithsecrets]

celebration | din djarin x reader

mando makes it back from his hunt. you and him celebrate, just like you said you would.

---

2.3k words

mentions: fem!reader, graphic depictions of sex, piv sex, tiny bit of defining the relationship but we all know how emotionally guarded mando is, slight bit of violence, but it’s mostly off-scene and not directed towards reader of the child, SMUT like big time but i know that’s what you came for

this is part two of release! read that first if you like, but i’m sure you could enjoy this without all the context.

---

Mando leaves to find his quarry not five minutes after he lands the Crest, and then you don’t hear from him for three days. It’s his typical behavior, and so you think nothing of it, going about your business on the ship, playing with the baby…

Until the comm crackles to life on the fourth day.

“I’ll be home in ten minutes. Be ready for me.”

You know perfectly what he means, one sentence playing on loop in your head again and again. Better be waiting for me, better be waiting for me, better be waiting for me… You’d like nothing more than to strip naked and crawl in Mando’s bunk like you know he wants you to, but it’s the middle of the day. The baby’s awake and cooing happily, there’s a meal to make and chores to finish… Still, you don’t want to give Mando the wrong idea, and so you perch on the edge of his bed with the baby in your arms, sure he’ll get the message.

Exactly nine minutes later, Mando comes barging onto the ship, wrestling with the quarry, telling the them to shut up and cooperate. There’s a struggle and more shouting after that, but you don’t so much as flinch, rocking the Child absently when he begins to fuss.

Two sentences in a language you don’t understand, three cuss words in Basic, the sound of a harsh kick, and then… and then Mando’s coming into the hull, huffing and puffing through the vocoder as the carbonite system engages in the other room.     It’s as if the world falls away when the two of you lock eyes, but the Child’s bright, ringing cries shake you from your chance not five seconds later.

“Hey, kid,” Mando sighs, reaching for the baby. You can’t help but smile as you watch the Child coo and gurgle in his father’s arms, thrilled that Mando’s back after so much time away. There’s small talk, just a few words about the hunt and how the quarry ended up in custody, but you find yourself riding the high of a brave streak for briefest of moments.

“Is a celebration in order?” you ask Mando, shifting just the slightest bit on the covers beneath you. He’s watching you move, that much you know, and so you run your palm over the quilt, sure to move slow slow slow.

Finally, he nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I think so. As soon as the kid’s asleep.”

“As soon as he’s asleep,” you affirm, nodding in turn.

---

It’s not until hours later that the Child goes down for the night, drifting off as the Crest blasts through hyperspace. You listen as Mando tucks him in, fussing over his blankets, telling the baby goodnight in a soft voice that you’ve always loved. Settled on top of a crate, you wait for him to finish up, dressed in little more than a t-shirt and underwear. Mando’s liable to rip it all off of you anyway, so you figured getting fully dressed for bed was pointless.

Every blood vessel in your body thrums with excitement, every nerve sings with anxiety… Your heart jumps clear up in your throat when you hear Mando’s boots coming from the back of the ship, his footfalls heavy and imposing until he’s standing right there in front of you. He pauses a few feet away, the black, endless void of the visor trained directly on you, on your body. You can sense how intently he’s looking you over, but more importantly, you can see just how tense Mando, how his body’s drawn tight since he got back. He’s always wound up after a hunt, always comes home jumpy and tense, but it hasn’t dawned on you until now what that could mean, for you and for him. If he’s got the stamina, this could be a long night…

You think about breaking the ice with some innocuous question about the baby, but Mando doesn’t give you the opportunity. Without taking a single step closer, without so much as touching you, he asks, “You wet?”

Something about his tone implies that he already knows the answer, and you sure as hell don’t have to check. “Yes.”

“Good,” Mando declares, deadpan. “Go lie on your stomach.”

You do as he says without objection, starting when Mando calls out to you again.

“Take your underwear off first.”

Yes, sir, is your only thought after that, but you’re relieved to find that you still have enough about yourself to bite back the words. Two quick motions, and then you’re prone in Mando’s bunk, breathing in the smell of his sheets as you wait for something to happen. Not once before tonight have you ever felt this vulnerable, this exposed, this much like prey. Mando walks to you, slow and deliberate, and you feel yourself trembling for him, because of him. You yelp the second his hands land on your ankles, warm and calloused and distinctly ungloved, powerless to resist Mando as he drags you down the bed. He tells you to spread your legs, to kneel wide and low for him, and so you do, scrambling to brace yourself and follow orders all at the same time. A belt buckle clinks, you hear a button and zipper being opened, and then Mando pushes inside you with one firm, fluid motion of his hips, effectively knocking the air out of your body. There’s no adjustment period, not so much as even a word of warning before Mando sets a relentless pace, fucking you up his bed and into the mattress. You moan for him without shame, scrabbling at the quilt just to have something to hold on to as Mando manhandles you every so often. Pinning your arm in place, readjusting your legs, pushing you down by the back of your neck— you don’t protest one bit through all of it, unable to form so much as coherent thought. Never before in your life has a man fucked you like this, and you’re struggling to keep up, but you don’t ever want it to stop. That’s why you let out the most pathetic little whimper when Mando does go still, his hands gripping your hips like a vice as he pants through the modulator.

Words are still lost on you, but you try to speak anyway, stammering and stuttering through a few aborted sentences. “I— I don’t— Mando, please—”

“I’m being too rough with you,” he cuts, grip going slack. You whine again, but it’s like Mando doesn’t hear you, talking almost to himself now. “I just— You don’t— I’m being too rough with you.”

For a brief moment, you fear he’s going to end things here, but then Mando’s moving again, groaning as you clench around his cock. By no means he making sweet, gentle love to you, but you do find yourself appreciating this steadier, more controlled change of pace. You can take full breaths like this, the bite of Mando fingers on various parts of your body isn’t so harsh, isn’t so bruising… He even tells you that you look pretty laid out for him like this, and that little piece of praise almost has you seeing stars.

You feel the loss immediately when Mando pulls out, whimpering in distress. But then his hands are on you, rolling you onto your back, settling your legs around him. The angle is different this way, but you’re no less satisfied when Mando starts fucking you again. He yanks your shirt up and cusses coarsely at the sight of your chest, the press of his hips relentless now. He’s got to be close, you think, the two of you have been at this for what feels like so long…

Fire spreads through you at the first brush of Mando’s thumb on your clit, wild and all-consuming, and it’s all you can do to hold a conversation with him when he starts talking again.

“You gonna cum for me, cyar’ika?” he asks, and you might think it was a tease if Mando’s own voice didn’t sound so strained and broken. He’s holding back for you, he has to be.

You manage to squeak out a ‘yes’ at that, but your capacity for speech ends there, all words choked off by the way Mando laces your fingers together. And though the two of you are fucking, for the Maker’s sake, the gesture makes you feel shy, makes you turn your head even as you feel your orgasm beginning to crest. For just a few seconds, the world blurs, your body contorting in pleasure. Mando says something, maybe asks you a question, but you couldn’t even begin to guess at the content of the message.

When you finally come back to reality, when sound and sight and everything like them comes back into focus, you pant for breath, exhausted. Mando looms over you in the darkness, masked and armored and covered from the top if his head to the tips of his toes, and you wish so badly that you could look at him as he his. Even if you could just see his face, could just look into his eyes…

“Stay here,” Mando says to you, words crackling through the vocoder. He walks off with his pants open, returning seconds later with a wet rag in hand. You watch Mando clean himself off, hands rough and graceless as he works himself over, but the way he treats you is anything but. No, Mando swipes the cloth between your legs so very gently, head bent to his work as he cleans his own cum off your stomach. Like before, something about this tenderness has you feeling shy, face hot as you wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s thinking anything at all.

“You got another pair of underwear?”

The question catches you a bit off-guard, but you manage to get out an answer anyway. “I— Yeah, in my bag.”

Without a word, Mando goes away again, this time coming back with a pair of your panties in hand. Once again, he defies your expectations, dressing you himself even as you insist that he doesn’t have to. Finally, in a move that shocks you the most out of all that’s happened tonight, Mando tells you to crawl in his bed.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he offers, calm and casual. You try to mirror his demeanor, simply nodding as you go to get under the covers at the other end of the bunk, but your pulse is pounding. It’s not like Mando blew you off after you went down on him— quite the opposite, actually— but you hadn’t been expecting something like this.

You pretend to be disinterested as you lie there, watching in shock as Mando strips off his boots and armor. The sight of him in nothing but shirt and pants is a bit shocking, but you find your heart singing as you take in the plane of his back, the shape of his arms… You like the beskar, especially when it’s on Mando, but you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t imagined him like this a thousand times. The real him, who he is under all the armor and weapons. This isn’t exactly Mando bare to the world, but… but it’s closer, and that’s all you can hope for right now.

It’s a tight squeeze in Mando’s little bunk, but the two of you make do with what you have. Mando’s warm when you cuddle close to him, chest firm under your head, stomach soft under your hand. Every move Mando makes is hesitant and delicate, almost like he’s handling something volatile and wild, and so you let him take his time, gentle in every way until he gains confidence. To feel his bare hands in your hair reminds you of what happened when you first offered yourself up to him, though the memories don’t exactly upset you.

“I… That was good, mesh’la,” Mando finally says, speaking slowly. “Thank you.”

You let your hand trail up and down his side, content. “Any time.”

“I’m serious,” he presses, “I needed that. You’re… You’re very good to me. For letting me do things like that, I mean.”

“Mando,” you say, serious now, “I told you that first time that you could do whatever you want to me, and I meant. You don’t have to thank me.”

It would seem he doesn’t know what to say to that, and so Mando just holds you closer, arms wrapped tight. You study him for a moment, catching just the barest, littlest glimpse of his chin under the lip of the helmet.

“What do those words mean?” you ask, throwing your leg over Mando’s hips.

“Which words?”

“The ones you called me when we fucked.”

“Well,” Mando begins, “Mesh’la means beautiful.”

“And the other one?”

“Cyar’ika is… Cyar’ika is like sweetheart, but with more feeling. You wouldn’t— It’s not something you say casually.”

You could pry into that, you know, ask a lot of questions and stir the pot. Hell, maybe Mando would even tell you some of what you want to hear. But that’s a big risk, and you don’t want to ruin all the good that’s just passed between the two of you.

“Sleep with me, please,” you say softly, pressing your lips to Mando’s neck. “I know you’re tired.”

“You think an old man like me can’t keep up with you?”

You smile, snuggling closer even as you tease him right back. “Not after he’s been hunting for days.” You turn your face upwards, earnest now. “Seriously, promise me you’ll try to get some rest.”

“I will, cyar’ika,” he says. “I promise.”

[whenisitenoughtrees]

look me up and define me (please remind me) (part 2/2)

He is whatever puts Thomas first. But that changes so often that he doesn’t know what he is beyond that.

He is Janus when he is alone, but only when he is not someone else.

Janus has never minded the fact that his identity is fluid, ever-changing. He acts as whoever Thomas needs him to be in the moment, and if that means he doesn't know much about himself as an individual, well. It's never been a problem for him.

Until he gives away his name, and then it very much is.

Chapter Warnings: identity issues, body dysphoria, body horror, panic attack, self-harm (hair pulling), mild injury

Chapter Word Count: 5,947

Pairings: platonic TDLAMPR, implied Moceit

Notes: This is the second part of a two-part fic, so I’d start with part one if you haven’t read it. Also, this fic as a whole was inspired by the awesome ‘The Record Player Song’ animatic by @turbovickii, which, 10/10 would recommend if you haven’t seen it

(part one)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

“Do you ever think about the past?” Patton asks him. It’s a gloomy day, rain beating against the mindscape’s windows to mimic the downpour keeping Thomas trapped inside his apartment. On days like these, he has learned, Patton tends toward melancholy reflection, toward sipping wine in the living room rather than attempting to cook or bake.

He has found himself glad of it, most of the time. Even on a good day, Patton is often too distractible to bake without supervision, and on these days, his eyes glaze and his movements slow as he reminisces on days long gone. Frankly, he should not be trusted anywhere near the kitchen, and they both know it.

“Not really,” he lies. “Not unless it suits. Do you?”

He already knows the answer to that, of course. Patton hums noncommittally, eyes flitting to the rain-splattered windowpane. It’s just the two of them right now; the others emerge from their rooms more often now than they did just after the wedding, but still not often enough. Patton is struggling, both with himself and with his relationships, and for that reason alone, he will do his best to support. Even if he doesn’t know quite how. Even if he himself grows more and more adrift with every passing day.

“I wish we’d been friends sooner,” Patton says. “I was pretty mean to you when we were kids.”

He sighs. “I was pretty mean right back,” he says, ignoring the implications of friends, all the meanings contained in that one word. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

Patton smiles at him, and his heart skips a beat. “Still,” he says. “I’m glad we’re friends now, Janus.”

He doesn’t have a response to that. He can’t tell Patton that their friendship is based on a lie, that who he thinks of as Janus is nothing more than a shadow, that in these moments, he is drawing on a Patton-like persona more than anything else. He can’t tell Patton that he thinks about the past far more than he should, simpler times, when he was someone else, young and fresh-eyed and hopeful, not just willing but eager to do anything and everything to help Thomas and the rest of them.

That was when the trouble started. When deception became integral to his being. When he lost himself under all the rest, if there was ever anything to be lost in the first place. Isn’t it ironic, that Thomas’ sense of self-preservation has no sense of self of his own?

I’m glad we’re friends now, Janus.

He would be, too, if Janus were real. But Janus isn’t real, and he doesn’t know how to make him so.

So, he doesn’t respond to Patton. Just smiles, smiles and smiles and smiles and hopes that he can’t see through the facade. It’s something Patton himself would do, he thinks, and pretends that the thought doesn’t make him sick.

And so the days pass. Life continues. Nothing is solved. He grows closer with the others, more welcome in their discussions, more appreciated by Thomas, even, and he would be ecstatic if it weren’t for the fact that interacting with them is like pulling teeth. They all look at him in a certain way, now, like they understand him, or want to, and it is all he can do to prevent himself from shouting at them, from telling them that they understand nothing. He is a mask built upon another mask built upon more masks, and there is nothing underneath them. Janus is the name given to the void they hide.

How could they possibly understand him when he doesn’t understand himself? When he is slowly beginning to realize that there is nothing to understand at all, that Janus is just a name, and a name means nothing at all if there is not a person behind it, attached in a way that he has never been?

Janus isn’t his name. It isn’t, and it is, but the difference between those is negligible. They all expect him to be Janus, now, but he has never known who that is, has never been anything but an amalgam of the others and of Deceit. How is he supposed to be Janus when he doesn’t--

There is a hand on his arm.

He jerks away, blinking. Virgil is standing close to him, too close, hand outstretched, but rather than his typical snarl, his face is neutral, nothing but a crease between his brows betraying his discomfort.

“You back?” he drawls, but the words are nowhere near as biting as they usually are.

He blinks again, looking around the room. Thomas’ living room. The others are all present, all but Remus, and all of their eyes are on him. They are discussing Thomas’ next creative venture, if he remembers correctly, going over potential ideas and plans, and for some reason, they wanted his input as well. He’s not sure why; they’ve gone through this perfectly well without him in the past, and once the meeting starts, he barely has anything to say. Which allows his mind to wander.

A mistake.

He steps away from Virgil, hoping that the movement comes off as casual, and brushes a bit of imaginary lint from his sleeve. “Apologies,” he says. “Lost in thought. What was the question?”

He ignores the way Virgil’s eyes narrow.

“Uh,” Thomas says, oddly hesitant. “Are you sure about that? We’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now. Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” he says. “A bit tired, perhaps.” Not a lie. He’s exhausted. It’s hardly the whole truth, and something in him burns to be showing any amount of weakness at all, any vulnerability, but better this than sharing any of the rest.

“Oh,” Thomas says. “Well, I just--”

“Falsehood.”

The word is quiet, but it cuts through the conversation like a hot knife through bread. Because for all that the word is Logan’s trademark phrase, it is not Logan who speaks, but Virgil. Virgil, who is still standing too near, hunched in on himself, his face set in an expression he can’t begin to interpret.

For a long moment, there is silence.

“That’s my word,” Logan says. It seems a halfhearted complaint.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Roman says. “Where’s the falsehood?”

“I’ll admit, I’m confused as well,” he says, though he’s not, though his heart is beating far too quickly, though he knows exactly what Virgil means, and both fear and betrayal swirl in his chest and stiffen his spine. His nerves rise to a crescendo, and he has to focus on his breathing to make sure his form doesn’t slip. He must remember how they view him now, how they look at him and think Janus, must remember to maintain Deceit’s face, though the anxiety flooding his senses urges him to exchange the yellow for purple, the scales for eyeshadow, because that’s what he’s always done when he feels this way, when his chest feels tight and his breaths come too short. This is a Virgil-feeling, but he can’t shift right now because he’s supposed to be Deceit, is supposed to be Janus, and if he changes now, the house of cards on which he’s built his acceptance crumbles.

He can’t let that happen. He feels terrible now, but the isolation of before was worse. Now that he’s admitted as much to himself, he wouldn’t be able to bear going back.

“Now, now,” Patton says, “let’s let Virgil speak.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says, brow furrowed. “Virgil, what do you mean?”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Let him explain,” he says, jerking a thumb in his direction. “He’s the one lying.”

And just like that, all eyes return to him. He wonders, idly, if he could get away with summoning Remus, if he could throw a bit of chaos into the mix and watch them all scramble. They’d forget about him in the wake of that, he’s sure. But no, he can’t do it now, not when it would be so obvious. His strengths lie in his subtlety, his skill at misdirection. Remus is a blunt instrument, one not suited for this task.

He raises his hands, claps sarcastically. “Well done, Virgil,” he says. “I’m so impressed by your ability to remember my basic function. Good job. Can we refocus the conversation now?”

The sarcasm helps him focus. Helps him settle into the persona, into who he’s supposed to function as in this moment. He can lie his way out of this. He’s done it before. He can do it again.

“Okay, usually I’m all for calling him out,” Roman says, “but he’s said, like, two things this whole time.”

“Yes,” Logan adds, “and one of those was-- oh. I see.”

“What?” Thomas asks.

Patton gasps. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, no.” Patton looks at him, then, so much warmth and empathy in his gaze that he wants to die, just a little bit, because he doesn’t deserve any of it, doesn’t deserve his friendship, because the person that Patton thinks he is getting to know has never existed in the first place. “If something’s the matter, you can tell us! You know that, right?”

“Nothing’s the matter,” he grits out, but no one listens. He takes a moment to glare at Virgil, who stares back, nonplussed.

“Oh, hey,” Thomas says, looking surprised. Like he never considered the idea that something could be wrong with him. He would have liked to keep it that way, but it might be too late for that now. “Yeah, if something’s the matter, we want to hear about it. You don’t need to lie about that, Janus.”

And Thomas is so genuine in his concern, so compassionate, so kind to a side that he used to hate and fear. But it’s the name that sends him over the edge, the name that makes him flinch, hard, because he can’t escape it, can’t escape the fact that they all expect him to be something that he has never been, that he can never be.

He is whatever Thomas needs, but Thomas has never needed Janus, and he doesn’t know how to be something that Thomas doesn’t need. How to be a person in his own right, how to be the person they believe he is.

Thomas sees him flinch, because of course he does, because it was obvious. He steps forward, worry written plain on his face, but he mirrors the motion, stepping back. Thomas stops.

“Is there anything I can--”

“He doesn’t like it when you say his name,” Virgil says, and the room goes still. Virgil swallows, clearly not comfortable with the attention, but he soldiers on. “He didn’t tell me why.”

“Shut up,” he bites out, before he can stop himself.

“Is that true?” Thomas asks, asks him, all wide-eyed and hurt and he can’t take this--

“That doesn’t seem to make sense,” Logan says, and yes, please, keep talking, Logan, everyone pay attention to Logan now, thank you, “considering that he told us his name himself. Though, to be fair, the way in which he did so could be construed as an attempt to gain trust, rather than because he actually wanted to share.”

“Oh, come on,” Roman snorts. “Nobody was forcing him to say anything.”

“Oh my god, Roman, that’s not helping,” Virgil says. Defending him? That makes no sense, but alright.

“I’m just saying! He took his glove off all on his own--”

“That doesn’t mean Logan is wrong,” Patton ventures.

They just keep talking, all their voices overlapping and intermingling, talking about him, arguing about him like he’s not right here, and he backs up until he hits the wall. He needs them to stop, needs this to stop, needs to spend another week or two alone in his room before he can even think to face them again. He threads his fingers through his hair, pulling hard, but the pain does nothing to help him focus. He wishes he could cover his ears, wishes he didn’t have to hear this, wishes that today hadn’t happened at all. Wishes he could come up with an excuse, a lie to throw them off and redirect their attention, but his mind is frighteningly blank.

“Guys, enough.” Thomas’ voice silences the room, and then, Thomas turns to him. “Janus?” he prompts softly. “Are you okay?” And he means well, he does, but--

He can’t do this. Can’t do this at all, can’t think of a single lie to tell, and nothing else is helping either. He can’t think logically, and his rolling emotions are no help, and trying to summon bravado is a failure, and he is already so scared that he doesn’t see how indulging in any more anxiety could possibly help matters.

He needs--

He needs something else, anything else, anything but this, and--

He shifts before he can stop himself. And once he starts, he can’t hold back, can’t stop seeking comfort in another form because that’s what he always does when his own doesn’t cut it. He cycles through all of them, melting and changing and remaking himself with every second that passes, but nothing helps, nothing abates the buzzing under his skin or the ringing in his ears. But he keeps doing it anyway, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

And the damage is done. His eyes are screwed shut, but there’s no way they’re not all staring at him. The silence is deafening.

He stands there, trying to land on an identity, and finds nothing. Because there is nothing.

“Ja… Deceit?” someone says, and it’s Patton’s voice, trembling and unsure, and somehow, that is the breaking point.

He opens his eyes, meets Thomas’ shocked gaze. And then he sinks out.

He rises up in his room unsteadily, lurching. He almost falls, though he catches himself against a bedpost, panting. His form is still shifting, still fluid; he can feel the changes rippling across his face like rushing water, so continuous that it’s beginning to hurt. He stumbles over to the mirror and watches it, the parade of outfits and hair styles and eye colors, morphing and twisting his face into nothing he recognizes.

And then suddenly, he settles. On scaly skin, on one yellow, slit eye. On a bowler hat, on a capelet, on yellow gloves. It’s his default setting. The serpentine tempter.

He looks, and who he sees staring back at him is utterly alien. The image moves when he does, blinks when he blinks, and the same tears that he feels streaming down his cheeks are reflected there. It’s him, he knows, because it couldn’t be anyone else. But he feels so disconnected from it, feels like he’s looking at a stranger, and perhaps he is. Does he know himself? Does he have a self to know?

He stares, and the image in the mirror stares back. And then, he rears back and punches the glass.

The sound it makes when it shatters is the most satisfying thing he’s heard in a long time.

He stands there, gasping, heedless of the shards embedded in his hand. For a moment, he feels safe, feels secure, as if the enemy has been defeated, as if in shattering the image, he has shattered himself, too, and is finally free. But then, he feels himself shift, feels his body do it entirely without his permission, as if on instinct, and catches a glimpse when he can’t help but look down, a glimpse of capelet sliding into hoodie sliding into green sash into red sash into cardigan into hoodie--

His legs give out, and he lands hard. Glass digs into his hands and knees, but he can’t bring himself to move, can’t bring himself to do anything but shake and struggle for breath and hope that this will end.

He doesn’t know who he is, doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be. If he could figure it out, maybe this would stop, but he can’t think straight, can’t think about much of anything at all past the fact that it hurts, and that he’s scared, and that he feels as though his very bones are trying to burst out of his skin. It’s coming so fast now that he can barely keep track; he is Virgil, then Patton, then Roman, then Patton, then Logan then Remus then Roman then Virgil then PattonthenLoganthenRemusthen--

The door bursts open. Someone enters, black and green, and he can’t focus on their face, can’t do anything but flinch back as their footsteps approach, huddle in on himself and pray that they won’t hurt him, that they won’t exacerbate the pain.

“--ee? Dee?” The voice filters in, and it’s Remus, loud and shrill and concerned, and he wishes he had the strength to comfort him, to reassure him, but he thinks that if he opens his mouth, he’ll scream. He feels like his skin is sliding off, like it’s cracking open, and he has no way to anchor himself, no port in this storm, no control over what’s happening to him, and he’s so scared.

“--ell me what to do, what’s happening--” Remus is saying, and then there are hands on him, on his face, and he jerks away because the touch burns. Remus is still babbling: “--kay, won’t touch you, but Dee, please, you gotta tell me what to do--”

--then his room is suddenly full of people, people standing, watching, talking, saying words he can’t understand, moving toward him, and he flinches back and away, because he doesn’t want them here, doesn’t want them to see him like this, doesn’t want them near him because no doubt they’ll only make it worse and he can’t breathe and he can’t stop shifting because it’s supposed to help but it’s not, it’s hurting him, and he thinks he hears Remus shouting at them, telling them to get back, to go away, but he can’t--

Then, someone presses their hand into his, and tells him to breathe. The rest of the world dissolves into static.

It takes a long time for him to be able to follow their example, but he focuses on the point of contact, on their hand holding his, and part of him wants to jerk away as though he’s been scalded. But the touch is through his gloves, fabric separating their skin, and somehow, that makes it bearable. And the other part of his mind wants to hold on and never let go, so that’s what he does.

His breathing slows. The shifting stops, and the pain subsides into a dull ache.

He looks up, and Virgil is crouched in front of him, the rise and fall of his chest outlining a familiar pattern.

“Can you hear me?” Virgil asks, his voice quiet and the closest thing to calm he ever gets.

He nods.

Someone lets out a breath, a sigh of relief, and he looks around. They’re all here, all of them, crouching around him. Remus is closest, is right by his side, hands hovering but not touching. Patton and Logan are sitting to either side of Virgil, Logan with furrowed brow and Patton looking near tears himself. Even Roman is here, hovering over Logan’s shoulder, and though he’s keeping his distance, worry mars his face. He knows, knows he must look absolutely pitiful if Roman is worried about him.

And Thomas is here, too. Kneeling at his other side, kneeling in broken glass from the mirror, and all for him? After that wretched display, Thomas still came after him?

Thomas is looking at him. His eyes are shiny.

“Sorry,” he rasps, and then frowns. His voice is lower, rougher than he anticipated, and glancing at himself, it is easy to determine the reason. His hands are gloved, but purple-patched sleeves cover his arms. He’s Virgil right now, Virgil, even though the real Virgil is sitting right in front of him, is still, for whatever reason, holding his hand.

“Hey,” Virgil-- the real Virgil-- says, “don’t do that. C’mon.”

He pulls his hand away, trying to school his face into a glare, into any expression that would suit Virgil’s face better. He’s sure he looks miserable. His mind races, supplying him with biting words and insults, and it makes him angry, a bit, because where was this when he needed it? It’s too late, now, too late to pretend that this never happened. They’re all here, in his room, his safe place, his sanctuary.

Only, it hasn’t been that for a long time, has it? How long has it been since he was comfortable here? Since he was comfortable anywhere?

The realization makes him shudder, and before he knows it, he is sliding into Patton’s form instead. The grey cardigan settles around his shoulders, but it brings none of the comfort that it usually does. He just feels pathetic, and he knows the others must see it.

He can’t look at Patton. Doesn’t want to know what he’s thinking. Doesn’t think he could bear to see rejection painted there.

His breath hitches.

“Hey,” Thomas says, and he can’t help but turn to look, because he has never been able to help but do what Thomas asks of him. He turns to look, and through vision that is once again blurry with tears, he sees Thomas reach out. Slowly, accentuating the motion so that he has plenty of time to reject him, to pull away. He is tempted to smack the hand away, to gather up the strength to eject them all from his room and lock the door behind them, anything to avoid having to talk about this.

But this is Thomas, so he allows him to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re okay,” Thomas says softly. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay too, but we’re here for you.”

It’s not a lie. He knows because it chimes in the air, clear and bright and true, like a clamoring of bells ringing in the morning. No tricks, no subterfuge, just the one person he would do anything for, telling him that it’s going to be alright, that everything is going to be alright.

He forces himself to shift again, forces the scales back across his face, focuses on maintaining the gloves to cover hands that are cut and bleeding and embedded with glass shards. It itches, itches and burns and doesn’t feel right at all, but if he’s going to do this, he could at least try not to look like any of them while he speaks.

“No,” he says, and jolts at the sound of his own voice, strange and foreign. “You deserve an explanation.”

“Maybe,” Virgil says suddenly, “but that doesn’t mean you owe it to us.”

He swivels his head to stare at him, and Virgil scowls, glancing away.

“Look,” he says, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to hurt you, back there. It’s just, you’ve been weird and spacey ever since you came to talk to me, and I just thought that if something was wrong, and I didn’t know what to do, then maybe somebody else would. But I’m sorry for going about it like I did.”

“I--” His tongue feels clumsy, thick in his mouth. An apology from Virgil is not something he ever thought he would receive, but this, too, hangs between them like a breath of fresh air, nothing but truth in his words. “Apology accepted,” he says, and it feels lacking compared to all that still lies unvoiced between them, but Virgil visibly untenses.

“Cool,” he mutters. “Don’t read too much into it.”

Despite himself, he smiles, just a bit, an upwards twitch of his lips.

And then, Logan clears his throat. “I don’t want to put any undue pressure on you,” he says, “but if you would be willing to discuss what ails you, I am in complete agreement with Thomas. Perhaps we can help you find a solution.”

He takes a breath to steady himself, taking a brief survey of the room, watching all of them gathered around him, attentive and unsure. He… could tell them, he realizes. He could tell them, and they would listen, and they might even believe him. He could tell them, and there is nothing stopping him from doing so but himself, old habits that have been ingrained in him over years and decades, habits that insist that he cannot afford to be vulnerable, that he cannot afford to show weakness, that the moment he bares his throat to them, they will pounce.

But looking at them, at Patton, so determined to help, at Logan, face open and non-judgemental, and even at Roman, who has the least reason out of all of them to want to see him well and yet is here anyway, he wonders if that is the case at all.

Thomas’ hand is still on one shoulder, a steadying point of contact. Without looking, he reaches back and finds one of Remus’ hands, still hovering, and guides it to rest on his other. Remus makes a sound of relief and tightens his grip, and it is almost uncomfortable, but it also serves as a reminder that he is not alone, for once, and that perhaps, he can have help, if he asks for it.

Does he dare do this? It will hurt him, and it will hurt them. Will likely hurt Thomas.

But, he realizes, it’s too late to prevent that. Thomas is already hurt, is already lost and confused and worried. The least he can do is tell him why.

So, he looks to Patton. If he’s going to share this, if he truly wants them to understand, he needs to start at the beginning.

“Do you remember what I used to call myself?” he asks. “When Thomas was young, I mean, before I was labeled Deceit. Back when you were Feelings and Logan was Learning.”

“I--” Patton’s face screws up in an obvious effort to remember. “That was so long ago, I don’t--” He pauses, mouth working silently, and then, his eyes open wide. “You know, I’d forgotten that we used to call you something else,” he says. He doesn’t sound happy about it. “Weren’t you Self?”

He nods. “Self,” he repeats. It’s been so long since he said the name aloud. It’s like an old favorite shoe, well-worn but now half a dozen sizes too small. “That’s right. Back then, I was entirely about self-preservation. Anything that boosted Thomas’ sense of self, I was in charge of.” He closes his eyes, slipping back into the memories. “Deception didn’t become a major part of that until later, until there were… issues. Until Thomas began to doubt himself more, experience more internal conflict.” He opens his eyes again, meeting Patton’s once more. “Then, I did anything I could to keep things running smoothly. I was… whoever I needed to be, whenever I needed to be them, as long as it would benefit Thomas. You usually didn’t catch me.” He splays his hands, relishing the sting of his bloodied knuckles. “I’m like glue, filling in the cracks.”

“You impersonated us that much?” Virgil asks, voice strangled.

He shrugs. “For all intents and purposes, I was you,” he says quietly. “I got used to it after a while. Too used to it, I suppose.”

“What do you mean by that?”

It’s Thomas who speaks now, low and urgent and worried, and he turns to him, turns to the man he has given everything to protect.

“As best I can tell,” he says, and he is not trying to be bitter, but something of the kind leaks through anyway, “I’m a… a mimic, of a sort. Or maybe just a mirror. I’ve spent so long being whatever was needed that I never developed into anything else, and then I told you my name and you started calling me Janus, and I-- I couldn’t handle it. I can’t.” He shudders, closing his eyes. He can’t bear to meet Thomas’ gaze anymore, can’t bear to see the condemnation he knows must surely come now. “I can’t meet those expectations. At best, I’m… a fake. A sham. Janus… it’s my name, but there’s not a person attached to it. Everything I am is built on traits I’ve taken from everyone else.” He shakes his head, a sour smile curling his lips. “Take away the lies, and there’s nothing left of me.”

“That’s why you don’t like us using the name,” Thomas says. “You don’t feel like it’s yours.”

“Nothing that I am is mine,” he answers, and falls silent, waiting for the sentence to fall, the gavel to pound.

For a moment, no one says anything at all.

“That’s not true,” Patton says, and the fierceness in his voice takes him aback. His eyes snap open.

“Patton--”

But Patton shakes his head, his face flushing pink. “No, you let me talk,” he says. “That’s not true, and I’m so sorry that we’ve let you feel like it is. I should’ve--” He breaks himself off, biting his lip. “No, that’s not the point. The point is that you’re not just a mimic, or a mirror, or what have you, and you should never, ever have been made to feel like you had to be.”

He didn’t expect this, didn’t expect a passionate defense. He’s not sure where this is coming from, not sure what he did to provoke this.

“I--”

“I mean, we’ve been spending time together, right?” Patton continues. “And you’ve been enjoying that, unless you were faking, but I don’t think you were. Do you really think that you were only having fun because it was something you’d done when you were being me?”

His throat runs dry. His first instinct is to say, yes, of course, because he’s spent so long thinking this way. But instead of his usual conviction, his mind fills with a buzzing noise, and he can’t bring himself to speak.

“I agree with Patton,” Logan speaks up. “True, there may be some activities that you initially took interest in for the purpose of impersonating one of us. However, that does not make your own enjoyment of those activities any less valid, or any less a part of who you are. You, specifically, not you when you are attempting to emulate one of us. Unless you don’t actually enjoy our chess matches.”

But--

“Yeah, and you don’t have to actually be one of us in order to feel something that one of us feels, or do something that one of us does,” Virgil says. “Just because Logan is Logic doesn’t mean that you have to be Logan in order to be logical. I mean, can you imagine if Logan were the only one capable of basic logical reasoning? You dumbass,” he tacks on.

That, at least, is enough to prompt an answer out of him. “It’s a habit,” he says weakly. His head is spinning. He doesn’t know what else to do, what else to say. How can they be saying these things so easily? How can they so casually uproot the foundations that his existence is built upon?

“You are worthy of personhood in your own right,” Roman adds, quietly. “I… I know that we have had our arguments. But you are our equal, just as deserving of an individual identity. There is nothing you need do to earn that.”

“You’re my best fucking friend,” Remus says suddenly, his grasp on his shoulder tightening. “You are. Not you trying to be someone else. I like you. I’ll kill anyone who says different.”

He feels a pang at that, because that’s just it. Remus thinks he’s his friend, thinks he likes him for who he is, but how can he, when even he doesn’t know who he is himself?

“I know it hurts to not know what you’re doing,” Patton says softly, “or even who you are, or who you’re supposed to be. But you’ve got us.”

“I don’t know who I am when I’m not trying to be someone else,” he says, the admission ripped from him almost unwillingly. “I don’t know who Janus is.” The tears well up again, and he lets them fall.

Patton is so kind. They are all being so kind, even Virgil, who hates him, even Roman, who he has wronged. What has he done to deserve this kindness?

“I think,” Thomas says haltingly, “that I’m gonna hug you now, if that’s okay.”

And he startles, remembering again that Thomas is here, too, even though he’s been quiet. Though he hasn’t been quiet, exactly, has he? They are all part of him, after all; they all make up his thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams, so in a way, Thomas doesn’t need to be vocal himself to make his opinions known.

The realization hits, then, as Thomas wraps his arms around him, that Thomas cares about him. And not just Thomas, but the rest of them, too, piling around him, Remus clinging to his back and Patton tucking himself into his side and Virgil laying a hand on his arm. They are here for him, came after him, and for the first time, he considers the idea that their regard might not be contingent on the presentation of a certain identity.

The concept is foreign to him. He has spent so long being whatever he thought they needed, thought they wanted, and that was what led him here, attached to a name with nothing behind it. He has spent so long pretending to be strong, to be cool, to be collected. There has never been time not to be, never been time to make himself vulnerable, to allow himself to discover who Janus might be, if given the chance.

He shudders, burying his face in Thomas’ shoulder.

“It’s okay not to know,” Thomas says, and the love and acceptance in his voice is so real and so true that he begins to cry harder. “You don’t need to know right now. But we can help you figure it out, alright? We’ll do this together.” His voice softens. “You’re not on your own.”

He doesn’t know who he is. Doesn’t know where to begin to find out. But that much, perhaps, he can believe.

“Okay,” he whispers, and just this once, lets himself trust.

----------

Patton is at the oven, cursing under his breath, trivial words like “shucks” and “darn” and once in a while, a particularly vehement, “Damn!” The kitchen fills with smoke and the scent of burning cookies.

He hangs in the doorway for a while before making his presence known.

“Not having any trouble at all, I see,” he says, and Patton jerks, spinning around. His face lights up upon seeing him, and he hopes the warmth in his cheeks isn’t visible.

“Hi,” Patton says, and laughs ruefully. “What, you don’t think I’m smoking hot?”

He has to bite back his instinctual response, which is just as well, because Patton continues before he can think of anything appropriate.

“I’ve still got enough dough for another try, if you wanna help,” Patton says cheerfully. “Um, is Janus okay right now or no?”

He considers. It still doesn’t fit quite right, doesn’t settle on his shoulders. But he thinks he can do this without falling into the mindset that he has to be somebody else, that he has to wrap another identity around himself. He can do this maskless, and if he finds himself faltering, Patton will help him.

He can do this. And it’s not perfect, but perhaps, here’s a start.

“Janus is fine,” he says, and steps into the kitchen.

Writing Taglist:  @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii

Part 2 Taglist: @bunny222

[jewels2876]

Always. - A LOKI finale synopsis

So I thought I could write something magical or be inspired by the Loki finale for @the-th-horniest-book-club as it's their last day of celebration.

And it hit me. I can't.

Here's what I can do: dissect this episode down to its heartbreaking ending because at the end I still have a million questions and it's gonna take a cartoon What If?, a Spiderman movie, maybe a Hawkeye show?, and a Dr. Strange movie to answer them all and I'll STILL have questions after that.

Consider for just a moment what happened to 2012 Loki when the TVA captured him way back in Episode One - what the hell did removing Loki do to the MCU timeline? Thor: The Dark World never happened. And no I don't mean you can pretend Marvel put it out there because they did, and it's one of the worst Marvel movies, there I said it. But if TWD didn't happen, what else could have been affected?

And with that disturbing thought we begin...

The opening credits HAVE AUDIO! Every tag line uttered as the characters flash on the screen, EVEN LOKI gets his "We have a Hulk" in. It is awesome; it is glorious; it is expected with EVERY Marvel creation going forward.

Loki and Sylvie should know better than to stare at a door; they always seem to open on their own when that happens. Miss Minutes pops up out of nowhere, scaring the bejesus out of 70% of people, the other 30% wanted to see her one last time. And she's not the same Miss Minutes we first met. She's edgy, she's less peppy, and she gives our duo an offer. Honestly, she should have known the result but 🤷🏻‍♀️

Ravonna is doing something in her office; if she's cleaning it's a piss poor job. Miss Minutes shows up and tells Ravonna she gave her what she needs. Ominous.

Back to Loki and Sylvie who finally meet "He Who Remains." Now we all know guys with names like "He Who Must Not Be Named" are bad news. Guys, to answer the question asked in the show, I'm a little disappointed. The disappointment lasts about five seconds... The office they get transported to reminds me IMMEDIATELY of a certain movie and certain buildings we've seen before (insert duh at this point because you too have seen every Marvel movie ever.)

****** Side note: anyone know if Tom takes his tea with only two sugars? No? Yes? Okay getting back to other things ******

At this point, we get back to Ravonna and her lack of cleaning when Mobius shows up with the pruner (it has to have a cooler name! side side note: nope just glowing batons) and we get a nice little flashback to Original Ravonna (maybe?)

****** 2nd side note: since when did everyone who's not a Russo brother start using OHIO for origin stories? Seriously, go watch Black Widow. I'll wait.******

Now back to Loki, Sylvie, and He Who Remains, hereto known as HWR, who pulls the same trick we saw in the first episode with the "read and sign" guy with the adorable kitten. HWR needs a kitten, a pet at the very least. "You can't get to the end until you've been changed by the journey." HWR s is winding up for a pitch and also summarizes the show too. Loki asks if it's a manipulation; HWR finds the word interesting and I do to. Here's why:

Odin manipulated Loki's abandonment to his advantage

Thanos put Loki under mind control and used him

This is the 2012 Loki as a reminder, so he hasn't been subjected to imprisonment on Asgard or the brotherly banter/squabbles he and Thor have escaping Asgard, nor “Get help” from Ragnarok so it should come as no shock that Loki looks angry. After all, Odin and Thanos kind of killed any hope in Loki of feeling wanted or needed. Aren’t father figures supposed to instill hope, instead of disgust? Yeah, I can answer that one but that’d be an entire other post.

Now we’re back to Ravonna and Mobius and they spat over who was more betrayed - news flash: it was Mobius. But Ravonna has to do for the digs. “Those variants?” “You threw it away for a couple of Lokis.”  Mobius tries to reason with Ravonna, sounding exactly like Glenda and Elphaba from Wicked (his “together” is spot on Glenda!) Ravonna opens a portal looking for “free will” after giving Mobius one last beatdown.

And we’re back to Loki, Sylvie and HWR. HWR gives them a bit of his backstory; I have a suspicion he’s glossed over some of it (he admits being called a conqueror for cryin’ out loud!) He has a maniacal moment, standing on his desk, voice getting a little shrill and thin. He also admits he’s probably the saner of his variants (my words not his.) Then after his real-man-behind-the-curtain routine he makes them an offer. Take his place. Loki, who has been remarkably non verbal, asks why HWR would give up control. Good question from the guy who wants to be in control yet was meant to thrive on chaos he creates. If anyone is keeping score, questions have been asked but not a single ANSWER has been given! Sylvie isn’t believing a single word while our Loki’s wheels are turning.

****** 3rd side note: the acting has been PHENOMENAL this entire series. Forget what Marvel promised and didn’t deliver (fluid Loki) and a scene we’ll be getting to, Tom and company have been nothing short of an Emmy, which I expect next year.******

HWR finally gets fed up with Sylvie and tells her to grow up. Because she took her pruning personally. Now I’m not going to say she shouldn’t be upset about her pruning; Marvel made it A POINT of showing her playing, content on Asgard, when they took her. But HWR has a point. He’s offering an option that allows Loki and Sylvie to do whatever they feel is best and it’s the wrong time for Sylvie to get in her feelings. Of course 99% of us know that’s EXACTLY when feelings choose to surface.

Then something happens - we don’t know who or what did it. Was it Ravonna and her leaving? Did Ravonna meet someone we suspect? Was it Mobius? Miss Minutes? The agents? We may never know exactly but now HWR is actually in the dark. Mr. Know-It-All suddenly doesn’t know it all.

Sylvie thinks she has her opportunity to fulfil her quest but it’s our Loki who protects HWR. Loki doesn’t tell her she’s wrong or right, just to stop and THINK. And now we get a glimpse of 2018 Loki:

See the bigger picture

Let’s talk about it

I believe HWR

What fills the void of a dictator?

What if we unleash something worse than HWR?

Now here’s where Marvel gets an B+ in character development. They took the 2012 Loki hell bent on destroying Earth to rule it and gave him just enough growth to become the 2018 redeemed Loki ODINSON, willing to sacrifice himself to Thanos (even if he did think he wouldn’t die.) It’s not a perfect arc by any means, but Marvel got there and this is one thing I applaud.

Sylvie now thinks Loki is lying to her to get to a throne and is clearly upset they are not seeing eye to eye on this and another point to Marvel. Loki, for only seeing a few videos that Mobius showed him, still has more life experience in his SINGULAR moment with Thanos to know that there is ALWAYS something bigger, badder, WORSE around the corner and he does NOT want to make the wrong decision. Wow.

To trust or not to trust. 

It’s a beautiful sword fight that HWR sits back and watches like it’s ESPN. The lighting is gorgeous behind the action and is leading up to my next OMG moment: STOP.

Loki asks Sylvie to stop, almost like a child. Like someone who knows exactly where the fight leads, where it goes, and where it ends. And he says as much to her as well. Sylvie feels like that person who just wants the fight to be over; she hunches into Tom’s space and the lighting suddenly stays green and blue. Guess who’s green? Guess who is blue?

This goes back to my Emmy mention. Even if it’s ONLY for technical work, it’s so deserving. Sylvie, in green, tired, emotional, struggling with something we aren’t supposed to know just yet. Loki, in blue, almost as if his Jotun form has taken over, strong, sensible, relatable, empathetic.

And then that damn kiss!  Marvel missed another opportunity here. Two Lokis had the opportunity to show self-love, familial love, friendly love, ANYTHING BUT A DAMN KISS!!! I’m not saying they couldn’t have feelings for each other, but it NEVER has to be romantic just because it’s a guy and a girl. **dramatic sigh goes here**

Sylvie pushes Loki through a portal she has opened, then turns to stab HWR through the chest, as he predicted. HWR actually chuckles, which makes me wonder if he expected this exact turn of events. As if we’ll ever know for sure.

Of course the timeline is going nebular and we’re treated to a shot back to the TVA. Mobius and B-15 exchange words as they watch the timelines grow and grow. Loki is sitting on a couch at the TVA and decides he’s not done? You’re supposed to guess the motivation because everything seems normal at the TVA. Loki finds Mobius and B-15 and admits to everything. Loki calling HWR terrifying is terrifying all on is own. And this of course is where it ends.

The post credit scene is just a “Loki returns in Season Two.”

Guys, this season was a mixed bag. There was some good, there was some not so good; there were laughs and a couple of tears. But it also has me SO HYPED for what’s to come. More Loki, more Marvel content, more... everything, I hope!

[theninjamouse]

Ocean on Fire Phantom of the Opera AU Master List (To be added to as I see fit)

Strap in, this is gonna get long. Big thanks to @thaylepo for indulging me and sending many brilliant ideas. 

This is a basic rundown and ideas that would happen at some point in the story. Obviously some things could change or be added but I’ve just got to get this down before I go nuts

Shore and Grillby were childhood friends.

Shore is the child of a wealthy business man, taught from childhood that the arts are to be treasured and appreciated

However, while she may learn instruments and dance and music, she is to take over the family business, not run away to star in the opera like she wants

Grillby's father (he has parents in this au) was a famous violinist who often was called by Shore's father to perform for parties. He wound up teaching Shore fundamentals of music

Little Grillby was a shy flame. Always trailed along behind his father, clutching his tailcoats

Shore saw the tiny elemental and decided instantly: I'm going to be his BEST FRIEND

Queue stuttering, hesitant Grillby being dragged around the manor, getting into all sorts of trouble and adventures. He's a lot more hardy than Shore is, so he rather often found himself acting as a sort of guard dog. He was utterly distraught when Shore fell and broke her arm. Shore teased him about crying because she couldn’t stand to see him so upset

They also learn music together from Grillby's father. First time Shore hears Grillby sing, she grabs his face and screams with delight until the poor little guy is fully bright blue with blushing

Then Grillby's father dies. A family friend takes Grillby away to one of the opera houses to work. Grillby and Shore are 13 and 10 at this point and have spent the last 6 years together. Shore makes Grillby promise to keep singing, to keep the spark of his father alive through music. He promises

They both wait until they are out of sight of the other to cry

Grillby cries every night for the first 3 months in the opera house. As a monster, he is bullied by many of the other students. He mourns his father's passing and he misses Shore to a near unbearable level. The only comfort he has is when he sings quietly to himself in those few moments when he is alone doing his chores

Then he hears a voice, a soft and gentle voice that asks him why such a bright flame weeps. He runs away in fear and hides in his bed

But the voice asks him again and again. 'Why does such a bright flame weep?' Slowly, over the course of a year, Grillby tells the voice his story

The voice says he is the Phantom of the opera house. Grillby thinks he sounds rather young to be a Phantom

The Phantom replies that Grillby is rather young to have such a lovely voice. He offers to teach Grillby. The fire monster agrees upon hearing the Phantom's beautiful and haunting voice

After all, he did promise

15 years pass. Shore has taken over her family business and is finally able to offer herself as a patron to an opera house that has shown remarkable growth over the years, becoming well known in the arts circles

Partially thanks to the star of the show, a humanoid robot named Mettaton. Most of the monsters we know work the show behind the scenes, so having a monster in the lead is a new leap in gaining treatment that is more fair for monster kind as performers

But Mettaton is also a diva. The day Shore arrives with new managers, he throws his tantrum and quits after a rather suspicious accident.

Shore only has eyes for the fire elemental standing frozen with the rest of the crew. She suggests letting him take the lead role. Promising that she knows he can sing.

Grillby is so quiet most assumed he couldn't even talk so naturally protests break out and Shore maybe uses her power as a patron to insist. 'He promised me,' is all she says, looking right at him

So he sings and everyone is stunned at the strength and grace of his voice. The managers instantly whisk him away to prepare for the show

After the show, Shore goes to his new dressing room and they fall into each other's arms. They speak of times past, of the loneliness of being apart. But when Shore says that she wants to take him out to celebrate, he hesitates. The Phantom will not be happy if he leaves, he knows this

But he agrees and she leaves to let him change

Enter in The Phantom. Showing himself for the first time, a figure in black wearing a simple white mask over his face. White hands punched through the palms. Grillby is enchanted, dazed and follows The Phantom into the tunnels under the opera house

*Music of the Night noises*

Grillby has a bit of a Crisis because he genuinely cares about Phantom and they became very close friends as much as teacher and student but this is kind of odd?? A little frightening?

Phantom sees this, backpedals real hard but hides it and sends Grillby back upstairs before falling into bed and screaming into his pillow

When Shore finds Grillby vaguely wandering back into the theater, she goes, uh??? What happened?? Were you kidnapped? I kind of stayed up all night looking for you??

Grillby, still a little in shock because what the heck just happened "Kind of?"

Now that won't STAND

Shore starts digging to find out everything she can about this opera ghost, keeping a close eye on Grillby. There is no gaslighting here folks like in versions of the story that to this day drive me crazy

As Shore digs, accidents start happening. Loose floorboards, unlatched equipment, a falling sandbag or two. Shore catches on pretty quickly what’s happening when she catches just a flash of shadow more than once right before or after these little ‘incidents’ 

Finally plants herself down in the middle of the stage and calls for the Phantom to show his face. It takes a while then she sees a shadow just barely move. He’s up in the rafters, crouched like some kind of bat

“What is your freaking deal?” 

“Why are you trying to take what’s mine?” 

“Yours? He belongs to himself you dingbat”

That makes him laugh for reasons Shore doesn’t get

Conversation happens, a lot of dodging questions, shifting blame. Phantom is oddly charming. For being an attempted murdering/kidnapping jerk

“Are you the one who keeps trying to kill me? The sandbag dropped on my head, the broken trapdoor, the spiders in my hat??”

“Oh my God, I’m not responsible for every little thing that goes wrong in this place. It’s an old building, accidents do happen. 

“The sandbag was me though.”

Grillby materializes just to smack him in the head for that

And so it goes, Grillby and Shore trying to reconnect, Grillby trying to maintain a level of friendship (and maybe more?) with Phantom and Phantom attempting various levels of accidents to get Shore to leave the theater

Until one day he finds Shore on the stage. She’s singing to an empty theater. She’s not...good exactly but...rather unpracticed. He’s startled enough that he stops his evil giggling and untwisting of the hidden trapdoor in the stage to listen. 

He comes up silently, creeping on the edges just out of sight. When he speaks, Shore shrieks and nearly falls off the stage anyway. Her blushing does a weird thing to his Soul. Like a sort of flip flopping squeeze. 

“Well, if you’re going to think yourself worthy of my Flame, you’d better have a voice to match. Let me hear you sing again.”  

Many ‘threat’ filled lessons later-

“Hmm. Maybe there’s hope for you after all” 

“Maybe there’s more to you than a creepy stalker personality.” 

Past the Point of No Return scene happens at some point. I don’t make the rules

Also Phantom and Shore have a sword fight that maybe starts out as anger fueled but rather quickly changes to a pent up Feelings kind of deal

Grillby’s concern is quick to fade and he watches the two idiots dance around each other, wondering why exactly they don’t see how much they actually do like each other. 

It’s also at this moment he realizes fully that he loves them both

“Well shoot, I love these two morons and they love each other but won’t admit it. This is going to be very ‘fun’ to sort out”

Eventually, Shore asks for Phantom’s name. 

“My name...died with the person I was long ago.” 

“Maybe it’s time you reclaim it.” 

His name is Wing Dings Gaster and for countless years he was held by the Void. He doesn’t fully remember how he escaped, nor what he looked like before. All he knows is that his face is broken with terrible cracks and skeletal in only the vaguest sense with a body that ebbs and flows with darkness. When he first stumbled back into the light after the darkness of the Void, people screamed and ran from him. Or worse, they chased him, calling him an omen of death. So he retreated down below the theater and resigned himself to always be a watcher and made a mask to cover his face. 

He was alone for years until he heard young Grillby crying in a corner and sat as close as he dared. It took a while for him to gain the courage to speak to the elemental

Given the fluid nature of his body, it’s easy for him to change his voice to sing. It’s the only part of himself that he can see as holding any worth. 

Grillby was his only source of socialization and he’s terrified of losing him, which makes Phantom a tad bit clingy with some pretty severe separation anxiety 

Phantom is a sad, sad boy who needs a lot of hugs and therapy

Shore is kind to him despite it all (and despite the irritation at the ‘death threats’) 

Phantom finally admits that she was never in any actual danger because he might be a messed up guy but he’s not a murderer. He might have even nudged her out of the way with blue magic a few times to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

Eventually Phantom realizes he no longer wants her to leave. He wants to stand with her and Grillby. He wants to be a better monster but he doesn’t know how to do that so kind of retreats into his lair 

Grillby and Shore have to track him down. And queue the heart to heart, the great Crying Session, the Unmasking or whatever you wanna call it

And they all live an OT3 happy ending, the end

[sophisticated-creepy]

Lola’s mind was swarming. Although one thought seamlessly bled into the next, there was a supreme lack of a single thread with which to follow, and completely lost in the void of her own mind, she hadn’t noticed she’d walked passed her destination, realizing halfway down the next block she had to double back to reach Curios and Oddities. She was stepping up to the main entrance as Modesta was walking out, holding the door open wide for a customer who had finished purchasing an order of candles and dreamcatchers, the lady’s arms draped in large shopping bags.

“Thanks again, and have a pleasant day,” Modesta told the satisfied shopper. “Lola! I thought I saw you walking by.”

“Hi, Modesta,” Lola chirped, perhaps a tad too sharply to even her own ears. “How was inventory?”

“Fine,” Modesta answered, her eyebrows knitting together in question. Lola’s energy was sporadic and fluctuating, sending out an unsettling vibe despite standing perfectly still in the middle of the sidewalk. Maybe that was the issue: Lola was merely standing. Lola didn’t “stand”, she fluttered, like an overly caffeinated butterfly. If Modesta did find her friend by chance to be in a state of rest, some other part of her was usually moving, whether it were her arms gesturing about grandly during some ostentatious storytelling, or her eyes dancing to absorb the scenery around her. Lola was like the wind, and rarely remained stagnant, so when she noticed the eerie calm in the way Lola remained motionless, staring at nothing, she was immediately on edge and completely creeped out.

“Look, I know Halloween is right around the corner, but you are really starting to freak me out, Lola. Do you need help or something?”

“Sorry,” Lola spoke. She then blinked, her shoulders slouching downwards naturally, shifting back into a more fluid realm of movement and mannerisms. “Sorry,” she repeated. “Yes, actually, I was wondering if you could help me. Are you busy, or can we talk for a moment?”

“I’m not too terribly busy, come on in. What’s on your mind? You were a total zombie on the sidewalk just now.” Lola was ushered into the warmth of the shop, the scent of vanilla and cookies instantly had her relaxing, feeling once more at peace and in control of her rampant thoughts and imagination.

“I’m processing a lot of information,” Lola began as she stepped into the sacred space. “Actually, I’m trying to get some research done on a new story for a writing contest I’m entering.”

Modesta gave a light laugh. “Oh! Another story, huh? That explains your zone-out. What’s your theme this time?”

“The Hobblin’ Goblin.”

“Of course it is,” Modesta laughed harder. “Why did I even bother to ask?”

“Anyway…,” Lola transitioned, giving her friend a look that clearly meant she herself was not amused. “I have a deadline in little over a week, so I need to get as much research done as possible before I can do any actual writing.”

“Do you really need to do research? I thought you knew all there was to your loveable Hobblin’ Goblin.”

“It’s rather quite shocking on how much I don’t know, except for the everyday basics: he’s a goblin, he hobbles, walks with a crutch, and plays pranks. I don’t know the real, tangible origins, so I’m looking for the deeper meaning. I’m looking for his story.”

“I’ve never thought about it from that angle before,” Modesta admitted. “It’s a unique way to portray the legend, that’s for sure.”

Aggrievedly, Lola leaned her hip against a tall table stacked with candles and heaved a sigh. “I want to get some personal testimonies of people experiencing a real run-in with Mr. Goblin as part of my research to get a truer feel of his hauntings, but I’m coming to realize it’s going to be near impossible to sort the differences between a Hobblin’ haunt and a regular haunt.”

“I can help with that!” Jack sprung up from behind the furniture piece Lola and Modesta were talking next to, his boisterous appearance scaring the living daylights out of the two women, having the whole shop of customers stare in their direction as they each let out a scream of fright.

“Jack!” Modesta scolded after catching her breath. “Have you been waiting behind that table this whole time to scare us?”

Laughing, Jack nodded. “I was. But, do you at least get my point?”

“What are you talking about?” Lola asked, still trying to get her racing heartbeat under control.

“I heard you talking about the Hobblin’ Goblin. He pulls pranks, just like me, and like any other prankster, his jokes are mainly for his enjoyment,” Jack informed. “You can’t rely on the typical moans and groans and rattling of chains. You need to look for the fun.”

Lola snapped her fingers in confirmation. “That’s exactly what I said to Stacy. I’m looking for what makes the Hobblin’ Goblin so special, and I believe it lies in the fun. Do you mind if I record you saying that, Jack? From one trickster to another, I’m sure you’ve got some great insight I could borrow.” Eager to get a new perspective on her favorite goblin, Lola began digging around in her purse to renew her quest of investigation.

“Did you hear that, Mo? I get to be recorded,” Jack smugly stated, plastering on a cheesy smile a charlatan of yore would envy.

“I don’t think the world is ready for your mug,” Modesta sarcastically shot back. Lola emerged from her handbag, holding her tape recorder towards Jack’s face, his smile swapping out for a confused pout as he stared down the microphone of the handheld device.

“Tell me again about the motivation of tricksters, Jack,” Lola sweetly requested.

“Yes, Jack,” Modesta agreed, stifling her laughter to the best of her ability. “Tell the audio world all about it.”

“Uh, Lola, when you said ‘record’, I assumed---.” Jack trailed off, not wanting to hurt the wannabe reporter’s feelings, as Lola’s innocent expression at recording him with her archaic equipment weighed heavily against his conscience.

“Oh, shit, hold on,” Lola cursed. “I need to take notes.” Lola’s quick movements to try and free up her hands in order to get a pen and her notebook caused her to jumble and jostle the items in her arm, and she dropped her notepad along with the newspaper straight to the floor in a flurry of commotion. Modesta bent down to help Lola retrieve her items. When her fingertips brushed the newspaper, she hissed, jolted by the sharp sensation, and yanked her arm back, the feeling as if she had touched the coils of a stovetop scorching into her fingers. Looking at the periodical, her eyes fell on the front page, the grainy image of the train yard staring back at her, and Modesta could have sworn she had been punched in the gut.

“Oh, no. Nope. Not okay, and not today. Nada, nope, not happening,” she stammered furiously, and shoved the paper away from her. “I don’t know why you brought that newspaper into my store, but you need to take it outside now.”

Lola reclaimed the newspaper, slowly picking it up off the floor. “Well, that helps answer some of my questions,” she softly stated.

“Everything all right?” asked Jack.

“I was hoping Modesta would take a look at this picture in the newspaper. Even I got a weird vibe from it, and I wanted to get her opinion on the photo, too.” Lola gave the paper to Jack so he could take a look at the cause of excitement.

“Is this the train yard where that attack was made?” he asked, and Lola nodded.

“What attack?” Modesta asked, unconsciously staggering away from Jack as he held the paper out, studying the photo intensely. The residual tingle of being burned lingered on her fingertips, and her hackles were prickling in warry foreboding.

“I heard about it on the radio last night. A security guard was attacked by a demon,” Jack informed, dropping his voice at the end to whisper so as not to alarm nearby customers.

“A demon?” Modesta repeated, crossing her arms and raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? Someone approved that statement to be broadcasted all over local radio?”

“Hey, there’s no mention of the demon in the paper,” Jack stated, turning the pages to try and find the rest of the story.

“Why would there be? The article said it was the work of some kids’ prank gone wrong,” Lola interjected.

“What I heard,” Jack began, “was that the security guard was attacked by a hunched over shadow creature he saw lurking just outside the trees of the forest.”

“How would the radio station know that? The newspaper said the guard has a concussion and a fractured skull. He couldn’t make a statement. His partner found him after he fell,” Lola surmised.

“The dates are wrong, too,” Jack continued, his gaze sharp on the paper. “I heard about the attack happening two nights ago, not last night.”

“Maybe the radio got it wrong,” Lola theorized. “Or, maybe the paper has a misprint. Wait!” Jack’s words began to poke at Lola’s mind, helping to fit pieces of the puzzle together from her earlier haphazard thoughts. “Did you say something about a hunched over shadow creature? Here, let me see that again.” Lola reached for the newspaper and turned to the front page, squinting hard once more at the blurry image. “I can’t tell for sure,” she said at last.

“What are you looking for?” Modesta asked, still standing on the outskirts of her friends thanks to the uneasy item of interest.

“I think the photographer caught an image in the forest, but I can’t make it out. I’ll understand if you don’t want to, but could you please take a look for me, Mo? I get the feeling something’s there, but I need you to validate it or not.”

“Oh, there’s something in that photo, all right,” Modesta confirmed, not even having to look at the image, refusing to touch the newspaper.

“Let me take a look in a better light,” Jack requested, and leading the others to the main checkout counter, spread the pages out on the glass surface. Leaning over the image, he peered closely at the tree line. “I think I can make out a shape. Here, right?” Jack pointed to the same shape that first caught Lola’s attention. "It looks cut off, but that might really be a picture of some kind of figure.”

“Oh, my gracious!” Lola gasped. “What if this is proof of the Hobblin’ Goblin?” she asked in a burst of delight. “Isn’t he rumored to have lived in the forest? What if, what if,” she stressed, “this is him?” Her heartrate had picked back up several faster beats per minute, and the pleasant prickle of goosebumps began crawling up her arms, her earlier disposition melting to give way to the wash of excitement lighting her features. “We’ve got to check this place out!”

“No, Lola,” Modesta cut in harshly. “Absolutely not.” Lola turned to her sour friend, the brusque declaration confusing, and her expression must have read as much, for Modesta pointedly tapped a firm finger on the counter where they all hovered above the newspaper. “This is not safe,” the consternated brunette stated evenly.

“I don’t understand,” Lola spoke. “Why are you so spooked?”

“You wanted my opinion? This is it: stay away.”

“What exactly are you picking up on?” Jack questioned.

“I’m all for Lola doing her research on the legend of the Hobblin’ Goblin,” Modesta began to elaborate. “Since you’re looking for the ‘fun’, I suggest you stick to that route. This,” she indicated, waving her hand over the newspaper, “is not him.”

Lola’s excitement quelled as she stared down at the shape in the photo, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth in contemplation as she considered Modesta’s words compared to her impulse to investigate. This article was a tangible lead, a jumping point for her story to breathe life and take flight. She trusted her friend’s opinion, but nothing short of her own prodding could satiate Lola’s curiosity once it had been roused.

“I trust your judgment,” Lola began carefully, “but maybe we should check things out for ourselves. Come out to the train yard with me tonight.”

“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I’m leading that workshop tonight and Jack is helping run the store, so don’t even bother asking him,” Modesta replied.

“Sorry,” Jack apologized, shrugging his shoulders in pre-obligated surrender.

“Besides, you’d be trespassing. You don’t have the authority to go traipsing around on private property after hours anyway,” Modesta reminded. If it were anymore possible, Lola’s exuberance and spirits deflated with the realization that she wasn’t, in fact, allowed to do her investigating after hours. A rebellious side of her stayed hopeful, however, and the back of her mind was already formulating plans to get the research she so desperately sought.

“Lola,” Modesta drawled in warning, seeing the gleam of trouble brewing behind her friend’s eyes. “Give me your word you’re not going to go after this figure. Leave it alone.”

Lola rolled her eyes, but still held a smile, always appreciative of Modesta’s caring and cautious nature. “I give you my word I won’t go seeking this figure,” she promised.

“Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I have customers to tend.” With that, Modesta flicked her eyes upon the newspaper one final time before turning away. A moment passed before Jack cleared his throat.

“You’re going to go after this figure, aren’t you?”

“Now, Jack, I gave my word, you heard me promise,” Lola reiterated.

“Just…please take Raph with you. I know you are more than capable of handling things on your own, but…if there really is something demonic out there, it’s best if you don’t face it alone.” He gave his friend a comforting squeeze on her shoulder before going to help Modesta with the store. Lola remained silent, thankful of her friends’ concerns, however, the desire to figure out this growing mystery of ghosts and goblins staring back at her from a newspaper headline had her solidifying in her mind what she needed to do in order to properly tell a story.

~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, that Lola. Always getting into trouble.

[silly-nonny-fics-are-for-fandoms]

As the snow falls around us

Note: This is a gift fic for @angiezstuff! Gonna keep saying thank you because you are awesome! Also, I had to rewrite the whole beginning of this fic because I found out about their birthstones this morning, so I’m sorry if it’s not as fluid as the rest of the fic.

Gift fic 2/3, this one is Stosuh.

Summary: Stephen accidentally found out that Hosuh was going to propose to him. True, they had been dating for around ten years, and that certainly wasn't what Stephen was upset about. No, what he was upset about, of course, was that he'd been planning to propose to Hosuh, and his ring wasn't done yet.

Read on Ao3, or keep reading here! 

Stephen saw the ring before he realized that Hosuh was planning on proposing. They'd been dating since shortly after they met, nearing on ten years now, it was about time. Honestly, he hadn't meant to see it, but he'd been cleaning in the living room when he came across a small box in one of the drawers of the coffee table. It was black velvet in finish, and when he opened it, he found a little silver ring with little amethyst and sapphire crystals in a quartered diamond. The amethysts were on top and bottom, with the sapphires on each side. The color of his hair and his birthstone.

Of course, amethyst was also Gavin's birthstone, but whatever. That wasn't what mattered. What mattered was that Hosuh was planning on proposing.

Now Stephen had to act like he didn't know, and like he wasn't planning on doing the same thing come the winter. They were in the middle of autumn, nearing Gavin and Jay's anniversary. His brother and Jay both lived with them, though they'd been dating for only four years. 

The ring Stephen had ordered was a thin band of silver with little sections of it replaced in stripes of blue topaz and the center an amethyst and ammolite. Hosuh's birthstone and the national stones of Hosuh's home country and the country he wanted to live in for the rest of his life. It had been expensive, yeah, but it was worth it for how personal it would be to him. 

Winter was their favorite season, even though the cold was brutal in Canada. The cold brought them closer together, it had their favorite holidays in it, and they had a tradition when it came to the first snowfall. No matter when it was if the forecast had snow, they would be up. If it was scheduled for three in the morning, they'd cook, play games, and once Stephen had convinced his boyfriend to spend the time dancing with him. It was, without a doubt, their favorite time. So, he'd planned to propose during the first snowfall of the season. 

They'd talked extensively about how they wanted their wedding to be, to the point that almost all they needed to do was actually get engaged and they could get things done themselves. It wasn't like this would be a surprise. Except there was a reason no one told him secrets involving himself;  he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut unless it was in the image of self-preservation.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna get married," He whispered to himself, a dopey grin on his face as he thought about how Hosuh would propose. Would it be on their anniversary in January? Would it be on a different day, like when they're just out on a date? When? How long would he need to pretend he didn't know? Hosuh's ring would be in by the end of the week, luckily for him. 

Because the two-week forecast predicted light snow at midnight to eight am in almost two weeks.

He was gonna propose to Hosuh, and Hosuh would probably try to propose back. This was going to be fun. And this was going to be torture, not knowing when Hosuh was going to spring the question on him.

His phone rang shortly after he finished his cleaning, having put the box back exactly where he found it. The jeweler's icon showed up on his phone's caller ID and his eyes went wide, quickly checking to make sure Hosuh was still cleaning in the kitchen, seeing him also talking quietly on the phone, before heading up to their room and answering the call with a deep breath.

"Hello, may I ask who's calling?"

"Hello! I'm calling about a ring ordered by Mr. Stephen Ng?" 

"This is him. What's up?"

"I regret to inform you that the ring will not be in at the time which was estimated. During transportation to our store, the truck got delayed and as such will be a few days late. My apologies. Would you like us to call you once it arrives and is ready for pick up?"

"What?! Of course I would!" 

"Thank you, sir. We will call you as soon as it's ready. Have a nice day."

Beeeeeep.

Stephen wanted to scream. Of course, it would be delayed. He only had to design his own ring for Hosuh, had been working with the jeweler to make sure it was absolutely perfect and feasibly possible, so of course it took so long. 

"I can't believe this bullcrap!" He exclaimed into the void, grabbing one of the pillows and screaming into it for about two minutes straight before he ran out of air. Did it make him feel better? A little bit. Did it fix the problem? Absolutely not.

He needed to calm down or Hosuh would figure it out, and he'd be crushed. He couldn't crush this dream. When it was a game, he was the most competitive person he knew, and would happily knock down the competition with a grin. But this was life, this was his partner, and he couldn't do that to him. And watching Hosuh cry over serious issues was never something he enjoyed. 

The next few days were torture. Pure torture. Hosuh was extra anxious, his medication didn't help at all, and it made him jittery. Simultaneously jittery and exhausted, that was the way Hosuh existed. And it killed Stephen to watch. Did Hosuh know he knew? 

Gavin and Jay being extra lovey-dovey weren't helping either. In fact, it only made things worse, because Hosuh tried to imitate them but his anxiety got the better of him every time so he'd always end up in a panic. It wasn't something he could control, but it was something they were used to. So Stephen took it slow. He kept as calm as he could so that he didn't raise Hosuh's worries, only touching him if Hosuh said he could. He missed kissing his boyfriend. He missed holding him as they fell asleep.

This wasn't the first time Hosuh's anxiety spiked in a major way for a long time before a big event. The last time this happened, it was when they were taking a vacation and Hosuh could barely enjoy the first two days of the trip because of it. 

"I don't know how you put up with me and my anxiety," Hosuh mumbled one morning, reaching over to take Stephen's hand, "I'm probably making you miserable."

"Oh my god, Hosuh," Stephen sighed, "I've not been just putting up with you, it's just part of who you are. And Stephen loves Hosuh. So you need to stop putting my Hosuh down, got it?" He glanced at his partner, watching him smile and try to hide his chuckle. Every time Stephen saw Hosuh smile, he fell in love all over again, and he fell deeper with every kiss. He wanted to keep falling in love with him every day, to keep loving him deeper and stronger, to see him in every way possible. He wanted to support his lows and celebrate the highs, to share and revel in the experience together.

They'd partly grown up together, and he wanted to grow old together too.

Maybe that was sappy, maybe it was dramatic or whatever, but Stephen did not care. He loved that he had the ability to love someone and to love Hosuh when Hosuh couldn't love himself. He wanted to see Hosuh happy, and while he'd gotten better at loving himself and being comfortable in his own skin, they had quite some ways to go.

Stephen was looking forward to it. 

Their phones each rang simultaneously, and when Stephen checked his caller ID, he found it was the jeweler's. His eyes went wide, gasping softly. 

"I'll be right back, gotta take this. It's for work." Stephen said, jumping out of bed and rushing out of the room, answering the phone as he hurried down the stairs so Hosuh didn't hear him.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Is this Stephen Ng?"

"Yes, this is."

"Your ring is ready for pickup. You can pick it up any time after we open." Stephen glanced at the calendar, which had a little snowflake sticker for when the first snowfall was expected. Today. Perfect. A little close to the wire, but perfectly doable. He just needed to pick it up without Hosuh becoming suspicious. 

"Thank you, I'll be there like an hour after you guys open to pick it up." 

"We'll be expecting you, have a nice day, sir."

"You too." 

Beeep.

"Bro? Something wrong?" Gavin said, staring at his brother who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. "You're really pale."

"Okay, Gavin, I have a job for you to do," Stephen said, staring at his brother with intense passion in his eyes, "I need you to keep Hosuh busy until noon." 

"What? Why?"

Stephen put his phone in his pajama pocket, reaching over to grip his brother's shoulders, "I'm going to go pick up a ring so I can propose to Hosuh before he proposes to me, so keep him busy."

Gavin looked like he wanted to say something, eyes wide with a shaky smile. "Damn, bro! You're actually gonna pop the question? That's awesome! Good luck."

"No, I saw the ring, I know he's gonna say yes, so I need to do it first. So keep Hosuh busy until I get back."

"I can totally do that! Good luck!" 

"I don't need luck, I'm Stephen!" 

Stephen was so excited once he had the box in his hand. It was a dark blue box, but that wasn't what was important. He sat in the driveway, staring at the ring which lay inside. It was just how he thought it would look, absolutely wonderful. Everything he paid for it was absolutely worth it when he had it in his hand, he just needed to actually propose. It was supposed to start snowing a little while before midnight, so they wouldn't have to stay up too long past normal. 

He looked up, and his eyes went wide when he noticed that the other car was gone. No one should have anywhere to go today, why was the car gone?

He exited his car, heading inside quickly. "Gavin?! Hosuh?!" He exclaimed, only for Jay to reply. 

"They went to the gym, calm down." Jay sighed, rolling his eyes, "No need to scream."

"Oh thank God. Also, I'm going to need you and Gavin-"

"Already booked the hotel. I know the first snowfall is important to you and Hosuh so I made arrangements."

"Well, thank you for finishing my sentence, asshole!"

"You're welcome."

Stephen hated that he had to put up with him. One day, maybe five years in the future, he'd end up being in-laws with Jay, and that was something he didn't want to put up with. He sincerely hoped that Gavin would get married one day, and he hoped he was happy, but he didn't want to deal with Jay.

Now all he needed to do was wait for the night to come, and he could get ready. Once Hosuh and Gavin returned, his lovable ball of anxiety gave him a big hug and a kiss, apologizing for having not texted before he left. They always texted one another when they left, because neither wanted the other to worry. 

Jay and Gavin left as soon as the sunset, heading off to their hotel room so that they could have some privacy. They'd made hot chocolate and curry; not the most romantic of foods, but it was nice and warm, which they needed if they were going to make it to midnight. Well, which Stephen needed if he wanted to make it to midnight. Hosuh had no issues staying up until like three in the morning, while Stephen almost never went to bed after ten. He'd been getting better at getting Hosuh to go to bed early, though.

Now, they stood on the balcony, sipping their hot chocolate as they waited for the snow to fall. 

"I can't believe it's been over ten years," Hosuh said, staring up at the stars. The area they lived in was far enough out of the main city that they could see the stars, as there wasn't much light pollution. 

"It doesn't feel that long. Still feels like two."

"Some days it feels like forever."

"Pff- That's true. You know I'd love to spend forever with you." 

Something wet hit their faces, and they realized what it was. Looking around, they could see the snow falling all around them softly. It wasn't supposed to be a lot of snow, barely half an inch, and it would likely melt by the morning. But it didn't make it any less magical to them. Instinctively, they leaned over and kissed, softly, sweetly, slowly. Every ounce of love could be felt in that one press of the lips, warming them from the inside out. 

Stephen reached into his pocket where he'd put the ring, stepping back from his partner as he pulled it out. Except, just as he was about to get on one knee, he saw a similar box in Hosuh's hand. They both stared at the other's box, faces turning red.

"Wait- Stephen, are you going to-"

"You were planning to tonight? That was my plan!"

"Oh my god," Hosuh laughed, setting the box down on the little table they had set up on their balcony, "We're such dorks." Stephen joined in on the laughter, the chilled air showing their breaths in soft puffs, unbridled joy and love in their voices.

"I guess that's a yes, then?" Stephen said through his laughter.

"Only if it's a yes from you too." 

"What? Of course it is!"

They each opened their boxes, and Stephen was surprised. That wasn't the ring he'd found. This one was larger, sectioned off in layers with a black wavy section in the middle. He recognized the gemstone on the bottom; ammolite. The top was purple, but not the deep amethyst color. Then he realized where he'd seen it before. Purple sapphire. The black wave was a soundwave, and he recognized it. When they were still in school and did a paper on what soundwaves were, they got to use a machine that showed them what the soundwaves looked like. The two of them had said 'I love you forever' together for the first time on that day, their voices blending together. Wrapping around the ring was love and forever from that project. 

"Huh, that's surprising," Stephen said, not expecting Hosuh to jump at the words.

"D-Do you not like it?"

"What? No, Hosuh, I love it, you thought of everything. I'm just surprised because I found a ring box while cleaning two weeks ago and this wasn't it."

"Oh," Hosuh breathed a sigh of relief, "That's Jay's, for Gavin." 

"So you weren't planning on proposing?"

"Of course I was. I've been working with a jeweler to make your ring for months. I had to pick it up today because the delivery truck was delayed."

"Holy crap, I think we went to the same jeweler! I picked up yours this morning because the delivery truck was delayed!"

Once again, they couldn't stop the laughter flooding out from them. Even without knowing it, they'd gotten the perfect rings for one another simultaneously. And as they sat there in the slowly falling snow, hands held tight, there was nowhere else in the world they'd rather be, and no one they'd rather be with. 

[beautifulletdownfics]

Twenty Good Reasons :: Part One

Hello!  Welcome to the ‘Someday, Someday’ sequel! I hope you’ll enjoy your time here!  Before you start, make sure you check out the Harry & Nina Chronology page to catch up on a few of the drabbles and novellas that slot in the gap between ‘Someday, Someday’ and ‘Twenty Good Reasons’. As always, please don’t be strangers, posting into the void is a terrifying thing! Love K x

+++

I wrote a symphony.

I had written a symphony and tonight I was conducting the London Symphony Orchestra in what would be my professional debut as a composer and conductor. London’s Royal Albert Hall was sold out, a fact I sincerely wished the Director of Music kept to himself. I tried not to think about the magnitude of the opportunity I had tonight to disappoint, to not live up to what was expected of me.

The conductor’s suite was cold and quiet around me, and with no instrument to tune to keep my hands busy, I was flipping through a five-year-old edition of Hello Magazine. My eyes stared at the clock on the wall, not taking in any of the dated royal gossip or reality star news, it was an odd juxtaposition really—London’s premier music venue housing a copy of the gossip rag from the pits of hell.

Months of tension and trying to sleep through the noise of dozens of melodies simultaneously rolling through my thoughts at once had finally dissipated into an unsettling silence. The notes weren’t fluid anymore, they were set, and a seventy piece orchestra knew the movements backwards and forwards.

It was anti-climatic in the sense that the worry and stress didn’t end, they just became centred in a different place. Instead of biting my nails over crescendos and harmonies, I was in the middle of an even more terrifying process of considering how it all might sound to the thousands of people above me, being ushered to their seats.

I picked at the sequinned hem of my dress and wondered what the heck I was supposed to do tomorrow.

Tomorrow—when I wasn’t writing and rewriting the movements anymore—when what felt like my life’s work was out there, and I couldn’t hide it way anymore. Did I just wake up as usual, walk to the cafe down the street and order a latte? Sit at a window seat, and one by one delete all the notes and voice memos on my phone from the last twelve months of writing? Did I immediately start work on a follow-up? Would anybody want a follow up from me?

I suddenly wished more than anything that I was in the green room with my peers warming up my horn for any typical performance. Knowing I was going to walk out on stage after they did made my stomach hollow out.

My phone started vibrating from its spot on the vanity in the corner, and when I got to it, I stood over it for a little while, looking at Harry’s name flash up on the screen with a call. After three years my instinct was to reach out to Harry whenever I felt like this; like I wasn’t in control of how time was moving, and I wasn’t sure how to reach back into my life and be present. My fingers itched to answer his call, to hear his voice and be comforted by whatever lovely and motivating things he would say.

But I couldn’t. I’d fall apart if I heard Harry's voice tonight because he wasn’t here. He wasn’t here, and that something I was completely unprepared for.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault, not really.

If anything the fact Harry couldn’t be here was because of me. Harry planned his Asian touring dates around when my debut was supposed to take place, a few weeks from now. A month ago I played tonight’s suites in full to the orchestra board and directors, and they decided they wanted to move everything forward, opening the season with my debut instead of having it in the middle of the season.

It was a promotion for my work, and it was a huge show of faith and support from my community. But it meant Harry had shows with tickets already sold and there was no good way of telling fans in four cities they were going to be refunded or offered tickets for alternate dates. Particularly when Harry’s picture was sure to show up in London somewhere, and it would be plainly obvious he cancelled shows to see his girlfriend.

A text flashed up on my phone.

Harry: I love you. You’re going to be fantastic. Remember to breathe. x

It was sweet of him to text, he would know more than anyone how I was feeling. I didn’t have it in me to do the time conversion to where he was at the moment. He was right in the middle of the Asian leg. I tried my best to swallow my sadness down—I knew Harry wasn’t choosing to miss this.

After finding out tonight’s performance was going to be so much earlier than I had expected the time flew by quickly as I went through all the rigours of finalising the score and then rehearsing it with the orchestra. It had been four weeks of early mornings and late nights, fielding questions from players and getting it up to performance standard. Harry was a saint for dealing will all my teary FaceTime calls and the almost daily texts about giving up.

I tried not to overthink how wrong it felt knowing Harry wouldn’t be there afterwards to celebrate with my family and friends. All the late nights I spent with Harry pouring over my compositions trying to find the notes that were out of place and to then not have him sitting in the audience the first time it was played—and my first time conducting a professional orchestra … It felt like I was being robbed of something.

He was the perfect helper over the twelve months the symphony took to write. Some parts happened quickly, and others were hard-won, with dozens of edits and reprises. Harry was the best second set of ears I could have asked for. He learned over the years how music was put together, and when I was pathetic and frustrated in the middle of the night, he spoke my language in calm, loving perfection.

I had my dad to be my critical, technical sounding board, and my boyfriend to be the ever encouraging, soft set of hands I needed when it all felt hopeless. Harry knew when to push me to keep going, and when to pull me from the room and distract my mind with something else.

I missed him.

Harry and I hadn’t spent more than 72 hours together in four months. There were a handful of weekend visits—most notably my twenty-fourth birthday we spent in Copenhagen—and three days quite recently spending Christmas with our families ... But beyond that, Harry and I were doing long distance, the end in sight but too far away to be a real comfort yet.

In some ways, the four months apart seemed to had passed exceptionally quickly, but in others—mainly the ones that seemed to carry the most weight—it was as if time had slowed to twice it’s speed and filling the extra space was all the time I spent missing him.

I spent half my days hating technology—hating talking through a phone with typed or faceless words, and hating early mornings on Skype where a 2D depiction of Harry could only soothe so far—and the rest of the days clutching my phone like a lifeline, praising the 21st century for its ability to connect to people on opposite sides of the planet.

We made it work, which was a line I’d stolen from Harry in interviews over the years. But it was true, nonetheless. Sometimes it felt overly simplistic, but there was a simple truth to it that I liked.

Today though, I had vowed to be happy even in his absence.

“Ten-minute call,” My eyes snapped to the PA system in the corner, and I let out a long stream of breath.

It was time.

+++

I held my baton tightly in front of me, shaking from the adrenalin.

I deliberately avoided looking to where I knew my family and friends were sitting when the house lights were turned on.

The applause was almost deafening and completely overwhelming. I held up my arm to the orchestra, diverting the praise of the audience to the players behind me. They had done spectacularly, and once my heart was done exploding from my chest, and I came down off all my nerves, I would be able to adequately comprehend it all.

The applause started quietening down as the Director of Music, Ian, walked out to join me on stage, a handheld microphone in his hand. He kissed my cheek and gave me a warm hug, calling for another round of applause for me that I awkwardly stood through. I recalled our conversation eighteen months ago, where he encouraged me to do this, to challenge myself.

There was a loud whoop from behind me, and I laughed when the horns section was on their feet cheering me from their positions. They were my closest allies in the orchestra and they’d more than earned their stripes tonight. I gave them a little bow and turned back to the front.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our very own Maestro Nina Lawrence,” Ian said into the microphone, smiling through the distinguished term that I definitely hadn't earned yet, “I am sure this is only the beginning of what we will see from you,” He smiled at me.

There were a few more moments on stage before he led me off, the orchestra following close behind me. I sat on the first seat I found in the wings, tilting my feet back onto my heels and dragging my hands through my hair.

“Ni-na!” My name was called out as the players spilled into the green room, a body pressed up next to me, and someone grabbed my arm, “You’re fucking brilliant!”

I smiled up at one of the trumpet players, “Thank you. I feel like I’m about to combust.”

Somebody shouted for a toast, and I watched, completely surprised, by the arrival of trays of flutes of champagne. By the time all the officials and board members had given their own motivational, encouraging addresses, congratulating me and everyone for all their hard work, nearly all my family had snuck in. Friends too were now making faces at me from across the room where they all stood near the door.

When everyone broke apart, I made a beeline for them, asking one of the venue wait staff to follow me with a  tray of drinks. My shoulders hurt by the time I was finished getting hugs from everyone, some tearier than others, my dad the teariest of all. My cousins and my childhood best friends mingling with friends from the orchestra and my life with Harry in a way that overwhelmed me with a sense of belonging to a powerful group of people. Finally, I tucked myself under Rodger’s arm for a touch of respite from the limelight, my back almost touching the wall behind us as he chatted to Laykn and Max.

“None of those sad eyes today, alright?” Rodger turned his head down to the side of my face and spoke under his breath.

“Shhh,” I squeezed his fingers near my shoulder as I took a deep breath and tried to swallow against the tight feeling pressing against my throat, “I’m not sad.”

“Nina,” He chuckled, “You’re inches off looking like you’re attending a funeral.”

“That’s not true!” I argued feebly, chancing a look at him and giving him wide eyes like that might convince him. As Rodger didn’t know me better than almost anybody else.

“It is,” Rodger bit back, smiling at my mother who turned around when my old flatmate failed to whisper quietly enough, she gave us a concerned look but went back to chatting to a friend of our father’s, “And Harry would be so upset if he knew he was ruining this for you,” Rodger’s voice was softer now, “I know this is worse for him. Everyone you love is celebrating with you today, and he’s literally one of the furthest places on earth from you that he could possibly be.”

“It’s not his fault,” I said quietly, looking at my nails and picking at a loose bit of skin I’d been biting all week.

“No, it’s not,” Rodger agreed, resting his head on the crown of my head slowly in warm affection, “But he’s watched you work so hard for this for years, Nina … I know he’d be distraught if he thought you were going to be sad all day because he can’t be here.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “You know it, do you?”

Rodger halted for half a second and then I felt him shrug against me, “He might’ve sent me one of his perfectly punctuated text messages last night instructing me to kick you up the arse if you started looking weepy.”

Something pinched at my heart at Harry’s pro-active concern, “I can’t believe he’d describe me as ‘weepy’,” I huffed, knowing that was precisely the word my boyfriend would use.

“This isn’t about him, this is your night.”

The thing was that my friend was so right about what Harry’s reaction would be to my outwardly missing him today. Harry had lectured me numerous times this week.

When my family and friends followed me back to the conductor’s suite for one more champagne before the celebratory dinner my parents had insisted on organising, I was unable to not still feel disconnected somehow. There was relief though, and an astronomical sense of achievement and satisfaction, and for the first time all day, I felt caught up in the happiness of it all.

The room felt far bigger when I was in here alone before the performance, it was much nicer crammed with my loved ones, all lightly teasing and bullying me. It was loving, and I could read the pride on their faces. I got extra hugs from both my parents and from aunt Anne and my uncle Ted. The cousins and my brother were out in full force—Martin refused to stop filming me and asking mock, documentary-style questions, Josh and Ben didn’t stop trying to make me re-enact walking across the stage. And Oliver was doing impressions of me, waving my baton around and tugging on the lapels of the new suit he got for his tenth birthday.

My dad was holding his phone up taking photos the whole time, managing to wrangle us all together into the groups he wanted. I felt like I’d had an individual photo with everyone a hundred times over.

“It’s the middle of the night in Tokyo,” Laykn draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side, letting me take a sip of his warm champagne. He knew me well enough to know I had checked my phone a few too many times.

I just wanted to hear from Harry.

“I know,” I sighed, “Sorry.”

“Nah,” My younger brother dismissed, “It’s alright. You miss him, that’s okay. Maybe it means you’ll be nice and let me eat your fries at dinner.”

“Ha, fat chance,” I told him. “And I’m not sure this is a fries kind of place.”

Laykn looked at me playfully down his nose, his fingers darting about pocking his tie back through the gaps in his shirt,  “It’s a rich people’s place, Nina. They’ll make you whatever you want as long as the booking name is under Harry Styles.”

I punched Laykn in the arm, and he laughed loudly, “You’re a jerk. Mum and dad organised dinner.”

“I think Harry pulled some strings,” Laykn teased, “And don’t kid yourself, I’m your favourite jerk,” He amended quickly.

“Yeah, whatever,” I agreed, “I’m going to go find the bathroom,” I whispered right into his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of the room.

I waited until I was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet with the lid down before I unlocked my phone again. I checked any of the places communication from Harry might’ve come from, but then when all my email and messaging apps were coming up blank, I had to fight off the disappointment without tearing up.

I knew that it was still essentially nighttime in Japan where he was, but that didn't stop my heart breaking a little at the fact I’d just lived out one of the biggest days in my life while Harry slept. It had been a big day for me, and although I handled days like this a lot better than I might’ve when we were first dating, knowing that Harry was at least awake at the same time was more comforting than I’d care to admit.

After taking a few moments to actually use the facilities, I gave myself one final pep talk in the vast, softly lit mirror before readjusting my dress and mentally preparing myself for what I knew would be a boisterous dinner.

I walked out of the restrooms, flipping my phone over in my hands and concentrating on taking a few deep, filling breaths. The bare concrete walls of the backstage tunnels were marked up with dozens of scrapes and a patchwork of different staging tape. It was chilly too, and I told myself to put my coat on when I got back to everyone, we needed to leave for dinner soon.

“Hey pretty lady," I heard just behind me, my peripheral catching just the slightest movement of someone off the wall.

He smiled when I turned back to face him.

The light glistening in his eyes was the first thing I noticed. But my heart started racing, and my legs were moving before I could really think what was happening, all I knew was that the string connecting my heart to my tear ducts was tugging wildly.

Harry.

He was standing wearing a beautifully tailored pair of high waisted black suit pants, a soft white tee and double-breasted black blazer. I was sure my mouth was hanging open as wide as it felt my heart was busting open in my chest, “Harry!”

"Surprise," He giggled out, bending his neck down slightly when I opened up my arms and reached towards him on my tippy toes, folding my arms up over his shoulders. His arms crossed at the small of my back, and all the air left my lungs when he pulled me against him tightly. “Kept me waiting out here long enough, I didn’t want to make you cry in front of everyone.”

"I hate you," I whined through the shock, but my throat was clogged up with the tears that had already started escaping my eyes. “You’ve been here the whole time? When did you arrive?”

“A few hours beforehand … Tried calling you when we got here though,” He mumbled into my neck, “I was regretting not telling you I was coming because I knew your nerves would be killing you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I knew I’d cry if I spoke to you, I just wanted you here.” “Well, I was here,” He laughed, “And you were fucking phenomenal. I cried like a baby.”

“You’re here!”

Harry's grip on me tightened, and he stood up a little, pulling me with his body, “I am. You look beautiful."

“You haven't seen me in four months," I sniffed, turning my head to press my nose into his neck.

"God, don't I know it," Harry moved his hands up my back and settled them on my shoulders, "Fuck, why do I do this to myself? You're an angel," He pulled back and leaned down to kiss me.

Our lips were hopeless at staying together, even though we hadn’t kissed in months and months. The emotions were catching up with me, and I struggled to settle anywhere between laughing and sniffing back my tears. Harry’s lips turned up into a smile and he pulled my forehead against his, watching through amused, wetted eyes as I tried to keep myself from bawling.

“You’re useless,” He laughed, sniffing away his own emotions when I traced my fingers under his eyes to catch the tears.

“What are you doing here,” I asked, squeezing my eyes shut and moving up again to press my cheek against Harry’s in a desperate attempt to feel closer. “You’re in Japan.”

“I’m not in Japan,” He said softly, “I’m here for you. No one’s as proud of you as I am, Nina, you’ve worked so hard for this.”

“Stop,” I groaned, embarrassed.

“It’s true,” He defended seriously, “You’ve got more talent than anyone I know, and you work harder than everyone else as well. The performance was astounding, you had the whole room captivated. Your work is beautiful and you should be so proud. I’m so proud.”

“Stop,” I interjected.

“It’s true,” Harry swallowed thickly, “You’re always working towards getting better and being better, and you’re constantly creating something completely brilliant that half the time I don’t understand until you stop and baby it down for me … You’re incredible, and I’m so proud of you, my Maestro.”

I felt myself blush, having heard Harry sprout out that affectionate declaration many times before.

“Did everyone know?” I asked, still holding him tight.

“That I was coming?” His chest moved against mine in a few small chuckles after I nodded against him, “Yeah.”

“All of them?” I thought of my whole family and all my friends sitting waiting for me to return from the bathroom.

“Every last, stinking one,” Harry said in what he thought was an endearing Dennis the Menace impression. I pulled back and smiled as I looked up and watched him continue, “There was no way on earth I wasn’t going to be here for this. No fucking way.”

“Seriously,” I shook my head and swallowed back another lot of tears, “You can’t be here right now, you’re in the middle of tour, and you’ve got shows every—“

“Shhh,” Harry took my lips between his again for a few seconds, “Don’t worry about any of that, you think I wouldn’t move mountains to be here? I’m here.”

I smiled and let the tears escape this time, “I love you.”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I love you, too.”

I settled back down into my heels and shook my head, "I can't believe it. This morning I woke up thinking there was still three weeks before I'd see you ... And now ..."

He grinned, "I pulled off the perfect surprise then. C'mon, your brother has been texting me for the last twenty minutes about how hungry he is. Impatient little git, isn't he?"

I rolled my eyes and let Harry arrange our fingers together in a tight hold, ”He's famished apparently.”

Harry’s lips pressed into the hair just above my ear before he stood up straighter and slowly took a step forward. I let him lead me along for a few steps before overwhelming happiness overcame me, and I skipped ahead to tuck myself under his arm snugly.

"I love you, Harry Styles,” I told him quietly, ducking my head when we came to a junction where the greenrooms met the holding room, “Thank you so much for coming.”

There was a small tug on my hand and then Harry stopped walking, looking down at me curiously he tilted his head to one side, “You’re welcome, but I hope you realise coming was less than altruistic of me … I’ve been pretty desperate to see you as well, Neens.”

“‘Cause I’m your favourite person?” I said, grinning when Harry’s thumb dug into my side.

“Damn straight, you are,” He nodded, hooking his hand around my neck and leading my lips up to his.

I shut my eyes and let the kiss be led by Harry. He kept it slow, dragging his lips up to my temple and resting them there for a moment.

“Your family will think I’ve kidnapped you,” Harry said slowly as he wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed once before letting me go again and starting to walk. “And I’m starving as well, let’s go, yeah?”

I latched both my hands over one of Harry’s and manoeuvred us quickly back to where everyone was. There was a room full of happy faces when we finally got there, together, and I shrunk into Harry’s side shyly at the stupid catcalls from them all. Georgie held her phone up recording the moment with the promise of sending me the ‘adorable’ photos later. Laykn muttered something about it being ‘about bloody time', Harry beamed though, kissing me firmly in front of everyone.

+++

It was sweet relief to finally be in the back of a cab pressed neatly beside Harry on the way to dinner. I dropped my head to his shoulder sleepily even though I knew we were only a few blocks from where the Langham was.

Harry quickly greeted the driver and said the name of the street we needed before he turned covered my thigh with his palm and massaged it slowly, “Do you think we should get a pet?”

“A pet?” I asked, completely surprised by what came out of his mouth.

“Yeah.” “That’s what you're thinking about right now?”

“Been thinking about it for a while,” He misheard my tone. “We should get a pet, don’t you think?

“No, I absolutely do not think,” I challenged him, “Pets are so much work, and you go away all the time and what if I want to come to see you? It’d be annoying for us to have a pet.”

Without looking at him I knew the face he was pulling, all wide-eyed and pouted lip, “But imagine having a little furry bundle of love in our lives, Nina. I think you’ve been very flippant in dismissing what could be the best decision we ever make.”

“Harry.”

“I want a puppy, Nina,” He went on, taking a deep breath and racing through his words like that might convince me,  “A little fluffy one that needs help learning to howl and hates walking on the kitchen tiles. A cockapoo, like Rodger and Adriana’s dog. Doesn’t that sound adorable?”

“Harry, we can’t—

“—I said,” He interrupted, “Doesn’t that sound adorable, Nina? With little paws and that look of love, only dogs can give? And when we’re both away Gem can take it, or Josh.”

“Har—

“—Or Laykn! We can send little Pauper to university with your brother for a few days.”

“Pauper?” I gave Harry a look.

“Great name, hey? I’ve been brainstorming.”

“What makes you think I’d let you call our puppy ‘Pauper’. What a stupid name for a dog.”

Harry smiled widely, “Our puppy, eh?”

I paused, realising my mistake, “Shut up.”

He laughed at me and raised his arm up to rest it around me and pull me against his side, “I’m going to win this, I can tell.”

“You’re really not.” “Am too.”

We rode in silence then, the radio playing softly upfront and the streets of London slipping past us in their usual way. Harry was humming along, and when I eventually turned to look back at him, his eyes were already watching me.

“What?” I asked quickly, sitting up and moving out of his arms.

“Love you, you were fucking incredible up there tonight,” He said quietly, leaning his head back against the seat and not changing his relaxed expression in the slightest. His slight smile only created half dimples in his cheeks, and I found myself entranced by the curl of his eyelashes.

I felt my cheeks heat up immediately, “You’ve got that look.”

His eyes widened a little as his fingers snuck across my lap to reach for my hands, “What look is that?”

“The one where you’re secretly imagining me naked,” I said bluntly.

“Ha!” Harry didn’t hide his amusement at all, letting out one loud sound and then falling into an adorable bout of silent laughter, he leant forward and placed a hot kiss to the shell of my ear, “Well, it’s not a secret anymore, is it?”

“Harry!” I smacked him in the chest with my free hand which he quickly grabbed at and held in place.

“The best part is that now you’re imaging me naked,” Harry hummed out lightly.

Before any more could be said, the car was stopping, which had Harry kicking open the door and pulling me out with him. I stood for a second and waited for him to take my hand, leading me up the front steps and straight to the reception of the restaurant.

Inside everyone was already seated, and on their first drinks, I walked around the table and greeted everyone individually. We had a round table in a vast, impeccably styled private dining room. Two seats had been left free for Harry and me, he took the spot next to my dad, and I lowered myself into the place next to my mum.

It was the first time all day I actually felt relaxed. I sat back in my chair and let the pain in my feet ease. The boys were all challenging each other to different meals, making up anything that was in a different language and then convincing Oliver anything foreign would just taste like chicken. Isobel, Georgie and Sam were asking Harry about Japan, listing off a particular liquor they wanted him to bring back for the next time we drank together.

Everyone took far too long deciding what to eat and then even longer actually getting through all the food that arrived. Harry told me he slept through the food on the plane over and was much hungrier than even he knew. I let him take from my plate much to Laykn’s dismay.

“Happy?” My mum leaned over and put her arm around my shoulder for a quick hug, whispering and then watching my reaction with a massive smile on her face.

I pulled Harry, and I’s joined hands over onto my lap like he might disappear if he wasn’t as close as I could get him, “Yeah,” I replied, “Perfect.”

“You look happy,” She observed, “And Harry’s got his dopey face on.”

I laughed and looked back over to my boyfriend who was blushing at something Josh and Martin were teasing him about, “Do you know how long he’s got or …”

When I turned back around to face her, there had been a definite fall in her features, “Nina … He just got here, why don’t you—“

“—I know,” I cut her off, “I know. Harry isn’t meant to be here at all, who cares how long he can stay, right?”

She gave me a small smile and a kiss on my cheek just before I was pulled into defending Harry against whatever he was being attacked for now. Everyone looked happy, though, and I was glad to sit and be taken into whatever conversations I could. It was fun, and it felt almost like it was the holidays, and we all had nothing to do but enjoy each other. I found myself thankful for the occasion in an entirely different way to how I had appreciated it earlier in the day.

Eventually, after an embarrassing dessert experience that involved my receiving a ‘debut cake’, everyone started looking at watches and deciding it was time to end the dinner. Anybody who didn’t live in London had been invited by Harry to stay at our house.

“We’re not going with them,” Harry said to me at the last minute, after the bill was paid and we were all standing out farewelling each other in the foyer.

I looked over at my parents who seemed to already know this information, and everyone else was already loading into Ubers and Cabs.

“We aren’t?”

Harry smiled, “Say goodbye,” He nodded towards my family, and I offered them all a small wave without hiding my confusion.

“Where are we—”

Harry leant down and kissed me quickly, “—I got us a room for the night.”

“Here?” I asked astonished.

He nodded.

My eyes nearly fell out of my head, “Harry! That’s mental! This place is fancy.”

“Yeah,” He changed our positions, so his arm was draped across my shoulders and he started leading me over to the hotel reception, “Well … You’re a gorgeous woman in a beautiful dress, and I ironed this shirt so I’d say we’re pretty fancy. And it’s a celebration … Not to mention the fact we’ve hardly seen each other in four months …”

“Harry,” I warned slowly, feeling myself grow jittery when I saw the glint in his eyes.

He moved his hand down my arm and rested it across the back of my ribcage, fanning out his fingers to reach as high as he could, “I’ve missed you,” Harry whispered in my ear lowly, “And you look bloody stunning, Nina. I didn’t feel much like sharing you with your family at home.”

Home.

That was a concept that I was still getting used to, despite it having been almost a year since I moved all my things in with Harry. Probably because I’d spent most of that time highly stressed about composing, and Harry had been away for so much of it. But still, the fact remained, we lived together now and with that simple fact came a new level of pure intimacy that I relished in. I could only imagine how much better it would feel to have a good chunk of time together there come to the end of the tour for Harry.

“What’re you thinking about? Me naked?” Harry’s voice came right into my ear again.

We were standing at the desk, waiting behind another couple, and Harry moved around to stand tightly behind me, his arm affectionately across my neck.

I looked at him from the side of my eyes, “Just how nice it’ll be to actually live together for an extended period.”

“Hmm,” Harry agreed readily before stepping forward and introducing himself, he turned back to me while we waited for the check-in paperwork, “It will be pleasant.”

“Seriously, how much are you spending on—” I asked, reaching up onto my tippy toes when a piece of paper was placed in front of Harry.

“Oh-oh,” He tutted, plucking it up and shifting, so his back was to me, he smiled at the receptionist, signing his name quickly, “This is perfect, thank you.” She disappeared again, and he turned back to me, I tried not to think about how much whatever extravagant room we were about to stay in would be costing him. Not to mention the cost of him flying out here from Japan in the first place.

I caught a familiar movement over his shoulder and quickly diverted my eyes, “Does it matter if you’re seen here with me?”

Harry frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Someone just took a photo.”

Harry looked back over his shoulder to where I was looking, “Oh,” He turned back to me, “No, it’s okay.”

A keycard was handed over, and Harry profusely thanked the receptionist who pointed us in the direction of the elevators. We walked passed the group where I had seen the photo being taken, Harry gave them a polite little wave with a coolness I know I lacked.

When the doors opened, and we stepped inside, I watched Harry in the mirror as he pressed the for the flood we wanted, “It feels odd not having bags, doesn’t it?”

“Feels sexy,” Harry grinned.

“It feels conspicuous,” I returned.

Harry chuckled, leaning over to kiss my forehead, “I brought some things from home over earlier.”

“Oh.”

“You’re just so cute when you’re worried about silly things, Neens,” He explained.

I was about to rebut when we came to the door for our room. Harry opened it with no hesitation—his years of staying in hotels showing— and he propped open the door for me to walk in ahead of him. I ducked under his arm and hung my evening bag on the back of the door, continuing to where the whole room opened up to an expanse of windows.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the drawing desk by the window. Sitting up in a long, white vase was a dozen white and red roses.

“Harry … What are these?”

“Happy debut,” He said behind me as he pressed his chest to my back and wound his arms around my front, when I looked down he was holding a medium-sized, navy box out in front of me, “This is for you as well.”

I slowly took the box out of his hands and straight away he held them firmly across my stomach. His chin rested on my neck, and he observed as I ran my finger over the engraving on the front.

“Harry Winston,” I read the engraved name, “What on earth—

“Open it,” Harry instructed softly, turning his head to one side to press a kiss to the base of my neck.

The box opened with a satisfying pop sound and it folded out like a flower. Resting in the velvet insert was a beautiful, round pendant necklace.

“Harry, you’re not supposed to get me something.”

“Take out,” He urged, poking the back of my hand with his index finger.

“I don’t want to break it.”

Harry chuckled lightly, “You won’t. Take it out, and we’ll put it on you.”

It turned out that it was quite hard to extract from the box, and in the end, Harry in his own fit of giggles had to pull out the whole lining of the box and work from the underside to get it out. But he managed to get the necklace out and just before he put it on he made me go into the bathroom with him, so I’d be able to see in the mirror.

“Lovely,” He declared once the clasp was secured and the small pendant was resting on my skin. Harry ran his hands down my arms and back up again while I inspected how I looked wearing it.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” I decided very quickly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry returned, looking very pleased with himself behind me.

The movement of his hands halted for a moment as he bent down a little to kiss the back of my neck gently. It was a soft kiss that sent something delicious all the way down my spine and the back of my legs. He hummed against my skin, and his fingers trailed up to the zip at the top of my dress, carefully dragging it down to pull the two sides apart carefully.

“We’re going to have to hang this up if I’m going to be doing the walk of shame in it tomorrow,” I told him, referring to my dress.

“My girlfriend doesn’t do walks of shame,” Harry corrected with a growl, his hands slow and deliberate in their movements, “I’ve got something for you to wear tomorrow and pyjamas.”

“You have?” I turned around in his arms and was honestly surprised by him being that prepared.

“I do,” He said in a funny, high pitched voice, “What did you think I meant when I said I brought some things over earlier? It’s moments like these it comes out that you don’t think very much of my gentlemanly ways.”

I moved my arms up to rest over his shoulders and pulled myself up onto my tippy toes, “I’m happy to be proved wrong.”

Harry’s eyes went to my lips then, and I knew there wasn’t going to be much more talking. He pulled me against him and started out the kisses slow and sweet, getting me ready for when the four months of not seeing each other took over, and our hands started moving of their own accord.

It didn’t take long before Harry had me lying on my back on the bed, my dress over the back of the nearest chair and Harry’s nice clothes draped over the top of them. From there it was all hushed words of missing each other, and incomprehensible noises that only made the moment hotter and more dizzying.

After three years so much about sex with Harry was better than I ever could’ve imagined. Because he knew me on so many different levels, the physical connection between us was only heightened. And it grew in me some enormous sense of pride to know I was the only one who got Harry curling his toes together and panting against my skin.

He was all mine, and I got every inch of him to myself.

It was well past one in the morning by the time we were lying side by side, and I was finally reflecting on the day as a whole. My stomach was filled with a warm, settled feeling just having Harry next to me in bed again. Sleeping alone had been something I hated getting used to still. Having another, albeit longer, body beside me I was sure was the best end result I never would’ve dared to dream might happen today.

“What time are you setting it for?”

Harry stopped moving his fingers across his phone screen and turned his head my way, “What?”

I made a point of looking where the clock app was open in front of him, “What time are you setting your alarm for?”

“Neens,” He said sadly, not giving me an answer but only giving me a look that said whatever his response would be I wouldn’t like it.

“Harry, what time?” I asked again, moving my head over to rest against his shoulder for a better look at the screen, “Three a.m.?” I readout.

“Nina—

“—Three in the morning! Harry, what the hell kind of insane time is that? You can’t—

I was cut off by Harry rolling onto his side and forcing me into silence with a kiss, “Don’t get upset, Nina. It’s okay.”

I frowned and watched him as he hovered over me, “You’re leaving in the middle of the night?”

“I can’t stay any longer, I’m sorry. I’ve got an interview I can’t miss before tomorrow night’s show.”

My eyes widened in shock, “You’ve got a show tomorrow … Tonight?” I corrected myself.

“The time difference is a bit funky, but basically, yes.”

It dawned on me then that Harry had only had a day and a half off, that he had jumped on a plane after a matinee and had to be back for a show the following evening. That instead of going out to dinner with the crew and then sleeping until midday like I’m sure he needed, he had flown thirteen hours to London to have not even ten hours on the ground before flying back again.

He wouldn’t even see daylight in the UK.

“Why did you come?” I asked in a small voice, feeling tears welling with the guilt that was settling in. He was going to be exhausted for days from crossing all the time zones.

He let out a horrified laugh, “Why did I come?” He repeated, sounding every bit as defensive as I expected him to be, “I came because today was a huge day for you, and because I could, and because I wanted to.”

“You’re going to get sick from being tired and all the travel.”

“I don’t care,” He shook his head and hooked a leg between mine, “I don’t care.”

I pulled his neck down and held him there until he settled most of his weight on top of me in a tight cuddle, “I don’t want you to go so soon,” I sniffed.

Harry’s hands ran up my sides from my hips, settling under my arms and warming the skin below my breasts, “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, you idiot, ” I laughed through new tears, “You’re here. You came. You’re too good to me.”

“I love you, Nina Lawrence.”

“I know,” I sighed, containing my emotions slowly.

“I’ll always come when I can.”

“I know.”

++

Well, there’s our intro to Harry & Nina, 3 years later. What did you think? Predictions? 

[secret-kkh-fics]

History Repeats | Chapter 2

Due to this not being posted anywhere else yet, please like and DON’T REBLOG my fics. 

Chapter Summary:

Rose finds herself back at the start of her journey. It’s overwhelming to see the Doctor again, in that old face. And she’s not sure she can act normal enough for him to not become suspicious. The bigger issue is, can she keep the right balance of acting like she doesn’t know what will happen and acting enough to change things?

Author Note:

This one was fun to rewrite. I wanted to try and make it a little more different from the original script, rather than almost line for line. I get a little bit of that, but plan to change things more and more with each chapter. And again, I feel like I managed to write this so much better this time around.

Rose

Back to the Beginning

Rose could feel the TARDIS with her as her mind twirled and tumbled and fell through the Void and space and time. She felt it all pass by her in a rush of familiar energy. She could feel it as they ripped through the walls in the universes and back through. For a moment, she felt the warm, familiar safety of the TARDIS around her, though it felt… wrong. But she was quickly pulled from there and pulled back through time. Her mind twinged in pain as she was surrounded by the golden energy. She spun faster and faster, and finally, with a jolt she slammed back into her body.

She felt… different.

She became aware that she was running, and as her consciousness took control, she jolted to a stop just in the doorway of the TARDIS. She was panting slightly, her body unfit and unused to running so much. That was the first thing that she noticed, how different her body felt. Healthier, but younger and softer, a little weaker than it had been after all she had gone through.

The next thing she noticed was the shift in her own mind. It was like she had become an odd mix of old and new. Her old views and ideals mixed and adapted with the ones she now held. Any extra cynicism she had developed in the last few years melted away as she gained the optimism of being a young girl on the start of an adventure.

Three years wasn’t very long, but she had changed quite a lot.

She still had all her memories, all her feelings, and mindset from the last three years. She even had the same open mindedness, her willingness to accept the weird and strange, and her determination to do anything for the Doctor. But it was like it was all so new again.

She hadn’t taken over her nineteen-year-old self, she had become some strange blend of the two. She was still her, only more than she had been before. It was a strange concept that she could never hope to put into words. Even her thoughts weren’t doing a good enough job. The feeling was indescribable.

…In English at any rate. She idly wondered if there was a word for it in Gallifreyan. The Doctor had once told her that being a time travelling, telepathic race, there were a lot of words they had to describe things that other civilisations just didn’t. He’d told her how all their pronouns were gender neutral, since people could change genders in regeneration, and how they had neutral tenses as well, since when dealing with time travel, something could have happened, be happening, or would happen. If they had one word to cover three different tenses, and words to describe the feeling of connecting minds, they probably had a word for this too.

 She was interrupted from her musings when she felt a gentle, familiar presence nudging at the back of her mind. It felt safe and warm… a lifeline and friend. The TARDIS hummed to her reassuringly. She brushed against her mind, and Rose got the impression that she was wishing her luck.

This drew her thoughts back to the present – past… okay, those Gallifreyan words would really come in handy right now. A smile formed on her face as she gazed around the console room in wonder. The familiar sight of the corral strutted room almost brought tears to her eyes. She took a moment to bask in its aqua glow, ecstatic to be back in the home she never thought she would see again… She was home. She was back home again! And even more incredible, was the man dashing around the console in a way that was just so, so achingly familiar.

Seeing him, seeing her Doctor was enough to steal her breath away, but it wasn’t just her Doctor, it was her old Doctor. Her Doctor with short cropped hair, large ears, stunning blue eyes and a leather jacket. It was all she could do not to run to him and hold him and never let him go.

“Don’t worry, it won’t follow us,” he told her in his Northern accent, not looking back at her. “The assembled hoard of Genghis Khan couldn’t get through those doors, and believe me, they’ve tried.” He attached the head of the plastic Mickey to the console. “You see, the arm is too simple, but the head’s perfect. I can use it to trace the signal back to the original source.” He ran about for a few more seconds, doing his thing, before he stopped. “Right,” she suddenly cried, finally turning to face her. “Where do you want to start?”

He looked at her expectantly, and she realised that he was waiting for her to comment on how alien everything was. How many people had come aboard the TARDIS and exclaimed that it was bigger on the inside? How many times had he introduced humans to his way of life and loved every moment as they took it all in in wonder? …Had anyone else done that since she’d left?

“Well, it could be a bit bigger in here,” she teased.

“Oi!” he cried indignantly. “She is just the right size, thank you very much.”

“Hmm… No, yeah, I agree, even if she is a little smaller on the outside.” The Doctor looked at her in bewilderment at the reversed statement. The expression on his face almost made her burst out laughing. She did feel a little guilty about calling the TARDIS ‘it’, knowing full well that she was alive, but a small hum in her mind let her know that the TARDIS understood. “It’s alien. And so are you,” she said adamantly.

“Yes,” he told her with a smile. “Is that alright?”

“Yeah!” she grinned. “It’s fantastic. Brilliant. Molto bene!”

“It’s called the TARDIS, this thing,” he informed her. “T-A-R-D-I-S, that’s Time and Relative Dimensions in Space.” Rose could no longer hold back the joyful sob that had been building up inside her for the last few minutes. This was all just too good to be true. Surely, she had to be dreaming. “It’s okay,” he said, misunderstanding her ‘distress’. “Culture shock. Happens to the best of us.”

“Are you kidding me? This is brilliant!” she cried. And suddenly, she launched herself at him, taking him in a suffocating hug. The Doctor stood there in utter shock and bewilderment, his arms held out from his sides awkwardly as she held onto him.

“Err…” he murmured uncertainly. He hesitated only a moment longer before shrugging and wrapping his arms around her comfortingly, one of his hands patting her on the back in a sort of ‘there, there’ gesture.

Rose grinned madly until she peeked over his shoulder and saw the head of the plastic Mickey bubbling and leaking some sort of fluid. “Ah, Doctor… Mickey’s melting,” she told him.

“What?” he said, still rather surprised from the hug and confused by that she meant. “Melt?” She let him go, turned him around, and pointed to the melting blob. “Oh, no, no, no, no, NO!” he cried, rushing over to it. He frantically ran around the console, pressing buttons and pulling levers. Rose had to try her hardest not to laugh at the sight. She hadn’t realised till now quite how much she had really missed this… Missed him. “The signal’s fading!” he shouted. “Wait… I’ve got it… No, no, no, no, no!” The TARDIS began to shake as she moved, and Rose clung to a coral pillar and smiled. “Almost there! Almost there! Here we go!” The second they landed, she opened the door and he ran out past her. And still smiling, she followed. “I lost the signal. I got so close!” he whined.

“Right, so… I’m guessing the rest of Mickey’s body melted with the head, yeah?” she asked. She already knew the answer, but she had to question these things or she knew he’d get suspicious. The Doctor was very perceptive, and she was going to have a difficult time acting as if everything was normal. Why couldn’t she just tell him?

“Yes,” he said in a hard voice.

“And there’s a chance that he’s still alive, right?”

“He could be, but I’m a little too busy to worry about some kid called Mickey!” he grumped. Rose rolled her eyes. She’d forgotten how moody and condescending he had been at the start.

“He’s not a kid,” she insisted.

“Look!” he yelled, more in frustration than anything. “I’m too busy trying to save the life of every stupid ape blundering on top of this planet, alright?”

“Alright?!” she cried. It had been ages since she’d heard him say that, and she had forgotten how much it had irked her.

“Yes! It is!” he snapped.

“We’re not ‘stupid apes’, and Mickey is just as important as everyone else! You sanctimonious, annoying Ti- Ugh! Alien!” she shouted at him. She only just managed to catch herself in time before she accidentally called him a Time Lord. She’d only just found out he was an alien, she shouldn’t know what he was yet. The Doctor just looked at her in bewilderment. She shook her head and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to fight with him, but the younger part of her still wanted to struggle against how horrible he had been to Mickey. She needed to lighten the mood. Thankfully, her younger side’s curiosity gave her a reminder of something that would be one of her favourite jokes. “So, if you’re an alien, home come you sound like you’re from the North?”

“Lots of planets have a North,” he said defensively, crossing his arms and standing in his favourite broody pose.

How to soften him up…? Once upon a time, it had been that just a smile from her would make him give in, but it was far too early for that now. What was something he cared enough that she could talk about, that wasn’t an obvious attempt at a distraction? …The TARDIS.

“What’s a Police Phone Box?”

“It’s a telephone box from the 1950’s.” He grinned, patting the TARDIS fondly. “It’s a disguise.”

Rose giggled and shook her head at his goofy grin. There was the Doctor she loved. “Yeah, fix the chameleon circuit, then it will be a disguise,” she muttered.

“What?”

“This living plastic,” she said quickly, “what’s it got against us?”

“Nothing, it loves you,” he told her. “You’ve got such a good planet. Lots of smoke and oil, plenty of toxins and dioxins in the air… perfect! Just what the Nestene Consciousness needs. Its food stock was destroyed in the war, all its protein planets rotted, so Earth… dinner!”

“And how are we going to stop it? Anti-plastic?” she said sarcastically. She smirked at him, knowing that was exactly what he intended to do.

“Yep!” He grinned.

“Seriously?” She acted taken aback.

“Ah-ha, Anti-plastic!”

“Anti-plastic…”

“Anti-plastic!” he cried again. “But first I’ve got to find it. How can you hide something that big in a city this small?” He started to walk over to the bridge to look out over the Themes.

“What, the transmitter?”

“Yeah. It’ll be round and massive, slap bang in the middle of London.” He turned around to face her, agitation written across his face, the London Eye looming up behind him. “A huge circular metal structure… like a dish… like a wheel. Close to where we’re standing. Must be completely invisible!”

Rose tried not to giggle at the sight of her beloved 'daft faced' Doctor standing obliviously before the London Eye. Instead she just raised an eyebrow and nodded for him to turn around.  He did so, completely missed it, and turned back around.

“What?” he said obliviously.

“For a genius, you sure can be thick!” she laughed. The Doctor frowned in an almost pouting manor, then looked around and back again.

“What?” He looked again, but still missed it, making Rose giggle loudly. How could he that oblivious?! “What is it? Why are you laughing? What?!” he exclaimed. When she only continued to giggle and point out behind him, he turned around for the fourth time and it finally clicked. “Oh… Fantastic!”

In the next second, he had grabbed her hand and they were running across the bridge. The feel of his large, comfortable, familiar hands nearly brought tears to her eyes. She had missed this so much.

Yet, at the same time, she felt a little guilty, because she felt rather hollow knowing that they weren’t the long, slender fingers she longed to twine hers through. Was that wrong? Missing someone who was right beside you, just because they were different?

She loved this Doctor, she really did. She loved him just as much as the man he would become. And she would miss him when he was gone. She knew she would, and she knew just how much she would. It was only a year… She only had a year with him until he regenerated and that was such a short time. Someday soon, he would change into the man she utterly and completely loved with every part of her being and soul.

So, she made the decision right there and then. She was going to make the best of the time she had with this him. She would cherish every moment with him and make the most of it all. Love every smile, every laugh, every word, do all the things they possibly could.

When he changed, she would have no regrets.

When they got to the base of the Eye, the Doctor began to look around for an entrance.

“Think of it,” he called out to her. “Plastic, all over the world. Every artificial thing waiting to come alive. The shop window dummies, the phones, the wires, the cables…”

“The breast implants,” she joked. It was loud enough that the Doctor looked up at her, startled, then rolled his eyes and went back to his search. Of course, having done this before, Rose knew roughly where the entrance was. She went over to the edge of the wall where she knew the manhole was and looked around for it.

“Where are you going?” he asked her.

“Well, it’s not like the Big-Bad-Plastic-Thingy is gonna be as obvious as the transmitter, is it?” she teased. “It’s gotta be hiding, yeah?”

Internally she winced. Was she acting too familiar with him? Was it too soon to be this cheeky? The way she acted around him was habit, and she couldn’t exactly turn it off. But was she acting too conspicuous?

“Exactly!” He grinned happily at her, going over to where she was standing. “I was just looking for something.” She could hear the surprise and approval in his voice, much like the now rather fresh memory of him congratulating her on her ‘student’ theory.

“Great minds think alike,” she said to him with a grin.

“Yeah, you wish your mind was this great!” he teased.

“Rude!” she laughed. “Anyway, I was thinking down there.” She pointed to the manhole. And he looked down, grinning widely when he spotted it.

“Fantastic!”

And soon, they were down there, using the sonic-screwdriver to open it. Yet again, she found herself grinning ecstatically at the sound of something so familiar. It was funny how a lot of the things she missed were the little things, like the sound of the TARDIS or the Sonic or the way the TARDIS moved.

And then they were in. Red steam billowed up to meet them, and together they jumped down and descended a few stairs. Their eyes were instantly drawn to a large vat of burning, boiling orangey… stuff. One could have mistaken it for lava or molten metal if it wasn’t moving so strangely.

“The Nestine Consciousness. That’s it, inside the vat,” the Doctor said, nodding down to it. “A living plastic creature.”

Rose vaguely remembered the first time she had seen it. She didn’t quite see how it could have been an alien and for a moment the idea had passed through her head that despite all the evidence about aliens, he was a bit barmy. But she had been willing to believe him based on the ominous stirring in the vat, the curiosity and thrill of the adventure, and the fact that she already trusted the Doctor. But now, with all her experience, there was no way to mistake that it was alien. How could it not be?

She also remembered that the Doctor had snapped at her when she told him to hurry up and kill it so they could leave. That had been what she thought he was going to do, since he had the anti-plastic and it was so dangerous. But now, despite the fact she knew the Nestine’s intentions, she also knew that she was better than that now. This was her chance to change things. There was always the chance that it would change its mind this time, if things didn’t go wrong.

“Alright, let’s go and tell it to leave this planet alone,” she said, starting off.

“What? Wouldn’t you rather kill it and be done?” he said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. She knew that he was thinking of how Humans could destroy. Thinking that no matter how different she seemed, she was still just another stupid ape. She kept forgetting how cynical and broken he had been that first month she had known him.

‘You gotta give it a chance,” she said, echoing his words from last time back at him. He stated at her in shock as she headed down the rest of the stairs, till there was only one more flight before the platform. Snapping to his sense, he followed her down.

“I seek audience with the Nestene Consciousness under peaceful contract,” he said formally as he leaned over a rail. “According to convention 15 of the Shadow Proclamation.”

Below him, the Consciousness wobbled around in its way of speaking. A small hissing ‘yes’ reached his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rose’s head snap up in surprise. Had she heard it? She had been in his TARDIS for all of five minutes, she couldn’t possibly have already picked up the telepathic language translator, could she?

“Thank you. That I might have permission to approach?” But before he could see the reply, a desperate cry sounded through the chamber.

“Rose!” someone cried. She turned to see Mickey clinging to the rail behind her. It was a shock to see him so young and scared and innocent. Back in Pete’s world he was so confident, and he had seen so much working for Torchwood. It was incredible how much he had changed. But despite the horrors he had been through to get that way, it was a change for the better. She loved him… but right now he seemed like such a whimp!

“Mickey!” She smiled in relief as she went to him. “It’s okay, you’re alright,” she soothed.

“That thing down there,” he squeaked in panic, “the liquid, Rose – it can talk!”

“You’re stinking!” she cried, crinkling her nose as his sweat assaulted her. “At least you’re alive. Come on, up you get. Time to be a big boy, yeah?” She helped him get shakily to his feet as the Doctor jumped the last flight of stairs to address the Consciousness. She felt herself become anxious remembering how he had almost been thrown over that rail-less ledge. She found herself leaving Mickey where he was and slowly inching to where she knew the chain hung, ready to help the moment she could.

“Am I addressing the Consciousness?” the Doctor asked. “Thank you,” he said at the hissing growl that filled the air. Once again, Rose heard this as actual words and her brows rose in surprise. “If I might observe, you infiltrated this civilisation by means of warped-shunt technology. So, may I suggest – with the greatest respect – that you shunt off?” He grinned goofily at his own pun and Rose couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She listened as the Consciousness tried to defend its actions. “Oh, don’t give me that! It’s an invasion, plain and simple! Don’t talk to me about constitutional rights!” The vat of Nestene roared a few not nice words and reared up. “I. Am. Talking!” the Doctor shouted at it, his voice dripping with authority. “This planet is just starting. These stupid little people have only just learnt how to walk. But they are capable of so much more. I’m asking on their behalf – please, just go.”

Once again, because of the platform blocking her view, she saw the Autons too late. “Doctor!” she cried in warning. But they had already grabbed hold on him, one arm each. They searched his pockets, pulling out the Anti-plastic and she groaned. This was how it started.

“That was just insurance!” the Doctor said almost desperately as he strained against his captors. “I wasn’t going to use it!” The Consciousness thrashed and gurgled angrily, yelling its disbelief at the Doctor. “I was not attacking you. I’m here to help. I’m not your enemy I swear I’m not-” He cut off as the Consciousness spat over top of him. “What do you mean?” he said in confusion.

On their level, above the Doctor, some doors opened to reveal the TARDIS.

“Mickey, go to the TARDIS,” she whispered to him as the Doctor argued over his ship.

“What?”

“That blue box. Go to it. Now.”

“But-”

“Now!” she commanded, giving him a push towards it. He shuffled the rest of the way, looking much like a dog with its tail between its legs. The sight was almost funny if it weren’t so disheartening. She had grown so used to the sight of a Mickey… Well, a Mickey that actually had a backbone and courage and confidence.

“That’s not true!” the Doctor yelled from below her. “I should know, I was there. I fought in the war. It wasn’t my fault! I couldn’t save your world. I couldn’t save any of them!”

Last time this happened, Rose had been so concerned about what was happening that she hadn’t really paid attention to what he was saying. This time, she caught every word and her heart clenched painfully for him. She could hear the raw grief in his words, and she knew exactly why. She knew that he was talking about the Time War, and what that meant for him. She knew how he had been forced to destroy his own planet and people along with his enemies and anyone else who was caught in the crossfire. She knew that it hadn’t been all that long since it had all ended and that the wounds were still so, so fresh for him.

The Consciousness roared at them. “No, no, don’t!” he pleaded. “Rose! The Nestine has identified the TARDIS as superior technology. It’s terrified! It’s going to the final phase. It’s starting the invasion! Get out, Rose! Just leg it! Now!” Rose just smiled determinedly, even as the Consciousness sent the signal and the Eye started transmitting. “Get out, Rose! Just get out! Run!”

“Not likely!” she laughed, picking up the axe and began hacking at the chain. She wasn’t sure if he had heard her or not, but she had certainly said it loud enough. Her next words, however, were definitely too quiet, just for her. “I’ve changed quite a bit. I’m not a shop girl anymore. I technically got my A levels. I’m braver. I… used to be stronger. Buggar. But there are some things that haven’t changed. I still got guts. I still know what’s right. And I still got the bronze in the Junior Under 7’s gymnastics!”

With that, she pulled the chain free, got a tight grip and swung. She swooped right down towards the Doctor and kicked one of the Autons. It was the one holding the Anti-plastic and it went flying, falling straight into the Vat of Nestine Consciousness. It gave the Doctor the freedom and distraction he needed to throw the other Auton over the edge. The momentum made her swing far out over the vat, and when she came back in, she was caught in the Doctor’s strong arms. Below them, the Nestine started to writhe and scream, the vat burning orange tossing about wildly. Still holding onto each other, the two of them looked down into the vat.

And the signal cut off.

“Now we’re in trouble,” the Doctor said almost excitedly, grinning at her.

Grabbing her hand, they ran up the few stairs to the TARDIS as the place began to collapse around them as the Consciousness exploded. The Doctor pushed aside a cowering Mickey, who was clinging to the TARDIS, and let them in. Still grinning in excitement, Rose helped Mickey up and pulled him inside, closing the door behind them.

As soon as they were inside, there was the odd stillness she was already used to. As if they were completely separated from the chaos that was happening just outside, untouched in the dimension held inside the TARDIS. Once they were in, the Doctor dematerialised, but she could feel the small shudder of the place collapsing as they dematerialised. She could feel the difference between the TARDIS moving and something outside shaking her. But they were out of there in and instant, and she flopped happily on the jump seat.

 “Oh my god!” Mickey squeaked, still standing stunned by the door. “It’s- it’s- it’s-”

“Bigger on the inside?” Rose said innocently as he pressed himself against the nearest coral strut.

“But that’s not possible!” he cried. Glancing over at the Doctor, she saw him roll his eyes.

“Yeah, it is,” she scoffed. “It’s dimensionally transcendental.”

“How do you know that?” the Doctor asked in surprise, snapping around to look at her in suspicion.

“It-it’s in the name… Time and Relative Dimensions in… Hey, I read!” she cried indignantly. “I’m not stupid, you know!”

“Never said you were,” he said. Then, for a while he just stared at her critically, long enough to make her feel a little uncomfortable and start to shift in her seat. “Something’s different about you,” he said finally.

“What?” she said, surprised and worried he’d picked it up. She tried to look confused by the statement.

“Your eyes. They’re different.”

She sat up bolt straight, reaching up to touch near her eyes and looked wildly around for a mirror. “What?! No! They can’t be different! I like hazel eyes. I have pretty hazel eyes!” She put on a little worried pout, and the Doctor fell for it hook line and sinker.

“No, no! They’re the same colour,” he assured her, coming a little closer to her with his hands out, trying to calm her. “You have pretty hazel eyes. They’re very pretty.” He suddenly stopped awkwardly as he realised how honestly he was saying it. It sounded quite forward, and soon he found himself attempting not to flounder over his words like a fish. It was all Rose could do to hide her laughter. He looked relieved when the graunching engines indicated they had arrived.

Mickey was the first to bolt from the door. He stumbled out into the alleyway, falling over, then backing himself against the wall. Rose just strolled out casually, still enjoying the high of being back in the TARDIS and with her Doctor. It wasn’t seconds later that her phone rang, giving her a fright. She hadn’t had that phone in such a long time and she’d almost forgotten she had it on her.

“Rose? Rose!” her mother’s voice called down the line when she answered. She felt almost guilty. She had been so wrapped up in everything going on that she had completely forgotten that her mother had been involved in this crisis. “You won’t believe what just happened. I was out doing some shopping, and all these shop window dummies started moving! We thought it was just kids dressed up, pulling a prank. But then they smashed they smashed the widows and suddenly collapsed. There wasn’t anyone in them!” Jackie cried in disbelief.  Rose tried to stifle her laughter. Her mother was alright, and it sounded like things went better on her end than they did last time. It was just so strange listening to her rant on like that. “Oh, I’ll tell you what, Love,” she went on. “You can get compensation. I said so. I’ve got this document thing off the police. Don’t thank me-”

“Thanks, Mum!” she said. And, still smiling, she hung up on her mother’s rant.

The smile grew wider as she thought about what it really meant that things had been okay for her. It meant that the Autons hadn’t gone on some big rampage. London was still in one piece and no one would have gotten hurt or killed. She had done it! She turned to celebrate with the others, but seeing Mickey, she remembered that they wouldn’t know quite why she was celebrating.

“Fat lot of good you were!” she laughed at Mickey, helping him up. He whimpered as he slumped back down at her feet again. She covered her face in embarrassment, still giggling, and turned to face the TARDIS where the Doctor had just come to lean in the doorway.

“Nestene Consciousness? Easy,” he grinned smugly, clicking his fingers.

“You were useless in there,” she teased. “You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me.” Oh, she’d missed teasing him. She couldn’t remember a day with him that she hadn’t teased him about something!

“Yes, I would. Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Right then, I’ll be off! Unless, ah… I don’t know… you could come with me.”

She had to snap her mouth shut so she didn’t blurt out the ‘yes’ that was dancing on her lips. She hadn’t even noticed that she’d taken a small step towards the TARDIS. But, no! No, she couldn’t give in yet. She remembered what the TARDIS had said, telling her to turn him down the first time he asked so he would come back and ask a second time… God, she hoped he did ask again! What if this time he decided that her no was final and that there was no point asking again? Then she would be stuck here without him. No. No, the TARDIS would never let that happen. Still, it was just so, so hard to even think about saying no. The worry that he might not ask again, and the look in his eyes. She knew that look now, and she knew just how lonely he had been. He was asking her because he was desperate for companionship, and for some reason, even before when she could see nothing in herself, he had thought that she was worthy of being taken out to the stars. He thought that she was ‘the best’.

She should- No. No, just wait.

“This box isn’t just a London hopper, you know. It goes anywhere in the universe, free of charge,” he said, trying to entice her. And god, it was so hard to keep her feet firmly planted where they were instead of running home. Mickey quickly helped her with this issue when he threw his arms around her hips, clinging to her legs.

“Don’t!” he cried. “He’s an alien! He’s a thing!”

Rose had to hold back a nasty comment. She knew that he was scared, that he was still so young and new to this and didn’t know any better yet. But it made her angry to hear him insult the Doctor like that.

“He’s not invited,” the Doctor said in annoyance. The smile returned as he looked back at her. “What do you think? You could stay here and fill your life with work and food and sleep, or you could go, ah… anywhere.”

She knew that he could easily see the longing in her eyes. It was taking all she had and Mickey anchoring her down not to scream ‘yes’ and run to him and tell him she would never ever leave him. And this time she meant never ever. But she had to trust the TARDIS. She had to say no.

“I-I can’t,” she stuttered. “I’ve-I’ve, um… I’ve gotta go make sure Mum’s alright. And, um, someone’s got to look after this stupid lump… So… I…”

‘I wanna go with you. Please take me with you. Please! Look, I’m lying about not being able to go. Please, Doctor, please, come back for me!’ she begged silently.

“Okay,” the Doctor said, hiding his disappointment. “See you around.” The locked eyes for a long, desperate moment before he turned back inside the TARDIS, and a second later she disappeared.

Rose took a deep breath and closed her eyes, praying with all her might that he really did come back. She was still so worried that he wouldn’t come back for her. They were changing history, so what if this changed as well?

How was she supposed to know that at that very moment, the Doctor was considering going back already and trying to convince himself that he was only going to ask once more. He was trying to push away the little voice in the back of his head telling him that he would go back and ask her as many times as it took for her to say yes. There was something different about her… even before she had become, well, a little different. She was good. And she was full of wonder and life and untapped potential. And that was something he desperately needed right now. He needed someone… He needed her.

 Rose sighed, trying not to count the seconds until she heard the TARDIS once more. She felt Mickey’s arms tighten around her hips and she shook her head. It occurred to her that now was the perfect time to do something, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

As she had gotten older and matured more, there was always a few things that had bugged her, looking back. She hadn’t been fair to her mum, and she really hadn’t been fair to Mickey. He had still loved her up until the very end, even suggesting they get back together just to settle. She had come to realise that she had strung him along. Always running off and never giving him closure. Letting him hope that maybe… just maybe there was a chance, even though he could see her falling for someone else beside him. The truth was that she didn’t love him quite like that, and she hadn’t in a very long time. At times, she wondered if she ever had, if she had gone out with him because it just seemed like what would naturally come next, because unlike Jimmy he was safe, and that they only stayed together because it was comfortable. She loved him, and he was wonderful… but there was no spark. She hadn’t realised what a wonderful, passionate, soul-shattering love could be like until the Doctor came along and showed her.

But that still didn’t excuse her for what she had done to Mickey. Heck, he had gone to a different universe just for some space to get over her! It had been something she had truly come to regret, and she wished so many times that she could go back and do it again. This was her chance to do it better.

“Come on, up you get,” she said to him, taking his arms from around her waist and helping him up so they were facing. She felt as if she should be more upset by what she was about to do, but instead she just felt relieved and grateful for this second chance. He didn’t deserve to be led on. She refused to do that again. And hopefully, they would be better for it.

“Rose… Rose, I’m so glad you didn’t-”

“Mickey, wait,” she said, cutting him off. She took a moment to take a deep, calming breath and looked him right in the eye. “Look, Mickey… I-I don’t think we should do this anymore. Us.” He opened his mouth to protest, hurt clear on his face, but he was silenced as she held up a finger to pause him. “I love you. I really do. Just… not the way you want me to. I don’t think I have for a while. And you deserve better than that. You deserve someone who loves you with everything they have. And you can’t just sit around waiting for someone who’s running around, caught in something that’s so much bigger than we could possibly have imagined. I… I haven’t treated you right, and I wanna fix that. You’re my best friend, and you gotta let me look out for you for once. But I can’t-”

She was cut off by the sound of the TARDIS materialising back where she had been a moment before. An ecstatic grin lit up her face.

He came back!

“By the way…” The Doctor popped his head out. “Did I mention, it also travels in time?” He grinned at her knowingly, knowing that she would follow this time, and went back in, leaving the door open so that it was still her choice.

Rose smiled at him, then she turned back to Mickey. “Thanks,” she told him quietly, kissing him on the cheek.

“For what?” he said in hurt bewilderment, his arms hanging oddly just out from his body as she stepped out of them.

“Exactly. I’ll be back in a year. Promise.”

And with that, she turned and ran the few short steps to the TARDIS, a broad smile on her face. She stopped when she reached the console and the smile became impossibly wider as she looked up to meet joyful blue eyes.

She was home. She was finally, and properly home.

Author Note:

Word count from 4,544 to 6,325 words (7 → 11 pages).

Chapter Index  |  First Chapter  |  << Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter >>

[starlling-writes]

Bewitching Monsters - Deity (O’dos) Part 3

Series Rating: 18+ Chapter Contains: brief manhandling, drinking, minor swearing, drug use (psychedelic mushrooms) Pairing: f/fluid BeMo Masterlist   ☆  Writing Masterlist

I ended up at the Laughing Grove—the brasserie Valzok took me to. Caera and Aleril had likely followed me but they were giving me room. My distant headspace must be that obvious.

Citra was working tonight. He brought me my first drink and asked what was wrong. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. He didn’t pry, but said if it was something Valzok did, he’d be happy to kick his ass for me. That actually made me smile.

The live music tonight was a lovely guitar and piano duet. Both of the girls sang too. Their music was soft and warm. Combined with the alcohol, most of my anxieties were lulled away. My gaze wandered around the room. A few couples were slow dancing on the dance floor. Many people were here on dates too. Seeing so much love muddled my heart. I finished off my drink and left.

“So melancholic.” I jumped and looked at O’dos. They were making a habit of just popping in today. This time, they wore the guise of an androgynous drow in simple clothing. “Are you truly that adverse to our agreement?”

“I don’t want to be a shitty mother,” I confessed. “I don’t wanna ruin someone else’s life because family is a foreign concept to me.”

“You have no need to worry, dear witchling. I know you. You will do fine.”

The sentiment was appreciated, but the words wouldn’t sink in. How could a deity understand when I couldn’t even articulate all my troubles? O’dos’s dark laugh echoed in my head. I flinched, noticing now I was no longer walking through town. We were in the void I often communicated with them in.

“For someone of your level, you hold much doubt over yourself.”

“Is this an intervention now?”

“No,” they answered a little too quickly and flippantly. “Your troubles are your own to handle. I am only concerned with those inhibiting our deal.”

I began wondering if there was a bit of fea in them—or maybe fae got it from the gods. “I wouldn’t say anything is inhibiting it; I’m just…hesitant, to meet this future. There are just so many unknowns.”

“Is that not life?”

I probably shouldn’t tell my patron deity to fuck off. Their smartassery was irksome, yet refreshing, helping to pull my mind from my worries. I met their gaze. There was more wisdom and knowledge swirling around in their eyes than I could ever wish to obtain. If they weren’t worried, then perhaps everything would be fine. Surely they knew better than I.

O’dos cupped my cheek and smiled softly. “One week, witchling.”

“And here I thought you were all out of kindness,” I joked.

Before I knew it, their hand was fisted in my hair, jerking my head back. They stepped closer, leaving half a breath between us. “Do not test me.”

I should have felt threatened. Not horny. Although… given the circumstances, being turned on right now was appropriate. It was ill timed, and influenced by alcohol, but fuck—it sent a delicious shock through me to be manhandled by them.

“One week,” O’dos repeated before vanishing and sending me home.

 The next few days I kept my work door closed and isolated myself from most everyone. I needed deep introspection. The first couple days I tried the simpler approaches: meditation, journaling, divination. Those efforts didn’t get me far. I was getting no sense of hardships in this endeavor, yet something was keeping my heart from being at ease.

I prepared some mushrooms for myself the following day. I was surprised to find I still had any lying around. Many disagree with such methods, but using mushrooms was the best way I found to connect deeply with myself.

“Don’t let me be outside for more than an hour,” I told Caera.

“I still can’t believe you’re going out in this cold, Mistress.”

There was a small flurry going on, but I needed to be out in nature. “That’s why I said an hour at most. Just… have some cocoa ready for me when I come back in, please.”

“Of course."

I took the shrooms and turned on some music. Might as well dance a bit and get myself loose while I wait for the come up. And now that Caera had a body, she could dance with me. We swayed and twirled. I couldn’t remember the last time I danced with someone. Was it with Aero during Brumalis? Maybe. Though I would’ve been drunk then; and I’m almost high now… I needed to dance with others again when I’m sober. I needed to dance more.

My thoughts drifted and soon geometric runes started to dance in my vision. The drugs were kicking in. Time to brave the cold. But the music was so nice. And dancing with Caera was—

No! I had work to do. This wasn’t the occasion for fun.

It was a challenge to pull away from her. Especially knowing I was about to venture out into the dark winter night. I made two small balls of light to float around me and stepped outside.

The snow was barely falling now; the light caught the puffy flakes in a magical way. I could still hear the music playing inside. So I danced. The snow floated around me like flecks in water. I started to feel like I was floating too. Closing my eyes, I saw rainbow light filtering down through ocean waves, breaking into beautiful patterns. The designs gradually turned into an array of strobing, bioluminescent sea life. Fish, whales, turtles, jellyfish—so many creatures danced with me now.

A deep rumble brought me out of my trance. Vérus stood before me. “What are you doing?” he asked while I was distracted by the fading light trails of a school of fish.

“Dancing.”

“I meant, why are you outside?”

“Cuz I’m tripping on mushrooms and being outside helps me connect to nature better which will help me connect with my inner-self better and I need to do that cuz I have a lot of thinking and introspection I need to work on within the next four days,” I rambled.

He slowly blinked. “Did you take my ichor?”

“No, why?—Wait!” I gasped. “Would that help? By the moon, your ichor is gonna be a lot more useful than I thought. How do I take it though? Do I make a tea, or a tincture, or bake it in bread or something, or burn it like incense—”

“Stop,” he cut me off. “That is the opposite of what I meant. You need to go back inside.” He walked to my house and was about to let himself in when he looked back and noticed I had gone back to dancing in the snow. With a heavy sigh, he came and grabbed my arm to drag me along.

“Oh good, I was just about to go get you,” Caera said.

“It’s been an hour already?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Huh, normally time felt slower when I tripped. I took the mug of cocoa from her and settled into the chair closest to the fire. My toes were freezing.

“And why are you doing all this?” Vérus asked dully.

That put a sharp damper on my trip. Why was he still here? I took a moment to stare at the fire before answering. “I’m going to be a mother soon.”

I knew what he had to be thinking. His unspoken questions made my skin crawl—it was like thousands of tiny spiders crawling over and nibbling at me. I immediately forced that imagery from my mind before the drugs made it worse. It threw me off a bit when he coolly asked, “And this required such… introspection, why?”

“I don’t know how to parent!” I slammed my mug down on the table, some cocoa sloshing out. “I don’t wanna fuck up. I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

Vérus knelt on one knee before me and turned my face to look at him when I tried to look away. He was so close now. Runes ran down in face in the most intriguing patterns. “Witch. I’m not in the habit of giving compliments. That said—your skills are greater than any witch I’ve seen before. Your consideration draws others to you. I do not foresee you failing such a thing.”

He left me truly speechless for a moment. I still wasn’t used to him being this friendly. “This… is the weirdest trip I have ever had.”

— — —

BeMo Masterlist   ☆  Writing Masterlist Story:  Previous   —   Next Character Arc:  Part 1   Part 2   [Here]  Part 4

[wildedoves]

A Star Wars Story

Murphy’s Law with a Hint of Luck

Part II: Creature

“What is that?” With his metallic hand, Anakin poked the unknown green thing on the table in front of Obi-Wan, Rex, and Cody.

“We think it’s a tentacle sir,”  Rex responded. “General Kenobi and Cody found it along with some other down troopers near where the Senator was.”

“A tentacle?” Anakin gave it another poke.

“Yeah and that’s only a part of it. The rest of it is still over there but it’s damn long and heavy,” Cody added. “It’s body though, that’s a mystery.”

Anakin gave his master a questioning look. “And you brought it here why?”

“To study it.”

“But it’s dead.”

“So? As long as it isn’t on the bottom of your boot I’d say we can still study it.”

Ah, so he still remembers that. “To be fair I thought that worm was going to find it’s way up  your nose. I did you a favor.”

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan shook his head. Cody chuckled.

“Anyway, do you have any idea what creature has this thing attached to it?”

“Hmm. No, not of this kind. It’s bizarre and from the Twi’leks’ sheer look of terror, it’s not good Anakin. They’re—”

His master studied the tentacle more carefully and Anakin, curious as to why his master stopped his train of thought, looked at the tentacle as well. Twitch. All four men took a step back. Twitch.

“Was this thing actually dead before you brought it here?!” Anakin demanded as he swiftly reached for his lightsaber.

Rex and Cody had their pistols in hand, momentarily shocked, meanwhile Obi-Wan, the ever calm Jedi, stroked his chin in wonderment. The nearby troopers who were lifting/moving supplies and repairing starfighters stopped and watched them.

“Interesting.”

“Interesting?” Anakin repeated incredulously.

“Just say the word General,” Rex said.

Obi-wan waved him off. “No wait. I want to see what this leads to.”

The tentacle twitched again then violently spasmed, dropping any scattered tools it came across off the table. It contorted and smacked the counter...and if Anakin wasn’t mistaken, he could hear a faint screech.

His lightsaber hummed to life. That definitely did it. “Now’s not the time for your curiosity!”

“For once in your life be patient Anakin.”

They watched the tentacle angrily thrash, smack, and twist. A green discharge started oozing out from its skin and a horrid stench with such intensity soon followed. Anakin crinkled his nose and coughed a couple of times, truly disgusted.

“Ugh, are you satisfied yet? It smells.”

“Well, that’s certainly not what I expected,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Did you think it was going to talk to you?”

“Anakin.”

It gave a final squeeze before it suddenly went limp. Maybe this time it really was dead. The men relaxed and returned their weapons to their appropriate holsters.

“At least it didn’t pop.” Rex commented.

Obi-Wan stroked his beard, studying it. Anakin really didn’t care for it at this point and very much wanted to toss it out of his sight. Kriff! That thing should be thrown outside where it belongs.

Now now Anakin, Obi-Wan spoke to him through the force. That’d be rude to our partial friend here.

Which part? The fact that it stinks or that it's ugly?

Obi-Wan shook his head. Aren’t you curious to know what this is? Why are the Twi'leks so frightened by the mere sight of a tentacle? What was its purpose near the village? And where’s the rest of its body? Not to mention what does  it look like in its entirety?

During their exchange, Cody and Rex gave each other that look. The Jedi weren’t vocally speaking and they wouldn’t have realized they were speaking through the Force if it weren’t for their facial expressions and body language. If Rex was able to do this with Cody, he would have Force spoke, they’re doing  it again but the mere look from his comrade suggested he knew as well. And so they stood there watching them and, occasionally, at the limp tentacle.

Master, it belongs to a creature that’s likely native to this planet and, if memory serves me right, usually native creatures aren’t friendly.

Yes but—

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows as the thing suddenly expanded on one side then the other, each side growing larger and asymmetrical with each second, the table sustaining it collapsing underneath.

“Uh, Rex? I think you spoke too soon.” Cody said, backing away from the tentacle. Rex, Anakin, and Obi-Wan did the same.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Anakin looked at Obi-Wan. “I think that’s all you’re going to study Master.”

“Anakin don’t!”

Anakin raised his arm and force lifted the contorting thing and pushed it quickly out of the hangar onto the other side of the magnetic field. The tentacle kept disfiguring itself as it grew nearly to the size of a vulture droid before it burst. Steaming bright gray green fluid and chunks of the tentacle oozed all over the field and onto the platform outside.

“You were saying?” Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan who was apparently quite disappointed by the thing’s...final form? End result?

“Nevermind that. It’s quite unfortunate I won’t be able to study it any further. Look at it,” Obi-Wan gestured to what was once the tentacle. “It's just a blob now.”

“Come now Master, you can still study whatever’s left on the floor.”

“That’s so reassuring Anakin.”

____________________

Padmé awoke to the medical droid bringing her another round of IV medications and informing her the severity of her injuries. She had manageable lacerations of  her spleen and liver as well as a couple of fractured ribs besides the abrasions on her face, arms, and legs. They took care of most of her injuries here but for full recovery, Padmé needed to be evaluated at the hospital in Coruscant. They did have the best medical staff there after all.

She was feeling slightly better despite the horrible events she went through earlier that day— the bombing, the cascading rubble, the piercing screams, the image of Anakin sweetly smiling at her before everything went black. The enveloping darkness was horrible. There was nothing there except for her limp self struggling to breathe for air that never seemed to reach her lungs. For what seemed like an eternity in that dark world, Padmé was finally brought out of that void. A medical droid had hovered over her, cleaning some of the facial abrasion she sustained while also scanning for other injuries. Fearful she was on an enemy ship, she attempted to get up from the bed and oh dear that hurt. She sucked in her breath, her legs wobbled, and her entire midsection felt incredibly heavy. She doubled over and groaned. The droid had tried its best to encourage her to lay back down but due to her persistent and outright refusal, it made the decision to sedate her. “Probably for the best” she had heard it say before she lost consciousness.

Anakin was no longer in the room and after the droid had left, she decided to try and sit up at least. She winced and gasped, her body aching as she worked to push herself up from the bed. A fiery pain spread throughout her and so, not being able to withstand such a sensation any longer, she carefully laid back down. Not much of a success.

Ahsoka walked in just then and smiled. “I saw that but don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

Padmé sheepishly chuckled at being discovered. “Ahsoka, it’s so good to see you. How are you?”

“You know, the usual. Keeping Master out of trouble, fighting droids, learning how to negotiate per Master Obi-Wan’s encouragement.” She shrugged. “But what about you? Are you okay? I heard what happened to the village…I’m so sorry.”

“I’m feeling better Ahsoka, thank you. I really do appreciate you coming here.”

The padawan reached for her hand and comforted her. “It’s no problem. I’m just glad you’re safe now.”

Padmé’s heart warmed. Ahsoka truly was a sweet and kind girl. She watched her as she started taking a look around the room, as if in search of something.

“Is something wrong?” Padmé asked.

“Well, we’ve been having some weird malfunctions around the ship since we arrived and we’re not sure what’s causing it. So I’m scanning the room to see if there’s anything out of the ordinary.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Will those malfunctions prevent us from returning to Coruscant?”

Ahsoka looked back at Padmé. “As long as the main reactor isn’t disrupted, we should be en route soon. We don’t think it’s anything serious but I’ve been checking different locations and so far I haven’t found anything wrong.”

The lights above them flickered. Both ladies looked up. A couple of seconds passed before  the lights flickered again.

“That’s not a good sign,” muttered Padmé.

“No, it’s not,” agreed Ahsoka.

All the monitors in the room powered down, the lights following soon after. They were in the dark now.

“Ahsoka, come in. Where are you?”

“Master, I’m with Senator Amidala in the medbay. Did the lights go out in your position too?”

“Just now. Is Padmé safe?”

“Yes, she’s safe.”

“Good. I’m heading over there right now. Make sure to—”

A loud creak surrounded them and the room began to tilt.

“What’s going on!?” Padmé cried out. She tightly clutched the bed and held on for dear life.

“I think we lost power!”

Padmé felt herself tilting further onto her left side and grimaced. Her strength faded with every second she held on and soon she would be falling off the bed. Ani! Please hurry!

“Padmé hold on!”

“I can’t!”

Her grip loosened and she felt herself fall.

[gothamincarnate]

[ grab something sharp, find some cover // zombie verse lara lor-van ]

gladsome rays healing center-- raoism in everything but name, trying to take after their child’s urge to help these porcelain doll humans. their human name is vannessa, and they’ve managed to live a quiet life heralding a fledgling “new age” movement.

it’s not quite a secret, but well- they haven’t had time to tell kal that they survived after all this time. they'd sent him here to be on his own. a new parent would just be a burden.

the screaming draws their attention. the little strip mall they’ve set up shop in has become chaos, humans screaming and running. pushing each other, trampling others underfoot.

the ghosts have risen. earth, such strange practices to bury the honored dead. now the bodies are a wave, bottlenecked in the complex.

lara lor-van walks like the royalty they are. kryptonian robes flow behind them in a storm of watery blues and golden suns. but there are monsters ahead, ones that must be put down. a red cape flutters in the middle of the throng. while these humans scurry away aren’t worth attention, their son is somewhere in the fray.

they leap, bounding in the air on the other side of the throng. they land, cracking the concrete between the humans and the damned.

“get inside. go!” maybe kal has a point. alright, fine. they’ll fight. they’ll save as many humans as they can. they see a streak of blue, kal’s own armor flashing in the sun. it looks like he’s falling, failing as a wave of bodies drag him under.

fabric in fists, they tear and discard the blue cloak. black armor shimmers in the sun. the surface looks metallic and shifting. golden spirals swirl beneath like water under glass. it is living crystal, molded in the forge after their final test.

a golden circlet unfolds into a helmet. the dome is ringed in golden tines and spires. the effect is something between hawk’s plumage and sunbeams wreathing their head. a hero’s halo.

they kneel and pull their weapon from a crystal on their thigh. it unfolds into a large golden stave. the tip is a stylized crimson sun. one of the sunbeams is golden, longer than the rest. it’s been sharpened and blessed by their own hands years before their planet died.

the warmth the crystal absorbs is electric. veins sear with warmth-- and they leap again. the stave hardly seems enough against the wall of bodies rushing forward. they shift into a more solid stance, half kneeling on the already bloodsoaked concrete.

a short prayer, a touch of lips to the staff and a call for protection. this fight would be in his honor. for their house, for their guild, for their planet.

arise, champion of rao.

they crash into the bodies swarming, shouldering as many out of the way as possible. defense should be kept up as long as possible. a trick instilled into them from a young age at the forge. offense takes too much energy. weather what you can and then strike when the enemy is exhausted.

harder when the enemy doesn’t stop. doesn’t grow tired, only claws and tears at them. they finally do attack-- superman’s strength, zod’s fighting prowess. lara’s own fury to survive. bones crunch and turn to dust beneath deceptively slender fingers. blood sprays, arcing into the air and catching the sunlight. the blade buries deem into chests, almost always striking true despite the chaos.

one grabs their right leg, arms wrapped around their thigh, trying to gnaw through the crystal. the high pitch scraping noise it makes makes their jaw hurt and echoes even above the screams of the damned. another bites at their left wrist, intelligent enough to try to pry the staff away. biting back the pain, they fly, gripping both bodies and swinging them back down at the earth. a quick scan of the horizon shows no one. not even their child.

another shockwave landing clears out a few more. enough to give them seconds of breathing room. a glance at the office. everyone is inside, secure in rao’s temple.

with a battle cry, they jump back into the fray. the circle closes and cages them in. they attack with ease. fluid-- arms and legs move loosely and slowly. the staff balances and twirls around each limb as needed, no distinction between arms and legs in zod’s forge.

they use the three dimensions to their advantage, attacking from below and the flanks all at once, dipping below the mass’s legs and pushing upward and outward. rao’s staff nimbly rolls from one wrist to the other, red flashing in the sun as they fight.

their son’s hand is buried beneath a mass of bodies and they yank hard, dragging him up into the sky. hanging in the clouded void with them, he winces in pain. a shake of his head, he recovers, smiles at them. gosh, he’s grown up so much, hasn’t he?

“thanks for the help. who are you?”

does he remember the stories they’d sent with him? does he recognize the voice that read fairy tales to him? the knight of vahkd, golden armor blessed by rao to never falter and never fail. the warrior for the people, who learned that while there was glory in the fighting and violence, there must never be glory in needless blood.

did he recognize their armor? the ethos and styling of the martial arts guild was based on rao’s heroes, living sunbeams that could shoot across space in seconds, burning fires that never died.

“i know you.” kal’s face looked-- open, more than the earlier shock. further questions were cut off by the strange skittish silence of a thousand bodies crawling over each other. there wasn’t anymore screaming.

“we’ll talk after, sunbeam.” a smile and a whoop of excitement, they dive back down. stave held ready, they begin to slash through the crowd again, throwing bodies to and fro, lifting corpses up in the air with the stave. again the attacks come from everywhere, no concept of gravity or ground. dancing around the enemy and ripping him apart.

///

lara’s heart was pounding in their chest as the final body fell. kal floated from above, blocking the sun. mother and son were exhausted. lara held themselves up on their staff, chin jutted out, shoulders straight and solid even as their legs wobbled. “you fight like an amazonian.” they smiled and nodded in approval.

“you do too.”

“no i don’t.” they laughed. amazonians would have been well respected on krypton, from what lara had seen of wonder woman. but it was an incredibly different culture. “amazonians use strength and power and full body throws. torq-vahkd is redirection of energy. a flowing movement followed by the killing blow. i would demonstrate but--” a soft laugh as their legs give out. kal rushes forward-- zippy little sunbeam, isn’t he?-- and helps lower them to the ground.

“are you alright?”

“i’m fine. i haven’t fought like that in some years.” they lean back, stretching out in the sun. they sheath the spear and touch the helmet. it folds back up into a circlet. they run hands through their hair, shaking it out with a sigh.

“you’re kryptonian.” it’s said in awe, fingers trace the air above their left shoulder, the red paldron over their heart bears the family crest. he brings the hand back to his chest. the sunbeam darkens, confused and lost. “you’re my family.”

“as you are mine, kal el-vahn.” they nod. “my name is lara lor-van, champion of rao, sworn to the house of el.”

“lara-- wait. mom? i mean, you’re my mother.” he’s elated, then crushed. “how long have you been here? alive? how are you alive?”

“since you were sixteen years old. i fled argos city just before the collector destroyed it. i didn’t mean to end up on earth--”

kal’s hands wrap around their shoulders, squeezing enough that they can feel it through the armor. “you didn’t even want to-- to end up here?”

“this is your planet, kal. your home. you had a family. we gave you everything you needed. i didn’t want to uproot the life you’d already built--”

“i did. i do, i mean.” kal sat down, running his hands through his hair and staring off into space. “i do, they’re great. they didn’t just abandon me to spend years of my life with no idea who i was or why i could do what i did.”

lara’s heart broke for their child. jor, damn him, must have gotten his way. he’d had some plan to turn kal into a symbol, a weapon. it was a defiance to everything rao stood for, and it would doom their son to a life alone and afraid and lost and--

well, how he’d ended up now. “i didn’t realize. i had sent stories with you, to listen to as you grew up. they were supposed to teach you about us. to let you understand where you came from. i cannot change what my husband did. but i am here now, little sunbeam.” they stand, placing a hand on kal’s face. their son leans into it, smiling. “i watched you, when you first put on the cape. i was so proud of you. i still am. you care for them, don’t you? humans?”

kal looks a little stunned. “yes. i do.”

“you showed me how wonderful they are. i’ve seen you save so many lives, and help so many people. rao has given us a gift here, and you’ve used it well. you taught me today, i saved people because... because i saw you doing it. it looked fun. it was. they’re so... squishy and vulnerable.”

kal raised an eyebrow at the word ‘squishy’ but they only shrugged-- it sounded better in kryptonian. kal looked at them and smiled. “vulnerable. yea. we have these gifts that we should use to help others. that’s what, uh, my parents taught me.” and he looked up at that, locking eyes with lara in a strange expression. it’s seeking approval but waiting for a challenge. (what did jor do to you, to make you think of us this way?)

lara simply nods and smiles at their child. their son, grown into a fine hero, a second champion of rao no doubt. “they raised you, of course they’re your parents. as for me, i’ll accept whatever title or role you want me to fill in your life.”

kal nodded, head bobbing a bit distractedly. “you weren’t in the fortress. it was just him. jor-el. he’s the one that told me about krypton, about myself.” he put a hand to his chest. “i tried to tell him no. he-- he seared the house of el into my chest so i wouldn’t forget who i was supposed to serve.”

lara looks, and sees, and god, they’ve never felt nauseous since the finals in the forge. they stand sharply, a hand on their son’s cheek. “krypton is not perfect, there are old and harmful patterns that jor still held onto. i thought my presence on the ship could temper it but--”

“but you weren’t there.”

“no. i wish i had been there to guide you with a steadier hand. i wish i could have told you who you were, to let you grow up with our stories alongside these strange earthling’s fairy tales. yet, i cannot change what has happened, kal. we can only move forward. i will go back to the shadows if you want. i will stay by your side if you want.”

“i--” kal frowned, torn. “i need to figure this out. for now, can we just go... get coffee and talk?”

“of course, sunbeam.” a pause. “is it-- okay to call you sunbeam?”

kal blinked, frowned for a moment before smiling. “yes.”