#ill do rise and fall later not cause I forgot or anything

[discjude]

anyway for all you nerds and losers heres my handy tool for explaining this godforsaken series. have just realised that Hester kicking Aric in the nuts happens in book 3 but ignore that

[ramenremm]

FREDYA- MY FIRST CREEPYPASTA!!! AND OC FROM CREEPYPASTA FANDOM

Info:

This is my first Creepypasta and Anything related to creepypastas like this.

I know it came out a little embarrassing and silly, but I really wanted to start somewhere!!!

I'll insert more information later and hope to get better with each work

Keep in mind that English is not my first language

Love also yes Nina and Jane Is here because i thought it will be funny

ONE SHOT

The sound of a vicious cough followed by a dozen more sounds filled with pain and discomfort was something that had been standard every day for a dozen months. A standard to which I should have been accustomed, and yet my face expressed nothing but worry. My body lay inert on a small bed with blue sheets. The sun slowly appearing in the sky reminded me that I should get up soon, as the alarm clock lying on the bedside table often failed to do so. My mind was foggy from little sleep and dark thoughts. Things should have started to improve, and it didn't look like it.                        Another sharp attack of coughing coming from the next room made me rise to sit down. With dark eyes of distaste, I ran a quick glance over the floor of the room, where piles of various clothes and garbage were piled up. I was supposed to clean it up last night, but I was so tired from school activities that I completely forgot about it. Again.       

The only place where there were no scattered clothes was the mirror standing near the bed.       

I marked in my head to do it today, or at least try to, because otherwise my mother would do it, and that's the last thing I'd want.              I had a guilty conscience when she had to get out of bed unnecessarily, let alone clean up my mess. Speaking of my mother, Harper, it was from her bedroom that the sounds indicating ill health were coming. It had persisted for far too long, and despite trying various things, nothing seemed to work. That's what was causing me to get up and go to the small bathroom connected to the bedroom, and I felt like I wasn't fully in the world with my mind. Constant visits to doctors, specialists, anyone who fit the general description in any way did not work one bit. No diagnosis, no cure. No one knew exactly what was wrong with my mother, and they referred people to other people in the hope that they would get lucky there. They didn't get lucky. 

Looking in the mirror hanging over the sink at first, I didn't pay attention to my reflection only to a small piece of paper attached to the top. Today we had an appointment with another doctor, supposedly the best in his profession.                             

I had to write things down and leave them that way, because with the ubiquitous clutter in the room it was hard to find a scrap of space where it would stand out. I could still use my phone if only it wasn't perpetually discharged or lost. I myself was beginning to be a wreck of a person through worry. Shifting my gaze, I finally met my reflection, the bags under my eyes were the first thing to be noticed on my pale face, right after the already rather large faded scar on my cheek. Maybe I should be thankful that something else was distracting me from it? I cringed at the mere mention of the appearance of this addition to my skin.                                         

Going forward, however, it was no better, my black hair from lack of sleep and poor attention to my own health looked as if it was going to fall out at the slightest pull. Deep in my heart I hoped that this was not a true comparison, but only my imagination, but I was afraid to check myself. The answer came on its own, as there were already a dozen black hairs on the sink.         

Thanks to brushing my teeth, the flowing water from the tap drowned out the sounds of coughing at least for a while, but it seemed to me that I had heard them so often that they had already etched themselves in my memory enough to be heard anywhere anyway. Regardless of the noise.  Personal hygiene is the only thing I haven't neglected in my life since the nightmare began, constantly visiting various hospitals, offices and clinics forced me to keep my person clean, this didn't apply, however, to the even larger pile of clothes lying on the white bathroom tiles. I forgot to do the laundry. I was supposed to put them in the washing machine three days ago, however, I forgot about it again. Now I was sure that all my clothes were in that place, as opposed to on the floor of the bedroom, where their condition was no better.                                      I sighed to myself and crouched down to start searching through everything that was there hoping to find something that didn't smell so bad. The different colored clothes had all sorts of stains or just an unpleasant smell to the point that I started to feel frustrated. I felt like throwing it all away and crying, but in the end a plain red short-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans that still seemed decent fell into my hands, it was better than nothing.

I changed my clothes quickly although a bit haphazardly, as I had to mend my pants a few times, but walking out of the bathroom back to my room I could say that I was ready for another day full of excitement.                                                             

Before I could even leave, I headed to my desk where lay scattered books and pages torn from notebooks. I could have sworn I was supposed to do something for school since there were so many pieces of paper, my memory, however, was not inclined to make my task any easier. I'll get another bad grade. If this keeps up, I'm going to have trouble passing this year, just what we needed.                       

I wiped my face trying to pull myself together somehow. We can always try to talk to the teachers! Not that my own mother's ill health was something I'd want to use for such things, but letting them know things weren't going well might at least give me a little more time. 

It's worth catching on to anything so much as to not upset her even more now. 

With this quickly concocted plan, I threw the books that seemed appropriate into my black backpack, which, by the way, also looked like it needed a decent wash, and later also included my phone charger and cosmetics. It was fortunate that here Sydney schools gave the option of using electricity. Water and toilet paper were hard to come by in the school bathrooms, so it was good that they gave us at least that much.                        Zipping up I looked this time at the cork board that hung in front of my desk, it was filled with unnecessary information. Along with the schedule of additional ceramics classes, I didn't need it at the moment, I mean, I didn't have time for it, someday I might come back to it. There's always time right?     

I put on my backpack and reached for my phone, which, as it turned out, still had a few percent in it, amazing.                                                                           

I might even be able to listen to some music before it goes out completely. With that thought in mind, I also reached for the white headphones on the cable and slipped both items into my pants pocket. Walking out of the room was sometimes a challenge along the lines of try not to trip, but I managed to do it without incident this time.                          I closed the dark wood door with a quiet clatter, giving myself some time before walking over to the other door. I knocked on it gently, and only after that did I open it and look inside.

- Did you sleep a bit?- I asked, looking deep into a room that was more dark than mine. My mother never liked to open the curtains from her window too much, it made the atmosphere even more unpleasant, but she could not be persuaded to do otherwise. My mother was already sitting on the edge of her bed and was visibly trying to stop herself from coughing by holding a cloth to her mouth, her hands shaking gently from the effort it was costing her. I felt my heart squeeze even more. Seeing her in such a state hurt.                                                         

For a while she couldn't even answer me, because every time she tried, she had to struggle again to catch her breath. With each such attack I was afraid that she would eventually break her ribs. 

-A little- she replied by waving her hand, thus dismissing the subject. If I had slept more than an hour myself, I might have believed her. Why else is she trying to deceive me after such a long time? 

-I'll be back around two in the afternoon. The last two lessons are substitutions at the library, I don't have to be at them. I'll come and we'll go to Dr. Wills.- I presented her with the plan for the day as we did every day. Sometimes I hated this school so much, it just took time away from me and us. 

- I can go alone, you don't have to always go with me- She muttered quietly, and I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. We had gone over this a large number of times, too. She didn't want to worry me, but she also knew that I would be even more worried if I didn't hear what the doctors had to say. And she continued trying to convince me. To no avail.

-Remember not to eat breakfast, because you need to be fasting so they can do possible tests. And check if we are sure we have all the documents- I said firmly, and for the last few seconds I watched her face looking at me in pain. Not because of my words or behavior, but because this is not how this situation should be. We were supposed to choose my studies and dorms together, not doctors still fearing for the worst 

-Two o'clock in the afternoon.- I repeated and walked away from the door to start going down to the first floor of the house. 

The gray walls on which hung white frames with photos of the two of us seemed even more overwhelming, which is ironic, because despite such colors earlier it seemed more lively here. The wooden staircase was even darker and duller, which was rare before through the constant obsession to clean that my mother had. Everything was more matte in my eyes. The living room, with its black couch, seemed dark through the drawn curtains and the TV turned off. I looked at it with sadness, for a long time, but I couldn't spend grieving for the soul of this house that had been taken away, or more like forcibly snatched away, because the hands on the small clock hanging on the living room wall were approaching dangerously fast the time at which I would already be late, even though I was specifically leaving early so I could walk to school. I could have taken the bus and had more time, sure, I just didn't see myself sitting around kids of all ages most of whom had too much energy for such an early hour. It was too overwhelming and settling, especially when trying to sort out my thoughts, in which there was also the same chaos.                                       

Reaching for the red sneakers, I could see how worn out they already were. The old version of my mom would have already chastised me for this, after all, I have so many other shoes, I don't need to walk around in the same ones all the time. As for now, Mom, you are not here in this condition, forgive me, I will wear these shoes again. Until you recover.       

Shoelaces tangled in my fingers, which annoyed me terribly, but I finally managed to open the door and go outside after this struggle.                                 

I closed the door quietly behind me and looked around. It was still early, so there weren't so many people on the streets yet, although some were also already leaving for work. 

The sky was pleasantly bright colors, after all, it was May, soon to be summer vacation. You could feel it in the air, it was also one of the reasons why walking was better than riding the bus. The cobblestones I walked on still had traces of chalk drawings on them in places. Kids did it all the time and some of the artwork was even cute, so other, I don't know if drawing a big dick in the middle of the sidewalk has any deeper meaning, but whatever your soul tells you. This road was so familiar to me that I didn't even need to look where exactly I had to go, I stared into the space in front of me trying to dig as much hope as possible out of the depths of myself for today. With each failed visit there was less and less of it, but it was still there. If you looked hard enough. Through this reverie I remembered about my phone only after a few minutes of walking, so I reached for both the phone and the headphones, and the black case with various stickers immediately greeted me, making me feel embarrassed. Who else decorates their cases like this?                                               

Firing up the device, I didn't expect it to keep going from the moment I picked it up on stand up, but it worked. It looked like it was on its last breaths, but it worked. 

Not wanting to test its endurance any longer, I clicked the green icon of the music listening app and went to my liked songs. I selected the first better song, which, as it turned out, was a Ms by alt-J. I can't remember the last time I listened to them. After turning up the volume enough that I could barely hear my own footsteps, I put my phone back in my pocket. If the music suddenly stops, I'll know it's disconnected for amen.                                  The longer I thought about today the more I began to ponder one question. Would I rather it turn out to be some kind of dangerous disease, or that nothing would turn out and we would live like this forever. Both answers made the future seem terribly cold and sad. Ignorance kills, but what can you say about getting news with a death sentence? In my opinion, the scales were very even between the two options. 

If I could, I would have taken it, and so I can only worry. It was killing me more and more. 

I don't even know when the song switched to meet me in the woods from lord huron. 

As I walked past one of the houses I saw a young woman with a baby in a stroller just out for a walk, Riley, had recently moved in here, and we often passed each other on our morning walks. My mother liked her terribly and always offered to help with her daughter, because being a young mother was not easy.  But she was lucky because her daughter Tiffany was a adorable baby. She rarely cried, in fact I don't know if I ever saw her cry. She probably took after her mother, the woman was always smiling too.

I don't know if I envy them more or hate them for what they have. Not that I can hate an innocent child, but the very image of them that I see. I quickened my step with my head lowered so that I didn't have to greet her. The bitter feeling inside was enough for this morning. Funnily enough, despite my fear of being late, I was a moment ahead of schedule. Less than ten minutes, however, it's always ten minutes to myself.                                   

The black gate of the school was already wide open, and through the open door of the school you could see people walking down the hallway going about their lives. A large part of these people were from the student club, probably hanging holiday decorations on the walls.                                         

With a quick mental countdown to three, I pulled off my headphones and reached for my phone to turn off the music, but the device's screen was already completely black. At least I now had a purpose than just sitting in a corner and waiting for the bell to ring. 

Passing between people was relatively easy when they were busy hanging up tacky posters promoting the selection of any of the summer activities. I didn't believe anyone was coming to most of them on their own.                                                                               

The school itself was quite large, with several classrooms and a reception area downstairs in addition to a locker room and lockers for the students, and display cases lined up against one wall showing all sorts of awards and diplomas won for our school. Most were probably bought at a pawn shop when no one was looking, I'm not judging, do what you can to have students. The dark staircase leading up was the second floor and then the second floor. I currently stopped at the first, because that's where I was supposed to have my first class for today, and the classroom where everyone should gather soon was open. My bench was next to the windows more or less in the middle, but I sat completely at the back, there were outlets there. A few minutes is nothing if I want to charge my phone, but it is likely that Matt, the person sitting here just happened not to be coming to the first lesson, which would be a salvation in this case. Plugging in the cable, I stared at the screen for a while in anticipation until the familiar icon appeared and it began to turn back on. A few more people came into the classroom, only out of the corner of my eye did I see a familiar face approaching where I was sitting. 

- I told you to buy a powerbank- Jane Richardson said with a small smile on her face while pulling my backpack from the chair next to me. We weren't particularly close, but it was always good to have someone to talk to in this place. Her dark brown hair was up in a loose ponytail, and her blue eyes expressed too much excitement for so early in the day. 

- I didn't have time for this, I'm still busy- I muttered leaning my head against my hand, but still looked in her direction. She was wearing a black T-shirt with the print of some band and jeans, nothing out of the ordinary, although it wouldn't surprise me if she came in something strange. I don't mean that in a bad way, it's just her style of being. 

- That's why I offered to buy it for you recently, and you refused- she reminded me of our conversation that took place probably a week ago. I hoped she would forget about it.  

- I will do it soon, so far stealing electricity from the school is quite convenient for me- I said with feigned confidence in my own words. Sometimes I was a little surprised that these sockets still work, it's probably a matter of time. Where do they actually get electricity here if some classrooms are not even lit? Does the director choose for himself what he wants to light at any given time? That would make an interesting conspiracy theory... I thought to myself for a moment drifting away from her words.

- Ugh, probably Nina has again found something related to fairing or some other crap- I was snapped out of my reverie by Jane's exasperated words, and it took me a moment, through a small amount of sleep, to even grasp what she was talking about. Nina Hopkins, an even more energetic girl who read too much about paranormal things, crimes and murderers, I didn't have TOO MUCH negative feelings for her, but I had to admit that she could annoy with her chirping about, for example, how someone quartered someone and ate them. 

- Does she have to announce to everyone what she has read?- I asked rhetorically trying to avoid eye contact with the girl we were talking about. Every time she turned her head vigorously it was her black hair and red streak that flew all around. It was impossible to ignore her completely.

- A better question is why she has to practically shout while telling these silly things-  replied Jane with a sigh, which was a mistake, because she did it too loudly, thus attracting Nina's attention.  Not five seconds passed, and she started approaching our bench. Her mouth opened before she was even completely beside us. 

- Hi Jane, Hi Daphne!- She called out turning the chair in the bench in front of us so she could sit facing us. 

- Hi nina- We said together resignedly, which did not discourage the girl, because she immediately started waving her phone with a purple case in front of our faces. I was very impressed that the poor thing had not yet flown out of it and hit the floor. 

- Look what I read! I thought nothing would interest me anymore, but yet I found it- She threw it excitedly, shoving Jane's phone to read what was displayed on the screen herself. Willing or not, I leaned closer to her to read it too, since I would find out what all the fuss was about anyway. Jane exchanged a glance with me before she started reading aloud something that turned out to be some kind of blog post? I couldn't see exactly, but that's what it looked like.

- I didn't know exactly what I was addressing until the letters F R E D Y A were marked on the quia tab, my friend was delighted that we had finally gotten through to her, it was what she wanted. They then began to negotiate, She needed the help of her powers to become prettier. Fredya wanted to become a physical figure in return. We were young, we didn't know what exactly she wanted, so X agreed. The transaction came to a close, nothing happened then after the conversation ended. No things similar to those scary stories about demons. It was completely as if nothing had happened. I came to the conclusion that she was mocking me and moving the marker herself to add some fear to the whole situation. We dispersed to our homes and everything quieted down for a few days. Blah blah blah, the last time I saw her it didn't look like her. Her eyes were all white and blood was pouring from her mouth, she was choking on it. I don't know where she is now, she's missing and no one has ever seen her again.Jane read, cringing at how poorly the story was written. It was immediately obvious that it was some kind of Creepypasta or something like that. 

- How exactly is this different from the millions of other scary stories you've made us read?- I asked, watching Jane pull out a water bottle as reading it finished her off.         Nina looked even more delighted by it all. 

- The fact that people were actually able to contact her! There are articles and videos!- She responded by snatching the phone out of Jane's hand to show the said evidence. I forgot not to ask about such things.

- It's just a story, just because ghost hunters on the internet made up that they contacted that whole Fredya thing, it doesn't mean that it really happened- Jane spoke up looking at Nina like a child who believes in the Bloody Mary myth. I felt the same way, I had already heard so many stories from her mouth that it was getting boring. 

- It's not about ghost hunters, the girl really disappeared after trying to summon her- She defended her opinion fiercely by showing us the phone again, this time with a real article in which they wrote about the disappearance of a young girl after playing at contacting a demon named Fredya. The disappearance was real, the circumstances didn't have to be. 

- Nina. A real person went missing, the fact that she was playing with something like this has no connection to it, it's possible that some psychopath is holding her, and you're making proof of the existence of demons. Grow up.- Jane reprimanded her, annoyed by her behavior and how she approached it. 

- If you already want to walk and talk about all this, then ask everyone if they have not seen her. - She added looking at her with squinted eyes. Her words caused Nina to fall silent and get up to walk away from us. 

- You might not have been so sharp- I muttered as I watched her return to her seat. Jane was right, but she could have done things differently.Especially since Nina now looked like a kicked dog.

- Someone needs to talk some sense into her- She just replied and shrugged her shoulders. I didn't even know what to say anymore and fortunately the bell saved me from that. Now most of the class was already inside and sat down in their seats. No one rebuked the seats where Jane and I were sitting together.                                                      The teacher appeared as soon as the last person entered. You could see from her face a tiredness similar to the one we all felt, this meant another almost slow lesson. We only learned history in theory.                                    Teacher started the lesson by reading something from the textbook, and I rested my head against my hand starting to drive my eyes around the classroom to stay awake. Daily insufficient sleep got me just at such moments, but I couldn't afford to sleep in class, because after the last time, the teachers would start asking if I was okay, and I didn't need their worries, at least not yet. When I start failing seriously, I'll think about it then.

My gaze finally fell back on Nina, who was sitting quietly and writing something down in her notebook. I stared at her for a little longer than I should have. Something in my brain whispered again a few sentences from the article she had read to us.   There is no point in typing this and reading it, please give me something else to occupy my time.....

I barely held back a sigh when I turned my phone on again. Being careful not to disturb the teacher, I started searching for something more about "Fredya" maybe it was her funny name that made it so memorable. I felt surprised to see a lot more information containing this strange name.    Okay, reading it was much more interesting than the story. 

"Fredya is a demon who preys on people's greed. All who turn to her are those who have too little or want more. They ask for many favors and she grants them, while taking away even more. Every wish has consequences depending on what you wish for."

I read my mind while trying not to roll my eyes. Totally sounded like a creepypasta created by a bored teenager. 

"There are many ways to contact her, some more effective, some less. The most popular method is to use a quia board, but you have to be careful when doing so. Just because a demon introduces itself by some name or confirms its identity, it further does not mean that you are talking to it personally." 

What kind of idiots would be so desperate to use a quia board to help them in their lives. You are asking for more problems yourself.

"Fredya's summoning ritual was written down by an unknown person, several people confirmed its authenticity, however, this is left for everyone to judge for themselves. All you need to perform the summoning is something sharp, a mirror and a dark room.

Execution: We lock ourselves in a dark room together with the mirror, we need to make sure we are alone, otherwise the energy may be disturbed. We sit in front of the mirror, preferably as close as possible. We take a sharp tool that we will use for the most important point. We need our blood, the place where it is taken is an important element during what we want to ask for. The more help we need, the more serious the place of collection should be.                              For example, if you need help with your love, the wrist is enough. We then smear the blood on the mirror where our eyes are reflected. During this process, we say the words given below. 

Within a minute you should get an answer.

-

ሁሉን ቻይ ፍሬዲያ፣ ለእርዳታዎ በመለመን አነጋግርዎታለሁ። ያለኝን ሁሉ እሰጥሃለሁ። ኃይልህን አበድረኝ፤ በምላሹ ራሴን ሁሉ እሰጣችኋለሁ። ቃሎቼን አድምጡ -. 

I felt like my brain stopped working after reading this. It's been a long time since I read something so kitschy. It was so stupid that I turned off my phone and started listening to what the teacher was saying. Jane glared at me over hearing me put my phone back on the bench, but I just nodded so she wouldn't pay attention. It was so irrational that I had it in my head all day. In every lesson, whenever my mind started to get bored it went back to those words. That is, he did it at times when I happened to be awake. Even while eating a stupid sandwich bought with money scavenged from the bottom of my backpack, I couldn't focus on anything else. I read a few more articles, most of which were similar to the one in which there was a recipe for recall, that is stupid. 

I don't even know when the lessons passed so quickly, this is one of the few such days.

- Are you coming to my place? We could do this paper together- Jane said as we walked out of the school building along with many other people who randomly pushed us. 

- I would like to, but I have to go home, I'm going to a meeting with my mother- I replied sighing at the fact that I had to refuse. Working for literature lessons was always an ordeal, however, was one of the last points of my worries. The first was a doctor's appointment for which I was about to be late. 

- Again? Good luck, call me if you change your mind. See you- She called out to me before she disappeared with the others walking toward the parking lot where some of the parents were waiting. I didn't even have time to answer her, but I knew she wouldn't hold it against me. It was time to get back to listening to music. 

Without waiting long I immediately sped up my stride and quickly found myself on the road home holding my headphones in one hand and my phone in the other.                        Trying to avoid others walking in the same direction, I started texting my mother asking if she was ready to go out. I didn't get a reply right away like I usually do, but I wasn't worried about it somehow, she was surely getting ready or trying to catch her breath after a coughing attack, so I shifted my attention to finding some song.                         

The cold air hit my face making me shiver. I hated this kind of weather, the sun seemingly still shining, yet it was so terribly cold. At least it was some way to wash away any residual fatigue. 

I didn't have to try to keep my eyes open as hard as I would have expected, for my attention was caught by a rather large gathering of people on the street between the houses in my neighborhood. The fact that there was also an ambulance standing between them didn't help to curb the anxiety which immediately made me feel as if a stone had dropped in my stomach. 

I knew what was going on, even though I begged in my mind that it was a mistake.

A brisk walk turned into a run when I started running straight toward my house where there seemed to be the most heads turned. 

- Daphne!- called out Riley trying to stop me from running too close. She didn't make it. Before anyone could stop me I found myself standing in front of my house, the door of which was wide open, and an ambulance was standing not far away. I was in such shock that I didn't know until the end what I was looking at.                                                             

Through the open door it was possible to see the three paramedics leaning over my mother lying on the ground. Her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted. My eyes widened at this sight, I felt all the air escape from me. 

- Mom- I said expecting her to look in my direction or do anything. She didn't respond. 

- Daphne, don't look at it- Riley turned to me again, this time coming over to block my view of my mother's resuscitation. I was so blown away by what I saw that I couldn't even break free from her grasp. 

I was unable to put together a single thought in my head, and the words that came out of my mouth were unintelligible gibberish. 

- Please make way for us- Commanded one of the paramedics quickly exiting the house towards the ambulance, leaving my mother with the other men who exchanged glances with each other, thus ceasing their vigorous actions. 

- No- I choked out, realizing that they were no longer trying to save her, they were letting her lie with her eyes closed and such a calm face she had not had in a long time. 

- No, what happened- I repeated falling harder into the arms of the woman, who herself was shocked by what she was seeing. My headphones fell to the ground, now completely forgotten.

- Shh, don't look, don't look- she said pressing my head against her shoulder, but this did not help the feeling of grief filling my heart. It all happened so suddenly and fast, I was not able to process it.  

- I have to go with him- I said, watching as the rescuer who had gone to the card earlier was now returning with a stretcher to take the My mother's body. 

- You can't, your Aunt Margaret will arrive soon, she will take care of you. I called her- Riley answered me, but it did not reach me. I struggled with her to raise my head and look once again towards the house, ideally to see how they carried her on the gurney. Her body was so.... Strange. She was not shaken by any coughing attacks, she allowed herself to be touched. 

Why didn't she say anything, didn't even look in my direction? 

I don't even know when my knees gave in under me. If it weren't for the fact that Riley's arms were holding me, I would have definitely felt concrete. 

- please disperse, really- Repeated one of the rescuers walking ahead, I also felt then how I was pushed aside to make way for them. Her face was so pale when they moved her next to me, I wanted to reach out my hand towards her, but I couldn't move, I felt like I was frozen. 

- I have to go with her- I repeated in amok, but got the same reaction.

- Margaret will be here soon, let's go home.- She whispered raising her hand to stroke my head, then I finally broke out of her grasp. The people watched the ambulance door close and then turned their gaze toward me, as if anticipating some kind of reaction. I saw in their faces grief, sympathy, everything one could feel when looking at a child who had just lost his mother. 

- Daphne?- said Riley looking at me worriedly. I opened my mouth, but no words came out of it. 

I couldn't stand the feelings and their stares. With a shaky step I walked towards my empty house and without waiting for anyone else to react I slammed the door behind me locking it as I always did when I returned. My gaze immediately fell on the floor where just a moment ago my mother was lying. Nearby lay her phone. It was switched off. How had this happened? It was bad this morning, but it always was. She should be here, we should be leaving now to see a doctor. 

Why was it so quiet here? 

She had to be here somewhere, it didn't happen. 

Barely taking breaths, I started walking to the living room, my backpack fell from my shoulders and fell somewhere on the floor, I didn't pay attention to it, just like the fact that I was still holding my phone in the steel grip of my left hand. I had no control over my body. My eyes scanned the space of the room looking for signs that she would be here somewhere soon. Everything was just as I had left it that morning, no signs of this bad situation. 

- this can't be happening- I whispered and tears finally began to flow from my eyes. Only then did I feel what it meant to really suffocate. All the air from my lungs was taken away in such a brutal way that a piercing pain went through my chest. 

- Daphne? Please let me in, you shouldn't be alone- called out Riley knocking on the front door, but her voice was distant to me. I didn't even fully understand what she said. 

- That's not true- I said to myself staring at the floor before I started hitting my head with my hands. The sobs continued to shake my body barely allowing me to stand up straight. 

- That's not true!- I shouted this time and threw the phone somewhere further away from me, but soon my hands were filled with my hair, which I began to pull. 

- She is alive- I continued to scream unable to calm down.

- Daphne!- Riley continued to prefer knocking harder on the door. The loud sounds brought me back to reality a little, but they didn't help bring me under control. 

My gaze swept quickly across the room once more before stopping on the phone. With a quick step I found myself at the device which was lying on the ground next to a small table. The screen had a few cracks, but when I turned it on it was working flawlessly. 

Through my tears I could barely see what I was doing, that didn't stop me. All I had in my mind was this stupid empty name and the desire to be with my mother.

After making sure everything worked, I took a quick step toward the kitchen. I knew exactly what I was going there for, the top drawer in one of the cabinets. That's where the cutlery and all the knives were. By my vigorously pulling the drawer handle, the metal shook loudly in the room. I pulled out the largest blade we had in the house. 

- Daphne, please don't do anything stupid!- shouted Riley in the background below as I started walking toward my room. It was the only room in the house that had a large mirror. 

Running up the stairs with one hand, I started going back to the article I had read just a few hours ago. I didn't care how silly it looked, all I felt was pain in my heart. I knew that normally I wouldn't be able to do anything.

My room was crowded by everything I hadn't cleaned, in front of the mirror, however, there were only a few scattered clothes. 

Throwing my phone and knife on the ground, I walked over to the window to close the curtains, but leaving enough room for the room to still be lit. 

I felt like I wasn't myself, as if everything that was happening was in my head. 

As soon as the room was darker I sank to my knees in front of the mirror. I couldn't catch a single normal breath even though my sobbing had calmed down enough for me to utter words. 

Looking at myself in the mirror, I didn't even recognize myself. I looked like a wreck of a human being, as if I was no longer human myself. My face was all red and wet with tears. 

Reaching for the phone once again I read everything although it was hard because of the blurry words on the screen.  

- That's it, you'll be with me- I said to myself without waiting a moment longer just putting the phone down, and grabbing my shirt to pull it over my head. The white bra was reflected in the mirror along with my skin which was not yet scarred by any wounds.  The knife was back in my hand, this time held firmly and securely. I knew I had to do it, so taking a breath I raised the knife and pressed the blade against the skin just above my heart. It was not going to be a deep wound, just enough for blood to appear. Without thinking about it for long I made a quick movement that made me take a loud breath. The adrenaline overflowing through me relieved most of the pain, but not completely. I felt the burning rosiness all over my skin, followed by the sensation of blood flowing slowly down the wound. Only then did I let go of the knife to collect as much of the blood as possible on my fingers.               

With my other hand, I turned the phone back on and scrolled to the last moment. That is, the words. It took an eternity to copy the text into the translator and see how it was spoken, enough to make the blood flow even more from the wound.

Feeling so much grief and injustice, my mouth opened before my brain had time to encourage me to stop. 

- ሁሉን ቻይ ፍሬዲያ፣ ለእርዳታዎ በመለመን አነጋግርዎታለሁ። ያለኝን ሁሉ እሰጥሃለሁ። ኃይልህን አበድረኝ፤ በምላሹ ራሴን ሁሉ እሰጣችኋለሁ። ቃሎቼን አድምጡ - I said in a trembling voice sure I was reading something wrong, and my fingers began to smear on the mirror, blurring my eyes with blood.

- Please kill as many people as you need, but bring her back to life- I added mindlessly looking at my figure. The silence falling after the last word was deafening and frustrating. Almost as if I were not in my room, but in solitary confinement. My throat tightened by the renewed urge to cry. 

- I want her back, I just want to see her- I whispered rubbing my face, accidentally smearing the remaining blood on my cheeks. 

The throbbing wound forced me to look in the mirror again, I don't even know when the blood slowed down and I didn't look at the wound after lifting my gaze. I couldn't when instead of my reflection I saw a black figure. Only then did it occur to me what I had actually done. 

- oh my god- I screamed, taking a step back, but still looking at something that should have been my reflection. My heart did not have a moment's peace, it was again beating as fast as before. 

- this is not possible- I muttered watching as something looking like a black mist disappeared more and more, showing my figure, as if nothing had happened. After a second, my reflection seemed completely normal, until I looked into my own eyes. I thought I was hallucinating because of everything that was happening when I looked at my face. My eyebrows furrowed and my head tilted slightly, checking to see if the reflection was really mine. 

It seemed that everything was ok, everything except my eyes. In the reflection, they were completely white. There were no irises in them. It must have been my imagination. 

Still filled with anxiety, I moved back to the front, slowly returning to the same spot as just before, perfectly in front of the mirror. 

The empty eyes that were supposed to be mine seemed to invade my soul, creating a pressure in me that I had never felt.

- What the fuck- I muttered moving even closer against everything my brain was telling me. The closer I got to my reflection the more it seemed to me that it wasn't me. 

Only when I was only a few inches from the glass did I realize how much of a mistake my grief had driven me into. 

My reflection tilted its head to the side with a mocking smile on its face and everything that happened next was too fast for me to react. 

My reflection's hands came out of the mirror and grabbed my hair, pulling my head hard against the mirror, hitting it and shattering it. 

The shattering glass being so close wounded my face and almost robbed me of my sight. 

Despite the blood now flowing in waves, I pushed myself away with my residual strength from the shards of glass and the now empty frame of the mirror. 

- no, no, no- I repeated trying to get up despite my shaking legs to run out of that room, but as soon as I rose to my feet, I felt my stomach clench so hard that I threw up the second breakfast I had eaten at school. In addition to the disgusting mixture, blood also flowed from my mouth. It was so sudden and powerful that it shook my whole body. I looked at it in horror and the sobbing now resembled a lament. 

- please don't- I screamed trying to reach the door, through my hand then such a tremendous pain passed as if someone had just broken it. I screamed falling to my knees and pressed it to my chest. 

- this can't be happening! What the fuck!- I shouted into the emptiness of my room. I did not get an answer. 

I only felt the pain from my hand being replaced by a headache that was like drilling a hole in my skull. I couldn't do anything but scream and try to free myself from this state while still curled up on the floor. 

- STOP IT- I screamed writhing from the ever-present pain I felt as if fire was burning my muscles, my head was filled with pressure and my mouth was filled with blood that I had to spit out to keep from choking. 

I don't know when my vision began to blur until the ability to see disappeared. I couldn't get rid of the feeling of losing connection with my body, as if I was being ripped away, all combined with endless suffering. 

The whole thing lasted maybe a few minutes until it quieted down completely. Everything. All the pain. All the blood flowing, the nausea. All that was left was nothingness. 

Through the fact that there were no longer any distractions, I could feel the fact that I could not move my own body. At all. 

Despite the desire to move my hands, or at least my head, I couldn't do it. It was as if I was in a conscious dream, paralyzed. 

I tried to say something, to call out to someone again in the silence of the house, my mouth remained closed. What was different was my eyes. I felt them open, without my control. 

My fingers began to move, I no longer felt the pain that previously radiated in my right hand. 

My whole body acted as if it didn't feel pain. It seemed as if my head was looking around before my body began to slowly rise. I couldn't do anything about it, I couldn't interfere. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

I was just an observer.

- Thank you for letting me in. I will fulfill your words.- I heard a voice that once belonged to me, now sounding much more hollow. 

Immediately after that, I felt another strange sensation, and an image of what was happening to my body was revealed before my eyes. 

This thing... It really turned me into just an observer. 

- Let me out!- I screamed, watching in horror as someone controlling my body reached for one of my shirts lying on the floor. In the shards of glass I could see "my" reflection. My skin had lost its natural appearance, it looked almost gray, and my eyes were empty. Zero irises. White space alone. 

Blood was still everywhere, running down my face and chest. 

- You wanted this. You made it happen. I'll bring your mother.- replied the figure pretending to be me acting as if it owned my body. These words crushed me. 

- I take it back! It was a mistake!- I shouted trying unsuccessfully to regain control. "I" reached another time towards the floor, this time for a knife lying under other shards of glass. My mother would not want this, would not want me to bring her back by force. Why did I do that? 

- Too late.- That's all that came out of "my" mouth before my body started heading toward the stairs. I tried to fight with all my might, but it was no use. My figure easily passed through the living room without even looking at anything other than the exit door from behind which I could hear someone's conversation. If I had control of my heart it would have stopped at that moment. 

My neighbor Riley and Aunt Margaret. 

- Don't hurt them!-I shouted into the darkness I was after. "I" reached for the lock and opened it, then doing the same with the door. 

They immediately turned their gaze in our direction with worry. 

The other neighbors had already returned to their homes, but they were definitely watching. I wanted to warn them, tell them to run away, my voice was nothing. 

- Daphne! Honey I'm so sorry- Said Margaret coming up to "me" to pull me into a hug, when she came closer, however, she looked into my eyes, saw them, along with blood.

It was a moment when she suddenly leaned over feeling a piercing pain in her abdomen. 

- I'm fine- replied the figure claiming to be me and grabbed Margaret's arm to hold her down. 

- STOP! - I shouted wanting to close my eyes and not look at it, but SHE, forced me to watch the scene. 

- Daphne- Muttered Margaret at which THAT shook its head. 

- no, I don't think it's her- replied her icy voice, and then grabbed the knife dragging it up her abdomen, creating an extensive wound from which blood flowed. Margaret was unable to get out any words through the pain and blood flowing out of her mouth. 

Riley looking on stood as if frozen in place. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

I wanted her to run away, to tell someone about it, to go back to her daughter, she was unable to. 

Before she could force herself to move it was the figure already at her side. 

- You can't tell the police about the wrong person- muttered the monster, and plunged the knife into the side of Riley's neck, piercing her arteries. 

- Why-is the only thing I could repeat after seeing this. I couldn't even cry, because I had no way to cry.

The monster in charge of my body only smiled 

- I return your mother to you.- she said dropping the knife on the ground next to the bodies of the women. 

All I could do was watch as my body began to walk away from the place that was my home, toward the next house. 

All I could do was watch. 

Pay for my greed.

[orionwhispers]

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals. 

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

[tatianafarenheit]

Devourer (open ending)

TW: GORE, slight lime,

It was pouring. The wind was howling woefully while it quickly rushed trought the trembling leafs of the Wangshu Inn’s Foundation of a tree. Even the sound of the other travelers, stopping for the night, was drowned by the white noise that rang trough-out the halls of the Inn, creating a terribly uncomfortable sensation of chaos. Xiao hated these kind of nights where the inn was bustling more than usual, and the fact that his only remaining comrade from the war was near him did not comfort him either.

He felt restrained almost rigid at the heavy awkwardness that strangled the room for the past two hours. Neither him or Yanay said a single word since they first reunited and Xiao’s mind was near overheating while trying to think of something to say.

His attempts where rewarded with emptiness and that frustrated him. He hated feeling like a kid, palms almost sweaty because he could not communicate with the only being that experienced the same pain he did, the only being who also had to witness the same horrors of war and was unfortunate enough to live on to tell the story.

Truth be told, they didn’t end on the best terms. Xiao blamed Yanay for years for the cause of his comrades deaths and vice versa, only to realize later that the person to blame was the misleading messenger between them. Yanay didnt in fact given the wrong orders, the messenger did and Xiao in fact did not leave his friends to die because he ran off, he was just too late to help.

Every since the truth emerged the both of them felt uncomfortably awkward next to each other, stuck between feeling a need to apologize and not wanting to open the wound that the sorrowful memories left behind. How easy it would be if stolen glances could be an actual form of communication. Yanay hearts raced while looking at Xiao, she felt a painful voide eating away at her heart while she looked at the broken man, a small fragment of what he used to be, almost like a living memory of the past, a guardian cursed to carry and reopen his old wounds each time he looked around him. Every single fragment of Liyue was a breathing reminder of what happened upon its lands all those years ago.

Yanay managed to find herself a new purpose, or more like the purpose found her. Ningguan found the resentful and nugatory girl and could not help but see potential in her, a woman that only needed someone to open her eyes. Ningguan offered her a job and a promise of a new start, a painfully docile life, she promised she would never have to suffer again and so Yanay followed her. Ningguan’s helping hand helped Yanay wake up, but only by her own will did she only find herself again, patching up her still bleeding old wounds hoping that one day they would stop…but they still bleed to this day.

Thats the difference between Xiao and Yanay is that Xiao accepted it, came to terms with the brokenness his whole existence represents, he got accustomed to the horrible misey that chews and spits him out every time he breathes, so accustomed to it to the point he doesnt feel it anymore. Yanay on the other hand could not, her mind still whispers menacingly to her, each time her eyelids tremble shut, the terrifying truth she had to endure. And each time, she fights it, she refuses it wholeheartedly, her resistance only making everything burn even more and even deeper.

“Im going to sleep” Yanay whispered and Xiao heard it, looking away and only giving a hum as a response. He felt bad, truly, he wish he could speak to her more, to apologize, to tell her that he can be there- but his savage heart wont let him, his prode chaining his mouth shut so he could not get himself hurt more. He tried to justify his actions by saying things such as ‘she wouldn’t care anyway’; ‘it would not help her so whats the point?’ But Xiao forgot to consider how much Yanay cared for such small things, how much she cherished in the back of her rotting soul the fact that someone thought that she deserved an apology.

Yanay laid down, her back facing Xiao, afraid of letting him see her composure falling apart each second she was next to him. And so with one last heavy puff of air her eyes closed. Xiao soon followed laying as far away as possible from her.

Xiao was awoken by the sound of the sheets being tousled around and as he looked in Yanays direction he could only see her figure hunched over. “Why are you awake?” He said in a gruff voice, slight annoyance tainting his tone from being awoken this early in the night. What he saw next made him freeze up, his blood turned cold and eyes froze open. Yanay looked back at him with tears in her wide eyes “Take them away-“ she barely whispered, her voice trembling along with the hands that gripped her sides in a crushing strenght.

Xiao felt like his world crashed down onto him, his veins thinning as he looked the the now seemingly vulnerable woman in front of him. His whole idea of who Yanay is was completely ruined, hes never seen her like this. So fragile and so… brittle- It was almost like someone’s possessed her body.

“You can eat dreams, right? Please-“ the girl cut herself short, her eyes scanning him frantically. She knew she was asking for too much, she felt it so deep in her bones that they felt like they might snap-. “I know im asking for too much but please- take them! Devour them until theres not even a single one that escapes!” Her voice was getting more and more unstable, her gaze running over the room back and forth, avoiding his apparent burning gaze. He just stared for a second, it all felt unreal to him. His breathing got labored and heavy as he saw the marking scene before him. A warrior turned to a broken maiden, looking for a kind of alleviation that only he could bring her.

Yanay took his silence as a refusal, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she turned back to her hunched position. His gaze felt unbearably heavy on her back, almost quelling her to the point she felt minuscule. “Never mind- it was stupid of me to ask that. Please forget i ever said anything.” There it goes again, the voice Xiao was so accustomed to. He couldn’t help but feel a wave of disappointment wash over him.

Without rationality he reached out to her, his fingers grabbing onto her shoulder and turning her around a bit more harshly than what he meant.

Yanay jumped, her composure falling apart by his own hand. “Tell me what dreams im looking for..” his voice was awfully soft, so soft that it made a small electric string run up Yanay’s spine, a wave of ecstasy running over her body. But once the realization of what he really asked hit her, her eyes turned dark and cold. The kind of eyes Xiao used to have, so he immediately knew what he had to look for. “I will help you but-“ it was now his turn to look away in embarrassment, his face feeling way too scorching all of the sudden.

Yanay stared at him and thought of how she’s never looked at him in this kind of light before, he was absolutely breathtaking and innocent, not a shred of bad ill painted onto his face and so yet again she felt selfish for never trying to understand him- and now- here she is, asking him to do something that he most likely won’t enjoy. “Its gonna be a hell of a lot to take in, not only for you but me as well.” He continued and turned back to look at her. She almost gasped once her eyes met his, shes never seen them so close in order to see the true intensity they held. His gaze pierced trough her with such power that her breathy hitched. She only nodded. Xiao sighed, his fingers now trembling onto her skin knowing that whats about to come wont be able to be erased. Yanay’s perception of him was about to change even more.

“Turn around for me..” his voice was almost a whisper but still so moving that it made goosebumps rise on Yanay’s skin. She eagerly complied, her shoulders relaxing under his vexing touch. As she tuned around the sound around her began to fade, her attention fully concentrated onto Xiao. The next thing she felt was his chest pressed against her back, so tender yet so much pressure. She had to restrain herself from releasing a shuddered gasp once his body connected to hers. Her skin lit up, nerves trembling deliciously. Xiao felt it too, his eyes closing shut as he bit back a groan, his hands rose next to Yanays own hands, almost afraid of touching her thinking that shes gonna break. He was afraid that she’s gonna be repulsed by his touch but nonetheless he placed his hands in front of Yanay’s torso. “Grab onto one of my hands and relax into me.” He said again, his breath gently caressing Yanay’s ear shell.

Yanay’s lucidity began to dissolve, he was so close oh so close that if she turned around she could kiss him…to bad that will never be an option. After regaining a fracture of her rationality back, she complied to his words, her hand gripping one of his while she relaxed fully into him. His other hand gripped her jaw and moved it so that her face was right under his. Her eyes opened and looked at Xiao with such an irresistible innocence that he almost lost it. It was refreshing to see his comrade so complying and so sweetly vulnerable. Xiao leaned his head in, his lips barely above hers, so close that she could feel the heat coming from his face.

“Tell me when you if want me to stop..” he said against her lips before they met. Yanay’s heart felt like it was imploding, beating so hard and fast that it almost punched trough her ribcage but what came next took Yanay by surprise even more. Her limbs started to feel like putty, so soft and light. While her mind started to become intoxicated and slow, she wasn’t thinking of anything but Xiao and the overwhelmingly pleasurable feeling that started to spread inside her. It almost felt like and aphrodisiac, her body disconnecting from her mind, detaching so much that it almost felt like another person possessing her body. Xiao felt the affects too, his hand gripping Yanay’s jaw harder as he leaned his head in more, deepening the kiss, his tongue running hungrily over hers. While he knew that he was supposed to focus only on devouring Yanay’s horrible nightmares he couldn’t help but indulge in the sweet release that she was, a breath of fresh air. He wanted to claim her, to make her heal him with just her presence and maybe he could help her by erasing every parasitic nightmare that plagued her thoughts every night, but that wouldn’t be healthy and he knew it.

Yanay tried so hard to grip onto her lucidity but the more she tried the damned thing ran further and further away. Her flesh felt like smoldering cinder while her stomach felt like a void, it felt like feathers were running over her skin. She was so overwhelmed that she almost passed out from the electrifying feeling that he induced. Xiaos hand left hers and opted for her waist, digging his fingers in and dragging her torso impossibly closer to his. She was so delicious that it drove him mad, forget the damned nightmares he wanted to devour her. To rip her ignorant facade apart and watch her true face show itself from the ruins that he alone tore down.

His hunger was cut short when he finally reached the nightmares he was looking for and they were exactly as he expected. Corpses rotting on the muddy field while tired soldiers pushed on whith their last breath, people screaming and crying and the worst of all, the feeling of being helpless, powerless, the feeling of having to watch knowing you cant change a god damn thing.

He couldnt stand looking at the dreadfully realistic replicas of the past so he started tearing them down, devouring the from the most affecting ones to the lesser. He tore them down with each movemnt of his lips against hers and she couldnt have been more grateful. Suddenly his kisses turned from exhilarating to melting. His movements so soft and tender that Yanay felt like she was about to burst. She never realized how much she craved this feeling before and now- now she couldnt get enough of it, she was frightened that if he touched her like that one more time shed forever be bound to him, craving him each second of her existence. Her hand slowly moved to the nape of his neck, softly caressing his satin like hair.

Xiao couldnt do anything but melt under her gentle touch, his mind finally going at ease after all of these tormenting years he had to indure all alone. Afraid as if shed disappear from his desperate clutch, he held her closer, relishing into this intoxicatingly serene moment. Oh how he truly wished they could stay like this more…

[janekfan]

Chronic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802141

Thank you @taylortut for helping me!!!

Jon looked at the clock.

537.

The glowing numbers burned themselves into his retinas. How had it been less than an hour since last he’d checked? No use for it. Better to get himself up and ready for work. But he’d closed his eyes against the headache blaring like a klaxon and he’d have to open them again at some point.

Taking advantage of his lonely flat, Jon allowed himself to indulge the noise pushing its way through grit teeth as he maneuvered his sore legs from under the quilt. He sat a moment, pressing the bare soles of his feet on the cold floor and levering his heavy body upright with a shaking arm.

Exhausted.

And it’s only--a quick glance.

544.

The hell was wrong with him?

Since just before accepting the position as Head Archivist, and rightly pissing off both Sasha and Tim on her behalf, Jon felt like he’d been constantly coming down with something. Dizzy and nauseous and unable to eat, he was chronically exhausted and while he’d never slept well at the best of times, it was evading him more than ever.

And there were his mornings. Struggling to motivate himself out of bed, brushing his teeth with his eyes closed and leaning against the wall. Deciding he could forgo a shower just once more and choosing instead to make breakfast. Forcing himself to eat a piece of dry toast with his heart hammering away in his throat and half laying on the table, panting through his tea. Mentally, Jon prepared himself for the walk to the train, automatically going for his cane because lord knew he needed the support.

He’d get to the Institute hours early.

At least that made him look good?

Taking advantage of being a cane user, Jon opted for a reserved seat, the guilt at truly needing one eating away at his insides. But there were black spots at the corners of his vision and he had to sit down before he fell down and the guilt is a far sight better than causing a scene. The trip was too short. His chest ached from the constant pounding and he pressed the hand not holding his cane for dear life against his breastbone. It didn’t help but the pressure and touch grounded him enough to stand up. To head to the cross street. To wait for the lights to change. To stagger down the stairs and into his office, to drop into his desk chair and focus on every breath of air moving into his body and back out of it.

Jon put his head down. There was no one here. Wouldn’t be for a couple hours yet and he was exhausted, shaking from it. Nauseated. There wasn’t a fever. He’d gone as far as to purchase a thermometer to be certain when the strange symptoms refused to abate no matter how often he let himself rest, no matter the meals he tried his damndest to eat, the water he drank down. He was trying. Jon couldn’t remember ever taking such good care of himself and of course it refused to pay off. In Uni, he’d driven himself into the ground with little consequence. He’d maintained those habits until a few months ago and now--

Muffled voices drifted through his door, the rise and fall of easy conversation. The kind he’d once been allowed to partake in. Laughter filled the air and while Jon wished to join them he knew he wasn’t welcome.

Why had he done it?

Why hadn’t he refused Elias?

Because you’re selfish. You’ve always been selfish. Needy. Greedy, grasping, always striving to know answers and never satisfied with what you're given. You take what you don’t deserve.

Reluctantly, Jon stood, slowly, because doing anything quickly these days has him ducking his head between his legs or waking up on the floor without any recollection of how he came to be there. He could at least collect their research in person, greet them. Try to be the boss they deserved.

Sasha was the boss they deserved.

“Ah, g’good morning.”

“Jon!” Martin, smiling shyly. “You’re here so early!” He began to stammer and Jon’s legs began to ache. This wasn’t a good day. They seldom were anymore. “I m’mean, of course y’you are, you work very hard!” Martin was saved by Tim swinging an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ve broken ‘im, boss.” A flush rose in Jon’s cheeks. He could feel it. “No worries, Marto. He’s always been an early riser.” While it was said in jest, the tone settled heavy in Jon’s chest, directly beside the pain blossoming like a thorny rose. Luckily, he was rescued by Rosie, standing halfway down the stairs and informing him that Elias requested him in his office. Jon didn’t relish the climb, no matter how grateful he was to escape out from underneath Sash’s heavy gaze. She had every right and he would bear his punishment in silence until she chose, if she ever did, to forgive him.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jon limped out of Elias’ office without any recollection of what they’d spoken about or if he’d even spoken at all. Thumping pain and panic and he knew he was rude to ignore Rosie at her desk but he wasn’t in any shape to hold a conversation, fairly certain that he wasn’t able to currently speak, far too focused on trying to hide how ill he was. But every sound was magnified tenfold in his ears and he could barely remember where the door to the archives was with the way his head reeled and spun. Jon wanted to sink to the ground once he had the door between himself and the lobby but he’d never make it to his feet again after that. Push through, he told himself. Get to your desk. He allowed himself a moment, two, just to put his head to rights, to try and breathe through the battering of his pulse.

And oh god he wasn’t going to make it and he wondered if somehow Elias knew. It was as though he’d kept him standing there talking about nothing until Jon hit his limit, knowing he wouldn’t have the strength to get back to his office.

But he had to try and he’d almost gotten down the ridiculously narrow stairwell before he forgot nearly entirely why he was there in the first place. Was he going up? Down? Meeting with someone? Just arriving? He could barely breathe and the panic welling in his throat was choking and the black was crawling over his eyes and the dizziness only increased and he needed...needed…

For a moment, Jon didn’t recognize where he was, the migraine, the fuzziness, conspiring against memory and reason. But he knew this color, the hideous lick of paint some contractor had splashed over the walls a lifetime ago.

Breakroom?

Wha--

“Jon!” He winced, his own name like broken glass shredding every sense to ribbons. “Christ, are you alright?” Martin, the sounds he made were shrill, grating, and if he’d been able to tell him to be silent, he would have. “We heard the noise--you’d, you fainted! On the stairs! Luckily it was only the last few.” Jon blinked, dull and dumb, forcing himself up, up, up, and through heavy mist and fog in his search for words. Weary to the marrow of his aching bones, Jon slumped on the cushions and tried to think of a way to stop Martin’s incessant chattering. Tim and Sasha, alerted most likely by all the commotion, stood over him and he craned his neck up to look at them. Tim especially looked furious.

“You could have been seriously hurt!”

“S’sorry…” And he was, between his rabbiting heartbeat, throbbing migraine, and difficulty drawing breath into his exhausted lungs, he wanted to cry with how sorry he was.

“This is ridiculous. You need to take better care of yourself.” Jon wasn’t sure why the sting from Tim’s accusation cut so deep and he hung his head, biting trembling lips to prevent the tears threatening to spring free.

It wasn’t fair.

By all accounts he was taking care of himself. More than ever!

“Did you even eat today? Drink anything?” He nodded, miserable, unwell, and equipped with no better answers than the truth.

“Tim. He’s just come to.” The understanding was the final straw, and Jon’s sight blurred with salt damp. “I’ll make sure he eats something before going back to work.”

“Alright, Martin. If he gives you any trouble, call.” At Jon, he pointed. “And you, no trouble.” And he nodded miserably.

“Okay, they’ve gone.” The familiar sounds of the kettle heating filled the room, the clink of a pair of ceramic mugs, the rustling of the tea bags, Martin’s distracted murmuring, all combined to calm him. “How long have you been feeling this way?” Jon looked up, surprised, and shrugged one shoulder, accepting the small plate of biscuits and nibbling slowly and when he finished those, Martin offered up the tea. Sitting with him in companionable quiet, he sipped on his own cup. Nothing more was exchanged and when Jon finished he thanked Martin for the company and locked himself away.

Jon was at wit’s end. Nothing he tried seemed to improve anything and the few times he did speak with a doctor, he was sent away with the same, useless advice, or worse, told he was imagining things, making it up, having panic attacks even though he was familiar with those and this was not that.

Work was a nightmare made even more miserable with the overwhelming amount of paperwork, statements, boxes, misfiled folders and envelopes and items and Jon missed the easy camaraderie and understanding he’d had with Sasha and Tim. Maybe he should resign, try and salvage what little of the relationship they still had, or, or invite them out for dinner, his treat, but Elias would never let him quit and the very idea of entertaining exhausted him. A cuppa appeared at his elbow filled with something new, something floral and slightly sweet, accompanied, as always, by a few biscuits.

“That’s a lot of work, Jon.” He sipped, grateful, lifting an eyebrow in response.

“I knew it would be when I accepted this position.” Undeterred, Martin stumbled forward.

“Y’yeah, I mean, you would have. Of course. I just--” A breath. “I’ve finished with my other assignments, ready for round, uh. Well, another round!”

“Ah. Alright, I’ll bring something over when I pick up your translations.” Martin took back the cup, nodding enthusiastically, and Jon appreciated that it was business as usual, selecting a few he’d been putting off and making his way toward his assistants ignoring inquiring looks in favor of taking the chair Martin offered up to go over his expectations. Short, succinct. A few notes on one translation, advice to remember for next time, and Jon felt reasonably confident Martin could handle himself. It wasn’t until he’d gotten back to his office that Jon realized that was the first time he’d been offered a chair. It was becoming apparent that Martin was good at noticing the little things about them. A blush heated his cheeks and he tried to rub it away, feeling ridiculous that such a small act of kindness made him feel so seen.

Jon pushed forward, ignoring the warnings his body was trying to give him in favor of plowing through his work like he’d always done, and by the time he made it home, was on the verge of collapse. Hot tears of frustration stung at the corners of his eyes, spilling over when Jon allowed himself to feel it. More than anything, he was used to having control over himself, working when he wanted, burying himself in the research, devouring knowledge. Now he was at the whim of his physical form. Paying more attention to it than ever before and never knowing if he was going to wake up and have a good day or a bad day and it was maddening. Managing whatever it was without knowing what it was, was impossible with no rhyme or reason he could discern.

So in the absence of both, Jon kept shoving his way through how difficult it was because if he could just be normal through pretending everything was normal, then it would be.

Jon knew Tim was cross with him and managed to avoid him for most of the day, taking breaks here and there like he’d promised Martin he would do. But his luck, while it had been holding steady, had just run out and he found himself cornered in the breakroom.

“What do you think you’re on about?” Frustration had long since turned to outrage, boiling over.

“Tim, I. I’m not sure what you mean--”

“Damn it, Jon! You’ve already taken on a job you aren’t fit for! You can’t keep heaping your work onto Martin and then swanning off!”

“That’s.” He balled his hands into fists, nails biting crescent moons into his palms. How could he explain when even the doctors thought he was making it all up? Heat rushed through him, top to toe, flushing his face and he wavered, legs threatening to buckle, vision threatening to go dark. He was going to pass out a second time today if he didn’t sit down. But that would mean walking away from Tim, and he didn’t think the man would let him. At least not until he was done telling him off. Better to be silent. Try not to pay attention to how erratic the persistent beating caged behind fragile ribs had become.

“Why didn’t you say no?” Because he wanted to be useful. Because Elias made him feel like he was capable even if he wasn’t. “Why didn’t you just let Sasha have this?” Because he was an awful, selfish person. “God, Jon. Why did you drag us all down here with you?”

Because he was lonely.

Because they’d been friends. Once.

Rather than remind Tim that he was free to go at any time, that he and Sash hadn’t been forced or coerced into accepting positions here in the archives, Jon pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Well?!” Sharp, strident, Tim’s shout echoed around in the space between his own hurting, agonal breaths in his ears.

“I. I, I need to si’down…” wanted to lay down. Wanted to sleep, trembling with exhaustion, about to go down.

“What?” Lashes fluttering as he gripped the thread of consciousness with both hands, he barely registered Tim’s hands around his shoulders, guiding him into a chair and pushing his head down between his knees. “Jon?”

“M’okay…”

“You are clearly not.” A wide palm settled on his back, keeping him folded over. It was helping.

“S’mm...been. S’fine.” The floor came back into focus, all the little cracks and imperfections and Jon counted the streaks in the pattern in an attempt to ground himself but kept losing track of the number. Neither moved until Jon attempted to sit up, slowly, accepting Tim’s help.

“Jon?” He looked spooked, pale. “Please, what’s going on?” His hand settled in the crux of shoulder and neck, thumb ghosting along his clammy skin, and Jon allowed himself to find a morsel of comfort in the familiar gesture, the threat of tears closer than ever. So he reached for him.

“I don’t know.” And Tim pulled away as if burned, the frustration and anger rising in his face again, and Jon was bereft. “T’truly! I--”

“Why won’t you be honest with me? Don’t you trust me?” Standing, he took a step backwards, away from him, the hurt in him a palpable thing. “We’re supposed to be friends!”

Yes. They were friends. It was most likely why for the first time in a long while, the pain in his chest wasn’t a physical ache.

“Tim, I.” Fingers folded to fists to rest on his knees. But he was already gone.

“Jon!” Tentative, Martin lifted his chin. “Oh, oh.” Having been crying, Jon figured his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and he didn’t bother attempting to hide the evidence. “Alright.” Martin went about making tea, chamomile, herbal and calming, placing it before him on the table with a chocolate digestive. “Drink this down and then go home. It’s half six.”

“Mm.”

“Sleep will help.”

“Mm.”

“I could speak to them for you. If--”

“No!” All but shouted. “No. That won’t be necessary, Martin.” Carefully he stood, paused. “Thank you.” And left.

Jon called off.

Called off again.

Again.

Apologized to Elias in a curt email requesting leave and was granted it.

He ignored his phone. His texts. The knock at the door and Martin’s voice behind it. He slept when he was tired and he was tired often and it was easier besides, to finally listen to the screaming of his body. It was after hours on his fifth day gone when Tim let himself in with the spare key to Jon’s flat.

“Hey.” Sheepish, he held up his hands in surrender, a bag of takeaway from Jon’s favorite place dangling from one. “Martin said you wouldn’t let him in.” Dressed in the most comfortable clothes he had, which were also the shabbiest, Jon glared at him from where he laid on the couch. “I was an arse.” Slowly, he sat up, making Tim wait on purpose, a powerful frown still aimed in his direction.

“You were.” He was aware he looked a mess, greasy hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, but he felt a sight better for the rest he’d gotten.

“Would you accept an apology?” Folding his arms, Jon leaned back into the cushions and fixed his stare at whatever rubbish was on the telly.

“Might do.” Silently, Tim scurried into the tiny kitchen and Jon listened to the familiar sounds of him rooting around for cutlery. It smelled delicious and comforting, a reminder of nights spent together laughing at nothing on this same couch and despite himself, Jon began to relax.

“I’m sorry.”

“Alright.” Tim’s face split in a wide, relieved grin, and he flopped down next to him, planting a loud kiss to his temple before urging him to eat. “Martin sent you here.”

“An angry Marto is not to be trifled with.” Through a mouthful of noodles, Tim chuffed in laughter. “Wouldn’t tell me anything, other than to stop being a prick.”

“He did not.”

“He did not. But it was more than implied!” He put his bowl on the low table in front of them, sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees. “And he was right. I didn’t give you a fair shake and accused you of awful things. And I know you’re doing your best at this job.”

“Gertrude isn’t making it easy.”

“Neither is your health, I take it.” Jon set his own meal aside, curling into the padded arm.

“No. It isn’t.”

“And you don’t know what’s causing it?”

“I know some things that help. M’Martin has been invaluable.”

“Has he, now?”

“Leave off!”

“Okay, okay.” But he continued giggling as Jon felt his face go hot, muttering.

“He really has.” This time Tim pulled him gently into an embrace.

“Then Sash and I will just have to catch up.”

[nonbinaryeye]

Early mornings and the visits of Mr. Magnus

Written for @jonahmagnusweek

Day 3 - Pressure

Jonathan  Fanshawe has been having a problem sleeping lately. Name of that problem is Jonah Magnus.

Read on AO3

...

Jonathan Fanshawe is awakened by the sound of insistent knocking. Few years back he might have been concerned by such urgent peruse of his attention in the middle of the night. Is someone dying? Has anyone been deadly injured? Or struck by a sudden illness?

Nowadays emotions that sudden late visitors strike in him could no longer be described as worry. It is mostly just an annoyance.

He yawns and sits up. His hand reaches to his night table for a candle and matches to light it up with. Then he considers if he should change from his night clothes since he doubts he will be able to fall back asleep after this interruption. Another set of urgent knocking makes him finally grab the candlestick and head towards his entrance door.

“What took you so long, Jonathan? I could be dying!”

“Good morning to you too, Jonah.” Jonathan haven’t check the clock but the color of the sky is seeming to be more shade of the dark blue than the blackness of a night. Rubbing his eyes he lets his friend in. It would be only waste of time trying to reason with him to come at another time when the sun has fully risen – he tried that in the past.

“I apologize but you know that I would never interrupt you if it wasn’t important. But this time it might really be matter of life or death!” Fanshawe in fact does not know that. Probably because what he finds important and what Jonah finds important are two very different things.

“Hm…”

“Are you even listening to me Jonathan?”

“Yes… please feel free to elaborate. What are the symptoms of your illness?” He resists adding this time for it would only lead to melodramatic cries about not being taken seriously enough. For how knowledgeable his friend usually is he has never met anyone more paranoid about being struck by a sudden illness. Not even any of his elder clients living past their expected age are so worried by the littlest sign something might be out of order.

“I’ve come here as soon as I noticed it,” Jonah starts quite pointlessly since Jonathan was not about to assume that symptoms appeared yesterday’s afternoon and Jonah simply chose to visit him in the most inconvenient hour. “I’ve just finished work in my study and started to undress to go to sleep. But as I was untying the bandages-…”

“Wait. Pardon me but have you said you were just about to go to sleep? It is… well, I am not certain what time it is exactly but the sun is about to rise. Jonah I thought we talked about your sleeping regime quite thoroughly last time.” Only real health issue that Jonah presented to him in past few months was his tendency to unexpectedly faint sometimes. At first Fanshawe was naturally very concerned for it might be just first sign of something more serious. However upon further interrogation of Jonah and one conversation with Mr. Bennett which provided him further context Jonathan was successfully able to pinpoint lack of sleep as the culprit of described problems. Jonah seemed not very happy with his verdict. Nor he has seemed to take his advice to heart.

“I am trying to improve my schedule it is special case this time. I could not simply leave in the middle of work what if I forgot till the morning what I was about to write? Anyway that is not important right now Jonathan!”

It is way too early to try arguing with him. “Apologies. Please continue.”

“Yes, so just as I was changing my clothes to sleep I have noticed the pain in my chest. Well not pain exactly more of a pressure? As if I was lying on my back and someone has trapped me under a heavy rock. It appeared out of nowhere I might have had it for a bit longer but you know how hard it is notice needs of the flesh sometimes when one is occupied by work.”

Jonathan is doing his best to keep his eyes open. “So, sudden pressure in the chest and… is it all?”

“It makes breathing harder. And also actually when I move in certain direction there sometimes appear a little stab of pain too… Before you ask it cannot be broken rib I haven’t been doing anything that could lead to me hurting myself in such a way and I also already examined my ribcage myself. Oh, something like stabbing pain was a symptom of heart failure isn’t it? Do you think it might that? Jonathan you must help me!” The panic on Jonah’s face is rising as he decides to self-diagnose himself first and ask questions later as per usual. He takes back all those wishes for his patients to be more aware and educated about their bodies. His dear friend knows way too much for his own good.

“No. Calm down Jonah. I think I might know what the problem it. But first you are still regularly binding your chest because of… your condition?”

“Naturally since as I said before it makes my condition a bit more comfortable. Now how exactly is this relevant?”

“I was just wondering.”  His dear friend Jonah Magnus happened to be born with a wrong body which is something he never heard about before. Though he can imagine whoever was unfortunate to be born this way would very unlikely be able to get someone to believe them.

After all even he had a bit of hard time to overcome the conflict between the clear biological evidence and Jonah’s manners and intelligence which has undeniably been pointing towards him being a gentleman. But after enough consideration he must have admitted that it probably is not even the biggest curiosity he encountered during his career.  As morbid as that may sounds if Jonah died sooner than him he would love to do an autopsy to study more of his condition and whether there really is no biological prove of conflict between one’s body and one’s psyché…

Ah but this line of thought is a bit off topic. He probably tortured his friend enough with uncertainty.

“Well? Can you finally tell me what illness I have? Can you cure it?  Do you not wish to examine me closer?”

“No need for that. You would have much less problems if you followed my advice for once Jonah. I’ve been telling to you for a while you should not be tying the bandages around your chest so tight. And also there is no reason why you should wear them at your home. They are most likely cause of the discomfort as they are pushing on your ribs.”

“But… You don’t understand I need to… uh, are you completely certain it might not have any different cause? Or maybe…-” Jonah whines and Jonathan would probably feel much more pity for how uncomfortable his friend must feel if he didn’t wake him up. He might have been awake but all his compassion is still asleep.

“Do as you wish Jonah. But if you want to get rid of the feeling of pressure in your chest this is the only cure I can recommend to you. Stop binding yourself so often and so tightly.” Fanshawe stands up to make it clear that this is end of the discussion. “Now if it is all… It would be pleasure for me to continue in our conversation in later hours.”

[sunflowerdjarin]

Touch

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: A touch starved Din adjusts to the reader’s touch

A/N: This might get a part two? I’m not sure, I just felt like I couldn’t write more of just plain yearning. It ends decently, but there could still be more.

Warnings: Mentions of blood

Part one | Part two | Part three

It started with a simple hand on the back of his shoulder. You hadn’t patted his shoulder as he had felt from his colleagues countless times. Your hand rested on his shoulder and Din could swear he felt the heat from your hand on his shoulder aside from all the metal and fabric separating your skin from his. Part of him wanted to shy away, shrink underneath your touch. Part of him felt awkward, his only physical interaction with others involved conflict and often times ended with blood. He couldn’t grasp the idea of normalized physical touch, let alone romanticized physical touch. The last part of him, though it was very small, wanted your hand to rest there forever. He wanted your touch on his skin, for you to see him and feel him. Your hand pulled away faster than he anticipated. He wasn’t counting the seconds, but he wished he had. As you pulled away, he could feel the warmth on his shoulder dissipate. The warmth on his cheeks remained afterwards even without your touch to coax it out of him, and for once, he was grateful for the helmet covering his flushed face. 

-

After that, it was the simple brush of fingers casually during the day. He watched through the helmet to see if you reacted as strongly as you did. Your expression never changed. You noted how the gloves covering his fingers felt against your skin. Your head tilted to the side, “Doesn’t it get hot?” You pondered, not making eye contact, but focusing on the controls in front of you. “What?” Din’s voice came through the helmet, confused at the statement. “The suit? You’re in it from sunrise to sunset. Doesn’t it get hot?” You looked at him sitting next to you for a moment before picking up his hand. You had never even seen his skin asides from catching glimpses of his wrists where the gloves separated from the sleeves. For someone whose skin never saw the sun, he still managed to be sun-kissed. The glimmers of his wrist that you did catch seemed to glow. 

“Sometimes.” He answered dryly, still floored over the fact that you had picked up his hand. Your fingers traced over the seams of his glove. With anyone else, Din would have pulled his hand away from them. You were different. You were gentle and had no ill intent about being so personal. You respected Din’s boundaries and where he placed them, but your fingers couldn’t help but graze over the exposed skin between his glove and his sleeve. The soft skin of his inner wrist, just below where his palm ended. Din let out a deep sigh that his helmet held back from you hearing, but you saw the deep rise and fall of his chest. It was the first skin to skin touch that he had heard since taking the creed. 

“I could never do it.” You finished speaking as you held Din’s hand in your lap. Your fingers still loosely hanging onto his hand. The heat radiating off of you was all encompassing. He could feel the light tingling of your fingers in his palm with the heat of your leg on the back of his hand. “I radiate too much heat. I’d have a heat stroke within the first day.” The corners of your mouth pulled up into a smile before dropping back down. Din had recalled all the times where you would come back onto the ship and immediately pull off your clothes. He had seen your exposed skin countless times. Your face is constantly exposed to the world for everyone to see while his remained hidden. Everyone can see your facial expressions at all times. No one could see Din’s face, which he proposed was a good thing, because without his helmet he’s certain that anyone could see how smitten he was. 

-

The next time, it wasn’t you that initiated the touch. You had declared that you kept Din company while he was flying that night only to fall asleep a couple of hours later. Din swore he wasn’t tired, but his eyes soon enough betrayed him as they fluttered shut. Din woke up to the sound of buttons whirling at him as the Razor Crest started a rocky descend. He jolted awake, quieting all the noises coming from the control panel before pulling the ship back upwards. His arm found its way across your body, instinctively protecting you. His mind was focusing on the trip now, wide awake under the helmet, but subconsciously, he was worrying about you. 

You stirred from your sleep delayed from the commotion. You were obviously in a deep sleep, your hand grabbed onto Din’s arm and he was grateful for you touch. It was something to ground him. Your hand rubbed his arm lightly as you sat up. “I’m about to land for the night.” His hand did not move from you. He needed to know you were there, something to keep him awake and moving. “Hmm.” You hummed as your hand remained on top of his arm. He looked over for the first time in the night to see your eyes, half awake, greeting his. Your hair was messily splayed and lamely falling into your face, but you paid it no mind. You were still there to get him through the night as you talked to him sleepily till he landed and parting ways till sunrise. 

You never brought up that night. You never mentioned how his hand had gripped your thigh and how protected you felt. You had figured he had fallen asleep mid flight, but you weren’t going to mention it. You felt like the guilt was already immense. You didn’t want the guilt to eat him alive. You could admit that his hand on your thigh felt right. You had felt protected, but wanting nothing more than to comfort him for the remainder of the trip. Your hands had rubbed his arms in an effort to calm him, which you assumed worked considering you hadn’t seen his face to confirm. It was the first time that he hadn’t jumped at your touch, though still rigid.

-

“You could have died, you realize that, right?” You practically barked at Din as he boarded the ship with a slight limp. You were too overwhelmed with anger to fully comprehend the limp or feel sympathetic. Din collapsed onto the sofa aboard the ship, leaning back. You sighed as your anger momentarily subsided as your compassion stepped forward. Without hesitation, you ripped the armor off of his shin and tore through his pant leg. The gash on his leg oozed blood and seemed deep. You sighed as you turned to scour the ship for any medical supplies. Din could hear you rummaging through everything. “Where’s the medical supplies, Din?” Your voice filled with frustration, it was a tone he had never experienced. He had never heard you say his name so viciously. He told you where the medical supplies were in a haze. He was thinking about how every other time you had said his name there was a sense of adoration and sometimes curiosity. This was the opposite of any of those situations. 

You came back with the medical supplies. Even though your voice was vicious, your touch was gentle. You cleaned off the blood and began stitching back the open gash. He didn’t bother to look at what you were doing. He trusted you to handle him and his injuries. A couple of moments later, you had fully stitched him up and cleaned off his wounds. You continued taking off each piece of metal on him and setting them aside. “I just can’t believe you’d be so stupid.” You muttered as you took off his shoulder piece. Your face was close to his with only a piece of metal separating you two. “You can’t?” He joked and you could hear the smile on his face, but could only dream of what it had looked like. “I can’t believe you’d be so stupid knowing that me and the child are here waiting for you.” Your tone was slightly vicious again, clearly unappreciative of the joke. “I’m serious, Din, I can’t protect him.” Your tone was somber, “And I can’t stand the idea of losing you.” Your voice cracked at the end causing Din’s heart to break. 

“I’m sorry.” Din’s spoke as he raised his hand to your cheek to cup it. “I’ll be more careful.” His voice was apologetic. He felt miserable about making you worry or even bearing the idea of your life without him. He relished in the feeling of your cheek pressed against his palm. Your face felt just as he imagined. You were soft and warm to the touch just as you reflected on the inside. “Please.” You spoke again, your voice still riddled with stress. 

“Anything for you.” His voice was low, barely catching through the mask as you nodded, reaching up to grip your arm. Din felt as if there was a stutter in his heart as you rubbed circles on his arms in an effort to comfort yourself and him. He quickly realized that you were grounding yourself. You were taking in the fact that he was still there. He was alive and well. He reached up without hesitation and pulled you into his chest. You rest against him with nothing but fabric to separate you two. There was no metal, it was the first layer that had separated you two from this. 

Din’s arms wrapped around you and cradled you to his chest. You took note in his heart rate, his breathing, and how the goosebumps on his skin rose after your finger traced over the skin. Din felt as if he was in sensory overload, but was in too much bliss to comment. Din understood the idea of comfort after this, how he witnessed others hold hands and hug in the streets. It was infectious, the feeling of love and comfort. He wanted nothing more than to hold you. And for a moment, if Din forgot about the helmet, this all felt normal to him. It felt human. A trait that he felt that he had been robbed of long ago. You turned your head to press a kiss on his clothed shoulder and Din swore he felt as if he was on fire. He couldn’t imagine what kisses to his bare skin would feel like. He couldn’t imagine what kissing you would feel like, but that thought quickly wiped from his head as he fell asleep from pure exhaustion. His arms remained wrapped around you as if you were the most precious thing he’s ever encountered.

[eldritch-araneae]

Stagnation

“Moonjumper has returned and took Hat Kid under his control, using her against Snatcher. The Ghost of Subcon emerged victorious, but aftermath showed how little he knew about himself as Hat Kid is desperately trying to save him!”

Thank you Nox ( i forgot to ask you username, I’ll add it later!) for beta reading and editing! <3

Warning: This story contains illness depiction, display of severe pain and suffering.

-----

You are worried.

You step into dark woods, looking for your best friend. As you walked, images of the serious fight with him that happened two days ago are still lingering in your mind.

It wasn’t even your fault. You don't know exactly how it happened, but before you could react, you felt strings wrapping around you, taking you under control. That part of the memory is hard to recall, like a hazy dream—like you were watching the fight through tissue paper. Then suddenly something woke you up, and you found yourself fighting Snatcher. Your body moved against your will, throwing attacks you never knew you could use!

You were able to stand on thin air—you were able to teleport! You were summoning bright arrow projectiles that moved incredibly fast and homed in on your shadowy friend. He managed to dodge most of them, but some left nasty cuts all over his body. One arrow even went right through his abdomen! Snatcher was covered in yellow wounds as his inner energy seeped through them.

You wince at the memory, but it wasn't even the worst part.

The worst part was when you unleashed a truly devastating attack that unleashed a massive explosion in the space near him. Snatcher saw it coming, but he was too slow to get out of explosion range in time and got hit. Screams of intense pain shook the air; his right arm and side were cracked badly.

You come to a slow halt in the woods, sniffing as your eyes start filling with tears.

It was a miracle both of you emerged alive and victorious. A combination of Snatcher’s determination and you warning him about the upcoming attacks managed to keep him from dying (again). Eventually, Snatcher managed to sever all the red strings that controlled your body, ending the terrible fight. The attacker, someone who Snatcher referred to later as “Moonjumper,” suffered a rebound from the power he expended and was forced to retreat.

The aftermath was, to put it delicately, unpleasant. The entire area where you were fighting was destroyed; the trees were broken, and great furrows were gouged in the soil. Thankfully, it was just a small section of the forest; still, the damage was likely irreversible.

Snatcher was in awful shape—in fact, he looked absolutely terrible. You were afraid to touch him for fear of adding more pain to what he was experiencing already. Somehow, he still managed to smile, relieved that you were no longer under his enemy’s control.

You helped Snatcher to get to his tree, and after flopping into his chair, he assured you that he’d be okay. You’ve seen him healing while he sleeps, but something told you that he would need more than that this time.

Despite your initial relief at the fight being over and Snatcher not being dead (again?), the guilt that later consumed you was terrible. Even though it wasn’t you fighting him, even though you were being controlled against your will by that “Moonjumper” person, you couldn’t help but feel that this was all your fault.

You had tried to sleep earlier, but sleep was impossible. You were so caught up in feelings of guilt and worry that you ended up getting out of bed after a few hours to go check on your friend. But on your way to his tree, you passed the area where you had fought and...everything came rushing back.

So now you’re just standing in the middle of the clearing, biting your lip and trying to pretend that there aren’t tears streaming down your face.

“Kid! Please help!” A Subconite’s voice shocks you out of your thoughts. Their voice sounds desperate. You get a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach—you can already tell what’s wrong. The minion crashes into the clearing, landing on their face. They pop up instantly, looking panicked.

“Boss is not getting better!”

You knew it!

You give them a curt nod to show you heard them and activate the sprint hat, heading off in the direction of Snatcher’s tree, running as fast as you can.

Soon you reach his tree and bolt inside. You see Snatcher, still in his chair. He seems to be asleep, with his eyes closed tightly, but his pained expression suggests otherwise. You take a careful step towards him and peer at the dark wounds scattered across his spectral form.

Wait...dark?

Upon closer inspection, many of the shallower cuts healed, including the big stab wound in his abdomen. But the cracks from the big explosion… they don’t have his yellow glow anymore. Instead, they’re a necrotic black and oozing along the ghost’s damaged arm and side.

For some reason, you reach out and lightly brush a hand over one of the cracks, which you instantly regret. Snatcher jolts, letting out a pained whine.

“I’m so sorry!” you apologize instantly. Why did you think that was a good idea? He looks like he’s in even more pain than he was two days ago!

He cracks open his tired eyes to look at you.

“Hey, kiddo...” he breathes weakly. “Looks like it’s taking more time than usual.”

“Snatcher, this is really bad!” you exclaim, motioning to his wounds. Something about it is familiar. You could swear you’ve seen this black rot somewhere before.

“Ugh, tell me about it…” he winces, letting out a shuddering sigh. ”I can’t feel my right side, or move my arm. The pain got so much worse...”

You stare at him for a few moments, then you reach out and take his good hand.

“We are going to my ship.” You gently pull his hand.

Snatcher opens his mouth to protest, but quickly closes it. You can tell that he knows it’s not just a regular injury. It’s hurting him a lot more than he’s letting on. It’s clear that he has no idea what are you going to do, but a silent understanding passes between the two of you: it’s better than nothing.

So Snatcher slowly rises from his chair, wincing and gasping from the pain, and giving you a nod.

You nod back and activate the magic that connects you to your ship, and, in a few seconds, you are standing in the main room. You carefully lead him to your bedroom. Upon entering, you drop his hand and look around, trying to deduce where he can rest until you notice him on the floor. He’s laying on his back, completely still.

The floor is covered in soft carpet, but it’s not the best place for a sick person to rest. You might at least try to move him onto the pillow mound.

“That’s better.” he croaks, relaxing for a bit before you could say anything. It seems like being in this position hurts him a great deal less. You walk over the mound, grabbing a few pillows and carefully placing him under his head.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “Do you know what's happening to me?”

“Not exactly, but I have an idea!”  you jump into the pillow mound and squirm into your secret fort. Your gaze falls onto the small bookcase stuffed with your favorite books. Quickly scanning though titles, you find what you’re looking for, grabbing the book and emerging back to your room.

Snatcher stares at the book. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“‘How to Treat Injuries and Sickness of Energoids,’” you reply, opening the book as you settle near him.

“Energoid?” Snatcher tilts his head.

“That’s what you are!” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe. Well, it is obvious for you; for him, though…

“Kid, I’m a gh—”

“Yes, and ghosts are energoids, scientifically speaking. You are made of energy! And what’s more, you are an energoid with an inner core!” you interrupt him, pointing at the middle of his chest, where you can feel his warm core pulsing when he hugs you. Snatcher stares at you in surprise, while idly drawing circles on his chest with his good hand. He sighs, not arguing with you about it.

“I think I saw something is this book before that looks like the black rot that you’ve got.” You flip through the pages, scanning for symptoms matching Snatcher’s. In few minutes you finally stumble upon something that looks similar.  

As you read carefully, your heart drops.

“Kid, don't leave me in the dark, yeah?” Snatcher's voice startles you. You look at him worriedly. Right, he must have at least some idea of what's going on.

“A-alright...it’s called Stagnation.” You pause, looking at him again. He frowns, and yes, this sounds like nothing good. You take a deep breath and proceed to read the information presented in the book.

“Stagnation is a condition that prevents inner energy from circulating inside an energoid’s body. It’s usually caused by massive damage that destroys the connection between injured areas and the core.

“When this happens, the energy exchange between the affected area and the core ceases, forcing the remaining inner energy near wound become stagnated. In this scenario affected wounds cannot be healed. The stagnated energy begins oozing thought the wound, “rotting” outer energy layers (that still responds to the core) in the process and causing intense pain.”

You stare at the book, than look at Snatcher. Now you can see that cracks are indeed bigger than before...and they’re spreading, albeit slowly. Now properly horrified, you continue to read.

“If Stagnation is left untreated, the best-case scenario is that the energoid’s core will shed stagnated body parts. It’ll stop illness from spreading, but the patient won’t regenerate those lost parts. In the worst-case scenario, the Stagnation will spread, taking over the entire body. The core will decay, resulting in...in death.”

Your eyes are wide with shock and horror. You turn to Snatcher; his expression matches yours for a moment before he winces in pain, shutting his eyes. You grab his left hand, holding it tight.

This is awful! If you won’t do something, Snatcher either will lose his arm and side permanently, or die!

“I’m so sorry, Snatcher, it’s all my fault!” you are crying, feeling like the worst person alive for hurting your best friend so badly.

“Stop!” he hisses. “It wasn’t your fault! You were under HIS control!”

Snatcher lifts his arm you are holding and pulls you to his chest, then places it onto your back, rubbing comforting circles. You feel his core racing under you—he’s as scared as you are.

You sigh heavily. You know you were under someone’s control, but you still feel guilty. You had no idea you were capable of such destruction! If only you had known...

“Is there a treatment?” Snatcher sounds almost calm despite the pain and the urgent situation. You sniff, wiping your tears with your sleeve, and look into the book once more.

Thankfully, the treatment is written right there!

“Treat—” a sob interrupted you. You muffle it into the back of your hand and keep it there until you’ve composed yourself. ”Treatment for Stagnation includes using Beacon Needles and rest. It’s advised for the patient to not move too much as the needles repair their inner energy network.”

“Beacon Needles...” you repeat, this sounds so familiar.

A memory surfaces in your mind.

Between your visits to Earth, you went to other planets to collect scattered Timepieces. One planet was inhabited by advanced water based energoid species. They were very nice, giving you Timepieces without fight or bargain. One of them was curious about you, asking about your adventures and places you’ve been as they were intergalactic adventurer themself.

At some point you told them about Subcon and Snatcher.

“Wow, this guy seem reckless if you ask me.” they hummed.” I hope he has Beacon Needles in case of bad situations.”

“Beacon Needles?” you tilted your head, curious what they're talking about.

“Yes! Like these!” they pulled out the case their inventory and open it. Inside was a set of needles: one is big, resting in the middle, surrounded by ten smaller ones. Each one had a small panel on top with white crystal inserted into it. The middle one had few small buttons. You assumed this is how you turn on the device.

“No, I never seen anything like it when I visited him.”

“I see.” they said, closing the case and suddenly handling it to you.

“What?” you look surprised as you took it.

“Your friend must have a set of those, or he’ll die very easily.” they sounded dead serious. You stare at the case for a moment. Well, it won’t hurt. But...

“What about you?”

“Oh don’t worry, child.  Those needles are common, it’s not a problem for me to get another set.” They winked at you. “Now, let me explain to you how they work!”

“Thank you!” you smiled.

You reach into your pocket dimension and pull out the case. You open it and see the same set of needles. You can’t believe you forgot about them! You were going to give the case to Snatcher as soon as you arrived, but then you got caught in this accident and well…

You shake your head, no time for moping!

You take the biggest one into your hand and push the button. You hear a sound and the crystal top lights up, signaling that device is turned on.

Hopeful smile appear on your face - Snatcher has a chance!

“Whoa, kiddo, slow down! Do you know how to use them? What they even do?! ” Snatcher rumbled nervously about unknown device in your hand.

“Of course! The person who gave me this explained everything.” you moved closer to Snatcher, showing him the needle. “Those needles beacons the inner energy from the core to areas where your core cannot access anymore.”

Snatcher looks closely at the device, his face is partly suspicious, party curious.

“So, what are you going to do?” he asks, concern filling his voice.

“This one is main needle, it receives the energy from the core and redirected it to smaller ones. It need to insert it close to your core as possible.”

“And by “inserting” you mean piecing it through my body?” Snatcher points out, wincing again.

“Oh…!” you didn't realise it, even though those things are literally big needles! You have you poke them through his outer energy layers. It’s gonna hurt! Unless…

You grab the book and flip through the pages to find anything about energoid’s anesthesia. Peck, you probably should have looked this up first to elevate his pain!

Soon you stumble across it.

“Anesthesia can be performed with various methods: using electromagnetic pulse, using any sense based magic spells or the patient themself can reach out for their core and temporarily shut down their senses.” you read it out loud.

You frown, you don’t have anything to produce EMP or know any magic spells...

“Snatcher, can you do it? I don't have anything else!”

“I have no idea!” he hissed again, both at pain and frustration.” I didn’t know I could do something like it,... but I guess I could try.”

He closed his eyes and concentrated. You sit in silence for a few minutes that seems like an eternity. Then Snatcher sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“You know what, do it now!” he suddenly said with resolve in his voice.

“What?!” you yelled, surprised by the volume of your voice.”But it’s gonna hurt! You are in pain already! Can you try aga—”

“We have no time, kid!” he interrupted you.” By the time I’ll figure this out, I’ll probably lose my arm or worse!”

You sniff as new tears are gathering in your eyes. You don’t wanna bring him any more pain, but you have no choice.

Snatcher moves his left hand, then places index finger on his chest, right below his mane. “Here.”

You’re holding the needle with both hands, gently placing it’s sharp tip on the spot and getting ready to push it inside. You look at Snatcher one more time. He slowly nods, bracing himself.

You took a deep breath and push...The needle didn’t go inside. You try a couple more times, but for unknown reason you don’t have enough strength to break thought surface tension. You growl in frustration as you keep trying. Snatcher moved his arm, hovering it close to the needle.

“Let me hel—AUGH!” he yelps.

“AGH!” you squeak.

The needle suddenly went inside, startling both of you. Only the crystal part remains outside. In second later it picked up onto Snatcher’s core energy, now the crystal is burning with blue flame.

“Snatcher, how are you?” we placed your hand on his forehead in an attempt to comfort him.

“I..well, I expected it to hurt a lot more to be honest.” Snatcher said with relief. The blue flame dancing on his chest, it looks so pretty! Curious, you carefully reached toward the flame, it’s so warm and it doesn't burn?!

“Yeah, the soul flame doesn't burn anything on it’s own. I need to will it into destruction.” he explained, noticing your puzzled expression.

You smile again, no wonder Snatcher’s hugs are so warm and nice.

Sadly, you are not done. You reach for the case, taking smaller needle into your hands.

“Now I need to insert small ones into your wounded parts…” you winced, looks at his oozing injuries.”It’s gonna hurt... a lot! ”  

Your expression somber as you move to his right arm. Like before, you gently place it’s tip in top on wounded surface, but this time Snatcher gasped in pain. Again, you look at him in silent question if he’s ready.

“Do it kid.” he grimaces, bracing himself for the worst.

“I’m sorry, I will be quick!” you said and pushed the needle into his palm. It went inside much easier...But scream of pain shook the air in the bedroom. You turn around to see Snatcher squirming in pain, gasping for air. His tail hitting the floor with such force you feel it might break you if you’ll be in its way.

You quickly get up and rush to the left side, then you sat and hugged his head. He’s trembling like leaf in the wind, breathing heavily as you try your best to comfort him. In a minute he calmed down a bit, but his expression was filled with pain.

Peck, peck, peck! It was only one, but you have nine to go! This is gonna be absolue torture. You nuzzle his face, repeating “sorry” over and over.

“Ke...p goin…” he breathes, his voice shaking.

You stand up and take the entire case, walking to the right side again. You set case on the floor, taking the next one. You set it above where his wrist would be. Then push. You try your best to not listening to Snatcher's agonized wails and his tails smacking the floor. You wait for him to calm down before inserting another one. You kept repeating the same process, until you reached his shoulder. The next needle does in. Suddenly, you noticed how silent room was.

You eyes widened in fear, panic is filling your mind.

Did he died?!

No, if he died his body would disintegrate, leaving the empty core behind. You place your hand onto his chest to check the pulse. His core still beating, so he must have passed out from all this pain.

Poor Snatcher...but at least he won’t feel anything now.

With that you proceed to his right side, inserting remaining needles. When you finished, you stood up to take look at the whole thing. You can see the main needle burning bright. Small ones started to picking up the signal from it as well

Looks like it’s working! Now you have to wait, but for how long?

You walked to the book and open it again. Maybe there’s something you can do to speed the healing up.

The book says you can make it easier if you put the patient near their element or provide the right temperature.

Snatcher is fire based energoid. While you can’t put him in fire, you can surround him with warmth!

In few minutes, Snatcher was covered in multiple layers of warm blankets, only the top of his head and closed eyes are poking out of them.

That’s all you can do right now. Hoping for the best, you collapse into your bed, completely exhausted.

.

.

.

In the next two days, you kept checking on his arm. Healing is slow, but you can see that most of stagnated energy were renewed, filling cracked surface with yellow glow again. The cracks closest to the main needle are almost healed.

“Kid?” muffled voice got your attention. Snatcher was looking at you with sleepy eyes.

“Hey,” you said softly, moving closer to him.” How are you?”

“Better, it’s not hurting so much anymore.” he lets out a content sigh.

Yes, he is getting better, you can't help but smile widely

“That’s great!” you barely can hold your excitement, but do it anyway. You don’t want to overwhelm your friend.”You probably should go back to sleep.”

He sinks into blankets, then look at you again.

“I‘m hungry…” he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

Oh...oh right, Snatcher needs energy from outside sources, especially now as he recovers from heavy damage. Yes, energy beings have to eat too. He eats souls right? But how you will get one? You don't want to go around and kill people to be honest, but what can you do?!

A sudden realization hits you...Snatcher used to be an organic lifeform before he become what he is now! You rush towards the table and spot another book, “Classification of Energoids”. Soon you’ve found an info that confirms your thoughts.

There is a specific type of energy beings, that used to be different lifeforms until they went into conversion. This process can be triggered by various reasons, mostly in order to survive.

Now to think about it, Snatcher, scientifically speaking , didn’t die in the cellar, but “evolved” or something like this. Same goes to other ghosts in Subcon: dwellers, who are energoids with outer cores; Snatcher’s minions - energoids wearing material shells; Vaneesa is like Snatcher as it seems.

All of them used to be different lifeforms!

One of the distinctive traits that those guys have is the fact they can keep relying on previous energy source after the conversion, despite being made of energy themselves.

That makes things much, much easier!

You close the book and run to the kitchen. You look for a pie that Cooking Cat made you for today in the morning. Quickly you take it and return to the bedroom. You offer it to Snatcher. Confused, his gaze darts between the pie and you.

“You can consume food!” you exclaimed happily!

“What? No way!” he looks at pie in disbelief, it smells delicious.” Is your smart alien books says so?”

“Yep. Try it!” you’re insist.

With a groan, he wiggles from the blankets and takes the pie from you. He hesitates for a bit before taking a bite. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Fhat’s delifious!” he spoke with mouthful of pie. You giggle at his reaction, looks like can feel it’s taste as well. Then he swallowed it and froze in place.

“Okay, that was weird!” he said, staring at the pie like it about to reveal all the secrets of the Universe.”It felt like it just turned into energy immediately...”

“Yeah, it’s because energy and matter are the same thing and convert into one another.” you explained.”So it’s totally normal!”

Snatcher shrugged and continued eating the pie.

“Isn’t this amazing, you don’t have to eat souls anymore!” you can’t resist but comment on this. That made Snatcher choke, even thought you have no idea how, but it happened!

“Is this what you planning, huh?! To turn me in your friendly neighborhood ghost?” he sounded irritated, but you can hear mirth in his voice. You start giggling, he’s such “soon-deh-ray”!

“First you infect me with morals, making me soft, now this!” he keeps complaining as he devours the rest of the pie while you’re laughing on the floor. You missed those interactions so much, you are glad he’s getting better.

After finishing the pie he falls back to sleep.

.

.

.

You keep repeating the same cycle for a week now. Once in two days Snatcher wakes up and eat the food you bring him, then falls asleep. He finally had bacon in centuries, that actually made him cry for a bit. Then he ate some of your food, surprisingly liking the tentacle burger. You brought him some food from the Metro as well.

Needless to say, when he discovered he can consume normal food, he became excited to taste something new! You can tell how much he missed eating normal food.

Even though now Snatcher don't know what to do with intruders. The food is more satisfying, he says he doesn't want to eat souls anymore. But still he doesn want intruders to walk around Subcon like they own a place!

“Oh, I know! You can make you contractors to bring you new food~!” you grinned at him, this plan sounds perfect to you!

“Of course, what if they’ll try to poison me?” he huffed in annoyance.

“Psssh, come on, Snatcher, anything converts inside you, even poison. It won’t affect you at all.” you’re giggling again. You can’t help, but his ignorance on this subject is so amusing sometimes.” Peck, you can even drink acid and you’ll be totally fine!””

“Language, young lady!” he said in stern fatherly tone. He is acting more like guardian rather than friend lately. That makes you happy, you don't have anyone to take care of you after all.

After a short pause he spoke again.“You know that’s actually good...even though I’m not sure if I ever be willing to find out what acid tastes like.”

You both burst into laughter.

.

.

.

You also didn't forget to drop in Subcon; making sure that this Moonjumper person isn’t tyrin to take over the forest, telling Snatcher’s minions that their boss is recovering and will be back soon. They were so happy to hear good news!

.

.

.

You woke up and stretch.

It’s been two more days after this fun acid conversation. Still in pajamas, you want to check on Snatcher. You have a feeling he’s gonna be fully healed soon.

You get up and see something that instantly wakes you up.

Snatcher is sitting on the floor, stretching his right arm! You don’t see any cracks anymore as he moves it freely. You noticed Beacon Needles being placed back into case- Snatcher must pulled them out himself.

Noticing your footsteps, he turned around to see you. His grinning at you.

“Hey, kiddo, check this out!” with those words he ignites his hand, brilliant blue soul fire is burning bright. He can use magic with this hand as well!

Snatcher is officially recovered from Stagnation!

You jump into his arms, he catches you and cradling you close to his chest. You both are hugging each other tight, relieved that this nightmare was finally over!

“Thank you so much!” he whispers into your ear as he affectionately caressed the back of your head.”I don’t know what I would do without you!”

“I’m so happy you’re okay!” you’re almost crying, nuzzling his neck.

You both sat like this for a while, then Snatcher pulled away bit. Then he pickled up “How to Treat Injuries and Sickness of Energoinds” from the floor.

“Can I borrow this book?” he asks, waving the book in his hand. “Looks like there is a lot of things I need to learn about myself.”

“Of course! And I can give you “Classification of Energoids” as well!” you beamed at him. Good thing you taught him your language.“Alright, let’s get some breakfast!”

“Yep.” he responded and placed the book on the table. Then he floated, still holding you in his hands, towards the kitchen.

Finally, both of you can relax.

[kitten-keith]

Private Moments

Two posts in a day? Yeah cause while I was fighting with my internet I finally got the chance to sort of proof read this one. Started it in like... March? Last year. was more of a headcanon free form thing that got unintentionally longer and then longer still and then I forgot about it for months, popped in on it a few times, forgot some more and then finally wrote the most ridiculous sappy ending ever like-- last month? two months ago? Idk.

Anyway. Enjoy.

Klance, roommates AU. Lots of smut to make up for those last two I guess. Like this whole thing is born from the concept of Keith trying to find a comfortable way to masturbate.

---

Keith has had to share a room for as long as he can remember. The orphan home was crowded, schools gave you dorm mates. 

When he graduated he couldn’t afford to live on his own and between sharing a studio with Shiro and moving into a two bedroom with Hunk and Lance-- See, Hunk had a fancy catering job that helped him pay a larger share of the rent so he got the room to himself leaving Lance and Keith with twin beds on opposite sides of the second bedroom. It made finding alone time difficult.

Keith is tired of waiting for the dead of night when his roommate has his sleep mask and headphones on, already in some manner of deep sleep, to finally touch himself under the covers.

He hates how hot it is and how he sweats into his sheets when it takes too long and he starts to get desperate. 

Lance is wearing those headphones so maybe he could have gotten away with a relaxed moan or two but he bites his lip hard instead. 

He can’t do that. What if Lance hears him, what if he pulls down his mask and looks over and in the shadows of their shared room he can see Keith’s fist moving. 

He has to restrain himself. He constantly... constantly... has to restrain himself. 

And he is so god damn tired of it.

He thinks of Lance’s eyes on him once and cums faster than he’d thought he would and he wasn’t ready with his designated cum rag so it gets on the sheets and he spends the night terrified that Lance can smell it. Terrified that he’s going to nod off before it’s socially acceptable for him to be up and doing laundry and that Lance will get up first and see— 

He gets hard again, thinking about Lance’s face and the potential smirk that would grace his lips once he realized what Keith was doing in their room at night. 

The resulting stress of this causes him to consider Lance for the following days. 

The next time his body is so damn desperate for release in their room he thinks of him. He has to struggle not to come undone thinking about Lance’s hands and his mouth and those eyes watching him in interest...

He fucked up.

This was a mistake. 

Now when he looks at Lance or when they hangout for their weekly roommate movie he feels himself wanting.

He can’t masturbate the way he wants to while sharing a room with Lance and Lance makes him want to so badly...! 

He takes to going out more, like he used to do in high school. Getting himself fucked in the backseat of cramped cars where he still can’t scream, still can’t be comfortable, still can’t be wholly satisfied—

And then Hunk finally says the magic words. 

“Hey Keith, Lance and I are going upstate for this big catering job I have this weekend, you want to come with?” 

Keith freezes with his hands on the dishes. He’ll have the apartment. Empty. For a little over two whole days. 

Keith feels his throat go dry and tries to clear it, “uh— sorry, I think I might be coming down with something, it would probably be better if you guys go on your own.”

Lance waltzes in, comments on how Keith is totally going to take advantage of the empty apartment and invite his mystery boyfriend over.

Keith rolls his eyes, he doesn’t have a boyfriend. He barely remembers the names of the strangers stretching him out and trying to get him to cum all over their seats while he day dreams about his roommate. But oh, he will take advantage of the weekend.

He immediately orders some toys offline, pays for express shipping because he’ll be damned if he misses his opportunity to go absolutely wild. 

Lance and Hunk leave Friday before he wakes up and Lance only barely makes his bed. 

And maybe it’s because of his ill begotten sort of crush or maybe it’s because Keith is a deprived mess but as he stands over Lance’s bed so blown away that he is actually alone, actually able to relax he just kind of...Collapses into it. 

The remnants of Lance’s scent alone help get him to full hardness and he grinds his hips into the bed, his dick trapped in his pajama bottoms but the whole thing is still so freeing. 

He’ll wash Lance’s sheets later just in case. He’ll thank him for it, they were due soon anyway...

When he cums his voice is raw and his throat is dry as he moans Lance’s name. 

It feels amazing. 

Lance makes him crazy.

He passes out for a few minutes, face down in Lance’s bed, hugging his pillow to his face, damp spot soaking from his pants into the sheets. 

Worth it. Worth it worth it worth it.... 

But he can finally do so much more. 

When he gets back up he gathers up his toys on shaky legs and moves into the living room. The cool air across his pants feels nice. It’s supposed to be disgusting, he’s sure, but it still feels nice because he doesn’t have to care about it. 

He imagines how much nicer it will be sprawled out across the cool leather couch in the light from the window fucking himself on his toys. 

He can get completely naked, he can moan and cry out all he wants. He can make himself go for hours.

It’s going to be phenomenal, he’s already hard again from the excitement of it. 

He strips right there, feeling lewd and on display and it just excites him more. He drops his clothes on the floor and slides onto the couch, he shivers at the cold but it doesn’t dissuade him at all. 

He’s got lubed up hands over his body quickly. His moans are wanton, his breath is shallow. When he stretches himself out enough for the smallest toy he pushes it inside himself and spreads his legs wide just for the sake of it. Just because he can and a part of him gains confidence in that. 

A part of him is sad. 

No one will ever see him this free. This open. 

Because he fucks strangers and doesn’t know how to make an effort for them to be anything but. Doesn’t want to. 

Because he wants Lance. 

Because Lance isn’t a stranger and he’s more than just his roommate. He just...

Well. No. He is just his roommate because he can’t be more. Because Lance is too good for him. Because his laugh is infectious and his heart is too big and he can do anything when he sets his mind to it— 

And everyone loves him. 

Everyone should love him. 

Lance could have anyone. 

Why would he want his shitty socially stunted sexually repressed dumbass roommate??

Not. Even. Remotely... the way Keith wants to be thinking. 

So he shoves his cleaner fingers into his mouth and thinks about what it might be like to suck Lance’s cock right here, out in the living room pinned against the couch. 

He turns on the vibrations for his little bullet friend and feels a bit overwhelmed for just a second before he lets himself enjoy it.

He rolls his hips so the toy inside him drags against his sweet spot and he keens, voice caught with his tongue against his fingers. 

He still manages a sound like his name, because he wants to say his name. Wants to scream it over and over as he wrecks himself. On some level he wants the world to know how wild he can get— with one specific man in mind… but on all other levels, he’ll remain repressed. 

And in this case, he’ll keep his voice sensible enough to be respectable of the neighbors. 

Still, he’ll keep thinking about Lance. Wanting Lance. Imagining Lance’s hands and Lance’s teeth and Lance’s skin. Lance’s broad shoulders and long legs and clear blue eyes. Lance’s voice in his ear and his breath on his neck and his lips on his—

Oh.

He wants to kiss Lance. Very badly. 

So badly he swirls his tongue around his fingers and moans because he may be free but it’s so much easier to pretend he’s about to be fucked by Lance when he’s at least about to be fucked by someone. 

But he’s alone. 

He’s alone and he has to settle because he won’t go out and find someone, they aren’t Lance.

Speaking of... Lance would be bigger.

He retrieves his fingers and slowly removes the smaller toy, he hadn’t even played with higher vibe settings but that was fine, he had time later. Now he wanted the dildo he’d bought. He’ll have to stretch himself a little more but that’s fine. Because he wants to imagine that it’s Lance. Lance who’s thighs he’s straddling rather than the couch. Lance’s dick pushing inside him, hot and pulsing and desperate for him the same way Keith is desperate. 

When he’s finally ready for the purple plastic toy he lays over the back of the couch, warm chest against cold leather as he eases himself down. His legs are spread wide and his dick is slowly dragged down against the couch. He imagines if his roommates ever knew about this they’d probably get new living room furniture, but Keith doesn’t care. He has time. He’ll clean everything up once he’s done and they’ll never know. 

He’ll know. And maybe whenever Lance sits right here he’ll think about it. Think about how he wants to be sitting in his lap. Thinks about how he wants to drag his nails through his hair and not scrape along the leather of th seat back 

Wants Lance’s cock instead of this pathetic little purple bobble.

But he settles, because at this point this is his life and he should just be happy he has the place to himself. 

He sinks to the hilt and whimpers because he isn’t used to it. Isn’t used to the size and the stretch and how it still falls just short of his expectations.

“La-anceee...!” He cries out to no one. His head drops against the couch and he rolls his hips the tiniest bit against the intrusion. 

It feels better. Not good enough. But better. He tries to lift himself up. One hand reaching behind him to steady the dildo and keep it from simply rising with him. The lube makes it easier but it’s a tough sell and he’s still so very aware of the fact it isn’t a real person’s dick. It isn’t Lance. 

Lance would.. would have his arms wrapped around him. Would kiss him all over, bury his face in his neck and make his whole body ache with need for him.

He starts to ease himself back down, dreaming of Lance’s nose bumping at his collar and he starts to melt into the feeling, into the dream. 

He finds a rhythm and it feels good. His body thinks so anyway, with the way the heat builds in his belly. 

He flops onto his back against the armrest, works the toy into himself a little faster. Starts to jerk himself off in time with the thrusts but he’s sloppy and uncoordinated and it doesn’t matter too much if it’s still gonna make him cum.

His mind wanders to a long forgotten memory. Of one of the few times Keith had agreed to hang out with his future roommates back when they’d been high school classmates sneaking into bars that didn’t card. 

Keith had agreed because he was in the mood to drink. Lance, who at the time couldn’t stand Keith, had agreed because he had a date and that meant Hunk had company when he inevitably left him behind. 

The night was primarily a foggy blur in Keith’s mind but now, fucking himself over the armrest of his couch and thinking about Lance—

He remembered Lance’s date. 

He remembered how she couldn’t keep her hands off him and how they’d nearly immediately found a corner to make out. 

Keith hadn’t watched. Hadn’t cared. Drank away his anger over Iverson’s patented daily bullshit and tried to make small talk with Hunk who smiled a lot and was too nice for his own good. 

But occasionally Keith would scan the crowd and see. See how Lance had made that girl putty in his hands. How she leaned back over the edge of the booth they’d found for their supposed privacy and how her mouth hung open to moan or cry, with his lips on her jaw and his hands around her waist and under her skirt.

How Lance just... made her into this simpering mess. 

And at the time, Keith had simply rolled his eyes. Moved on.

But now here he was. Practically the image of that nameless girl and all from the mere thought of Lance. 

How had he been so blind for so long? 

Was it better that way? 

He grasped at the foggy edges of that memory and placed himself directly in her position. Nestled tightly against Lance’s body while he kissed and nipped and sucked on his throat, bare as he stretched further back, giving him all the room he needed as he fucked himself on his dildo and pretended his own hand was Lance’s, smearing precum all over his cock head. 

“Yes...” he breathed out softly. “Yes... Lance...!” 

There really was something about just being able to moan his name like that. So invigorating. 

He drives his hips down hard, the toy accidentally hitting his prostate. It makes his next cry of Lance’s name much louder than he’d planned. Louder, and desperate as his voice cracks and he sees stars. 

God help him, he hasn’t wanted anything more in his life and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to face Lance again. 

He’s aching, tossing himself front first over the back of the couch again to better his leverage as he keeps driving himself to that edge, Lance’s name a whispered mantra as he squeezes his eyes shut tight against what he’s feeling.

“I can’t take this anymore.” 

Warm arms wrap around Keith and pull, his back against a firm chest. Keith nearly screams but it dies in his throat when he finds he knows exactly who’s touching him. 

“G-god—! You’re— you’re not supposed to be here!” Keith pants as a hand grips his dick. 

Lance’s mouth finds Keith’s neck and the pleasure Keith feels is immeasurable, his tongue massaging his pulse and making Keith cry out. 

“You’ve been here moaning my name so long, I’ve gotta give you a reason for it Keithy...” 

Fuck. What was happening. Lance’s hand was so smooth and his teeth grazed at his shoulder and good god the dildo was being pushed deeper inside him, harder and faster than Keith’s original rhythm.

“Lance...! Lance!”

“You’ve been here fucking yourself to the thought of me... thought no one would hear you? Thought you could get away? Never telling me how badly you want me?” He drags Keith back far enough that his ass is in his lap now. Lance is wearing sweat pants that aren’t doing a damn thing to hide his hard on and Keith loves the feel of it. 

“Can’t believe you. Sprawled out naked on our couch with a bunch of toys... if you wanted my cock so much you could have just asked...”

Keith is going to faint.

“Ask me for it.” 

Keith is going to fucking faint, how is Lance here? How is Lance here and touching him like this— 

“Ask me to fuck you, Keith.” 

The toy is tugged out of him with no warning, leaving him open and empty and wanting. Lance drops it on the ground without a thought, grinding his hips up to push his point home to Keith. 

“Beg for my dick.”

Keith rolls his hips back but can’t find his words, still so lost, still so confused.

“Don’t you want me to? Don’t you want my big hard cock inside you? Splitting you open? Sounded like you did. Sounded like you were desperate for me. Come on beautiful...” 

Keith can only meekly whimper his name, “L...Lance...!”

“Cause man do I want to fuck you... everyday you come home from the gym wearing those nice tight leggings... fuck, it’s so hard not to touch you... and now you’re all open and pliant and calling my name... how am I supposed to not take you?” 

Keith can feel his cock rubbing over his entrance through the fabric and his eyes roll back at the very idea that Lance might actually... 

“R-really...? You want...me..?”

Lance growls against his neck, “Of course I do. Now say it before I cum in my pants, you’re too damn cute.” 

He rolls his hips and the sensation makes Keith keen again before going mostly limp in the arms, raising his ass a little more and giving a little shake to entice the other boy. 

“I want you... I want you so bad Lance... please fuck me...?” 

Lance’s teeth go for his neck and the mix of pleasure and pain has Keith seizing up, a loud moan breaking from his lips and covering the sound of Lance yanking his sweats down one handed.

“You can do better than that. But this once I’ll take it.” 

Keith doesn’t know where he finds the lube because one of Lance’s hands remains on his collar the entire time, but soon the damp head of his cock is sliding into him and Keith might see god. 

The toy wasn’t too far off Lance’s size actually, but the pleasure Lance brought him by comparison was insurmountable. 

“Do you like that...? Do you like how my cock feels, Keith?” Lance grunts against his shoulder as he slowly bottoms out. 

It takes Keith a moment to realize his moans have gone silent, lips dropping open but unable to wield the strength for sound as the feel of Lance completely enveloped him. Lance’s arms around him, his chest to his back, his dick fully seated, like being closer was impossible.

He croaks around his dry throat before offering Lance a very clear and eager: yes. 

Lance chuckles. 

“So cute... I’m going to wreck you Keithykins. Make you come back for me over and over...”

Over and over...

Keith could do that. Keith could absolutely go back to Lance over and over to feel this good. 

“Are you ready?” Lance asks, softer than before. 

But Keith is so ready he doesn’t even answer, simply pulls his hips back and slams back into Lance, rubbing that dick inside him in ways he’d only dreamed of. 

“Sh-shit!”

At Lance’s response Keith has to go again. 

Has to slam back harder, faster, make it worth it to Lance in the long run too, to make him come back to him again and again. 

The sound of his ass against Lance’s waist shouldn’t sound so good to him but coupled with Lance panting and his fingers twitching at his waist as he attempts to get a grasp on Keith to regain control— well it all feels like heaven to him. 

“Fuck! Keith. Keith. C’mere.” Suddenly Keith is pulled away from the couch and onto his back, Lance moves to lay on the couch beneath him, arms wrapped tightly around his torso as he starts his own rhythm, thrusting his hips up into Keith. He’s getting deeper now, and the angle seems to work for his speed too. It’s nearly punishing but Keith is living for it. 

Then Lance reaches up with one hand, cupping Keith’s chin tightly and turning him to face him. 

It nearly stops his heart.

Their lips brush lightly at first. A hint of static between them as it seems to dawn on them, how their relationship is changing with every second. How there’s no turning back from this. Lance’s hips don’t falter though. His eyes are calm, confident, positive that this is right. 

Keith can’t disagree. His hands find Lance’s thighs and give him a reassuring squeeze as he tries to stare back at him in a way he hopes exudes that same kind of sense of calm, lips parting in invitation but hiding his moans. 

Lance doesn’t mind too much, because he clearly wanted the invitation. 

When Lance thrusts up into him at the exact moment his tongue slides into his mouth, Keith considers he might actually have died. 

Died and entered the world where everything is rosy and Lance doesn’t ever let him go. Where these sensations never end and they can stay joined like this always.

Lance moans into the kiss and Keith can’t help but return those sounds in earnest. 

He can’t imagine how he ever went a moment without it in the past. Without this. Without Lance and the way his hands dig into his hips and how he nips at his lips still trying to catch his breath.

“So good Keith... you feel so good. Why weren’t we doing this before...?” Lance moans in his ear, one hand sliding over Keith’s chest to tease a nipple as the other delves south to stroke him in time with their movements. 

Keith shakes his head, unsure he can form words as well as Lance can. 

“I don’t know... I don’t know. We should have. We should have been— like this— like this from the sta—aa—art...! Lance...!”

It’s not long before Lance is pulling out, his cum all over Keith’s thighs and the seat of the couch. Keith’s cum already drenching his hand though Lance hadn’t ceased his strokes, causing Keith to writhe on-top of him through his orgasm. 

Finally, Lance releases him and nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck, letting them both simply lay there, basking in their joint mess, the smell of sex, the constant rising and falling of their chests. 

Sated and content and brains reminiscent of puddles of goo. 

Before they manage to remember to breathe again something short circuits In Keith’s brain and he laughs. He doesn’t have the air to laugh deeply but the sound is apparently enough for Lance to join him, arms coming back around him tightly as they both shake, voices raspy but filled with the same unbridled mirth. 

They end with a long wheeze from Lance, possibly due to the added stress of Keith’s weight. 

It’s silent again. 

Comfortable. 

“You really should have told me sooner...” Lance mumbles though, typical as the one used to breaking the silence. 

Keith turns his head, damp bangs against Lance’s neck. 

“You could have told me too...” he says through a smile that can’t leave his cheeks.

Lance chuckles again, “Point taken.” 

—-

(Bonus)

“...why are you even here? What about Hunk?” 

Keith can feel Lance’s face get warm beside his own cheek. 

He quirks a brow though he isn’t too sure Lance can see it.

“Uhhh... sooo... about that... I hid in Hunks room to try and sneak a peek at your secret boyfriend.” 

Keith raises his head to look Lance in the face. 

“But I don’t...?” 

Lance looks away, “I mean I know that now! But. I just. I didn’t know that. Before. And uh...” 

Keith stares. 

Lance won’t look him in the eyes. 

“...you ditched Hunk because you were jealous of my non-existent secret boyfriend?” 

“I mean I DID tell Hunk I’d meet up with him later!”

“Were you uh… jealous?”

“No I wasn’t— I just wanted to like-- I guess… see what I was up against? Scope out the competition— dooooont look at me like that. Oh my god.” 

[ontherockswithsalt]

A Made Man

(ao3 story link)

A/N: Well this phone call is certainly rude. 

Chapter 44.

The buzz from my phone on the nightstand never seems to quit and it takes me a minute to remember what day it is. The weight of Noble in bed beside me, under the heavy blankets where we fell asleep naked, and the soft, easy rhythm of his breathing make it hard to climb out into consciousness.

I turn over and reach for my phone to see Erin's name light up the screen. With a disinterested grunt, I swipe to decline the call and fall back on my pillow. 

I've just managed to drift off when it buzzes again and I silently curse the irritating alert. Grasping my phone, I see a text message from my sister this time that merely says Call me. 

I blink hard, forcing myself awake and finally process that it's six-fifty on a Sunday morning. This can't be good. There's an automatic tug in my gut that prepares me for the worst. Dad or my grandpa. 

Noble's passed out on the other side of the bed when I ease my way out of the covers. It's still dark outside and I manage to find some sweatpants and quietly close my dresser drawer, slip them on and take my phone into the other room. 

The stark contrast from my warm bed to my freezing apartment practically hurts. Out in the living room, I grab my well-loved dark hoodie from the hook on the wall, unzip it and slide my arms inside. Then I flip on a lamp and allow myself a deep breath while I dial.

"Hey," I offer once Erin answers. My voice hasn't woken up yet and I clear my throat. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Are you busy?"

I make a face like what a dumb damn question. "I was asleep."

"I figured," she sighs, somewhat apologetically. "I was trying to catch you alone." 

"Well… you know I'm not," I remind her.

She's quiet for a moment and all I can do is hang on the line in confusion until she says, "Jamie, we need to talk about this."

I peer back into the bedroom to see Noble still buried beneath the covers. Then slowly, I make my way toward the kitchen. “Okay. What are we talking about?”

"Tommy Messina. Have you heard of him?" She questions.

Closing my eyes, I rest my elbows on the kitchen counter in front of me. "No. Should I?"

"Tried and convicted for arson in two-thousand five. He set a car on fire--"

"Erin--" I'm about to go back to sleep standing up. 

"Known associate of the Cavazerre crime family. He was released on parole a week ago."

I let the information settle there a moment and I run my hand across my face. "Mmkay, do you want me to go out and check if my car's on fire?"

"Do you understand what you’re getting yourself involved in Jamie?"

"What are you doing?" I cut her off. "Going through old case files? Making calls to federal judges in the middle of the night?" 

"I was on the prosecution for that case," she informs me. "The feds weren't involved. We cut Messina a deal for a guilty plea and information on the Cavazerres."

"Well… way to go," I mutter.

"And yes, after I left your place yesterday, I did some research--"

"I never asked you--"

"Right. The two of you just sat in front of me in your living room and wondered whether WitSec would clear Nick Salcedo to relocate to New York. That certainly sounds like asking me to look into it,” she recounts.  “Well the answer is: you can forget it."

"You have no authority over WitSec, Erin."

"It's not about authority, Jamie. It's about common sense--"

"Who is this guy--?"

"He was a low level associate."

"Did he have a record?"

"No, which is why he got the deal and parole."

"Did he work for Phil Sanfino?"

She pauses a quiet beat, then muses, "You should probably ask your boyfriend."

The way she says it with this dismissive self-satisfaction makes an ill feeling sink through me that I try to ignore. "Look, I'm not sure what you think you know about Nick," I start. "But he has no affiliation with either one of those families or the crimes perpetrated by the organization--"

"Don't get defensive."

"How do you expect me to get?"

"You're smarter than this. You've seen it first hand.” I can practically see that fiery gaze of hers when her voice cuts through me. “These foot soldiers get locked up, more rise up to take their place. What, you think your sloppy undercover sting -- that nearly got you killed -- eradicated all organized crime in the tri-state area?"

I blink at the unfair blow and hold out my hand. "Sloppy?"

"It was mishandled at best. With a dead body in the dumpster to prove it."

"Says the ADA who cut a deal with one of the guys for a reduced sentence!"

"That was a different case."

"Then what are we talking about here? You're full of shit. Without the murder charges, OCCB didn't have enough and they'd still be sitting on that operation. I don't need your critique of how I handled that assignment."

"My point is, you can make fifteen arrests and you'll still never be in the clear. And neither will Nick. And Messina making parole just proves it. He has documented ties to the Cavazerres, the same family who made orders to put a hit on you. And he's currently out on the streets. So go ahead and tell me I'm full of shit, and then you can get used to looking over your shoulder."

I don’t say anything. I just let her argument sit there while I clench the back corner of my jaw.

Her voice softens when she speaks up again. “Is that the life you have in mind for you and Nick?”

For a moment, I let a deep breath fill my chest. “If I worried about… retaliation from people associated with anyone I’ve ever helped put away, I’d never leave my house.”

“This is different and you know it,” she maintains. “This isn’t about… one specific person out on parole. It’s about a very real uncertainty that remains in this city when it comes to Nick.”

I avert my gaze across the apartment and see Noble approach from my bedroom. In boxers, he’s tugging a t-shirt over his head, then slides on his glasses, his brow furrowed in drowsy confusion.

“I think--” Erin goes on, more deliberate. “You need to get out of this bubble you’ve been hiding in and understand the effects this has… on your life. And on everyone else who will eventually find out.”

I watch him as he comes closer, offering this faint squint as if to ask me if everything’s okay. I swallow and ask her, “What are you telling me?”

“Just giving you information to think about. And while you’re at it, maybe you should do some house hunting in Miami.”

I sniff a somber laugh and shake my head. “Well hey, I gotta go.”

“I’m sorry for the wake up call,” she says and the way my stomach flips at the simple phrase takes me by surprise. “I’m sure you wanted to sleep in.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just… I’ll see you at dinner.”

As I end the call, Noble starts across my living room to meet me near the kitchen. “Hey. You alright?”

I sigh. “Yeah. Sorry if I woke you. That was my sister.”

“I just heard something about murder charges and figured it was work-related.”

Looking over at him, I manage a nervous swallow and a faint nod. “Sort of, yeah.”

“You good?” He questions under an arched eyebrow.

With another distracted nod, my gaze averts someplace far away. “I’m good.” Then I realize I’m hardly giving him anything and I inhale deep, forcing my eyes back to him. “Just… wasn’t expecting a call so damn early.”

“Want to go back to bed?”

“No,” I answer with a gradual turn back toward the kitchen. “I think that’s a lost cause at this point. I’ll make some coffee.”

Fingers laced, he plants his hands on top of his head and straightens his back. “That works too. And if you’ve forgotten all about our morning workout plans, I’m good with that.”

I look over at him, remembering that we had agreed to go to the gym together in the morning considering he had a later afternoon flight. The opportunity for distraction, a way to untangle these mental knots, provides this relieved little squeeze in my chest. “Yes.” I finally smile. “I almost forgot. And you’re not getting out of it.”

He groans, pulling up at stool at my kitchen counter.

“It was your idea!” I chuckle.

“That was me tipsy and horny last night trying to impress you.”

“Oh yeah? What are you now?”

“Dehydrated and… a little sore,” he offers.

I have to laugh, starting my coffeemaker before I turn to reach into an overhead cabinet for a glass. “We can fix the dehydrated.”

“I’m content just being forever envious of your body,” he tells me. “Because I feel like if I try to work out the way you do, things will end horribly for me.”

Setting a glass of water in front of him, I lean onto the counter on my forearms. “You have no reason to be envious. Look at you.”

“No, you’re blinded by my amazing personality,” he jokes before he lifts his glass to his mouth for a hard gulp. He breathes out hard and adds, “That, and my teeth. I’ve never had a cavity. But that’s all I have going for me. The rest of me is… you know, a little shabby.”

Despite all the unsettled doubt swirling in my mind, I can’t help but be charmed by him right now and my cheek curves with my reluctant smile. “You’re wrong. I’ve seen everything.”

“Well whatever.” He shrugs. “I want abs like yours.”

Exhaling in amusement, I straighten up and stretch my shoulders. “Are we being like this? Then I want an upper back like yours.”

“It’s from pulling weeds.” He smiles, mimicking the movement.

“Well I don’t have any weeds.” I chuckle. “So looks like we’re hitting the gym.”

[kellanswritingblog]

Masquerade, a Zolf/Hamid fake dating AU

Chapter 3: Intertwined

During their investigations, Hamid and Zolf are included in an impromptu celebration for all newlyweds and the recently engaged.

Chapter 3 is below, or you can find it on AO3!

Chapter 1; Chapter 2

Hamid awoke in the morning to the chiming of the bells lining the guest rooms and blinked blearily against the early morning light shining in through the curtains.  He was not eager to get up and, even if he had been, there was little he could do about it given that Zolf’s arm was laced around his waist and he clutched onto Zolf’s hand, fingers intertwined.

“Oh dear…”

A few minutes later, a second round of ringing bells went off, and Zolf finally woke up as well.

“Good morning,” he said, then realized the position they were in and immediately started stuttering.  “Oh, I’m, uh, sorry…”  He pulled his arm away and rolled across the comparably large bed to hide on the far side.

Hamid said nothing, but simply began to ready himself for the day.  What could he say?  That he didn’t mind waking up beside Zolf?  That he liked the way their hands were clasped together?  That he felt surprisingly safe in Zolf’s arms?

He ignored these thoughts and began to don his suit for the second day of ceremonies.  Today was all about recognizing significant accomplishments and the rising up-and-comers amongst the nobility and high class.  Any opportunity to throw a ball, really.

As he emerged from the washroom, Hamid found Zolf struggling with his tie, grumbling under his breath at his reflection as if it could rectify the situation.

“Want a hand?”  Hamid offered.

Zolf turned toward him and threw his hands down in defeat.  “It shouldn’t be this hard to tie a tie.”

“It takes a lot of practice,” Hamid admitted while he stepped up close to Zolf and worked his mundane fashion magic.  “I had to learn properly before I knew how to cast prestidigitation.”

“I think that’s just cheating,” Zolf teased.  “You get to cast a spell, I have to be all strung up in this thing.  It’s hidden behind my beard anyway.”

Hamid chuckled and finished off his work, fixing Zolf’s collar and lapels as he went.  “For what it’s worth, you clean up very well.”

Zolf grunted and grumbled a few words that Hamid couldn’t make out, then cried, “Oh!  I almost forgot.”  He reached under his collar and removed the dolphin pendant he had from his Poseidon days.  “I want you to have this.”

“What?  Why?”

“Well, I figure that if we’re supposed to be engaged, we should have some token to show for it.  I haven’t got a ring besides the one that belonged to my brother and father, but this… this is me.  So, I thought it might do the trick, if somebody asks.”

“I didn’t think you were still with the Poseidon lot,” Hamid remarked, running his fingers over the smooth wood of the dolphin.

“I’m not, not really.  But I still keep it with me.  Not entirely sure why.  You should take it though.  For the ball.  And maybe afterwards.  If you want.”

“Zolf…”

They were both acutely aware of how close they still stood, how Zolf still half held onto the dolphin and his hand brushed against Hamid’s, how there were so many things unsaid between them.  Hamid opened his mouth to speak, not sure of the words, but Zolf cut him off.

“Come on.  We should get going.  There’s still some devious plot to be uncovered.”

Hamid nodded, smiling solemnly and placing the dolphin pendant over his neck, not tucking it away but letting it stay on the outside of his clothes for all to see.

“You’re right.  Let’s get on with it.”

Arm in arm, Hamid and Zolf filed in with the other guests after checking in briefly with Grizzop and Sasha over the mobile stone.  They were to keep an eye on Gideon while the other two would continue investigating behind the scenes.  Hamid hated the idea that Gideon could be capable of something this severe, something that would involve purposefully killing dozens of people, but he couldn’t deny it outright either.  And another part of him hated the fact that, to keep an eye on Gideon, they would likely end up spending the majority of their time around Liliana and her outright disdain for him and Zolf.

However, Gideon didn’t show any signs of being involved in a diabolical plot to assassinate or explode the mass of accumulated nobility and wealthy.  Same as the rest of them, he sat in place while the commendation ceremonies progressed.  Hamid and Zolf positioned themselves a few rows behind Gideon and Liliana and saw no evidence of anything amiss.  Even if Hamid did have to nudge Zolf several times in order to keep him from nodding off.

In a different time, this would have been the prime opportunity for a prank, Hamid thought to himself.  He and Gideon could have secreted themselves in any of the nearby alcoves and lobbed stink bombs or prestidigitated obnoxious amounts of glitter into the air, just to cause a bit of mayhem.  Despite how Hamid despised much of who he became while trying to fit in with the likes of Gideon and Bertie, some moments he missed.

But he was doing more important work now.  And – he glanced at Zolf – the company was infinitely better.

The audience took a few breaks from the processionals to get food and stretch from sitting in place for what felt like hours at a time.  During one such instance, while Hamid and Zolf ducked into the shadows to see if there was anything malicious hiding there, the announcer spoke again.

“Now, we don’t want to interrupt your break, but we thought now was a good opportunity to make some momentous announcements regarding many of our guests.  They may not always give a medal or title, but they’re worthy of attention all the same!  We have several recent marriages and engagements that we would like to call attention to, so that we can all take part in the celebration of love!”

“Oh dear,” Hamid and Zolf muttered in sync.

Since they found no obvious evil, the pair headed back into the waiting audience, assuming that they would soon be called upon as part of this ‘announcement.’

What they did not expect was that for each engagement or marriage listed, those involved would kiss and smile and wave as the crowd applauded politely.

“Zolf…”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“We have to play the part, right?”

“Right…”  Hamid sighed and waited with bated breath.

His chest shriveled a little when Gideon and Liliana were announced; it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right.  He felt no jealousy that Liliana was with someone else, the issue was that Gideon got off scot-free and she continued to believe a lie.  If Hamid still had any feelings for Liliana, they had been discarded the moment she spoke to Zolf with ill-intent.

“Ah, and one of the sons of the al-Tahan family!  Let us give a big hand for the engagement of Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan and Zolf Smith!”

Hamid tried to keep his eyes on the crowd, to see if there was any reaction or if someone had taken advantage of all the attention to sneak off and plant a bomb or prepare an assassination, but all of that intent was gone the moment Zolf’s lips hit his.  In that moment, there was no crowd, no threat, only the pair of them, holding tightly to each other.  Hamid couldn’t even guess at how long they stayed like that, sharing a first kiss that felt like so much more.  It could have been obnoxiously long, dragging out the break in the ceremonies, but he didn’t care; he was caught up in the feeling of their lips pressed together, the feeling of Zolf’s hands cupping Hamid’s cheeks, the feeling of so many things falling into place inside his head and heart.

However, when they broke apart and Hamid took stock of his surroundings, it seemed like time carried on as normal and the announcer proceeded to list off a few other engagements.  He and Zolf stared at each other for a few seconds, eyes darting away as they chuckled and blushed, embarrassed and excited all in one.  Unsure of what to say or how to reconcile the feeling in his chest that he wanted to kiss Zolf again, Hamid turned back to the processions and noticed Zolf mimic the movement beside him.

Hamid reached his hand over and gently brushed against Zolf’s until their fingers were interlaced between them.  Despite himself, Hamid couldn’t help but smile as Zolf’s thumb brushed gently against his skin – they still had work to do, but in those moments, Hamid knew there was nothing that could stop them so long as they were together.

[guardiandae]

Meta/Commentary Part 2: A Little ‘XO’ Wouldn’t Go Amiss

(Spoilers below)

(CONTENT WARNING: mental illness, self harm and suicidal ideation mentions)

So when we left off, Nate and Wade had their first real interaction / moment of demonstrated compassion, even if it’s a rough one. Wade flirts, Nate sucks the rancid blood out of his lungs, then tells Wade to clean up their disgusting kitchen and he’ll actually make Wade a meal.

Which is like. Wow. Exciting. Peak interaction and peak affection from Nate so far. Wade actually makes an effort because a homecooked meal from Mr. Grumpy is the nicest thing he’s ever heard and then he waits and waits for Nate to come back and follow through on his promise and Nate.... totally forgets.

Ooof.

So Wade is left fending for himself, and trying to find a way to make quick cash (because Nate has control of Wade’s finances.. and Nate forgot to feed him. Sob.) So he finds someone who thinks he looks enough like Spider-Man to hire him and then this happens.

"Fuck you, Spiderman, you suck!"

"Yeah? That wasn't what your dad said last night," Wade countered. "Or maybe it was, 'cus I'm Spiderman and I love banging old dudes."

The guy had just given him a withering look. "Dude. Whatever gets you off," he muttered, walking away.

"Wait. It's that easy?" Wade wondered aloud, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed by the lack of a fight. He tried not to think about it too much.

Foreshadowing? Oh hell yeah, foreshadowing. Wade is old enough to remember when it wasn’t okay to just... openly admit anything outside of cisheteronormative standards, and this guy not rising to the bait and just saying ‘whatever’ is kind of whiplash. 

-

Wade felt his brain short out when he saw Nate standing with just a towel around his waist.

(Oh no, he's hot. I mean, we already knew that but now he's like, naked and stuff.)

[Is that even legal?]

"Shut up," Wade said, pressing a hand to his head. They were back. Why were they back???

(Why do you think?)

Yeah. So I feel like Wade’s ‘boxes’ are partly like a way for his subconscious to yell at him about all of the stuff he’s trying to ignore. And some of that is really bad stuff for him, that he shouldn’t listen to, like his self hatred and anxieties and suicidal thoughts. But then there are thoughts like these, like his attraction to Nate, his need to be listened to and shown even the barest scraps of respect/affection/kindness, but he thinks he doesn’t deserve any of that and won’t say it.

Like, when Nate remembers that he fucked up and forgot about his promise to make Wade dinner:

"Well… at least your kitchen is clean," Nate said. "That's a reward in itself."

(A reward in itself? What kind of asshole says that?)

[The kind that throws away Hello Kitty post it notes.]

"Yeah, I'm gonna agree with the little yellow box on this one," Wade said. "Doing a chore isn't a reward in itself. A reward is a reward."

While Wade’s ‘boxes’ are overall really toxic for him in this fic, they can be a good thing! If it weren’t for his boxes, Wade wouldn’t have been able to process through the fact that Nate disappointed him and caused him suffering and tell him that it was kind of shitty and not okay and end up making Nate promise to actually follow through because it was important to him!!

-

"You know there aren't any boxes, right, Wade?" Nate asked him. "They aren't really in your head."

"I know that," Wade said. "But they still won't shut up.”

Foreshadowing. And also, in this moment, imo, it’s basically giving Wade the opportunity to say, yes I know it’s ‘not real’ but it’s still real. Which is like. The biggest mental illness mood. Of course... they’re kind of referring to two different things, once again. Having different conversations. Wade thinks Nate can’t hear half of his conversation, and Nate must think he’s nuts. Of course, SPOILERS, Nate can hear every single thing that Wade is saying, because he’s talking to himself, and the entire time Nate is trying to asses how the fuck to handle what’s going on and how serious this is.

-

"What do you want to watch?" Nate asked, so casually, it took Wade a long moment to realize that Nate was talking to him, and an even longer moment for his brain to short out.

"What…?"

"What do you want to watch?" Nate asked again, as if this was something that they'd ever done before.

(Nate's never watched TV with us. What's happening???)

[Pity. He knows we're losing it.]

The sad thing is, Wade’s inner thoughts aren’t wrong. It takes hearing Wade’s inner thoughts for himself and seeing him struggle and realizing how badly Wade’s been affected just because Nate has ignored him and given him the cold should so many times... to realize that he needs to give Wade a little bit of kindness. But it feels like it’s coming from pity instead of genuine interest  and pity fucking sucks.

"Nate. I know you don't like being around me," Wade said, slowly. "This isn't your problem, so don't worry about it."

and then he locks himself in the bathroom and tries to just drown out the voices until he can fall asleep, in the bathtub, because mood.

Meanwhile, Nate is concerned, but not showing it well because his concern quickly turns back into anger:

"Please, Wade. Listen to me, not them. These things in your head, they aren't real, okay?" Nate tried to reason with him. "I know it feels like what they're saying is true, but I promise you they aren't right. Not about you. Not about us. Come out of there, alright? Come on, Wade. For fuck's sake, I'm trying to talk to you, isn't that what you wanted? Get the fuck out."

After a while of yelling, Nate realized that Wade had gone quiet. He stopped, trying to get a hold of his anger, his… if he was honest… fear. Fear of losing Wade.

He could use telekinesis to force the lock. He could also break the door down, easily.

Nate pressed his hands against the door, listening. On the other side, he heard Wade humming tunelessly to himself. Drowning out the voices. Drowning out Nate.

He curled his fingers against the cheap faux-wood door and tried to will himself to stop. To calm down.

Nate is starting to understand, to take little steps. He knows he’s already starting to slip up right out of the gate and he knows he needs to stop pushing right now or he’ll only push Wade away.

-

Wade had been talking to himself for a long, long time.

And Nate hadn't really spoken to anyone for almost as long.

This is the point where Nate starts to realize that they both have problems to address. Nate’s behavior (withdrawing/isolating, anger, not communicating) isn’t just toxic for himself, which he’d be fine with, but it’s also eroding Wade’s mental health at the foundation. Even when Nate is interested or concerned for Wade, he doesn’t express it in a way that Wade can recognize. Concern looks like disgust because Wade is so used to the latter; smiling at Wade’s jokes/flirting is interpreted as dark and aggressive because they’re both thinking about two different things; he reads Wade’s cute little notes but throws them away because first he thinks Wade is making fun of him and then he either doesn’t know how to react or the reminder of Wade’s concern/affection makes him uncomfortable because from his perspective he’s offered nothing in return. And if he could just communicate how he felt on his end, Wade wouldn’t be left feeling like Nate hated his fucking guts.

The next morning, Wade is still locked in the bathroom, which means Nate is forced to make an effort to communicate with him, because now he realizes that leaving the house while Wade is still potentially in crisis mode could cause Wade to keep spiraling.

He was ready to go out the door, but at the last second it occurred to him that Wade might wake up and see that Nate had left and take it in the worst way possible. When it came to dealing with Wade, you always had to think to yourself, 'What is the worst case scenario?' and then go a couple steps beyond that. If Nate left without leaving a note, he could come back to Wade giving him the cold shoulder, or he could come back to find the entire building burned to ground.

[Went out.]

There. Simple and to the point.

Ah, fuck. Maybe that was too simple. Wade would think he wasn't coming back, because he was a fucking idiot.

[Went out. Be back later.]

That was still a little bit impersonal. Nate didn't want Wade to think he didn't care about his wellbeing.

[Went out. Be back later. Don't off yourself.]

That was better.

But if Wade actually read this note, Nate also didn't want him to think he could hole up in the bathroom again. That shit got old fast.

[Went out. Be back later. Don't off yourself. Or lock yourself in the bathroom again.]

Nate stared at the note, written on a pastel pink background with little cartoon kittens and hearts and flowers and sweets, and felt a mild panic.

[Fucker], he added hastily, and then left before he had time to second-guess himself.

Nate is still very much in I-don’t-even-like-him denial mode, but this process of thought while he’s writing his note? Ooooh. This is art, baby. Nate is actually concerned about how Wade will react if he leaves the message too short, too uncaring. And then has to add a little ‘fucker’ at the end because hello tough guy points, keep those in the millions. Give Wade an inch, he’ll take a mile.

And of course, when Wade gets up and finds the note, his reaction is, This is a love note. And by all rights... it basically is. It’s the first tangible scrap of evidence Nate has given him that he cares about Wade’s well-being at all, and he cherishes the hell out of it.

Which makes it all the more painful when Wade realizes he was careless and threw that scrap of paper, Proof Nate Cares About Me, into the wash with the rest of his clothes and now it’s destroyed.

-

So... a few things happen all at once. Honestly, just one would be enough to make Wade lose it, but sometimes in fiction you have to drive the point home:

1. Nate says he’s leaving.

"With what you have in the bank, you could probably buy yourself a house, Wade," Nate replied.

"You mean us, right?" Wade corrected.

Nate stared at him and then dropped his gaze to pick at his plate. "The X-Men offered me a position," he said. "I could stay at the mansion, if I wanted to. Or I could get a stipend. It'd probably be enough to pay rent somewhere. So I won't have to keep leeching off of you."

Of course, once again, two different conversations are happening. Nate is saying, I got offered this, I don’t have to stay, I don’t have to keep leeching off of you and offering nothing in return because I am hurting you and it’s making me feel like a useless piece of shit. Remember Wade’s finances are paying for everything right now because Nate doesn’t have stable income. The reason why Nate leaves and disappears for hours or days on end is because he’s trying to find work, but also the world needs heroes right now and hero work isn’t always paid.

But from Wade’s POV, of course Nate should stay with him. But the word ‘leech’ makes him remember that Nate doesn’t even like him and Nate doesn’t need him, but Wade is the one who needs Nate and needs attention and affection that Nate is in no way obligated to give him that.

So Wade says, ‘ok,’ essentially. And to him, that’s putting on a brave face and accepting that Nate will move on, of course he will, so he might as well try to be happy for Nate. But from Nate’s perspective, it’s Wade saying, ‘ok, good, get the fuck out’ in the kindest way possible because now there’s no more excuse for their roommate arrangement to keep existing.

2. Wade’s inner voices start acting up badly, because of the first event. He tries to ignore them, tries to sleep, tries to shut down the bad lines of thought with reason and reality but it’s hard to believe when they just. won’t. stop.

(He doesn't want to see you. Period.)

Wade pressed his hands to his face, tried to breathe in slowly.

"Nate and I… are friends," Wade said.

(Who are you trying to convince?)

"We're friends," he repeated to himself, softer. "We're friends."

Then when Wade tries to distract himself with something else, he tries to go finish the laundry and then realizes that he’d left Nate’s ‘love note’ in his pocket and now it’s obliterated.

[It's gone.]

(Wasn't that your entire proof that Nate gave a single solitary fuck about you?)

"No," Wade lied, but lying to himself didn't always work so well. "It was just a piece of paper."

[But there won't be another one.]

"I'll remember it," Wade whispered pressing his hands to his face.

(Will you? Do you even remember it now?)

Not only was that the only physical proof he had that Nate cared, something his mental illness couldn’t convince him isn’t real, but now that Nate said he’s leaving, Wade knows he won’t ever get another one. That was the first and only note Nate ever wrote to him, and Wade was stupid and careless and let it get destroyed almost immediately. And worse, his memory problems are getting worse and he knows this and he knows that without an actual reminder he’s going to forget what the note said and what Nate’s handwriting looks like and how it felt to read that and eventually he’s going to forget that he ever got a note and eventually he’s going to forget Nate, just like he’s going to forget Vanessa because she’s dead and he only has her memories and photographs and if anything happens to those, there’s a real chance he’ll forget her smile and her face and their moments together and her and it’s too terrifying to deal with and it’s all because it’s all his fault and now he’s in a complete mental breakdown.

-

This time, when he dreamed of finding his wife and daughter's burnt bodies, Wade's was there with them. The only people he cared about. People that he'd failed.

Mmmm foreshadowing. For the sequel, I mean. Oh boy.

Wade’s breakdown wakes Nate up, and by that point it’s full blown mental badness for Wade. Nate finds Wade curled up on the floor, arguing with himself, and tells Nate that he just wants to sleep but the voices won’t stop, and he’s desperate now to the point of self injury and asking Nate to use his telekinesis to help Wade blow his brains out or lobotomize himself.

"I can try to help," Nate offered. "If you'll let me."

(Last time he tried something, you puked your lungs out.)

[This is different. This time we'll puke our brains out.]

(Why waste the strength? Nate has guns. Big ones.)

Wade didn't even care anymore. "Do what you gotta do, Nate."

Once again, Nate offers to help. Once again, because Wade has an extreme solution on his mind, he thinks Nate is offering to help in that way, but Nate has no intention of letting Wade harm himself, or letting Wade think that Nate would ever be willing to harm him.

"I'm not going to blow your brains out and neither are you. I'm a telepath, Wade," Nate reminded him. "Reading your mind is difficult, but I can project thoughts too."

This time Nate actually tells Wade what he’s thinking, what he intends to do to help Wade and what he doesn’t intend to do. Wade gets caught up in babbling about what that could possibly mean, what Nate’s thoughts would be, and since Wade can’t snap out of it or give Nate an answer, Nate goes ahead with his plan to help make Wade’s thoughts stop.

Wade started sounding like a broken record again. Nate put it to an end, connecting to Wade's mind with a touch and projecting a static to drown out the voices and give Wade some relief.

They only connected for a brief instant, and then Wade flinched away from the connection, breaking it.

"Sorry," Nate reached out again, but Wade shivered and stayed just out of reach, as if he were afraid of it.

"What was that?”

Wade is still afraid of Nate’s powers being used on him in ways he didn’t expect. It interrupts the darker, suicidal thoughts, but Wade still struggles openly, first expressing his mixed feelings of fear re: Nate touching him, and also his tentative admission that it was nice to be touched. Then, when his train of thought immediately plunges back into ‘I wish I were dead’ territory, Nate makes a point to interrupt once again, but this time not using his powers.

"Wade," Nate said again, trying to bring him back from another spiral of thoughts. He sat down on the couch, holding his hands out to Wade, but not reaching for him. "Come here. Put your head down, okay? I'll make it quieter this time."

"Make my head quieter?" Wade asked, edging closer.

"Yes," Nate promised. "I'll make it go away."

This time, Nate doesn’t force his methods onto Wade. Wade is fully informed of what Nate intends to do to help him, and the choice is left up to him. This time he has a second to process it, stop being afraid of what Nate’s intentions might be, and accept his help (and his touch) on his own terms.

Wade churns through a few more fears, aloud, (his fear that Nate will leave him, like Vanessa left him, and he’ll forget them both) and also his loneliness, the fact that it’s been so long since he felt love/touch/intimacy, he isn’t sure he remembers what it feels like anymore. Then he accepts Nate’s offer, puts his trust in Nate, and lets Nate make his mind go blank.

Meanwhile, Nate has to try to process the raw admission that their fucked up, dysfunctional non-relationship is half of the entire reason why Wade’s mental health has gotten to this point, because he really thought there was no way Wade cared about him or what he thought, and now he has to figure out how to start undoing that damage.

Skin to skin contact is the only real way Nate can use his powers on Wade directly. Otherwise, his mind is too chaotic and slippery to really work with. This is a rule I set in this AU, but it’s a concept lifted from Cable & Deadpool #3:

There’s no indication this is the case, but Wade’s mind is canonically hard to get a grip on for psychics, and after Nate touched his head, he can hear Wade’s thoughts back to him, so they aren’t speaking out loud and alerting the others of Nates’ presence. I always interpreted that as being, Nate had to do a little more to establish a better connection with Wade’s mind. It probably isn’t the case, maybe he just wanted to give Wade a little tap on the noggin, but I liked that concept for this fic. Bonus feels: In the comic, Wade and Nate had been fighting like cats and dogs up until this point. Wade had joined a cult and helped them, Nate had been trying to fight against them, and Wade ended up being doublecrossed. Here, Wade expresses regret, and Nate shows compassion towards Wade... something exceedingly rare for anyone to do, sadly.

In this fic, Nate can’t stay connected to Wade’s mind (at least, not as easily as this) unless he maintains skin contact with Wade somehow. Because I’m gay and I love drama and it’s soft as hell.

-

"I'm here," Nate assured him, rubbing circles onto Wade's skin with his fingertips. Then he realized, to his embarrassment, that he'd been petting Wade the entire time, and quickly stopped.

"Don't -- Don't stop doing that. Please. It's nice," Wade pleaded, jerking a little under Nate's hands.

"Shh," Nate shushed, afraid that Wade would break the connection. "Okay. I won't stop, but don't move. Just relax."

He let his fingers resume their slow movements. Following the flow of scar tissue on Wade's skin. Brushing his thumb over the curve of Wade's ear. He felt Wade relax against him, sinking deeper.

I have nothing to add, I just want you all to see how soft this is.

-

Wade’s POV: 

"When my daughter Hope has bad dreams, I'd help her fall asleep again," Nate said as he continued the light petting. "Take away all of the nightmares."

For some reason, the reminder that Nate was, above all else, a dad , took Wade by surprise. He was a man who had lost everything, who would have moved heaven and earth to get his daughter back, to keep her safe, and he did exactly that. Somewhere in the future, there was a little girl whose dad loved her that much, that fiercely. Wade couldn't relate. His own dad had been all fierce and no love. The kind of man nightmares were made of.

Nate’s POV:

"When my daughter Hope has bad dreams, I'd help her fall asleep again," Nate said, thinking of how many times he'd held her in his arms and done just this. "Take away all of the nightmares."

Even with Wade's permission to connect with his mind, Wade's thoughts were hard to read. They weren't words or even clear images. It was more like only being able to feel an abstract, and Nate caught the edge of one unexpectedly. It looked like misshapen darkness and it smelled like old booze and it was called father. It felt like being hit with fists and the sharp bite of a belt buckle and it tasted like salt-tears-blood, and it was called love.

Nate pushed the memory away as soon as he realized what it was, focusing a little harder to keep it from forming again. "I'm sorry, Wade. I can't change the past for you, but I can try to make things better here and now. Let's think about something else."

Nate shares a piece of himself with Wade, and tells him about his daughter, about how he’s done this similar psychic technique before to help his daughter fall asleep again if she had a bad nightmare. That reminder of Nate being a dad, of Nate using the same method to soothe his daughter’s nightmares on Wade, reminds Wade of his own father, and the abusive memories associated with him.

It’s not only an example of Wade’s train of thought still leading him into places that are harmful for his state of mind, but also where Wade’s POV and Nate’s POV start to be able to meld together, because Nate can somewhat read what Wade is thinking.

Often, I can write scenes where two characters have an interaction but have wildly different interpretations of it, and depending on which character I’m settled on in 3rd person perspective, it’s left up to the reader to pick up on that or reread later and realize, oh wow, now I know the other person reacted like that because their mind was totally elsewhere. In this fic, every single interaction is like that, and it’s split into stark contrast. Wade is earnest in his interactions, and in denial, and masking so much hurt with humor, and he sees Nate as violent, and cold, and uncaring. Nate is still holding onto trauma, and masking his hurt with stoicism, and ignoring Wade because he cannot allow himself to grow attached to anyone in this timeline because he isn’t sure he could emotionally survive that, and from his perspective Wade is lazy and can’t take anything seriously. Neither of them can communicate well, primarily because Nate shut himself off so effectively until he realized that Wade isn’t actually a punching bag that feels nothing, emotionally or otherwise, and he was being an asshole the entire time.

This is where communication starts to be able to begin, and Nate realizes he’s not going to break or lose his edge if he shows Wade kindness and compassion any more than being a good father to his daughter, because love is not a weakness. Caring is not a weakness.

-

Nate creates a dream for Wade - but, if you didn’t pick up on this - the dream is more Wade’s creation than anything. Nate was accustomed to helping Hope make imaginary snowflakes in her mind. Basically, like counting sheep, but more elaborate (but simple enough for a child) and pretty to look at. When Hope’s imagination wandered off to sleep, she would dream of snow hares made of ice, or spring flowers, or sparkling night skies. Remember - Nate is supposed to be guiding this.

But Wade’s imagination immediately goes out of Nate’s simple guidance, and turns into a full blown dreamscape. Not intricate snowflakes, because that’s complicated and boring to Wade’s mind, but an entire realm of rolling hills covered in snow and little trees, and then because Wade thinks, it would be cold and he doesn’t like that, he imagines that he’s inside where it’s warm and cozy and Nate is there, because he doesn’t want to be alone, and they both have matching sweaters and cocoa because that’s fucking nice and his idea of ‘heaven’ and Nate is shook because he remembers something that Wade doesn’t remember anymore-

Nate and Wade had gone drinking, only once. Before they became roommates. It sounded like a decent idea at the time. With an idiot like Wade, Nate had thought it could even be fun, but all of the alcohol just made Nate feel hazy and depressed. With Wade, it was worse. It made him quieter and cleared his mind. But when his mind was finally clear, there was nothing he could see that was good.

Wade had told Nate about seeing Vanessa when he died. He said if heaven existed, that was all he could ever hope for. Just the two of them in a cozy room, nestled on the couch together, forever. But he could never get in, no matter how many times he tried. She kept telling him it wasn't his time. And Wade was starting to worry that he just wasn't good enough to get there.

They didn't drink again.

Wade remembers that they went drinking, once, and that it was a bad time, but he doesn’t remember the exact details. Nate remembers that he’d thought it would be a decent method of escapism - his personal favorite - but instead the alcohol made them both more depressed and their problems harder to cope with, so they unofficially stopped altogether.

So, when Nate finds himself included in Wade’s dreamscape, he realizes that this is basically Wade’s perfect ideal, but he’s convinced he isn’t supposed to be included and he’s just a poor substitution. 

It was everything Wade had ever hoped for, Nate realized. Only, Nate wasn't supposed to be here.

Just the two of them in a cozy room, nestled on the couch together, forever.

But Nate wasn't Vanessa.

And nothing ever lasted forever.

But this wasn't real.

Which meant that, just for a second, Nate could let himself pretend that it was.

Have I mentioned yet how many of these issues will be carried over into the sequel? Because that should be obvious at this point. Nothing is ever easy to resolve all in one go, unless you’re in like, idk, a fanfic or something. Also, more foreshadowing here about Nate’s conflicted feelings, being subconsciously compared to Vanessa’s former role in Wade’s life.

-

One more chapter, time for the POVs to merge and time for no more fantasy power crutchs to help us get through real communication problems and time to make fun of some X-Men too...

[awkwardplantwrites]

holy fuck I found one of the first original stories I wrote. this is from 2013, when I was 16. It’s called “The School Gate.” I have virtually no memory of writing it.

violence/death cw

The school gate. That was where everything happened. Teachers couldn't scold you. It was out of sight from every adult. It gave us the buzz of freedom; some of us so drunk on it we’d riot and cause havoc. We’d do things no-one else would dare do.

I’d fumbled over my own tongue here at the school gate, trying to ask the girl from the year below on a date, and had somehow succeeded. One time my friend’s older brother had given me a cigarette as we waited on my friend to arrive. This place, where the paint on the metal bars were worn by memories... This place was the foundation of my gang. That day had been a Tuesday. Rain pattered on my head as I trudged out the school doors. I wiped droplets from my forehead with a damp sleeve. I could feel it as soon as I walked out of the school building; that feeling you get when you know something will happen by the school gate. As I walked across the school grounds, I could see the scared and excited faces of others glancing at the school gate between snippets of hushed gossip. I looked up to see the gate's threatening presence. I walked past it slowly and slouched against the wall beside it. Today would be the day. I could feel my breathing becoming quicker. I saw my chest rising and falling with every breath as I stared at the ground. Feet scuffed around me. I pulled down my hood. Shanks nodded at me. It was a sign of respect. Ralph grinned at me. His eyes were wide with crazed enthusiasm. The three others, Alan, Smith and Greg towered behind them. Each of them with ill fitting names for their dark, sadistic minds and bulky bodies. I led them all down the dirt path. We were hidden by trees. Our tracks were washed away by raindrops. After ten minutes we were in the middle of the woods. It was dark. A crow cawed. What we all heard was hurried footsteps not too far away. Our first victim. The trees hung above us and sheltered us from the now pouring rain. Mud clung to our shoes as we walked towards him. It squelched beneath our feet in an almost rhythmic pattern. We could see him now, a small, skinny boy about our age. Mousy-brown, wet hair and thick rimmed glasses. Obviously a nerd. We'd be doing him a favour, I reckoned. We walked faster. I held up my hand to let them know we still had to be quiet. The boy sat underneath a tree. For shelter, I supposed. Then he saw us. His eyes widened in fear. I felt the corner of my mouth curling upwards. It was too late for him to run away. Ant and Smith ran ahead and grabbed both his arms. Then they dragged him behind some trees up ahead. I heard muffled screams and the deep, loud voice of Smith shouting abuse. They pulled him back into view. He was a wreck. His glasses were smashed and lay in the mud a few feet behind. His eyes were dark like someone who hadn't had much sleep for a few days. That was the way to hurt him- it would make his stories seem unbelievable. His clothes were soaked with sodden earth. He looked up at me from Ant and Smith's firm hold. I held up my hand. Ant and Smith dropped the boy like a small pebble. "What do you want with me?" he asked in a surprisingly deep voice. I could see the fear still burning in his eyes but a strange sort of understanding lay there too. He stared daggers of hatred at me. I kneeled down and stared into him. "We need you to do something for us." I said. I attempted to keep a cool and calm expression. "If you don't, we're going to tie you to a tree. Then we'll burn that tree. It's very likely that you'll die." I held out my lighter to show him we were serious. Smith was already holding the rope in his enormous hands. "However," I said as I stood up. "If you agree to it, we'll let you go. Maybe even invite you to join our little "group" here." I indicated to the others with my hands. "What'll it be, Junior?" He flinched at the sound of his name. Ant frowned at me. I smiled. I had done my homework all right. The air suddenly seemed heavy, like you could taste the tension in the air.  Junior looked around like he would break. His expression showed inner conflict. It was easy to see things like that. It was never a good sign. Lightning crackled. No-one even flinched."

Alright." he said. He stood up and faced me. Direct, gutsy. I was a little impressed. I didn't let it show. "What do you want me to do?" 

I almost grinned. I was right to see potential in this guy. "We want you to steal something from Mrs Powell's house. Something...expensive. Worth some cash, you know?" 

His jaw dropped but he quickly shut it again. He appeared to be clenching his fists. "That's my grandmother." he said. You couldn't miss the pure malice in his voice. It was music to my ears. "Well, if anything, that makes it easier. Don't you think?" I gave him the eye. When he nodded I felt not merely happy, but superior. "Right then." I smiled. "You can go tonight. Ant, Smith and Greg will be waiting for you outside her house at seven on the dot. If you're not there, well let's just say we know where to find you so..." I shrugged. 

He laughed, a sharp, short snort. "Dude, you don't even know my name, let alone where I live." I frowned. I had thought I had done it all right, thought I had found his name and a victim. I had done everything right and he was spoiling it. Then he ran. We weren't expecting this at all. The kid went like lightning speed. One minute he'd been there, close enough to smell the sweat on him, then he'd flown away. Faster than you could see. I had to blink to make sure I wasn't imagining it. I wasn't. "Get him," I said. "GET HIM!" I shouted. "Go and get him you lazy lowlifes!" I screamed at Ant and Shanks. "What use are you if you're just standing there?!" Ant frowned. Smith crossed his arms. They looked at each other. "Well now, Zachary. It seems like you've lost our first victim. Or maybe we should say your victim since you were the one that dragged us all out here. Telling us we'd be the new cult The Gate Crashers". Smith sneered at me. He looked me in the eye, sized me up, decided he was the biggest. The rain had stopped. A heavy fog blanketed the ground. Ralph looked at me, the excitement was still there in his eyes but it didn't seem to be for the right reason. Oh God, I realised. They'd planned this from the start, maybe even before. I looked for a way out. There was none. They wouldn't listen to Manipulative Me anymore. I couldn't outrun these bastards if my life depended on it. I thought that it probably did. Smith was still holding the rope. He was coming towards me. I didn't run. I knew there was no point. "I'm surprised you haven't tried to leg it." Smith said as he tied me up with his rope. It burned my skin but I had a feeling that things would be worse than this later on. I really wanted to worm my way out of this, wanted to at least try and convince them that we could try someone else, and that I wouldn't include them in the planning this time and we'd be equal. The words were stuck in my throat. It was probably a sign that they wouldn't have worked, had I tried them. My chest felt tight. Smith knotted the end in a bow. I think it was supposed to be ironic. They thought that I believed I was a God given gift so they were going to have me all prettied up so that they could give me back to Hell, the place they thought I came from. And giving me back meant killing me. Smith watched me as I figured this out, probably seeing in his mind my train of thought. Finally, he picked up the lighter which I had dropped in my rant. I could barely breath. I squeezed my eyes shut. Somehow I found my voice again. "You can't set me on fire, or the trees. It's too wet." Smith considered this then looked at me like you would when trying to explain something to a child. "That's a very good point, Zachary," he used my name as a way of annoying me, I knew. And because I knew it it wouldn't bother me. "Perhaps we should leave you somewhere until it all dries up then? And then set you and the woods alight? Would that please you?" he added sarcastically. I clenched my jaw. I looked at the others. They weren't looking at me or Smith. "You're not honestly going to do as he says, are you?" I asked them, ignoring Smith hitting me in the chest. I shrugged him off. "I only tried to get a boy to steal something, not kill one." I hit home. Ralph's eyes widened and the excitement was gone. Smith was raging. "What? Don't listen to that idiot. He's using you. He'd keep all that money to himself. Say it was a part of being a leader. I mean, who even made him the leader?" I looked innocently back at him. "Isn't that what you're doing though Smith? Aren't you suddenly becoming the leader even though no-one ever suggested that you do?" He came for me. I went down to the ground, the ropes still tight around me. He used them to burn my skin. I winced, but I wouldn't scream. He punched me but the ropes softened the blows. Greg suddenly came up from behind him and hit him over the head. He dropped like a dead fish. Or just like something dead, really. He lay still. Ant kicked him lightly. "He's deffinitely out." he said. I restained the urge to roll my eyes. After getting help untying the ropes across my body I lifted his limp wrist. I felt for a pulse. "Oh my God, Greg, you've gone and killed him!" my voice went up by half an octive. I forgot about the burning on my skin for half a second. "No, no I didn't." He shook his head frantically. Ant pushed him away. "Right, so what do we do with his body then?" "I stared at Ant. He stared right back at me. I had no idea he was this inhumane. Maybe it was just shock. A guilty conscience speaking. Or maybe I had turned this boy into a heartless murderer. I looked around. There was no way out of this at all. Everyone seemed to be looking at me for what to do. "Well... I guess we either leave him here for everyone to see. Or we burn the place and his body. Or we drag him into a ditch where he will be found ten years later by a guy walking his dog." Everyone stared at me incredulously. They burst out laughing. Greg hit me in the back. "You're so funny Zach. So funny. Right, how about we go with option two and burn the place down? Or maybe just his body would do, do you think?" Ralph nodded in agreement. I was frozen with horror-not Ralph as well. Not the funny boy I went to nursery with, the boy who helped me learn how to ride my bike when he couldn't even ride his own. I looked into spaces between the trees. Could I..? Well of course I could, but should I? I looked at the group of boys surrounding their friend's body on the forest floor. One had a lighter in his hand, another searched his bag for a jug of gasoline. This was it. The moment I decided whether to  stay here and become a killer in a cult or to run away from it all with a guilty conscience of an act I hadn't directly commited. I stepped forward. I knelt down on the forest floor to join The Gate Crashers in their planning. I stayed.

[carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich]

Throat Full of Flowers - Hanahaki Shin One-shot

An angst-filled one-shot centered on the concept of Hanahaki disease, featuring the Tsukinami brothers. It’s a reader insert piece and the reader is in a position similar to Yui’s. The flower petals involved in this are from Protea flowers, from this set of headcanons.

Shin wasn’t entirely sure exactly when he’d stopped viewing you as no more than a tool to restore his bloodline. When they’d first taken you from the Sakamaki brothers, he’d been mildly appalled that you were the hope he and his brother sought. Just some unremarkable human.

And yet, as the months passed, at some point that image faded and rather than just being a thing to use in an effort to try and one up his brother, you’d become your own person in his mind. Shin couldn’t say exactly what it was about you. Maybe it was that you took whatever he threw at you without ever really losing it. You’d even laughed a couple of times, and the sound of it made Shin catch his breath a little.

Even Carla seemed to have softened around you, which in and of itself, was surprising. In all of their years together, Shin had never before seen the look in his brother’s eyes when he spoke to you.

Around the time Shin noticed this, he started to feel a light scratching in the back of his throat. Not anything worthy of concern, just a faint feeling of irritation that would come and go intermittently.

Then one day, he’d seen you and Carla walking together in the garden outside Banmaden. You’d been in the middle of saying something when you tripped over an errant branch, but before you could hit the ground, the founder king had slipped an arm around your waist and held you upright. You’d turned to look at him with a blush on your cheeks and there was something in your expression that Shin hadn’t seen before.

That night the cough had started, and the scratching in his throat grew to a burning flame. Shin had feared the worst then. He’d seen these symptoms often enough as Endzeit ate away at the bodies of his people. But he couldn’t understand how he had been infected. Carla had told him that the sickness could only be spread through blood, and he’d made sure he hadn’t come into contact with any of the infected fluid.  

A couple of days later, he’d started coughing, only to feel something rising up the back of his throat. Shin retched and as he saw the contents of the lump that had been clogging up his airway flutter to the ground, he couldn’t believe his eyes. What looked like pink and white flower petals, flecked with blood, lay in an unceremonious heap on his bedroom floor. Sure enough, a light floral scent drifted through the room, mixed with the iron tang of blood. He’d picked up one of the fragments and knew then that he couldn’t be mistaken. It didn’t resemble anything from any sort of plant he’d seen, but the texture and scent were unmistakable.

He’d coughed up a bunch of flower petals.

Not once had he seen or heard tell of anyone infected with Endzeit having flora appear in the back of their throat. Shin couldn’t bring himself to ask Carla; couldn’t admit that he’d been afflicted by some strange sickness to the person he wanted to acknowledge his strength.

Time passed and the coughing worsened. The scent of blood and flowers seemed to follow him wherever he went, and it was an effort to keep anyone from finding the petals that would spew from his lips. Shin started avoiding you all together; it was too hard to be around you when at any moment his weakness could be revealed.

At first you’d still tried to seek him out, apologizing for any wrong you thought might have led to the younger founder distancing himself from you. But each time Shin would yell and berate you, hoping it would be enough to keep you away. And eventually, you’d stopped trying to talk to him. He didn’t realize how much your absence would affect him until the only time he saw you was a passing glance in your direction whenever he reported to his brother. You only ever seemed to be by Carla’s side at that point, but Shin could only focus on trying to find a way to cure himself.  He’d deal with whatever damage had been done to your relationship after that.

One day, he’d overheard you telling his brother that you’d learned Karlheinz kept a large amount of notes on research relating to varying matters in the demon world while you stayed with the Sakamakis.

Just the name of the late vampire king made Shin want to grind his teeth but that kernel of information gave him a slight bit of hope. Was it possible that the vampire had also kept notes on the illness that now affected Shin? He hadn’t stopped to consider it for too long. There had to be something somewhere that could help him.

And so Shin had broken into the vampire king’s old residence, relieved that the seals that had once kept him out seemed to have died with their source. After tearing through several rooms, he unearthed a stack of dusty research papers, and started flicking through them. Most were on things he’d never heard of and some were little more than bare-bone notes scribbled in thick black ink.

Then he found something that made his blood turn to ice in his veins. An entry titled ‘Hanahaki disease’ which described his symptoms perfectly. But it was the listed cause that sent him reeling, for according to this research, only someone suffering from unrequited love would be afflicted with the illness and even then it was rare. For some reason your face flashed through his mind at the words but he shut those thoughts down before they could go anywhere.

He was a founder, the next in line to the throne. Tsukinami Shin would not be brought to his knees by something as stupid as unrequited love. 

Although he had half a mind to toss the damn papers into the fire, Shin had taken them with him when he left. Even if they seemed to be full of crap, he might be able to gleam something useful from them at a later date.

When he returned to Bandmaden, he’d found you with a beaming smile and a shiny engagement ring on your finger. It was all he could do not retch when you told him that Carla had proposed to you. He’d barely slept due to the coughing fits that racked his body afterwards. White and soft pink petals spilling forth with every spluttering cough. But Shin still couldn’t acknowledge the cause. He couldn’t accept that he was in love with his brother’s fiance, the person he’d shut out due to this damn affliction in the first place.

The disease progressed as the months passed. The fits grew more regular and the scratching at the back of his throat was ever-present. But it was only on your and Carla’s wedding night, where Shin spent several hours bent over the toilet bowl, hacking up not just petals but chunks of whole flowers, splattered with his own blood, that he realized he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He was in love with you. And he was suffering for it.

The books he’d found had mentioned that the only way for a demon to be cured of the disease was for their love to be reciprocated, but surely there had to be another way. If he could just stop loving you then maybe it would go away on its own. And so Shin tried to find every reason to fall out of love with you. He noted your every fault, the dumb things he’d seen you do, the way you looked at his brother but wouldn’t look at him. It still wasn’t enough.

All he could do was hide the symptoms and hope that neither you, nor Carla noticed.  

And now with his fingers gripping the sides of the toilet seat, Shin shook as another coughing fit took hold. His throat burned while countless flower petals worked their way up from some infected part of his lungs to his mouth, only to be spewed out. Sharp white and pink petals flecked with blood tumbled into the water, occasionally dispersed as a larger clump of a flower would fall from his lips.

“Shin!” An all too familiar voice exclaimed from behind him. Shit, he must have been in such a hurry that he forgot to lock the bathroom door.

Glancing up, he could see you stood in the doorway, your features twisted in panic. Turning his head slightly, Shin tried to force enough air into his lungs to be able to speak, to order you to leave before you discovered too much. However, before he could get the words out, he was retching again, clumps of petals splattered in red falling to the floor before he could stop them.

“What on Earth?” You gasped. But you didn’t hesitate before kneeling beside him, resting your hand on his back. “Shin what’s going on?”

“Get… Out…” He rasped, between coughs, but the worst of it seemed to be coming to a close.

“No, not until I find out what’s going on. When I heard you in here, I’d assumed it was Endzeit but…” your eyes drifted to the contents of the toilet. “These look like flower petals. Carla’s never shown a symptom like this.” Shin winced at the mention of his brother, gaze falling to the gleaming golden band on your finger.

“It’s none of your business,” he replied, voice hoarse though the spasms appeared to finally to be fading from his body.

“Like hell it’s none of my business, I’m not just going to leave you here alone after witnessing that.” Looking at him with an assessing weight, you spoke again, a little more softly. “How long has this been going on for?”

Shin wished he had enough strength to force you out of the room but a tremble still lurked in his limbs and he didn’t trust that any exertion wouldn’t end in a another coughing fit. He hated that you could see him in this state, hated the concern in your eyes and hated the way your touch made him feel.

“Long enough that it’s a pain in the ass,” he said, trying to shrug off your hand. You removed it from his back, only to place in on his knee, as you settled yourself closer to him.

“That’s really not an answer, you know? Shin, please don’t shut me out completely. I want to help you, don’t take it as some sort of insult. I know you’re capable of handling yourself but I don’t want you to suffer on your own. Do you know what the cause of-” you waved your hand vaguely in the direction of the blood specked flowers, “-this is?”

“The cause, huh?” Finally Shin found the strength to lift his single golden eye to yours. Even now, some part of his brain noticed the way the light caught in your hair and sent the strands shimmering. And with your attention focused completely on him, you were so tempting and yet still so completely out of reach. Some part of him fractured as he looked at you, the thing he so desperately wanted but could never have. Not with that wedding band sitting on your finger.

You’d chosen his brother, just like everyone else. And now that he was kneeling on the floor pathetically in front of you, Shin wondered why he’d ever thought you might choose him. Even in sickness, Carla at least still had his dignity. “Quit acting so concerned! You’re my brother’s now; this has nothing to do with you.”

“Please Shin,” you begged again.

“Stop it! Stop looking at me like that!”

“I just want to help you. Why won’t you let me?”

“Because this is your fault! If it weren’t for you, this never would have happened!” He yelled.

“My fault? What do you…” You trailed off, trying to think of anything you could possibly have done to cause this.

“Hah, I guess there’s no use in keeping it secret any longer. This,” he said, seizing the petals that had fallen on the floor in his hand. “Is due to something called hanahaki disease. Apparently it’s rare and affects both demons and humans, but with humans it’s eventually fatal. With demons on the other hand, it just leaves us perpetually suffering.” He crushed the blossoms in his hand, as though he could strike at the illness itself through the action.

“Hanahaki disease? I thought that was just a myth… But isn’t it supposed to be caused by a one-sided love?”

“Hahahaha,” the laugh was a broken, jarring sound. “So you know that much, huh? Well then, if you’re that desperate to help, why don’t you put it together on your own?”

You paused, thinking back over your conversation before your eyes suddenly widened in shock.

“No…” you said softly, looking down. “That can’t… No…”

“So you’ve figured it out, have you? What’s the matter?” Shin leaned over you. “Suddenly not so keen to help?”

“Shin you don’t…” Taking a deep breath, you raised your head. “It’s not that I don’t care about you Shin but Carla is… I gave my heart to him and there’s no going back on it now.”

“So that’s it, is it?”

“There must be some other way, something we can do.” You would never want anyone to suffer like this, especially because of you. And you cared for Shin, you really did but… it just wasn’t love.

“There isn’t.” His voice was cold. “In humans, they can do an operation sometimes, to remove the infection but for some reason it doesn’t work in demons. The only way is for their love to stop being one-sided.”

“I’m so sorry,” you said, vision blurring as tears started to well up in your eyes.

“Stop it!” He growled. “Stop looking at me with such damn pity!”

But you couldn’t stop. Even though realistically, you had no control over it, you still felt partially responsible. But you couldn’t give Shin what he needed.

“Damn it!” Shin yelled, shoving you to the floor. “If you care this much then it shouldn’t be one-sided, right?! Don’t act like this means so much to you when I can still feel the infection rotting away my body!”

“But you’re… You are important to me Shin, I just… It’s not enough. I want to help you but I don’t think I can.”

“You want to help me? Fine, maybe if I just take you then the disease will be satisfied. I told you to get out of here earlier but you didn’t take the chance, so you can’t blame me entirely for what’s about to happen.” Without giving you a chance to respond, Shin pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was hard and desperate. You could feel the weight of the wedding band on your finger and tried to push him off of you but to no avail. Shin nipped at your bottom lip, just breaking the skin with his fangs, making you gasp in pain. He took the chance to force his tongue into your mouth, and the iron tang of blood coated your tongue.

“Mrhm!” You let out a weak sound as you tried to shove him off of you once more. This time he yielded, but he stayed leaning over you. Too breathless to speak, you simply lay panting on the floor.

“Hah, this isn’t enough,” He said, running his hand up your leg. “You said you wanted to help, so you’ll let me do it right?”

“No Shin, this isn’t right, please-“ He sealed your mouth with his own once more, crushing your body with his. The hand on your leg dipped under the material of your clothes, until it reached the rim of your underwear.

Unable to take it anymore, you ripped your head to the side and yelled. “Carla, please help me!”

The words were enough to make Shin stop. “I see, so even now, you’re just thinking of him aren’t you? Why,” his voice cracked. “Why can I never obtain what I want?” He stayed leaning over you for a moment before standing. “Go.”

You were too stunned to move, your body lighter and yet colder now that he’d stepped away.

“I told you to get out! Run back to your beloved husband, or else I’m going to finish what I started and I won’t stop next time.”

Slowly getting to your feet, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “I really am sorry Shin,” was all you could say before you fled from the room.

The male stared down at the flower petals, stained a dull red-brown by the now dried blood. He couldn’t go on like this, live in this sort of disgrace, lusting after his brother’s wife. No, this had to end.

You couldn’t quite bring yourself to tell Carla what had happened. Once you were sure Shin was gone, you’d returned to the bathroom and found all evidence of flower petals gone. The only proof that the entire thing hadn’t been a dream was a small reddish smear on the floor, and your own bruised lips.

Your husband had been meeting with some high up member of the Adler clan and so was none the wiser to the commotion. Wearing your usual smile, you’d greeted him as you normally would. You weren’t sure how you’d handle seeing Shin again, but you told yourself you’d research the disease and find some way to help the man you probably would have fallen for had it not been for Carla. There had to be some other way, you couldn’t accept the alternative.

It was only when Shin didn’t appear after Carla sent a familiar to summon him that you started to worry. No matter what may have happened, Shin had never ignored a summons from his brother and a small search only yielded that he was no longer in Banmaden. Even so, you couldn’t tell Carla the truth when he asked you if you knew anything. In spite of what he had done, the fact remained that it was not your secret to tell. It wasn’t hard to see why Shin had tried so hard to keep it hidden from Carla. Fortunately, the founder king seemed to believe you and sent several familiars to scour the land for his wayward brother.

They returned several hours later and your blood ran cold as they entered the room, with no sign of Shin behind them. A terrible twisting feeling filled your gut and although you couldn’t understand them yourself, you knew whatever news they brought was nothing good as you watched Carla’s face fall. He was a difficult man to read, but for once it was not hard to recognize the expression in his eyes as he turned to you.

In that moment you knew what he was going to say before he spoke, and silently begged that he wouldn’t speak; wouldn’t reveal the terrible truth you could feel building.

“Shin attacked the Vibora clan without provocation and was caught. They…” He took a breath to steady himself. “They found retribution through his death. Shin, why would you…” Carla trailed off, his mind travelling to a place that you couldn’t reach.

But you couldn’t focus on that right now, not as the weight of the words hit you. Shin was dead. And you knew exactly why he’d done something so reckless, something so likely to get him killed. You couldn’t breathe. It felt as though you were choking and no air would enter your lungs. Almost as though your throat had been filled with flowers.

[minijenn]

Keys to the Kingdom Chapter 1

AN-So here we are with our first chapter! Fair warning, its sort of a novelization of the end of DDD, but even so it was needed to set important stuff up for the rest of the fic, so its useful to keep an eye on, I’d say. And so, without any further ado, here you go! Enjoy!

Previous: http://minijenn.tumblr.com/post/183010380124/keys-to-the-kingdom-prologue

Chapter 1: Remaining Recusant

How did I live in a kingdom of thieves? With people who say things they don’t really mean…

When he eventually looked back at that moment in retrospect, Riku would wish he had done so many things differently than he had. If he had known what was going to happen, he would have moved faster, he would acted instead of reacting, he would have done everything in his power to save Sora, to rescue his best friend, to protect what mattered most, before it was too late.

But, as he would find out much later on, he had been too late. And as a result, that was the moment when it had all started to fall apart.

Because instead of rushing to pull the still-sleeping Sora as far away from Xehanort’s grasp as humanly possible as he should have, Riku stood alongside the king, both of them equally dumbfounded as the elderly master slowly rose to stand upon his elevated throne, his sinister Keyblade materializing in his grasp. “But first,” Xehanort continued his lengthy monologue, his tone as calm and collected as ever. “The thirteen darknesses shall be united. All the seats have been filled…” The master’s already triumphant grin widened as he glanced down at the throne across from his, where Sora still sat sleeping, completely unaware of the grave danger he was currently in. “And now the last vessel shall bear my heart like the rest!”

Upon Xehanort’s wordless command, Sora’s seat steadily began to rise so that it could be on the same level of that of the master’s. Needless to say that this was enough to shake both Riku and Mickey out of their shock and prompt them into action. The pair raced forward, Keyblades in hand with the intent to rescue Sora from Xehanort’s dark designs. However, as usual, the Organization seemed to be two steps ahead of them as Xemnas and Ansem also moved swiftly to counter them. The Superior easily managed to pin the king against one of the other thrones as he tried to leap to Sora’s aid, and Riku only managed a few running step forward before the Seeker of Darkness tackled him and brutally restrained him against the central platform.

“N-no!” Riku shouted, struggling fiercely against Ansem’s firm hold. “Sora!” His fight, however valiant, was to no avail as he glanced up to see the throne finally end its ascent, putting Sora directly in Xehanort’s open range.

The master said nothing, apparently assured of his victory as he held up his deadly Keyblade, waving his hand over it to enshroud it with the immense darkness of his very own heart. All either Riku or Mickey could do was watch as, in one swift, heavy swing, Xehanort brought his blade down, sending a piece of his heart flying directly to Sora with nothing to stop it, nothing to protect the keybearer’s heart from being overtaken by the very same darkness and malice that filled the master’s own.

That is, until it was stopped dead in its tracks. Or at least… it seemed to be.

A fierce explosion rattled the entire chamber, flames ricocheting off of the blast as Riku continued staring up at the scene high above him, desperate to know what had happened and fearing the absolute worst.

“He made it!” king exclaimed, oddly relieved despite the circumstances as the smoke surrounding the throne began to clear to clear to reveal that someone, somehow, had indeed come to Sora’s rescue. Even if that someone was perhaps the last person Riku could have ever expected to arrive at a moment such as this.

“Axel?!” Xigbar shouted from his throne, clearly caught off guard. Likewise, Riku gasped at the sight of the former Organization member, who stood high upon the throne, flames still dying down around him as he held one of his chakrams in one hand, and keeping a secure hold on Sora’s still unconscious form with the other.

“Axel?” the former Nobody scoffed sardonically. “Please. The name’s Lea. Got it memorized?”

Despite any former conflict with Axel—or Lea, rather—Riku was so overwhelmed with relief at this timely save that he honestly would have hugged the former assassin if he was able. Despite the shock and confusion spreading amongst the Organization members above him, Riku still spared as much of a glance at Sora as he could, noting that, despite all the odds, he appeared to be just fine from a cursory glance, the fact that he was still soundly sleeping notwithstanding. And while that fact alone was still rather worrying in and of itself, Riku still allowed himself a small sigh of reprieve that he hadn’t lost his best friend after all. At least, that’s what he thought.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” Xigbar snapped up at Lea, sending him a rather vicious glare.

“Promises to keep,” Lea shrugged, nonchalant as ever. “I’ll always be there to get my friends back. What, bad timing?” The former assassin smirked as he glanced up at Xehanort in particular. “You had your perfect little script, but you kinda forgot to write the sequel. Now… let’s find out what happens!”

“What now, you old coot?” Xigbar hissed up at Xehanort as he slammed a petulant hand down on his throne. “Our time is up!”

The master didn’t offer much of a reaction, though even so, his usual knowing grin was still apparent, despite the fact that his plans seemed to have been thwarted. In fact, if anything, his malicious smile seemed to grow as he practically ignored Lea’s unexpected intrusion and instead kept his sights on Sora, sensing something from his supposedly failed thirteenth vessel that none of the others could.

At the same time, another one of the unknown Organization members suddenly leapt from their seat, soaring towards Lea as a massive, familiar claymore appeared in their hands. The former assassin countered the vicious attack evenly and the heavy strike was more than enough to blow the hood of the organization member back to reveal a face that made Lea’s blood run cold.

“Isa!” he exclaimed sharply, holding his own against his former friend pressing hard against him. Saïx said nothing, instead simply sending Lea a cold, piercing glare until the former assassin finally broke the tension between them by leaping cleanly out of the claymore’s range and down to towards the central platform below, taking Sora with him. With Xemnas as distracted by this as he was, Mickey took an opportunity of his own, lashing out with his Keyblade only for the Superior to vanish into thin air, releasing him all the same. Likewise, Riku pushed back hard against Ansem, summoning his Keyblade again just as Lea and Mickey joined him in their bold stand against the Organization and their dark desires.

“Why are you here, Axel?” Xemnas asked, the disapproval towards his former underling clear in his tone.

“No, I told you, my name’s-” Lea cut himself off with an exasperated sigh as he decided to save his breath. “Augh, whatever, Axel, fine. Now, let’s get outta here!”

“Right!” Mickey soundly agreed, knowing that the sooner they got themselves out of the Organization’s reach, the better off they’d all be.

Of course, they weren’t about to let any of them leave so easily. Ansem was the first to react, summoning his imposing guardian of darkness to his aid to halt their purposed escape. The creature rushed down to the platform below, easily snatching both Riku and the king up in its clawed grip. Lea managed to jump back just in the nick of time, but with his hands full with keeping Sora safe as they were, he was quite ill-suited to take the beast on alone at a time like this. Fortunately though, he wouldn’t have to.

Two, fearful, familiar cries broke through the air of dread and tension hanging throughout the chamber as a bright light sparked from high above the platform. And out of that light, fell a pair that happened to land squarely on Ansem’s guardian, delivering a blow that forced the creature to disappear and release its captives on the spot, as accidental as that blow might have been.

“Were we supposed to do that?” Donald groaned from his spot on the ground.

“I think so…” Goofy replied just as languidly as he rubbed the sore spot on his head.

“Goofy! Donald!” the king exclaimed with a surprised, yet relieved grin as he watched his friends slowly pick themselves up off the ground. “You saved us!”

“We did?” Donald asked, initially confused before he quickly perked up. “Uh, I-I mean! Of course we did! That was the plan all along!”

“It was?” Goofy asked with a frown. “Cause last I checked, we came in here without much of a plan at all…”

“Shh!” Donald scolded, pulling on the captain’s arm. “Don’t tell them that!”

This exchange was almost enough to elicit a genuine laugh out of Riku and Mickey, or at least it would of if they hadn’t glanced up to notice the Organization members beginning to fade into thin air one by one.

“We are out of time,” Xehanort announced, seemingly unphased. “Neither the union of light nor darkness has been achieved, and we must all return whence we came. But the gathering of the seven and thirteen is nigh. Be sure to know which side you’re on…” The master’s calculated smile returned as he looked down towards Sora in particular, something that none of the others even noticed as on edge as they all already were. “Let us finish this at the fated place, once your lights and my darknesses have joined together!”

And with that, Xehanort and the other members of the True Organization XIII disappeared, taking their leave until the day the decisive battle between light and darkness the master himself spoke of was to transpire. A day that was not as far off as the stalwart group left alone in the round room might have hoped.

Without question, Riku had agreed to dive into Sora’s heart in the hopes of waking him up.

It was an easy choice to make, one that he barely even had to think twice about, even despite Mickey and Yen Sid warning him of the possible dangers. After all, he knew Sora would and even had gone to the same lengths to save him. It was only fair that he finally return the favor.

And so Riku had made the dive, only to be met with a pall of immense darkness in a place where none should have ever been. He wasn’t exactly sure what lengths Xehanort and the other members of the Organization had gone to in order to plunge Sora into such a deep, relentless sleep as this, but he assumed that this pervading darkness had something to do with it. Yet even as he fought to battle the vicious armored Nightmare that beset him almost the moment he arrived, Riku couldn’t help but feel as though the darkness all around him felt familiar. He couldn’t quite place it, but it was as though this was a kind of darkness he had known before, from its aura to even its scent, and everything in between, as faint as it all was amidst everything else. He didn’t really know what to make of it, but all the same it worried him, offended him even as he remembered that it had taken a hold in Sora’s heart, of all places.

Which was why Riku decided to fight with every ounce of strength he had in his own heart to free Sora from the darkness invading his. A goal that, by all accounts, he thought he had succeeded at.

But once again, in retrospect, Riku would eventually look back and see how foolish and blind that thought really had been.

Even so, he was surprised, upon defeating the armored Nightmare, to find himself now out of the darkness and standing on the familiar sunset-soaked shores of the Destiny Islands. In a way, the comfort of the waves crashing calmly against the sand would should have felt comforting, like a long-awaited homecoming of sorts. And perhaps, Riku thought, it would have been, if only Sora had been there to greet him with his usual cheerful smile that he hadn’t even realized he had come to miss so very much.

Yet instead of Sora, what Riku did find scattered across the shores of the play island were three other people entirely. The first was unquestionably familiar, and even seeing him again brought Riku a slight pang of guilt that he couldn’t quite chase even long after the fact: Roxas. The question he posed was strange and cryptic, and once Riku presented an answer to it, he vanished, seemingly without a trace. Moments later, Roxas seemed to appear before him again, yet upon a second glance, Riku was quick to realize that this boy wasn’t the ex-Organization member, despite how remarkably similar they were in appearance. Another strange question came and went before Riku found himself face to face with the last of the trio, a girl this time. She bore a striking resemblance to Kairi, even despite her raven hair and Organization cloak, and though Riku could have sworn he’d never once seen her before in his life, she radiated a strange sort of familiarity that could not be denied.

After answering her question, Riku found himself alone on the shoreline once more, taking in the dying light of the setting sun sinking over the sparkling sea. A certain sense of peace settled over him, even as he retrieved an apparent message in a bottle carried in by the tide. He hadn’t the faintest idea of its contents, and though he had half a mind to open it and find out, he refrained upon being met with yet another familiar figure strolling down to meet him on the shore: Ansem the Wise.

The conversation that followed was brief, yet meaningful, imparting Riku with an abundance of information he’d be sure to take back to the waking world with him. Namely the data the researcher had apparently hidden safe within Sora’s heart during his year long slumber, data that, or so Ansem believed, could perhaps prove to be the key to saving the hearts of those who had been lost.

“The heart has always been quick to grow,” the researcher said in thoughtful reflection as Riku listened patiently to what he had to say. “Each exposure to light, to the natural world, to other people, shapes the most malleable part inside of us. Nobodies are not different from us in that manner. Sora was the only one able to return to his human form without destroying his Nobody. That is a testament to the love in his heart for other people, and the bonds that tie them together.”

Ansem paused, staring out upon the sea as his pensive tone turned somewhat hopeful. “Perhaps… he has the power to bring back the hearts and existences of those connected to him—to recreate people we thought were lost to us forever. Our most precious treasures, even an empty puppet, the trees of the forest, the petals on the wind… there are hearts all around us, everywhere we look. And it does not take superhuman powers to see them. Surely we remember as children the way our hearts made everything seem so shiny and perfect. Sora has a heart like that—uncorrupted, willing to see the good before the bad. A heart that will not fall so easily to the darkness, even when it attempts to claim every inch of it for its own. When he sees the heart in something, it then becomes real. When a connection seems broken, he may have the power to mend it. He has touched countless hearts, he has accepted them, and he has saved them. And some of those hearts have never left him, whether they fell to darkness or were trapped there, whether they sleep in the darkness of Sora’s heart, or were welcomed into its warmth… they can be saved. All Sora needs to do is be himself and follow wherever it is that his heart takes him. It is the best and the only way. The rest… is in there.”

The researcher subtly nodded down to the bottle in Riku’s hands, one that apparently contained more hope than he had initially realized. Hope that could very well mean all the difference in their eventual fight against Xehanort and his followers. “Alright,” he nodded, grateful. “Thanks. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ansem nodded cordially. “Now, why is it that that you are here?”

Upon hearing this question, Riku couldn’t help but let something of a small, awkward laugh out in spite of himself. “Uh… I… kinda need to wake Sora up…” he admitted somewhat sheepishly.

“Don’t tell me he’s gone to sleep again?” Ansem asked almost incredulously.

“Yeah,” Riku chuckled softly. “What’ll I do with him?”

“What indeed?” the researcher agreed, sharing in this good-natured humor. “Never fear. Sora is safe.”

“Huh?” Riku blinked, caught off guard but unquestionably relieved to hear such a thing after everything that happened.

“He’s not here,” Ansem shook his head. “You see, by defeating the Nightmare imprisoning Sora, you freed him. Then you came here, and were questioned by three young people. That was the final key to awaken him.”

“S-so… you mean…?” Riku trailed off, wondering if it was too good to be true and praying that it wasn’t.

“Sora is awake,” Ansem confirmed, turning to the boy with a genuine smile. “You can go home now.”

“Really?” Riku asked, unable to hold back his own smile as warmed by this amazing news as he was. “Thank you.” Not wanting to keep Sora waiting any longer, Riku turned to the ocean, summoning, ironically enough, the Kingdom Key itself to open up the keyhole that would return him to the waking world once again. He unlocked it as swiftly as ever, but even as he prepared to take his leave, Ansem called out to him one last time.

“Young man! I do not believe you ever told me your name,” the researcher remarked, curious.

Though somewhat surprised that this version of Ansem didn’t seem to already know it, he still offered the researcher a parting smile even as he began to glide up towards the light. “It’s Riku,” he affirmed confidently before he began his ascent, more than ready for his long, long-awaited reunion with Sora. A reunion that almost never happened, but would be more than worth the wait.

And what a reunion it was.  

Riku was admittedly quite caught off guard to wake up only to find that not only had Sora indeed awakened just as Ansem had said, but that he also seemed to be in the midst of what looked like a small party alongside Donald and Goofy. Said party was soon all but forgotten, however, for the moment Sora noticed Riku was awake, he didn’t hesitate to bombard him with a sudden, tight, elated hug, accompanied by more than a few delighted proclamations of relief. As baffled as Riku was, that relief was something he couldn’t help but share, especially as he was now able to see for himself that sure enough, Sora was just fine, back to his usual upbeat, cheerful self, even despite how close they had all been to losing him.

Even so, the ongoing levity amongst everyone gathered in the tower soon turned serious again as Yen Sid prepared to dole out the results of Sora and Riku’s Mark of Mastery exam. The others all stood by, waiting in baited curiosity as the two Keyblade wielders stood before the sorcerer’s desk, eager to hear whatever verdict he intended on giving in regards to their abilities.

“More than anything,” Yen Sid began as stern and calm as ever. “I am grateful to have you both back from Xehanort’s deception unharmed. And I am grateful to Lea, whose spontaneous actions turned the tides.” The former assassin smirked from his corner of the room as he casually leaned against the wall, though knowing the importance of the moment, he said nothing and allowed the sorcerer to continue speaking his piece. “I am also deeply sorry,” Yen Sid went on, addressing Sora and Riku once more. “For failing to perceive the danger and throwing you headlong into a perilous test. Even so, this experience has revealed many hidden truths, and we must gird ourselves for the great clash with darkness that lies before us. I believe we need a new Keyblade Master, one with a new kind of power. Sora and Riku, you both deserve the honor, however, one of you braved the realm of sleep again to unlock the final Keyhole and save a friend.” The sorcerer paused, as if to let the weight of his words sink in before finally delivered the exam’s final results. “Riku, I name you our new true Keyblade Master.”

A palpable moment of silent surprise rang through the room at this announcement, and Riku, as admittedly stunned by it was he was, didn’t even know how to react to his newly-bestowed title. Sora was the first to do so instead, breaking the silence with an excited gasp and another celebratory hug. “Way to go, Riku!” he exclaimed brightly, catching the new Keyblade Master off guard yet again. “I knew you were gonna pass with flying colors! This is just so awesome!”

As awed as he was by his new title, Riku couldn’t help but focus his attention on Sora, or rather on the fact that only one of them had been named a Master instead of both. “I… y-yeah…” Riku said somewhat distantly, still rather amazed that he had passed at all. “I guess it is. But… what about you, Sora?”

“Oh yeah!” Sora turned back towards Yen Sid expectantly. “What about me? Did I pass too?”

The sorcerer let out something of a sad sigh as he shook his head truthfully. “Sora… Although you and Riku both preformed admirably during your exams, the overall purpose of your journey through the sleeping worlds was to allow both of you to master the power of waking. Riku accomplished this by diving into your dreams to awaken your heart from the depths of slumber. However, it is a power that you have yet to achieve, one that is necessary for preparing ourselves for the inevitable battle against Master Xehanort. It is for that reason that I’m afraid that you are still not ready to receive the title of Master. I appologize.”

For a moment, Sora had nothing to say in response to this rather discouraging news, nor did he seem to show much of a reaction to it at all, almost as if he was still trying to process it all. Briefly, genuine disappointment seemed to flash across his expression, his hands ever so slightly clenching into fists at his sides. And then, without even skipping a beat, he seemed to settle into cool acceptance over a failing that certainly would have set anyone else back a great deal. “Eh, its fine,” he said with a small smile and a shrug. “I’ll just have to try harder next time is all. Besides, Riku still passed!” At this, Sora once again threw an arm around Riku’s shoulder’s, largely not even noticing the bewilderment and slight concern written all over his friend’s face. “And like I said, that’s completely awesome!”

“Gee, Sora,” Goofy spoke up. “You’re kinda acting like you really did pass.”

“I told you Sora still needed more practice,” Donald remarked, crossing his arms.

“Hey!” Sora snapped, playfully offended.

“So… I really am a Keyblade Master…?” Riku interjected, still trying to take it all in. Yen Sid nodded his confirmation to this fact and Sora warmly did the same as Mickey and the others came in to offer their accolades.

“Congratulations, Riku!” Mickey bid proudly, extending a hand for the new Master to shake.

“Thank you, Mickey,” Riku finally smiled, returning his long-time friend’s handshake firmly. “I owe it to my friends.”

“Ah, I’ll catch up with ya in no time flat,” Lea cut in, still leaning against the far wall.

“What?” Sora asked, surprised. “You wanna be a Keyblade Master?”

“Yeah,” Lea nodded with a smirk. “I mean, I came here to learn how to learn how to wield one. You know, I was gonna come swooping in, Keyblade in hand, but… I just couldn’t get mine to materialize. Must be in the snap of the wrist or something…” To prove his point, the former assassin held his hand out, only to be just as shocked as everyone else when a fiery-themed Keyblade suddenly flashed into existence in it. A collective gasp rose up from everyone in the room, the importance of this moment not lost on any of them; after all, it wasn’t every day that a new Keyblade wielder was discovered, much less in such an unexpected way as this. “Well…” Lea grinned as he turned his new Keyblade over, inspecting it proudly. “What do ya know? Looks like I’ve already got a head start in catching up to you two after all.”

“I’d say!” Sora laughed as Riku joined in, just as amused.

“To see you successfully summon your Keyblade is a reassuring sight indeed, Lea,” Yen Sid spoke up with a genuine smile. “After all, we will need all the help we can get in our struggle against Xehanort and those allied with him. Along those same lines, our focus now should be rallying more allies of light to our side as well. There is still much that needs to be done, but currently, I believe now would be an appropriate time to regroup and recuperate. The rest of you are free to take your leave for the time being, though I would like Lea to stay behind to receive further instruction about what to do next. But before you go, remember, all of you, our work in protecting the worlds from the great threat that Xehanort poses to them is far from over; in fact… I’d say it has only just begun…”

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Riku asked, his arms crossed as he stood in front of the door leading out of the tower, essentially blocking Sora’s path.

“Aw, c’mon, Riku, its no big deal,” Sora assured, barely managing to skirt past his friend to get outside. “There’s just something I have to take care of really quick. I’ll be back in a few hours, I promise.”

“Hmph, a few hours,” Donald deadpanned as he joined along in following Riku, Mickey, and Donald out after Sora. “That’s what you always say, and then a few ‘hours’ ends up turning into a few days!”

“Hey! I just like taking my time with things is all!” Sora shot back, defensively.

“Are ya sure you have to go?” Goofy asked, showing the concern that Donald likely meant by his remarks.

“Well, I did sorta doze off…” Sora noted as he continued on his way. “Like I said, I just have some stuff to take care of. And before you ask, don’t worry; its not ‘dangerous’ or anything like that. I’m just going to visit some friends for a bit and then I’ll be right back.”

“Sora…” Riku mused rather plaintively. “You know normally I wouldn’t mind, but… after what juts happened… I feel like you should take at least one of us with you. Just in case.”

At this, Sora finally paused, glancing back at the group with a small, yet knowing smile. “Aw, I appreciate all the concern, you guys, but seriously, I’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

“Only because you always seem to be getting yourself into some kind of trouble!” Donald fussed before letting out a relenting sigh. “So just… try not to get yourself in anymore trouble, ok?”

“You got it,” Sora agreed with a small laugh and a playful salute, one that actually did manage to set not only Donald, but the others at ease as well.

“Be careful,” Mickey advised with equal concern.

“Very careful,” Riku added with a hint of levity in his tone.

“Right!” Sora assured brightly as he prepared to summon his Keyblade to open the way. “See you soon!” In its usual flash, the Kingdom Key appeared in his grip, easily summoning a Keyhole that would lead back into the sleeping worlds once more. Despite his apparent confidence in letting Sora go off on his own like this, Riku couldn’t deny a strange sense of apprehension as he watched his friend take his leave. There was no doubt that he’d be back again soon, Riku would make sure of that, but even so, something still felt… off in a way that he couldn’t quite place.

But perhaps, he would have been able to, and maybe he could have even found a way to stop all it all before it even had a chance to begin… if only he had seen the faintest spark of unwelcome golden yellow invading Sora’s otherwise deep ocean blue eyes as he disappeared into the light.

 Next: 

[pinkletterday]

WiP Week Day 2

Fandom: The Flash

Pairing: Barry Allen/ Iris West

Rating: All Audiences

Characters: Barry Allen, Iris West, Joe West, Wally West, Francine West, Cecile Horton

Summary: A year after Barry had inexplicably run off to join the Starling City Police Department, he is finally home for Christmas with the Wests. And this time he seems ready to actually tell them who he's dating for a change.

Problem is, Iris is pretty sure she doesn't want to hear it.

A/N: Part of a Barry-and-Oliver-come-out-to-their-families prequel to my Coldflash vs Olivarry polyam AU. Despite the name, Westallen plays an important part in the story because it's polyam and therefore complicated.

I really want to finish writing this monster dear Lord but there is so MUCH and Im not sure if this little snippet, so near and dear to my heart, will make the cut.

A Christmas Revelation

On the face of it, this is the best Christmas they've had in years. Certainly since they had found out Wally existed six years ago. Actually, even before that, because the whole reason Iris had been in Keystone to run into her mother and Wally was because she and Barry had been spending the whole summer avoiding each other. On account of Barry having ruined everything the Christmas before, by declaring himself in love with her.

Obviously he was well over that now. There had been...a lot...that had happened afterward between them, and even more that had not. But now, seven years on, everything was back to normal.

Iris watched her so-called best friend sprawled on the floor, teaching her teenage brother the secrets of Jenga, while the rest of the family did actual work, like decorating the Christmas tree. This used to be hers and Barry's favourite Christmas ritual, after exchanging their gifts for each other on Christmas eve rather than Christmas day. But he hadn't been around last year, having inexplicably abandoned them all and run off to a job in Starling City of all places. And the year before that...

Iris viciously pokes the Christmas ornament from her eighth grade handcrafts project onto the tree. Why did Dad keep hoarding all this stuff? It's not like any of them actually gave a damn.

"Hey! Careful!" says Joe appearing at her elbow. "That's my favourite!" His hands are full of eggnog and his Santa hat lopsided.

"They're all your favourite, Dad," says Iris rolling her eyes.

"Damn right," says Joe, passing a glass to Cecile. "It took years to carefully collect that much junk I couldn't bear to part with."

"Junk is right," says Cecile sharing an exasperated look with Iris. "I don't know where on earth you even stored your LP collection before Barry moved out."

"Oh yeah, that's right," Barry looks up from his Jenga tower with a faux-injured expression. "I forgot I'm homeless now. I've been edged out by Joe's jazz memorabilia. I see how it is."

"And here you were worried about Wally," says Iris, serenely tying a bauble.

She revels in the slightly awkward pause that follows, even though she knows she's going to pay for it later. She can feel her Dad's "what-is-going-on-with-you" glare burning her ear.

"Nope, it's true. I love you kids, but Duke Ellington's never given me the grief you have, so he gets to stay with me and the rest of you can move your asses out." Joe stretches out on his arm chair with his eggnog and a sigh of satisfaction.

"And where does that leave me?" Cecile perches on the arm of Joe's chair to look saucily down at him.

"I'll have to ask Duke about that," deadpans Joe. The room cracks up as Cecile gasps in indignation and swats him.

"What are we laughing at now?"

Francine has finally come down to join them. She had been ill with a migraine all day, the only pall over an otherwise perfectly amiable family gathering. Her face still looks drawn and she's wearing her silk bed scarf over her hair.

"How are you feeling, Francine?" Cecile's slight shift from genuine warmth to a touch too polished concern is hardly noticeable, but Iris sees it in the minute way she straightens her back and evens her features.

"Oh, it was just a headache, Cecile, thanks for asking," her mother replies in the same cordial "company voice". Iris stares intently at the tree as the two exchange pleasantries. She quite likes Cecile and...doesn't hate Mom anymore but it's still new and weird, the two of them in the same house she grew up in and her Mom walked out of. They probably feel the same.

"So Joanie isn't coming," says Wally, oblivious to Cecile's slight flinch, "and Aunt Edna got snowed in, so is this everyone that's here for dinner?"

"Do you ever not think about your stomach?" Iris teases, throwing a bunch of tinsel at her little brother's head.

He kicks it defensively towards a laughing Barry. "I'm a growing boy!"

"You can stop any day now," says Iris, pouting. "You were so cute and cuddly when I met you! And now you look like a pool noodle with ridiculous ears."

"And you were a lot nicer when I met you," complains Wally. "But I still have to put up with these insults and serious damage to my adolescent self-esteem!"

"She's just bitter, Wall," says Barry sagely. "She used to be the tallest kid in class in elementary school and lorded it over everyone. And then I got taller than her when we were twelve and she couldn't win playing keep-away anymore. Been a bitter Oompa Loompa ever since."

"I am not an Oompa Loompa," cries Iris, throwing more tinsel at the idiots now snickering and fistbumping on the floor. "You two are just...freakish. Abnormally tall. And slow and lumbering. Like the giant tree people in Lord of the Rings."

"Ents," Barry and Wally chorus.

"Also nerds," says Iris agreeably.

Cecile, Joe and Francine are laughing at them and Iris feels a smile pulling at her own mouth until she realizes that none of them know...anything. And that this probably looks to them like an amusing picture of sibling rivalry. With Barry. Iris fights down a stab of nausea and looks away lest she catch his eye.

"To answer your question, we're waiting on two more people," says Joe.

"Chyre's coming, right?" says Barry, with vague interest. "Haven't seen Frank in a year. How is he?"

Well, he'd know if he had actually gone anywhere and looked anyone up during the two weeks in fall that he had spent holed up in her Dad's house, using up nearly all his vacation days and not even telling her he had come home. Iris glares at the last bronze bell in the box. It's just like Barry - a useless tool.

"Dad invited Officer Pretty Boy as well," she interjects brightly as Joe brings Barry upto speed on the CCPD goings-on.

Her father rolls his eyes and Barry's eyebrows rise. "Officer Pretty Boy?"

"Really, Iris?"

"Well, you called him that, Dad!"

"I may have been a bit unfair," admits Joe. "He's just young and eager to prove himself."

"And he can't help being pretty," she nods, earning a stern pointed finger from Joe.

"Who are we talking about?" asks Barry, lost.

"Eddie Thawne. New transfer from Keystone. Turns out Francine knows him."

"Nice kid," her Mom volunteers. "Son of a very unpopular mayor, but he's nothing like. Took one of my first aid courses at the hospital and volunteered at the youth center. I asked Joe if we could have him for Christmas."

"I'd rather have the goose," Wally moans into the floor, now lying dramatically spread-eagled on his stomach. "I'm going to die of hunger before these people ever get here."

"If you did, I'm sure you'll rescurrect in time for dessert," retorts Iris.

Wally sticks his tongue out at her. Then makes a face that his embarrassing seventeen-year-old self probably thinks is sly. "Hey, Dad? Are any of these guys single?"

"Well, Chyre's been divorced for fifteen years and he isn't seeing anyone," says Joe idly. "I can ask, if you swing that way, Wally."

Everyone bursts into laughter at the boy's spluttering discomfiture. Iris turns to exchange grins with Barry in triumph and notices that he isnt laughing. He just looks...squirrelly. Again.

"There's nothing wrong with liking boys, Joe," admonishes Cecile and Barry's shoulders relax incrementally.

"I never said there was. Wally's the one who wanted to know."

"For Iris!" the boy pouts, his ears still glowing red. "Cause life is bad enough as a bitter Oompa Loompa without spending it alone."

"Thank you for your concern," says Iris acidly. "But I can find my own boyfriends."

Barry coughs something into his eggnog that sounds a lot like "Brad."

She smiles at him, sweet as a knife. "Did you have something to say, Barr?"

"Nope." Wide-eyed and innocent.

"I liked your last boy actually," says Francine, arranging herself on the sofa with a plate of cookies. "Will something. He seemed decent."

"Dry white toast," snorts Wally and Barry smirks at the floor.

"He was not!" He totally was. "Will was perfectly nice. You liked him, didnt you, Barry?"

"He was a nice guy," he shrugs and Iris feels again that stab of irritation. "Just..."

"Just what?"

He finally looks at her, face unreadable. "Just didnt seem like your type, that's all."

Oh he thinks so, does he. "And what is my type, Bartholomew?"

Barry looks clearly discomfited and the others are looking at her in slight surprise. Iris realizes she is coming across rather confrontational and forces herself to relax.

"Bitter Oompa Loompas," warbles Wally through a mouthful of cookie.

Iris looks incredulously at him amid everyone's laughter. "It's like being related to a parrot."

***