#they seem to feel uncertain glee?

[loveandthings11]

They. Fucking. Win.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 26

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Monday's are for pain.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"More wine," Queen Jazlene demands. 

You stand at her shoulder, awaiting her every command. The familiarity of your duty feels safe though you cannot deny the peril all around. You move forward cautiously, sending a glance to king. 

King Geralt has not said or done much. He's hardly even touched his plate. For the first time that night, to your surprise as much as your relief, he looks at you. You pause, hand hovering before the ewer. 

"Another cup won't fare you well on the morrow," he girds. 

Jazlene huffs, "what else am I to do in this dull place but drink?" 

His lashes lower and he sits back. He props his elbow on the straight arm of the chair and gazes out at the boards full of bawdy voices and steps. He tilts his head as his pale sight skewers the chamber. 

"It is a banquet," he utters flatly. You remain close to Jazlene but retract your hand. 

"It is, husband, what do you propose?" She's breathy, almost hopeful. She peers out across the plucking of strings, "a dance?" 

"I know some steps," he extends his fingers, "suppose... there won't be much dancing on the road and Lord Vesemir did go to all this effort." 

"Truly? A dance?" She squals and grabs his forearm, "husband, is this not some cruel jape?" 

His jaw squares and he looks at her without humour, "only a suggestion. We are... married. The people should like to see king and queen together." 

You step back, as surprised as the daughter of Debray. The king himself hardly seems eager but he is ever aloof. You wonder if it is genuine. His refusal to look at you has you uncertain. Does he regret his missteps or are you once assuming too kindly of him? He has taught you those last few days to be skeptical. You are less than grateful for the lesson.  

"I would very much love to dance," Jazlene seizes his large hand and he winces, "thank you, thank you, thank you." She chants in excitement as she rises and the king steels himself as he does the same.  You're not so sure her glee is specific to her partner, but rather the act.

You can’t help but pity the queen. It’s clear she’s desperate for excitement. It would explain her flirtations and her tantrums and all her behaviour. Still, the isn’t the little girl flitting around her father’s castle anymore; she is the queen and her misdeeds will have consequences should she carry on. 

Your eyes drift out as a lull ripples over the chamber followed quickly by a tide of murmurs. The king and queen emerge from behind the royal table as curiosity thrums all around. The troupe continues to strum as Jazlene can hardly contain her elation despite the king’s stoic propriety. They begin the steps; hers jouncy, his flat and formal. She hardly notices her partner’s nonchalance. 

The other partners give breadth to the royal couple as others pause to watch. Whispers and cheers, some whistles encourage the king and queen. It is the first that any have seen the royal couple as one. 

You watch but hardly take in the scene. Your mind wanders to the chamber in the tower, then to the queen’s rooms; you hear only Geralt’s gritting frustration and the queen’s shrill defiance. They play their parts but you are not convinced. 

You peer around and your eyes catch on a shock of rusty orange. Gilles stands by the doors, amid as cluster of other guards. Where his fellow soldiers drink ale and grumble, he stares at the royal pair, bound by the sight of the queen on the king’s arm.  

You follow his gaze and meet King Geralt’s golden irises. His brow twitches and he quickly draws his attention back to his queen. You are confounded by him. You cannot figure if he truly has reconsidered his intent or he is merely hiding. He’s shown you before that he can feign whatever role suits his means; gallant king, pensive man, troubled soul. In the end, his only concern is his own will. 

Your chest rents deeper amidst your doom-laden thoughts. When did you grow so cynical? It’s these Hinterlands; their chill invades even the soul. Your lips tug down and you put your eyes to the stone wall. You need only see the night through. The road will keep all too busy for recklessness. 

As you stand there, you sense a shift, and turn to look over your shoulder. Lord Vesemir waves in your direction, bidding you to him with a pointed finger. You squint and peer back at the queen and king. You cannot disobey the host even if you are bound to a higher title. 

You sidle along behind the tables and stop behind the white-haired lord. He pushes his chair out, leaning into the straight wooden back. He looks up at you, cheeks ruddy with drink. 

“Little dove,” he grits, “how amusing, isn’t it, to see the king afoot on the boards.” 

“My lord,” you agree evenly. 

“I must say he never took so happily to the dance lessons as he did the sword,” Vesemir chuckles, “though he is graceful in both. My own feet do not listen to each other.” 

You bow your head, signaling your attention. You tilt your ear to him and stare at the table. 

“If any knew to watch for it, they would see he does prefer another partner,” the lord sighs, “alas, it would not be wise, as I’ve told him. A king cannot so quickly descend into folly. How many times did I say the same to his own father?” 

You lower your lashes.  

“I believe he has heeded my foreboding,” Vesemir reaches for his goblet and grunts as he finds it empty, tilting it to show his disappointment. You move forward to grab the jug of ale and pour him a new cup. He thanks you as he watches you. “And you. You had a restful night? You were provided the promised chamber? A bed?” 

“Yes, my lord, thank you,” you say, “it is rather much for a maid.” 

“We both know you are not any maid,” he pauses to gulp, “tell me, dove, do you find my halls too cold?” 

You set the jug down and step back on your heels. You fold your hands and consider his question as a riddle. You know not how to untangle the words of nobles so you will not try. 

“Cold, yes, but not intolerable, my lord,” you answer. 

“Hm, yes, but you may line your wool a bit thicker,” he reaches to pinch the cuff of your sleeve, “you would not shiver so much.” He rescinds his touch and looks into his cup, swirling the ale, “and your former castle, what was that like? Suppose the Duke of Debray is a rather busy lord, the way he scurries around like rat.” 

You hesitate. You cannot tell if he refers to Lord Dustan’s betrayal. 

“There’s always work for servants in a castle,” you say, “summer or winter. We were kept busy though not many ventured to Debray. It was always the lord that traveled.” 

“Mm, yes, you would not guess it but this vulture’s nest is rarely so lively as this. You’ve only seen it invaded by the king and his horde. When the winter is falling, it is so quiet. The snows drown out the noise below and the ice sparkles as diamonds...” he describes dreamily, “it is calm, peaceful. Not as life is at court. I prefer it. I was never one for that farce.” 

You look at him, listening intently. You think of the cave, of the moths, the desolation nestled within those icy walls. This place is beautiful despite its frosted bite. You might’ve seen clearer sooner were it not for the shroud cast on it by crowded halls. 

“It is safer here,” he continues, “and even as peace is declared, times will grow no less turbulent. Wars do not end so cleanly.” 

You furrow your brow and watch the lord, trying to unfold his words into their true meaning. He chuckles and empties his goblet once more. He sets it down and stands. 

“Perhaps this old man does ramble in his cups,” he shakes his head, “I thank you, dove, for your ear. Loyal as you are, gentle too. You could not know what spell you cast.” 

You retreat as Lord Vesemir angles his broad figure around his chair. He beckons as he turns and for a moment, you think he gestures at you. Instead, the maid, Ezme, appears from the shadows and meets him at the end of the table. He speaks to her as you back up against the wall. He walks with her from the hall as you stare after them. 

His words echo in your head.

What did he mean to say all he did? Another warning of what you already dread? A suggestion that you simply could never heed? Does he suggest escape even as he denotes your futility? Or does he simple speak for nothing more than his own voice? 

You look back to the king and queen. A new pitch picks up as the music swells with the stomping feet on the boards and the japes and jeers. Amid the revelry, the king remains as staunch as always, and once more, your eyes meet. 

Lord Vesemir is not mistaken. There is only turmoil ahead. 

⚔️

The night ends in a march along the corridors. You keep a distance from the king and queen as they walk ahead. Jazlene leans on her husband as she drunkenly babbles. Despite his discouragement, she kept to her wine. Ahead, Gilles walks with his hand on his sword. 

The guard opens the queen’s doors and the king escorts his wife through. You tarry in the archway as the ginger-headed man takes his post but cannot restrain from peeking within. Jazlene falls onto her mattress and sighs, giggling into a chattering shiver. 

“Oh, it is so cold,” she hugs herself, rubbing her arms. 

“You should not wear satin,” the king remands. 

“Rats to that!” She sneers and pushes herself up on her elbows, “I was plenty warm on the boards...” she looks at him coyly and grins, “with you, husband.” 

“And the wine in your belly does convince you of warmth,” he tuts. “I’ve known many men who drank themselves to death thinking it could cure the cold.” 

“Ugh, you are so dour,” she chides shrilly and sits up, reaching for him, “husband, we have a long road ahead. Will you not make use of our last night in the castle?” 

He huffs, “you are drunk and I must see Lord Vesemir about our travel-” 

“It is late. You might see to it in the morn,” she whines. 

He exhales again. He looks down at his boots and tilts his head to his side, but does not raises his eyes. He flicks his fingers in your direction, “close the door. I will see my wife abed.” 

Jazlene falls back and purrs. You can tell by the loll in her head that the wine will see her unconscious shortly. The king puts his hands to his hips and watches her as you back out and Gilles pulls shut the doors, not without undue force. 

“Go then, maid,” he snarls as he steps back against the wall. 

You obey. You are not certain whether to return to the chamber you shared with Ezme or to search out the servants’ quarters. You make no determination before you’re stopped the same slender shadow as the night previous. 

It is Ezme, as if she was summoned by the very thought of her. She is silent as she nods and turns to lead you onward. You follow without bidding. Your stomach churns as you already know she is not taking you to sleep. Something is amiss. 

You stop before a set of doors marked by iron vultures’ heads. She knocks and enters, letting you in after her. Within, Lord Vesemir sits before a fire, the glow flickering over him as he watches the flame. His shirt is untucked, his jacket disposed, and his hair hangs around his bullish face. 

“Dove, your wings cannot weather these winter winds,” he declares sonorously. 

You’re silent. Ezme closes the doors as you remain close to them. You peer around warily. She goes to the lord of the castle and he reaches to squeeze her hand. He brings it to his lips and kisses it. You blink as you stare at them. They are... 

“Please, sit down,” Vesemir insists, “I suppose we will be waiting some time for our king.” 

You don’t understand. Lord Vesemir and Ezme? A noble and a servant. Yet he warns King Geralt against the same with you. It is their manner, you suppose, to do what they would tell others not to. 

You don’t move. You crane to look at the doors then back to the maid and her master. It seems both Geralt and Vesemir agreed upon his attendance there that night but what place do you have there? You are not so brazen as to ask. 

You relent and come further into the chamber. You sit upon the wooden stool close to the wall as Ezme lights another lamp and sets it on the table. You wring your hands in your lap as you wait in silence. The lord lowers his head, patient as he closes his eyes. Or perhaps, fatigued as you are. 

Time sifts through the air like sand through a sieve. Slow and grinding. You stare at your skirts as the other maid drifts like a wraith and the lord sits as a statue. The longer you wait, the deeper the pit grows in your gut. You are owed no explanation but you long for one. 

Finally, there is a tap at the doors. Just the one. Hard but not violent. Ezme moves to open the door. You stand out of habit and a large shadow enters. It is the king. His golden eyes catch the lantern light as he sees the Lord sat before his hearth. 

“Vesemir, I have much to do before the sun.” 

“Aye, don’t I know,” the lord says calmly, “so you best listen and not waste time or breath.” 

The king angles his head, both curious and skeptical. You shift on your feet and the movement draws his attention. He winces as he sees you and his shoulders tense. He peers back at the lord in the light of the fire. He clears his throat. 

“Vesemir, what is your meaning here?” The king demands. 

[popodoki]

Hey, teacher, Catwin motorcycle au, part 11

the nsfw one x

hope it lives up to expectations

It’s easy, after that, to shove Thomas backwards, until his back collides with the wall next to the bed. The kiss only breaks when Edwin can’t ignore his need to breathe any longer. Thomas tips his head back, against the wall, voicing a heartfelt groan at the insistent press of Edwin's body against his, and Edwin can’t just leave that be. He ducks forward, trailing open-mouthed kisses, from the corner of Thomas’s jaw, stubble scraping against his lips, to where his shirt meets his throat. Thomas outright whines, when Edwin sinks his teeth into his neck, one hand flying up to grab at Edwin’s hair, while the other scrabbles at the wall, for purchase. Edwin laughs, something feral, almost unhinged in his satisfaction, his glee, hard won overcoming of doubt, and licks over the bite to soothe. He wonders if it’ll leave a mark. The placement, means it probably won’t be visible under his leather jacket, but frankly, that just makes Edwin want to try again. He shoves a thigh between the other’s, trails back up to his mouth. 

Their second kiss is slightly less violent, but no less passionate for it. Edwin tries to take note of everything that makes Thomas moan or shudder against him. He’s desperate for this to be as good as he promised. Nibbling his lip, flicking his tongue, just behind teeth. Rolling his hips knocks an almost desperate noise out of the other, Edwin pulls back from their kiss with a laugh, a little less feral this time. Thomas is panting, but smirking, as well. 

“Knew you proper British men liked a bit of rough play.” He quips, and Edwin jerks his leg up, just enough pressure to border on painful, a teasing reprimand for the arrogance. Thomas shocks him, when his eyes roll a little, he moans weakly, hips jerking into the touch, and oh. Edwin will have to keep that in mind, then. Thomas grins, follows the pull towards the bed. 

“Clothes,” he pleads into the other’s lips, unwilling to fully break the contact to get the words out, letting the frantic clenching and pulling of his hands on Thomas’ clothes do most of the talking, “off, now, please. I need you naked, yesterday.” Thomas laughs at him, but its weak, and his hands brush off of Edwin’s back with purpose, going to his boxers while Edwin attacks his own clothes with far less finesse, uncaring of any seams protesting. He leans back only just enough to get his own clothes off, let Thomas sit up as much as he needs to finally pull his shirt off his shoulders, over his head. Edwin’s hands tangle in the soft curls as soon as the fabric clears, tongue nudging in, sliding over the top of Thomas’ mouth in a long, wet swipe. Time seems to suspend and stretch, for a bit, as Edwin lets himself get lost, in the kiss, the feeling of so much naked, tanned skin caressing his. He didn’t knock on the door with a specific plan, didn’t dare hope, even, but the moment his eyes fall down to Thomas’s cock, any possible plan for the night is automatically, totally, derailed. Edwin wants that inside him, preferably about three minutes ago, but as soon as physically possible, now, will do just fine. 

His mind blanks, stalls, when underneath him Thomas spreads his legs, as much a show as it is invitation, and reaches up to pull Edwin down when he inevitably, subconsciously, bends within reach. “Fuck, so good. Tell me you have lube, babe, Edwin.” Edwin’s sure his grip on the other’s hips is bruising, but he needs the grip to ground him, as he gathers his bearings for what feels like the third, fourth time tonight.  

The first touch of his fingers to Thomas’s ass is almost a shock, the lube still a little cold, his touch uncertain, almost light enough to tickle, but that doesn’t last long. Thomas holds Edwin’s gaze, until the first finger truly starts to slip inside, then he can’t, tossing his head back, whimpering at the feeling. Edwin pauses, once his finger is sunk to the knuckle, barely holding back his eye-roll when Thomas shifts, impatiently, thumping at Edwin’s back, gently, with his heel. Edwin can’t quite manage to hold in his chuckle, but starts to move, slowly at first, quicker the louder Thomas gets. He wants, Edwin needs to do this right. 

It’s barely been a full two minutes before Thomas resorts to begging. “More, please, fuck, babe.” he gasps, hips jerking, gasping each time Edwin’s finger sinks all the way inside him. Figuring the other probably knows his own limits better than Edwin does, he obliges, and a second finger makes Thomas’s back arch, sharply. Edwin crooks his fingers, drawing the loudest noise yet, in reward. He bends forward, presses a soft kiss to fluttering stomach muscles. Below his chin, Edwin can feel the heat coming off of Thomas’s cock, that as well as the steady stream of pre-cum leaking from the tip, is enough positive feedback to boost his confidence. Licking his lips, he presses a light kiss to the side of the twitching erection, pushing it into Thomas’s skin, just to share in the pleasure of the hot shaft nudging his cheek. He’ll definitely be shoving that down his throat, at the next opportunity.  

For now, though, he has other things to focus on. Edwin’s fingers spread out inside Thomas, who moans, pulling at the bed sheets, kneading the pillow beneath his head, just for something to do with his hands. It feels so fucking good, the clenching of fluttering muscles around his digits, the tight wet heat surrounding, pulling, welcoming his fingers inside.  

“I’m ready, Edwin, come on,” Thomas murmurs, pulling Edwin down with a hand behind his neck, close enough for the soft entreaty to reach his ear, before teeth close around his earlobe in a nip, and hover right beside it, after, to whisper “make me feel good, Ghostie.” It’s only the barely-there distance that allows Edwin to hear, and savour, the soft whimper Thomas lets out, when Edwin removes his fingers from Thomas’s ass.  

After lubing up his own cock, near aching hardness Edwin hadn’t even registered, in his focus on Thomas, Edwin keeps a hold at the base of it, shifts, bends a little, so they’re lined up. Before he moves, before he can, he has to breathe and tremble through the wave of how desperately he wants this. Thomas’ hole clenches down weakly, brushing against the head of his cock. Edwin shudders. Can he do this? Can he truly make Thomas feel good, him? He leans a little forward and says, in a voice that sounds absolutely wretched, pathetic to his own ears, “Thomas, I need you to ask for this.” 

He’s prepared for Thomas to refuse, to deflect, falling back on teasing and cajoling, until he gets what he wants. What he must truly want, which surely isn’t Edwin’s inexperience. He’s also prepared for a straightforward, forceful request, a command that he can immediately fulfil. He’s absolutely not prepared for the wavering, “Please, Ghostie, I want you.” that falls from Thomas’s lips. 

“Hells.” Edwin gasps, almost involuntary, hips shifting forward to push the head of his cock inside. There’s so much pressure, Edwin swears he can feel the walls stretch and form around his cock, and Thomas groans, long and low. Satisfied. Edwin’s hands on the other’s thighs are trembling, entire body held taut. He can’t remember ever being this connected, surrounded, it’s like a revelation; even more so when he’s fully seated in tight wet heat, panting, and Thomas growls, a sound Edwin can feel in his gut, travelling straight to his cock. 

“Fuck.” he hisses. Edwin’s hips start to roll, instinctively, without his input. Thomas’s hands grip at any part of Edwin he can reach, his clenching grip definitely hard enough to bruise. “Edwin,” he whines, and Edwin thinks he’d be perfectly content if Thomas never used his name outside of sex, as long as he always sounds like that when he says it. “Thomas,” he gasps back, and with concentrated effort, pulls himself nearly fully out of Thomas’s ass, just to nearly slam back in. The flare of pleasure is so bright, he’s helpless to do anything but immediately repeat it, again, again, with Thomas helping build their combined pleasure, meeting Edwin’s thrusts with rhythmic rolls of his ever-reddening ass cheeks on the bed. 

They settle into a rhythm, not quite fast, hardly sedate, and Edwin’s reduced to grunts and bitten off gasps, embarrassingly quickly. Thomas is not much better off. Edwin hears him, he seems to be almost growling, continuously, low rumbles reverberating from his chest, escaping his clenched teeth and throat bared, as he arches back, matches Edwin thrust for thrust. Edwin closes his eyes, fighting the still near over stimulating combination of sounds, sensations that surround him, cloying, even with the lack of vision. Edwin doesn’t know how long it goes on, but despite his best efforts, the onslaught of pleasure is far too much, too intense, so it’s not nearly as long as he’d like before he feels the signs of impending orgasm are getting harder and harder to ignore. “Close.” He whimpers, now struggling to open his eyes, shuddering when he manages it and his gaze lands right on Thomas’ own eyes piercing his. Their legs tremble together, so it’s a marvel how Thomas still manages to keep his voice steady. “Want it,” he purrs, heels coming down over Edwin’s lower back, trapping, as if there was any chance of Edwin not wanting to live and die right where he is right now, “make me feel good, Edwin. Come inside me.” Edwin can feel his hips jerk violently at the words, the heels on his back switching to an even more restraining hold in answer, and he’s helpless, the sharp clench of Thomas’s ass around him, the prolonged effort to keep his orgasm at bay almost making black spots dance in his vision, so he gives in. His cock empties, pumps come into and right back out of the other’s ass with an obscene squelching sound, slick dripping and escaping past Edwin’s cock as he’s held inside, as he softens with little aftershocks, twitches. Only when his lax cock has softened to the point of sliding out of Thomas’s ass of its own accord, does Edwin pull his hips back with any real strength or purpose to the motion.

Thomas’s cock is as wet as his ass, twitching violently, angry, against his hipbone. Edwin slides uncoordinated down the bed, engulfs it into his mouth and throat. It hits the back of his throat immediately, painfully, and Edwin heaves back up amid sudden choking, a deluge of saliva rushing into and out of his mouth, while his eyes water. “Fuck! Edwin, wha-” Thomas cries out, elbows failing to support his body, falling back down on the bed with a gasp, when Edwin aims and spits the rest of slick that’s in his mouth directly on the cock held tightly in his left hand, and wraps his lips around the head again straight after. This time, Edwin makes sure to keep his hand steadily wrapped around the base, and his lips wrap snugly around the shaft as he bobs his head, taking his descent a bit slower, but no less enthusiastic. When a trembling hand shifts through his hair, and he hears a serious warning of the other’s orgasm approaching, Edwin’s answering swallow is obvious, pointed. Some of Thomas’s come escapes, trickles out, through the corners of Edwin’s stretched lips, but Edwin’s pleased enough to hum around the softening cock in his mouth, pulling out one last twitch, as he preens at the fact that he still managed to swallow down most of it.  

The bed is still an utter mess, far from pleasant, not conductive for a good night’s sleep. And they’re both even more so a mess, sweaty, rapidly drying fluids of various origin marking their skin. When Thomas pulls Edwin close, he follows with a laugh. When he peers around Thomas’s broad chest, to see just what he’s doing with his arm that seems to be fumbling around the nightstand, he laughs so hard and fast he snorts, and Thomas kisses the happiness off and back into his lips, while he drops the cord to the alarm clock to the floor next to the bed. The thought that tomorrow’s Monday, a school day, passes out through his head as swiftly as it entered. 

It’s the best sleep he’s had in years.

[ramorazinn]

Imagine I had the attention span to write this S1 AU where the paparazzi incident (not Keeley finding out it was her, but way back at the incident itself) is Rebecca's wake-up call re: fucking over the team.

~

"I want to rebrand the club,” she tells Keeley the next day. “Every other television programme these days is about a group of doctors or detectives or firefighters or whatnot who operate as a family. Every damn sports movie is about winning because they're not just a team. I want that for Richmond. I want their friendships plastered all over social media. I want to fill those seats with women who don’t give a flying fuck about football who just want to see the boys interact. And if I can imply that Rupert was a bad team dad along the way, I consider that an absolutely luscious cherry on top.”

Keeley seems to be… broken, just staring at her, mouth gaping open like a fish.  It's not the amusement or glee that Rebecca had expected, and she suddenly feels uncertain.

"Am I crazy?" she asks.  "Is this a stupid idea?"

"Fuck no!” Keeley bursts out. “I mean yes, it’s fucking insane, who does that? But do you have any idea what kind of presence the Roy/Jamie shippers already have on Tumblr and AO3?"

Rebecca does not know what any of those things are, and she decidedly does not want to ask, but based on Keeley's excited bouncing and wide grin, they all add up to something promising.

[astrology-bf]

May DWC Day 2: Embrace

@daily-writing-challenge

(Companion piece to Day 1's prompt, written from the other point of view.)

Ifan Kaleid was not having a good day.

The weight of recent events had taken an equally heavy toll. Every victory was bought at a steep price, and right at the moment where he seemed he might finally be granted a reprieve– 

Don’t think about it.

Ifan allowed himself a few tears in private, and spent longer than he usually did each day in prayer, but otherwise completely buried himself in work. Favors for Aymeric, tasks from Alphinaud, requests from Tataru; anything to keep his mind off the recent past, tense present, and uncertain future. Anything to feel like he was doing something.

Today, however, it seemed his usual sources of distraction had conspired together to deny him that outlet. All three refused him any work, and all three insisted he rest with palpable worry in their eyes and words. 

Rest means time to think. Don’t think about it.

So he’d simply smiled to hide his gritting teeth, then sought out Eloin at the levemetes. Frustratingly, that too proved fruitless - the flood of adventurers in the wake of Ishgard's recent opening had exhausted all but the most trivial or most dangerous assignments. Ifan managed to conceal his disappointment with a loud laugh, then bade the elezen farewell with the intention of stomping off to the Forgotten Knight and getting himself plastered.

As he turned to leave, Ifan locked eyes with an odd, armored man leaning against a nearby wall. He was staring.

Ifan sized the stranger up instinctively. A midlander; roughly his own height, likely a marauder or warrior judging by the ax slung across his back and the dark-plated armor he wore. Definitely easy on the eyes, at least by Ifan’s standards, but otherwise unremarkable save for the fact the man was openly gawking at him. The poor concealment of his fascination was matched only by the fumbling attempt at hiding his stare when he realized Ifan was looking back at him.

…Heh. Cute.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to walk over and introduce himself. The man's awkwardness was endearing, certainly, and Ifan felt a little bad at how embarrassed he looked. Or perhaps Ifan was just so desperate for a distraction that he'd approach a complete stranger for conversation. His name was Ardbert, it turned out. And he had eyes like the sky.

Ifan felt his frustration fade as his attention fixated on his new acquaintance. He could tell from his first glance that the other hyur himself was a man of many travels, but what struck Ifan the most was the weight Ardbert seemed to carry. It was as if he'd taken the mass of the whole world upon his shoulders.

It was an uncomfortably familiar burden. It pained Ifan to see another sharing it, especially as it reminded him of Ysa–

Don’t think about it.

So, entirely on a whim, Ifan teased the warrior. He saw the pall of that weight pull back a bit in Ardbert’s smile, just enough to hint at the man beneath; someone earnest, fun, and full of love. Ifan felt a thrill in his chest ease the pressure constricting it, and so he kept on doing it: teasing him. Sharing stories. Cracking jokes. Ifan watched Ardbert blush, grin, and laugh. And Ifan rewarded the warrior’s own good humor with a mirth he’d almost forgotten how to share, let alone enjoy himself. A mere three drinks ended up turning into several hours of lively conversation.

"No shit?" Ardbert exclaimed, staring in disbelief as Ifan described the grueling tasks he'd been made to undertake to earn the favor of the Company of Heroes. “All that, and the feast was for -you-?”

"Aye. Even today I still wonder if the food was actually worth the trouble!” Ifan laughed as he raised his tankard to his lips, finishing the last of his current drink. “Mm… Still though, I'd do it again just to see the glee on Shamani's face. It’s rather funny how a mere grape vine can spark so much happiness."   

Ardbert chuckled through his grin, gazing across the table at Ifan. The evening rush had largely dispersed, allowing them to lower their voices and enjoy a more sedate discussion. "Seems to be a common thread in these tales of yours; making people happy. I can see why Hydaelyn chose you." he remarked.

…Fuck.

Though the warrior couldn’t possibly have intended it, the mention of the Mothercrystal was sufficient to bring Ifan back to reality. He felt his smile fade a little as he remembered that he wasn’t just another adventurer having a drink with a peer. Ifan hadn’t been one of those for a while now. Despite his efforts, Ardbert seemed to notice the shift in mood.

 "Ah... fuck." he muttered apologetically, rubbing the back of his head and giving Ifan a sheepish look. "Sorry. Didn't mean to spoil–."

"You didn't." Ifan interrupted. He gave Ardbert a firm look. "Trust me. I feel a lot better now than before we started talking, it's more..." He crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table, and his lips twisted as his eyes flicked to the candle sputtering between them. 

Don’t.

He chuckled humorlessly. "...Don't worry about it. We should talk about lighter things, hm?" He said as he looked up at Ardbert with a forced smile.

Ardbert didn't return it. Instead, he reached across the table and grasped Ifan’s hand. The mage blinked. "Ifan,” he said gently. "C'mon. Sitting on a problem just lets it fester. Mind you, I’m not saying you have to share it with me in particular… But I promise not to judge whatever it is that’s bugging you.”

The earnestness in Ardbert's voice made Ifan's breath catch in his throat. His fingers flexed under the warrior's, and he shifted a little where he leaned. Suddenly he felt rather shy.

Don’t you dare.

"I..." he started, looking off to the side rather than meet Ardbert's gaze. He swallowed. There was a trembling silence. "It keeps happening." Ifan said hesitantly."People keep dying or sacrificing themselves, and I just have to watch. I don't know if I'm doing it right. Being... whatever I am. A hero? A weapon? I just–" 

Stop it. Don’t put this on him. 

Ifan caught himself with a sigh. He shook his head, regretting speaking. It was too weighty a problem to expect Ardbert to have any answer for.

But then he felt Ardbert's grip tighten in a squeeze, and Ifan closed his eyes without realizing he was squeezing back. "Well... from where I'm standing..." said Ardbert slowly, "You look like a man to me.”

Ifan opened his eyes. Ardbert was smiling now. The mage couldn’t sustain his frown upon seeing it.

“A good one, at that. Just in a bad place.” Ardbert continued. “Can't say if you're doing all the other stuff right, but... You impress me, Ifan. For whatever that's worth."

There was a long pause. "...It's worth a lot, Ardbert. Thanks." Ifan answered in a thin voice. 

The pair leaned against the bar table together in silence, Ardbert's hand atop Ifan's. Once more, the mage found himself lost in the color of the warrior's eyes.

They’re so bright…

The sound of clattering crockery brought them back to reality. 

Ifan blinked and looked over at the server who'd nearly dropped a stack of plates, while Ardbert noticed that he'd been holding Ifan's hand and withdrew his fingers with an awkward clearing of his throat. "...Gods. What hour is it?" Ardbert asked with a weary laugh that was met by a smile.

"Too late, I think." Ifan replied as he stood upright and stretched. "A few more than three drinks, I daresay. But not a moment of it wasted, if you ask me."

"Likewise." Ardbert said, straightening up himself and rolling a shoulder before downing the last of his own tankard. "Let me walk you home. You said you were staying higher up in the city, right?"

"Walk me home?" Ifan asked, surprised. "You don't have to."

"You're right, I don’t. I'm offering because I want to." Ardbert replied confidently. 

Ifan knew he was lying. It was a poorly concealed excuse to make sure the mage didn't have a chance to mope. "...Alright. Didn't realize you were such a gentleman." Ifan teased. He smirked as Ardbert's cheeks reddened.

"Pff. Tch. Feh..." Ardbert rubbed the back of his head again and issued a series of nonverbal admissions of bashfulness.

Even so, he still smiled.

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

The walk home was quiet, in contrast to the vigor of their earlier conversation. Ifan pointed out a few of the sights on the way to the upper tiers, but otherwise he and Ardbert seemed content to savor each others' company in gentle silence. They took a detour as they ascended to the Pillars, heading to the overlook near Fortemps manor to take advantage of the view offered by a clear night. Only when wind picked up with a faintly bitter chill did either speak again. 

"...Thank you, Ardbert. Really. Tonight has been..." Ifan began, then hummed as he failed to find the words. "Good. It's been good."

"Really good." Ardbert agreed, giving Ifan another smile. "I needed this too, believe it or not. And I'm glad to have met you, Ifan. Even if I've made an utter ass of myself the whole night." he added awkwardly.

Ifan laughed. "You weren't that bad. No more than I usually am." he replied. "But I'll see you around, aye? Take care, Ardbert."

Ardbert nodded. He reached up with a grin, extending his fist towards Ifan for a little bump. "You too. See you around, hero."  

Ifan returned the fistbump with a grin of his own, then turned towards the manor. He took a step, then another, hearing the clicks of Ardbert's boots on the stones as he walked away.

*Clink*. *Clink.* *...*

Ifan was already hesitating in his third step when he noticed the absence of the warrior’s footfalls. He turned… and Ardbert was staring back at him with near perfect synchronicity, as if Ifan was looking through some sort of mirror. Both sported a look of hesitation on their face, as neither seemed to be willing to be the first to leave.

One moment passed. Then two.

Ifan felt himself grinning. Then he was laughing, as was Ardbert. They laughed, pouring each of their frustrations into the raucous melody until both of them were in tears.

"...Nophica's tits..." Ifan cursed and chuckled as he wiped his eyes. "Guess you were right about me being strange."

"No... No. You're alright." Ardbert managed through the aftershocks of his own laughter. He walked forward towards Ifan with a sad, weary smile on his lips. "Bit strange myself. And I reckon we're just both a bit more wound up than we care to admit, yeah?"

Ifan nodded and took a deep breath in an effort to compose himself. He looked up at Ardbert, matching the warrior's expression as his fingers threaded together in front of him. Ardbert's smile widened further as he gazed down at the mage. ThenIfan felt a brush of cool leather on his cheek; Ardbert had raised a hand to sweep aside a few strands of ash brown hair that had fallen in front of Ifan’s eyes, and his knuckles were lingering on his face. Ifan's cheeks burned despite the chill. His eyes went to Ardbert’s lips.

The warrior seemed to snap out of his fancy, blinking at the realization of where his hand was. His own face reddened, and he made to pull away apologetically.

"...Sorry, I--" 

His hand had barely left Ifan's cheek before the mage had closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to Ardbert's. The warrior's apology was lost, and the wide-eyed shock at the sudden contact lingered only moments before instinct took over. Ifan felt Ardbert's hands grip his back as the other hyur returned the kiss, and he let himself relax into the warrior’s arms.

You’re in mourning. You’ll regret this.

Ifan ignored his misgivings and pressed himself up against Ardbert’s bulk. He tasted like the ale they’d been throwing back, of course, but Ifan kissed him until he could commit what was unique about the other man to memory. There was a faint saltiness, like a coastal breeze. A slight hardness, like iron. It amazed him how soft Ardbert’s lips were. The warrior clearly wasn't experienced with kissing, but more than made up for it with enthusiasm; more than that, Ifan found the slight bashfulness that was present even in the most insistent lashes of the Ardbert’s tongue beyond endearing.

Ardbert gasped as their lips parted. His face was flushed a deep scarlet, and Ifan could feel his heart pounding through the fingers that hand unconsciously crept up to caress Ardbert’s neck beneath his gorget. "Ifan…" he breathed.

“Ardbert…” Ifan echoed, gnawing on his lower lip as he gazed up into Ardbert’s eyes.

"Ifan." The warrior repeated, gloves curling into the fabric of Ifan's clothes. Ardbert’s fingers were trembling. "Do you, uh… Mind if we...?" 

After a moment’s pause, Ifan hummed. “It’s funny…” he said, leaning forward for another kiss as he did so. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

[phoenixrisesoncemore]

Why Eru Didn’t Trip Gollum: Providence, Free Will, and Con-creation in The Lord of the Rings—Part 4 of 5

| PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 (this post) | PART 5 |

[Go back to PART 3: Untangling the Knots]

Part 4: Examining the Threads

Active and Passive

Both of the interpretations of the book’s climax we have explored thus far reframe what appears upon first reading in the text to be a passive event (Gollum falling by accident due to misstepping) into an active one (Gollum being tripped or compelled to fall). Peter Jackson’s film adaptation of The Return of the King likewise reframes (or perhaps transforms) the climactic scene. In the film Gollum’s fall is not presented as purely “accidental”—as a result of his careless dancing. Instead an injured Frodo rises to his feet, clutching his bleeding hand, and wrestles with Gollum; during this fight both fall over the edge into the chasm of fire. Frodo (with the help of Sam) is able to hold onto the rock face and climb out; Gollum, however, is not and plunges into the fire, carrying the Ring with him just as he does in the book. 

Though it isn’t clear who was initially responsible for suggesting this change, Peter Jackson has described his concerns that the scene as written in the book would be “a major disappointment” in the “dramatic context” of film:

We felt that audiences – a lot of people haven’t read the book, of course – would feel very let down and would actually judge Frodo badly for just sitting there watching as the ring got accidentally destroyed. (…)  They’d feel that Frodo would have failed essentially in his quest, and it was an accident that stepped in. We had to be careful in the movie to keep Frodo from looking bad because of that. (qtd. in Sandwell)

In fact according to Jackson the first version of the scene that was shot included even more direct action on Frodo’s part:

When we originally shot the scene, Gollum bit off Frodo’s finger and Frodo pushed Gollum off the ledge into the fires below. It was straight-out murder, but at the time we were okay with it because we felt everyone wanted Frodo to kill Gollum. (ibid)

Jackson apparently told Elijah Wood to play his attack as it appears in the final film ambiguously so that the viewer is left to wonder what Frodo would have done if he had succeeded in reclaiming the Ring from Gollum (Sandwell), thus maintaining the plausibility of Frodo’s “active role” in the Ring’s destruction.

Jackson is not the only person to have considered different and more “heroic” endings to this scene. Tolkien, himself, in earlier drafts of the scene, explored a very similar scenario to the one that appears in Jackson’s film. In The History of Middle-earth volumes VI—IX, Christopher Tolkien presents a number of his father’s early drafts of The Lord of the Rings, including outlines of the climactic scene. In an outline likely dating to 1939 and appearing in the ninth volume, Sauron Defeated, Tolkien writes: “At that moment Gollum — who had seemed to reform and had guided them by secret ways through Mordor — comes up and treacherously tries to take the Ring. They wrestle and Gollum takes Ring and falls into Crack” (3). According to Christopher it is clear that as early as 1940 Tolkien knew that “when Frodo…came to the Crack of Doom he would be unable to cast away the Ring, and that Gollum would take it and fall into the chasm. But how did he fall?” (37).

As Christopher suggests, while his father may have known from early on that the Ring would only fall into the fire along with Gollum, he seems to have been uncertain of the cause of Gollum’s fall. As his work on The Lord of the Rings continued over the decade and a half, Tolkien considered his options, pondering heavily Sam’s involvement—by turns Sam hurls himself into Gollum throwing them both into the fire (4), wrestles with Gollum and then throws him into the fire (4), sneaks up on Gollum while Gollum is dancing with glee and pushes him into the fire (5)—and even the possibility of Gollum jumping into the fire intentionally in a kind of ritual suicide meant to keep the Ring from anyone else. Yet Tolkien eventually ended up back where he started: simply that Gollum falls—no push, no shove, no wrestling. Indeed, according to Christopher the primary draft of the chapter “Mount Doom” (that is, its contents first put in prose and not in outline) is both complete and only differs from the published version in very minor ways:

It is remarkable in that the primary drafting constitutes a completed text, with scarcely anything in the way of preparatory sketching of individual passages, and while the text is rough and full of corrections made at the time of composition it is legible almost throughout; moreover many passages underwent only the most minor changes later. It is possible that some more primitive material has disappeared, but it seems to be far more probable that the long thought which my father had given to the ascent of Mount Doom and the destruction of the Ring enabled him, when at last he came to write it, to achieve it more quickly and surely than almost any earlier chapter in The Lord of the Rings. (37)

As with many aspects of the novel, Tolkien’s choices here were the result of long and careful consideration. But did Tolkien view the destruction of the Ring as “accidental?” Perhaps we should return to those letters and let Tolkien describe the forces in action in the scene himself.

The Supreme Value and Efficacy of Pity

The following are excerpts from four of Tolkien’s letters published in The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien that mention Frodo’s failure and the forces that lead to the completion of the quest in his stead:

[Frodo] (and the Cause) were saved – by Mercy: by the supreme value and efficacy of Pity and forgiveness of injury. […] I did not ‘arrange’ the deliverance in this case: it again follows the logic of the story. (251)

But at this point the ‘salvation’ of the world and Frodo’s own ‘salvation’ is achieved by his previous pity and forgiveness of injury. At any point any prudent person would have told Frodo that Gollum would certainly betray him, and could rob him in the end. To ‘pity’ him, to forbear to kill him, was a piece of folly, or a mystical belief in the ultimate value-in-itself of pity and generosity even if disastrous in the world of time. He did rob him and injure him in the end – but by a ‘grace’, that last betrayal was at a precise juncture when the final evil deed was the most beneficial thing any one cd. have done for Frodo! By a situation created by his ‘forgiveness’, he was saved himself, and relieved of his burden. (234)

In this case the cause (not the ‘hero’) was triumphant, because by the exercise of pity, mercy, and forgiveness of injury, a situation was produced in which all was redressed and disaster averted. (252)

Frodo had done what he could and spent himself completely (as an instrument of Providence) and had produced a situation in which the object of his quest could be achieved. His humility (with which he began) and his sufferings were justly rewarded by the highest honour; and his exercise of patience and mercy towards Gollum gained him Mercy: his failure was redressed. (325)

Two things here are very obvious: firstly that Tolkien places responsibility for the completion of the quest on Frodo’s choice to extend pity to Gollum, and secondly that he describes the action of the climactic scene in consistently passive ways.

Pity is an idea that is addressed several times in The Lord of the Rings; its first appearance comes in chapter two of Book I, only moments before Frodo tries and fails to throw the Ring in the fireplace. Conversing with Gandalf about the likelihood that Gollum has exposed the names “Baggins” and “Shire” to Sauron, putting Frodo and all he loves in danger, Frodo exclaims that it was a pity that Bilbo did not kill Gollum during their encounter in The Hobbit. Gandalf, however, sees things differently:

Pity? It was Pity that stayed [Bilbo’s] hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been well rewarded, Frodo. Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity. (59)

Our knowledge of Gandalf’s true nature is limited in The Lord of the Rings; it is only in The Silmarillion that we learn he is a maiar who has studied under Nienna, the vala of pity, mercy, compassion, and sorrow. The “supreme value and efficacy of pity and mercy” is likely something Gandalf knows quite a bit about, and he impresses upon Frodo its importance early on. It’s a lesson Frodo will have learned by the time he first meets Gollum; by that point he, too, will have suffered under the strain of the Ring, and will have come to identify with Gollum’s own tortured experience, finding him easy to pity at last. His pity for Gollum will prevent him from killing Gollum during their first meeting and many times afterwards. In fact, Gollum’s survival and presence at the climax is the result of a long string of acts ruled by pity. First is Bilbo’s pity that spares Gollum when Bilbo chooses not to kill him during his escape from the goblin tunnels in the pages of The Hobbit[6]. Next is an act of kindness (almost certainly engendered by pity) by the Elves of Mirkwood from whose custody Gollum escapes; this act of kindness leads to a planned ambush by orcs and the death of several elvish guards, but it also sets Gollum free to track Frodo and the Ring. Frodo’s continuous acts of pity will follow, as he refuses to kill Gollum despite recognizing Gollum is untrustworthy and likely to endanger the quest. Frodo will even plead with Faramir to spare Gollum’s life, despite the fact that Faramir, like Frodo, knows Gollum cannot be trusted. Lastly it is Sam (whose own bungled treatment of Gollum likely prevented Gollum’s full repentance) who will finally feel pity for Gollum: having at last experienced the weight of the Ring, himself, he refuses to kill Gollum on the slopes of Mount Doom just before the climactic scene. 

These acts, as Tolkien says, are folly. No reasonable person would decide that the most prudent course of action is to spare Gollum’s life, especially not once Frodo and Sam have entered Mordor and have the Cracks of Doom in sight. And yet it is clear that without these continuous offerings of pity, grace, and mercy the quest would have failed. Frodo would have claimed the Ring. Sauron would have found him and taken it. The armies of the West would have been crushed, and Sauron’s dominion over Middle-earth would have been final. Gollum’s actions in the Cracks of Doom are ignoble, no doubt—they are driven by lust and total corruption—but they nonetheless inadvertently bring about the Ring’s destruction and the “salvation of the Cause.”

Abnegation and Plain Hobbit-sense

Frodo and Sam’s choices, both as they relate to Gollum and to the Ring, also express an incredible humility and awareness of their position relative to the enormity of the rest of the world. As Gandalf says during chapter two’s pity speech: “Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends” (59).

Douglas Blount in his paper, “Uberhobbits: Tolkien, Nietzsche, And The Will To Power” describes those characteristics which Tolkien most closely identifies with heroism and moral authority: strength, according to Tolkien, manifests itself most clearly not in the exercise of power but rather in the willingness to give it up. “The greatest examples of the action of the spirit and of reason,” Blount tells us, “are in abnegation” (98).

It could be argued that hobbits, perhaps more than any of the “races” in Tolkien’s Middle-earth, reflect the virtues of humility and the abnegation of authority which is not theirs to claim. They are simple people who, on the whole, want to be left alone and do not seek domination of either people or of nature. And while their ignorance and small-mindedness are not traits to be looked up to (and everyone from Tolkien to Frodo to Gandalf does fault them for this), I would argue that they, as a group, represent the closest thing in the novel (outside of Tom Bombadil) to the antithesis of Sauron and the Ring.

Though Frodo does fail the final test, Tolkien assures us that it was a test outside Frodo’s (and indeed any person’s) capability to pass. In the heart of Sauron’s domain, at the fire where the Ring was forged, where all other powers were dimmed, no incarnate creature could have brought themselves to destroy the Ring. Tolkien is clear that in this sense Frodo’s failure was not a moral one, as he had been pushed beyond his capacity and had maintained his moral integrity up until that moment—which, to go back to the discussion of Gollum being cursed, further undermines the idea that Frodo at any point actively used the Ring to curse or compel Gollum to his death. Added together, these themes of pity and humility are part of why I would argue some of the changes made in Jackson’s adaptation of The Return of the King obscure some of the most important themes in The Lord of the Rings—in their effort to add additional dramatic tension or to give Frodo the appearance of more agency, they repeatedly dilute either Frodo’s sensible nature or the chain of pity that runs through the story[7].

Two of the film’s choices stand out in particular: a significantly altered scene while the heroes are climbing the Endless Stair in which Gollum tricks Frodo into believing Sam has turned against him leading Frodo to send Sam away, and the climax when Gollum falls into the fire as a result of struggling with Frodo over the Ring. The former, I would argue, works most strongly against both of the two important themes we have been examining in this section: pity and humility (or “plain hobbit sense”). Frodo’s “plain hobbit sense” is called into question here by his ability to be deceived so easily (in a moment which, as written, I would also argue is simply dramatically unbelievable.) More importantly, his deception in this moment interrupts the important chain of mercy and pity that is responsible for leading to the Ring’s destruction. The compassion and mercy that Frodo shows to Gollum only maintains its thematic power if Frodo remains aware of how dangerous Gollum actually is. A Frodo who can be so easily tricked into believing Gollum over Sam—to the point that he would actually tell Sam to leave him—is no longer keeping Gollum around despite knowing he is untrustworthy. Hence, Frodo’s actions regarding Gollum are no longer acts inspired by pity of him. Additionally, the reworking of the final confrontation at the Cracks of Doom, which places far more agency (albeit agency born of desire and rage rather than righteousness) on Frodo in the destruction of the Ring, muddies the still waters of the moment and reveals a lack of trust in the power and virtue of Frodo’s choices and actions prior to the moment, the choices and actions that Tolkien very explicitly tells us are responsible for the Ring’s destruction.

Now it’s time to bring these threads back together and explain why it is that Eru didn’t trip Gollum—why it is deeply important to the thematic and dramatic unity of The Lord of the Rings and Tolkien’s wider Legendarium that Gollum’s fall was not the result of a singular, direct, and unilateral intervention by Eru.

Notes in Part 4

6. This choice of Bilbo’s did not appear in the first edition of The Hobbit: Tolkien altered the book to reflect the new, more powerful, and far more malevolent nature of the One Ring, and it is worth noting that he felt it important enough to include this act of pity in his alterations.

7. To be absolutely fair, Jackson wasn’t unaware of the pity issue, and states as much in the same interview. However, he presumably felt the theme wouldn’t be communicated sufficiently in the medium of film so as to override concerns about the audience’s reaction to Frodo’s passivity.

[Continue to PART 5: Reweaving the Tapestry]

[savage-rhi]

Mending Shadows // Chapter 30

Summary:

Y/N was a simple Scavenger of Lucis, until meeting a deadly blow at the hands of an infected creature. At the crossroads of death, they are found by Niflheim’s cryptic Chancellor with his own agenda. Now bonded to Ardyn Izunia, and tossed into the world of Niflheim, Y/N struggles to cope with their new life as an Imperial Icon all the while battling their feelings toward their fate and that of Ardyn’s.

Click here to read on AO3

A stampede of Accordo citizens came barreling down the road. Running for their lives like a stranded group of Anak uncertain where danger lurked. As the crowd trampled toward Ardyn and Y/N, he stood in front of them protectively; shielding them away from being lost to a sea of panicked humans. He looked over each every scared face with disdain, finding their cowardice barely palpable. Ardyn wasn’t above running away--especially if an altercation didn’t suit him--but he held his ground for Y/N’s sake. 

Y/N shuddered at all the noise. The screams seemed to grow with every second as did the rumble of feet. The sensations reminded Y/N of a time they had been scavenging far too close to a battleground between Lucians and Imperials. It was near the ruins of a Crestholm village. One moment they were picking up pieces to an old radio, and the next, running for their life when gunfire flourished the landscape. 

Y/N remembered two other Scavengers making a beeline out of the area, with the younger not escaping without injury. His knee had been shot. Taken out from a bullet ricocheting off debris. They never knew what became of him nor the other gentleman. It was probably for the best Y/N didn't know the outcome, although they had a strong inclination that the young one perished.

As the intrusive thought of a gaping wound manifested, Y/N felt the scourge lurch in their stomach with a menacing glee. The excitement was akin to a dog pleading with it's master to throw a ball; desperately wanting to give the toy a chase before sinking it's teeth into the rubber material. There were no words to describe how disgustingly uncomfortable it made Y/N feel as they studied Ardyn. He was shouting into the crowd at this point, demanding that someone answer for what was happening. His call fell on deaf ears, and frustration became evident with the steady rise of his voice. He was growing hostile, and it seemed to egg the scourge on further. 

“Ardyn, they’re scared. They don’t know better.” Y/N interrupted, hoping redirection would change the course. “We should get out of here while we have a chance.” 

Ardyn growled. He didn’t like being left in the dark, but alas Y/N was right. In the distance he could see a couple hundred more people fast approaching. At this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if both Y/N and himself were pushed off the edge and into the ocean. The streets had little to no room at this point. 

“I think that’s a splendid idea.” Ardyn said. He grabbed Y/N's hand and sprinted into the flock, shoving people out of the way while trying to make space for an easy retreat. "Whatever happens, don't let go of me!" 

“Ardyn, wait! I think we need to head another way!” Y/N exclaimed.

A woman suddenly slammed into the pair, causing Y/N to be forcibly pulled from Ardyn. The pain took Y/N by surprise, and they screamed when Ardyn was no longer in their sight. His voice called out desperately, and Y/N tried to raise their hands above everyone to flag him down. The sound of his yells grew faint. Y/N felt their body being carried off like they had been caught in a riptide and dragged out to sea. Noise from all the yells and profanities disintegrated into gibberish against their ears. All they could do was relinquish control, and pray that at some point the ride would stop.

Suddenly, it became too difficult to keep their head above the masses. Y/N was being pulled under by the horde, and the thought of being stomped to death frightened them to no end. They shouted Ardyn's name repeatedly to no avail, and their lungs began to feel deprived of air and reason. That was when Y/N felt a pair of strong arms wrap around them from behind. Within a fraction of a gasp, Y/N witnessed the world split into multiple directions. Ardyn's scent was the only comfort they held onto as their body levitated. 

From head to toe, Y/N felt a numbing shock that was on par with the tingling vibes one would get before their foot would fall asleep. A cloud of darkness enveloped them as time and buildings merged into a paradox of colors and shapes. Although their brain was overwhelmed, they weren't terrified. If anything they felt relief despite the urgent compulsion to throw up. 

Within a matter of minutes, the fleeting moment was over. Y/N let out a deep breath, and swayed. 

“Easy, easy now...” Ardyn purred. His arms moved from Y/N’s waist to their shoulders as he stabilized them. "Are you alright?" 

“I think so,” Y/N replied. They basked in how Ardyn's touch grounded them to reality, and closed their eyes to avoid the hit of vertigo that arrived. "Gods, I feel drunk."

“Shadow stepping has that effect!” Ardyn chortled. 

“Have you ever done that before with another person?” 

“No, and I dare say I’m astounded you aren’t regurgitating breakfast.”

“Don’t jinx my luck.” Y/N sarcastically quipped. Their pulse had risen from being at the mercy of Ardyn's fingertips as he cupped their face. "Where on Eos did you take us?"

“We're near the heart of the capitol, lurking in a back alley." He turned his head to see several Accordo Troopers sprinting toward the commotion that had everyone fleeing like ants. "I got us as close as I could to the hotel. And of course, to the fun that awaits." 

“The fun?” 

“I need you to follow my instruction,” Ardyn turned back around. His eyes peered into theirs with an authority that Y/N recalled witnessing at Outpost 98. Although his touch had been gentle, his body radiated a dominance that near felt foreboding. He wasn’t messing around. “Take the alley here, and head East. It’s a straight shot to our lodging. I want you to find Tummelt--or another Imperial--and tell them to escort you to the airships if they haven’t been compromised. Tell them Chancellor Izunia commands it, or there will be hell to pay.” 

“What are you going to do?” Y/N furrowed their brows and shook their head. “You’re not seriously going to run into whatever is happening, are you?” 

“Unfortunately, I am.” Ardyn said as a matter of fact. He gave a squeeze to Y/N’s face, and let his hands fall from them. “I don’t intend to fight, but merely observe and find out who is responsible. If it’s that anti-imperial cult pulling another publicity stunt, I'll consider it Madam Secretary's qualm and fall back."

“And if it’s not, what then?” 

“I’ll stand my ground, and keep observation.” 

“Maybe having another pair of eyes would be beneficial. I can help with that.” 

“Y/N,” Ardyn breathed. “Foreign protocol dictates that all Imperials are to leave Accordo should more than one major act of violence occur. Right now, everyone from Niflheim is in danger. Yourself included.” 

“That also means you too! You’re the damn Chancellor!” Y/N protested. They nearly jumped as another explosion went off in the distance. 

“And as Chancellor, I have a duty to protect the empires interests. Therefore it’s imperative I find out who we are potentially dealing with.” Ardyn said in his defense. He frowned upon seeing his words did little to sway Y/N of their opinion. “I’m counting on you to be my eyes elsewhere. Retreating safely is just as important as venturing into the fray. You might even witness something important that I and the other ambassadors can’t attend to.”

“Ardyn, I can’t let you do this on your own. Not after what you told me about Ifrit. It doesn’t feel right, none of this feels--”

“Y/N, I’m serious.” Ardyn interrupted. He clasped his right hand around theirs, holding it tight, and raised his voice. “I need you on an airship departing for Niflheim, now. Can you keep your word?” 

Y/N’s mouth parted, but alas they didn’t have the strength to fight him. Not when Y/N thought about how moments ago, they were nearly trampled to death by a hundred people. They would just get in the way. The realization hurt as they nodded. 

“It’s settled then,” Ardyn let out a sigh of relief. 

“I have a stipulation.” 

He raised a brow at Y/N’s remark, more or less amused as he huffed. “And that would be?” 

“When we return home, you’re buying me something.” Y/N teased. 

“Something?” 

“Yep!” 

“I don’t suppose you’re alluding to anything in particular?” 

Y/N shrugged, shaking their head with a faint smile. “Surprise me.” 

“You drive a hard bargain,” Ardyn scoffed before he let out a laugh. He almost couldn’t believe himself given the circumstance. He quietly regarded Y/N with a smirk, and made his decision. "I can agree to your terms so long as you adhere to mine." 

Ardyn brought Y/N's hand to his lips, and planted a longing kiss to their knuckles.

“Stay safe darling," He let them go, and motioned forward with his chin. "Now go." 

Y/N hesitated, biting the inside of their cheek before they turned and sprint. From the corner of their eye, they witnessed Ardyn once more shift into shadows and disappear into the buildings surrounding them. Y/N kept their eyes forward, and felt relief the further they got away from the main attack site.

Ten minutes passed before Y/N exited the alley. They cursed at themself for not having the foresight to wear normal clothes for it made running strenuous. Then again, no one was expecting a terrorist attack at dawn after a party. The sooner they could get on pants and a shirt, the more secure they’d feel.

“I don’t have time for this,” Y/N muttered to themself while catching their breath. “I gotta find Tuti and Loqui.” 

Y/N glanced around, noticing more and more people beginning to appear on the street. They couldn’t tell if these were the same faces from before, or a new group entirely. Everyone was downright terrified with no sense but to find cover. Shouts exclaiming everything from Lucians to Imperials being responsible flew past Y/N’s ears. They couldn’t make sense of anything from clouds of gibberish passing through, and decided to keep their focus on Tuti and Loqui. If only for their sanity. 

As Y/N searched the street signs for familiar names, they frowned upon taking heed that people were getting the idea to use the alley as an escape route. Y/N understood there was no chance going back the way they came, and tried to make peace with that as they sprinted through pockets of crowds. Their travel came to a grinding halt when they saw the hotel straight ahead. Y/N’s heart sank at the sight before them as their eyes widened. 

The building was engulfed in a flurry of flames. Oranges and yellows peppered windows and columns. The fire swayed in a manner that would suggest it was downright enjoying its dance of consumption. A mixture of burnt plastic and wood infiltrated Y/N’s nose accompanied by a nauseating scent. It was putrid, like fresh leather being tanned over a flame. Even their tongue could taste the richness as Y/N came to the horrifying epiphany they were smelling burnt flesh. 

As Y/N stood in horror, they witnessed several people attempting to put out the fires with buckets and hoses. Imperial soldiers, both human and magitek frantically escorted people away. A powerful crunch echoed as one of the lower floors collapsed, taking two stories down with it as fire snacked upon the entry doors. Y/N jumped back, feeling the heat despite being at a far distance. The wails and screams louder, and Y/N trembled knowing right now people were burning alive and there wasn't a damned thing they could do but watch. A gust of wind sent a plagued cloud of smoke in Y/N's direction. They shielded themself with their arms, and began to cough while ash infiltrated their throat. 

The smells suddenly triggered a flashback that nearly sent Y/N to their knees. The haunting screech of an alarm from Outpost 98 traveled for what felt like miles, reverberating deep under Y/N’s skin as if Leviathan herself called out from the darkest depths. Each time they blinked, it felt as if Y/N was drifting between two worlds. Two worlds plagued by fire and darkness. Porcelain white coats were covered in saturated reds as the metallic scent of blood reeked throughout the main lab. Bloodied handprints covered windows and other mechanics. The dull wisp of a man on his last breath disappeared among a crowd of painful groans and desperate pleads. Y/N was fighting themself. Fighting a part of their being that found the carnage enthralling like a wild beast. Their conscious was screaming at the top of its lungs, but had no mouth and therefore, no living soul would hear the plead for mercy. They had no control. 

“Gods!” Y/N yelled. Their hands gripped either side of their head, nails digging into their scalp to alleviate the pressure that knocked their senses into an overload. They could feel themself growing lost further and further into the past as they desperately tried to hang on. The smoke continued to waft in Y/N’s vicinity, further clouding their vision. 

“Y/N! Y/N!” 

That voice…Y/N held onto the frantic squeaks of Tuti as the noise increased and was accompanied by another familiar voice. 

“Y/N! Stay right there, we’re coming to you!” 

“Loqui!?” Y/N exclaimed as visions of themself slaughtering various people ventured in and out of their head. “Tuti, guys! Where are you?!” 

“Dear, I’m right here! Y/N, I’m here!” 

Through the fog that had overtaken them, Y/N felt Tuti’s small hands grip either side of their shoulders and gave a firm yet powerful shake. The strength behind her touch had Y/N open their eyes and gasp as if they had been struck by a bucket of ice water. They stared at Loqui and Tuti with bewilderment as the pair helped Y/N to their feet and rushed away from the scene. 

As fresh air and blue sky came into view, Y/N coughed as their senses began to return to normal. They glanced between Tuti and Loqui, quickly looking them over for any sign of harm. The pair were covered in grime, sweat, and soot. Patches of Loqui’s uniform was burnt, but otherwise he looked unscathed. Tuti on the other hand had a bruise forming near her right eyebrow, and was near sobbing as she threw her arms around Y/N and hugged them. 

“By the Gods mercy, I’m glad we found you!” Tuti exclaimed. 

“You don’t know how happy I am to see you both! Thanks for getting me out of there!” Y/N smiled. They couldn’t help but grimace, feeling the whiplash that Tuti had unintentionally caused moments prior. 

“And likewise from us!” Loqui coughed. “We’ve been looking for you and the Chancellor since this morning. Where is he?” 

Y/N shook as they pointed toward the main street. “He’s near the House of the Courts to see if anyone needed help. He told me to find you guys and evacuate to an airship. I don’t know what’s going on, do you? What the hell happened to the hotel?"  

“It was awful, Y/N! Just awful!” Tuti sobbed, interrupting Loqui before he could speak. “Everyone was at breakfast and then in a blink, there was fire and smoke! I thought I wouldn’t make it out Y/N! It all happened so fast, I had no time to process! I tried to help the staff but they---they’re---gods, Y/N, so many are dead!” 

There were a handful of times where Y/N had seen Tuti angry, but they couldn’t recall a moment where she had been plagued by madness and despair. Her voice was hoarse, riddled with guilt and sorrow. Tuti let out a scream while aggressively wiping away her eyes. Y/N was at a loss for words. What could anyone say to somebody who watched a massacre happen before their eyes? 

Loqui pulled Tuti into his chest. One arm went around her waist while the other pat the back of her head as she cried hard into his uniform. Y/N never felt more at ease than knowing he was here. If anyone could give Tuti stability, it would be someone like him. 

“Shh, there was nothing you could’ve done differently. Look, we found Y/N. That’s what matters.”

“I know and I’m grateful! I’m grateful!” Tuti shouted. 

“And no one is saying you’re not!” Loqui raised his voice. He remained firm as he softened the blow. “I need you to be strong. The Chancellor is counting on us to make it to safety. You heard Y/N yourself! I need you to stay with them while I help evacuate the ambassadors from the House of the Courts.” 

“Wait,” Y/N furrowed their brows as Loqui’s eyes fell upon them. “You’re not coming with us?” 

“No,” Loqui shook his head. Unlike Ardyn who seemed eager to jump into the drama, Y/N noted how Loqui was very much reluctant.  “I have orders from the second battalion to aid in battle. I don’t know all the details, but it was probably those anti-imperial bastards that caused this mess. Go figure they’d take advantage of everyone having a hangover after the wedding! I’ve already heard rumors they’ve planned this stunt since their first attack was thwarted.” 

Tuti let out a gasp, pushing herself back from Loqui as the fire at the hotel began to ensnare a few of the buildings next to it. Glass exploded from the heat being so hot, and shattered along the pavement and cobblestone. The trio looked at one another cautiously, unable to anticipate what would come next. 

“Loqui,” Tuti swallowed, seemingly coming back to her senses. “Where did you say the airships are docked again?”

“Right,” He was tense as the hairs on the back of his neck stood while the smoke subsided a bit. Loqui realized most of the evacuees from the hotel were long gone. Either having perished from the flames, or they were led to the evacuation cars. Alas there were no more vehicles to spare, and he could see magitek soldiers making their descent toward the main highway, leaving the hotel and everyone else who wasn't an Imperial to their fate. 

“Looks like we’re going to have to go with plan B,” Loqui cleared his throat. “The airships are stationed at the docks where the large import carriers come and go into Altissa. You guys have an hour to get there before they take off.” 

“Only an hour?” Y/N was beside themself. “What about everyone else?” 

“I’m assuming someone up the chain of the command already called for a back up ship that’s stationed on one of the smaller islands. Right now we don’t know what the enemies motivations are, and we don’t want to give them an opportunity to kidnap and hold one of our own for ransom. Hence, the time limit. Don’t worry about me, the Chancellor, or anyone else. Please get to safety, and we’ll meet up with you before you know it!” 

If Y/N had the opportunity to clock both Loqui and Ardyn upside the head for playing the hero, they would’ve taken full advantage of it. Frustration with the two was a minor concern in the grand scheme of things as they could see Tuti was growing scared by the minute despite getting her bearings. 

“Be careful, alright?” Y/N cautioned Loqui as he grinned. 

“Aren’t I always?” He turned his head, hearing shouting in the distance. A fellow Imperial soldier was gesturing for him to get a move on. “That’s my cue! Stay off the main road, cut through the smaller districts! Follow the escort vehicles if you see them!” 

In a matter of seconds, Loqui was no longer in sight as he charged. Letting out a deep breath, Y/N gathered themself and motioned for Tuti to follow them. The pair quickly made haste, getting out of the area as more smoke drifted in. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help you,” Y/N said in between breaths, pushing past people to get ahead. Fire vehicles drove past at blinding speed Y/N followed Tuti down a smaller road. 

“Y/N, please don’t blame yourself! I’m relieved you didn’t have to witness the travesty first hand. After everything you’ve been through, I think you’ve done enough time on the Gods behalf.” Tuti sniffled while she ran, occasionally wiping her eyes when possible. “It’s not like I knew anyone personally. I keep telling myself that. Loqui said I tried, and I did, so…I can’t look back.” 

Easier said than done…Y/N thought. Tuti was handling this far better than one would expect, but it was quite obvious she was numb. Her voice was splintered, making her natural squeak sound condemned. She must've screamed her heart out. The guilt of that thought ate Y/N's spirit. 

“Are you certain you didn’t see what happened?” Y/N asked. 

“Positive,” Tuti replied. “One moment I was eating bacon and eggs, then suddenly the gentleman sitting across the table was on fire and the ceiling tumbled. I thought we were having an earthquake until someone screamed we were under siege. I heard something else that was peculiar, I can’t be certain but I thought I heard--” 

“Hold that thought, Tuti!” 

Y/N and Tuti came to an abrupt stop as a swarm of citizens arrived from the left. Seeing that there was an opening to the right, Y/N grabbed a hold of Tuti’s arm and led them both through the crowd. They were careful to brace for impact, not wanting a repeat of what happened with them and Ardyn earlier on. Once in the clear, the two darted down another road. 

“Thank you!” Tuti exclaimed. 

“Don’t mention it!” Y/N kept their eyes forward, not wanting to be taken by surprise anytime soon. “You were saying?” 

“Oh!” Tuti looked behind, seeing more smoke and flames from afar. Although Y/N and her were putting distance between themselves and the danger, she felt like it was still right on her tail. She shivered at the thought of being burned alive while trapped under debris, and started tearing up again. “I could’ve sworn I heard someone yell, ‘Adagium!'. They were looking for Adagium! Whatever that means!"  

“They?” 

“Heavens to Betsy if I know who they are!” Tuti yelled. She whispered a thousand apologies toward Y/N under her breath. Her face flushing red with embarrassment at her own anger. “I didn’t mean to sound so horrid!” 

“No offense taken!” Y/N hollered, darting off road as a few cars zoomed by. “It’s alright to be upset, Tuti. I'd be surprised if you weren't!"  

“I feel like a coward!” Tuti confessed. “You make it seem so easy dealing with traumatic events!” 

“Trust me, it’s not!” Y/N admitted, thankful that Tuti had nothing to else to say.

Between panic and the information she had dropped, Y/N felt adrenaline and concern take the plunge together. So many what ifs flooded them, and they felt their pulse drop in their throat at the thought of MedZin being behind the onslaught. No, it had to be them. Hearing that the invaders were seeking out ‘Adagium’ was too on the nose as far as Y/N was concerned. MedZin were very specific when it came to Ardyn's true identity. If there was anything Y/N could remember from Outpost 98, it was how obsessed the men and women were with saying that name. 

Y/N winced as they felt their head pulse painfully. They stopped to catch their breath, right hand instinctively rubbing at the sore spot. Tuti nearly collided into their back, and took a moment to breathe as well. She was used to running around palaces, but nothing like this. 

“Y/N,” 

“I’ll be okay Tuti. Promise.” Y/N hissed in between grit teeth. “Son of a bitch…” 

“Are you flaring from the scourge right now?” 

“No,” Y/N shook their head. They calmed themself, feeling the wave begin to subside. “I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Y/N,” Tuti hesitated before placing a hand upon their shoulder. “When Loqui and I found you, what was going on? You looked off more than usual.” 

“I’m not even sure to be honest,” Y/N said sincerely. They grimaced a final time, and then the searing throb departed for now. “I felt like I was…glitching?” 

“Glitching?” Tuti let out a breath. 

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded. “That’s the best I can describe it. It wasn’t like the flare when we dined with the Serpent Society. I thought I was losing my mind. That I was becoming something else." 

The two remained in silence, letting thoughts and contemplations drift. Tuti let go of Y/N, and faced them. The way she glared reminded Y/N of Ardyn when he was angry at something external, while his eyes were soft for them. 

“Y/N, this ‘Adagium’ thing…is that you? Is this why Chancellor Izunia has protected you, aside from finding a cure for the scourge?" 

“I don’t--” Y/N paused. They found it odd how they couldn’t answer Tuti, even though they knew better. Even though it was the truth that they weren't the accursed daemon that would bring Eos to its knees. No. That title alone belonged to Ardyn. Yet with how connected Y/N had become to him, they felt an equal responsibility to the burden of the name. Especially with the sins Ardyn and they committed. 

They felt their stomach twist in knots. The bodies in the lab, and the corpses of the three they had killed after the goblin attack seemed to twist and meld together. Y/N wondered if these were Ardyn’s memories of Outpost 98 blending with their own crimes. It explained the sinister aura, but it didn’t account for just how personal it was.

Experiencing Ardyn’s memories of the past had an intimacy that couldn’t be described, and this held a different signature. A different energy. Y/N realized they were starting to sound like one of the devotees of the Hexatheon, believing in superstition, but with everything they had come to know about the world through Ardyn, perhaps it wasn’t so crazy. 

“Y/N, look out!” Tuti screamed as she pointed behind them. What looked to be an explosive orb was flying straight toward the pair. By the time Y/N turned their head to register what had startled her, it was too late. The events unfolded so painfully quick that Y/N’s mind felt like a photographer trying to capture every second of an experience out of desperation. 

All oxygen in the vicinity temporarily ceased before it expanded in pulsation, like ripples in a pool of water after tossing a rock into it. Then came the shock wave. It hit both Y/N and Tuti with a smashing force that sent either flying in opposite directions. Y/N felt the wind knock out of their body as ribs cracked. The sphere then exploded into a blinding light, as if the sun itself fell from the sky. Y/N’s vision was trapped in a warm white light with nothing but the sound of ringing in their ears. The world beyond this didn’t exist. Nothing did. But the pain--oh by the Gods--the pain was unbearable. The surface level of skin hadn't burned, yet the layers of tissue and muscle underneath the flesh might as well had been doused in magma and flayed. 

Y/N remained lost in that white light long after their body crashed. They didn’t feel the shrapnel embed into their arms and legs. Nor did they register how parts of the building they had crashed into beat them further. Their conscious was trapped in that white void, and not a damn thing could break through. Eternity seemed to pass, as Y/N had no concept of time. They had no concept of anything, but the hot light and how they felt like fire itself. 

The shrills of Tuti’s voice drowned out the white noise. The ringing ceased, and Y/N’s eyes sucked in the worlds colors as they gasped aloud. Their voice cracked, tasting bile and blood in their throat. As they came to, they fixated on Tuti who was crawling through a hole in the wall from the outside world, trying in vain to reach them. 

“Y/N!” Tuti screeched. “Y/N! Gods damn it! Y/N!” 

Then the men came. Four of them. Their uniforms were blurred, but Y/N could see the signature black that marked Lucians. Then there was the fuzzy color of the MedZin patch. 

Oh no... Y/N gargled on their own spit, choking on the copper taste of their blood. 

“Let go of me! Let go of me you fuckers!” Tuti exclaimed. All Y/N could do was watch as the men hauled her away. Distorted voices made proclamations and demands. Y/N couldn’t make sense of any of it. It grew worse as another voice made itself known in the back of Y/N’s skull. A horde of monstrous spirits that had been yearning to come forth and do what it knew best: survive and spread.

“The target has been compromised,” One of the men said, shaking his head with disappointment as he communicated further into his radio. “Yes, the Adagium is still alive. I’m looking right at it.” 

Adagium…? I’m not… Y/N was slipping away into the backseat of their own head. The scourge began to slink it’s fingers around the wheel, and Y/N felt their body wanting to split in half as their vision became pixelated and dark. 

“We need to move! The distraction at the House of the Courts is unfolding! The Imperials are fending off the men we sent!” 

“Wouldn’t it be better this way? If Adagium is dead, that means the world is safe.” 

“We have orders to bring it in alive, at least until we can figure out how it’s spread the scourge. We can’t let emotions interfere with our mission.” 

“Guys, what about the Imperial, what do we do with her?” 

“Kill her. We got what we came for.”

“That seems like such a waste. She didn’t do anything!” 

“If you can’t do your job, then I’ll do it for you! Now get to it, and hurry!” 

With those words spoken, fates were sealed as Y/N’s body fell high to a rush of adrenaline that would’ve killed the average man in seconds. The scourge burst like a sewer pipe, flooding every pore and organ. Muscles quaked violently as Y/N’s senses sharpened like a steady knife being polished. Pain was an illusion as they rose from the ashes and let out a scream so loud, their chest felt too small for their lungs. Their skin began to turn a pale purple, as if their blood had fully retreated from their veins. The black spider webbing of the scourge tattooed every pore and crevice. Their eyes were consumed by a pitch black void, save for the ember yellow around their pupils. 

What was left of Y/N’s humanity in that split second succumbed to the dark passenger within their mind, and they were filled with a deep and terrible rage. An instantaneous image of Ardyn’s point of view flashed behind Y/N’s eyes, indicating he was greatly disturbed, and then they charged from one person to the next. The sound of screaming was the last thing Y/N heard before their body acted upon its own will. 

[steddieworks]

finally safe for me to fall - chapter 11

hi!! sorry this is so late in the day, but i've had kind of an insane weekend!

some news about fsfmtf: I've decided to go to a bi-weekly posting schedule, as the weekly one was a bit too much for me to keep up with. I'm going to try to update this fic every other Sunday from now on, but forgive me if I get off track!

Also, I just wanted to let you guys know that we're about halfway through the fic now!! can't wait for you to see what i have in store for the next couple of chapters ;)

Enjoy!

read on ao3

Summary: Steve and Eddie spend some quality time after they put the twins to bed.

Warnings for this chapter: swearing, non-graphic descriptions/references to scenes in horror films

Words: 8.3k

The girls sleep nearly the entire way back home from the baby shower. Eddie keeps glancing back at them, a little worried that they won’t sleep tonight if they sleep too much now, but Steve doesn’t seem to be concerned about this. He hums softly as he drives, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the center console, his fingers still intertwined with Eddie’s. If he wasn’t so tired and concerned about the girls, Eddie would probably be panicking a little at the new, yet already familiar, touch.

“Should we stop and grab dinner from somewhere on the way home?” Steve asks as they drive.

Eddie turns to glance at him, giving him a little shrug and smile. “That’s up to you. I can cook when we get back, if you want.”

Steve glances at him, but shakes his head. His lips are twitching when he turns his eyes back to the road. “No, I think I want us to just have an easy night. We could order pizza and watch a movie?”

“That sounds perfect,” Eddie says with a smile. He squeezes Steve’s hand, gently rubbing over the back of it with just the tips of his fingers. He marvels at the softness of his skin, the way his fingers flex as he turns their hands this way and that.

“This is okay, right?” Steve asks softly, gesturing at Eddie’s hands when he looks at him.

Eddie smiles. “More than okay,” he reassures easily. “I… it’s kind of stupid, but being an omega, I really crave physical touch sometimes… so this is really nice,” he mumbles, feeling a bit awkward after admitting to that.

Steve hums. “Well, anytime you need that… just tell me, okay?” He glances away from the road briefly, sending Eddie a searching look. “It’s kind of like scenting each other, yeah? That’s beneficial for both of us, but I need you to tell me when that’s not enough, okay?”

“Okay.” Eddie nods. He nods, but he wants to say, “it’s never enough. It’ll never be enough, it’ll just be scraps of you - scraps of what I really want.”

He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he begins humming a song, realizing belatedly that it’s the same one that Steve was just humming a few moments before, something he’s fairly sure is by ABBA. Luckily, Steve doesn’t tease him for this. Instead, he just smiles to himself, joining in on the humming with ease.

When they get home, there’s a silent agreement that each of them will wake up one of the girls and help her upstairs, so between the two of them, they manage to get both of them out of the car and to the lobby.

“I’m sleepy,” Ivy whines into Steve’s neck as they wait for the elevator.

“I know, honey,” he murmurs back to her. “But we’ve got to eat dinner before we go to bed, okay?”

Ivy whines again, this time Jasmine joining her, so Eddie is quick to intervene. “Hey, how would you two like to pick out the movie we watch?”

Jasmine lifts her head from his shoulder a bit, looking at him critically. “And we can pick any kind of movie?”

Eddie hesitates, glancing at Steve as they step into the elevator. He’s a little suspicious of her tone, but Steve shrugs and nods, so Eddie replies, “I guess.”

“Even a scary movie?” Ivy asks, her voice full of glee.

“Um…” Eddie starts, glancing over at Steve, suddenly much more uncertain.

Steve shrugs again, but waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll see what sort of options we’ve got for scary movies and then decide,” he says, very diplomatic.

The girls don’t seem to love this answer, but they don’t complain, just giving a mild agreement.

Eddie’s relieved when they finally make it inside. It’s not like they had a particularly bad day or anything, but he’s definitely a little exhausted from all the excitement. There’s also a tingling under his skin, some energy that he hasn’t been able to get out. He almost wishes he was the type of person who actually enjoyed exercise, because he thinks that a good run might just be the very thing he needs to settle the buzzing in his bones.

“Alright, how about you guys go get some pajamas on while me and Eddie order some pizza and find a movie to watch, does that sound alright?” Steve suggests, placing Ivy on the ground so she can do just that.

“Will it be something really scary?” Jasmine asks, sounding just a bit nervous.

“It won’t be too scary, hon,” Steve says, sending her a wink. “And if you get really scared, we’ll change it to something else.”

Jasmine nods, turning to go to her room to change into her pajamas, while Ivy lingers behind for a moment. She waits until her sister is out of sight, then turns to her dad and shrugs. “I think we should watch something really super duper scary.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks, quirking an eyebrow at that. When Ivy nods, Steve gives her a little shrug. “Well… we’ll see what I can do about that.”

Eddie knows, realistically, that neither one of them would be able to handle something really scary, and he’s pretty sure Steve also knows this, but Eddie is definitely dubious about what movie he has in mind. Purely for the sake of the twins, of course. Not because he himself is a little nervous about watching something scary. Definitely not because of that.

Well. Maybe a little because of that.

“Pizza?” Steve asks Eddie when both of the girls have left the room.

Eddie nods, smiling at him as he tugs awkwardly at his shirt sleeves. He’s not sure why he feels so out of place all of a sudden, but he does. It’s almost like being on a first date, except obviously that’s not at all what’s happening. He’s known Steve for weeks, and has lived with him basically the whole time he’s known him. There is no reason to feel this weird all of a sudden, but with Steve’s eyes on him, he feels seen in a way that he’s not sure he’ll ever be fully used to.

“I’m gonna…” Eddie says, though he has no idea where that sentence is going. Steve pauses where he was dialing the phone, glancing at him curiously. Eddie blinks. God, he’s being so fucking stupid. “Pajamas.”

And now he can’t even say a full sentence. Great.

Steve smiles at him, a sweet, knowing little thing. “Sure.”

Eddie waits for a beat, as if Steve is going to say anything else, then forces his feet into the direction of his bedroom to actually get changed. The whole way there, he lectures himself mentally for how ridiculous he’s being. It’s silly to be so shaken up by the whole baby shower fiasco- the twins’ slip-ups, the way he felt like he and Steve presented themselves as something like mates- Eddie should not be this affected by it all. He needs to be professional, and put his stupid, childish feelings aside.

Resolved, he tugs on a long-sleeved t-shirt and his red flannel pajamas pants before making his way back to the lounge. He can hear the twins already in there, giggling and talking, and when he rounds the corner, he sees Steve crouched in front of the television, messing with something. The girls are snuggled up together on one end of the sofa, a big blanket draped over their laps, and Eddie feels his heart constrict painfully at the sight. He loves them so, so much.

“Need any help?” Eddie asks as he crosses the floor, pausing beside Steve.

Steve glances up at him, shaking his head with a smile. “No, I’ve got it. Can you go grab a blanket off my bed, though?”

Eddie nods, making a silly face at the kids as he passes the couch.

The smell of Steve overwhelms him just a bit when he crosses the threshold into Steve’s bedroom. He ignores it the best he can, making his way over to the bed and grabbing the fuzzy throw blanket folded neatly at the end. It’s ridiculous, and pathetic, but he can’t help but bury his nose in the softness, just for a minute, inhaling deeply. God. Steve smells so damn good, Eddie doesn’t hardly know what to do with himself.

Well. That’s not entirely true. He knows he needs to stop being like this.

He makes his way back to the living room, pausing when he sees Steve curled up on one end of the sofa, the twins sprawled on the other.

Eddie has two clear choices.

Either he can sit in the space they left between them, which is obviously for him, or, he could sit in Steve’s recliner, avoiding the closeness entirely. It’s practically a no-brainer.

Of course, that decision could never be that easy.

“Eddie, are you going to come sit with us?” Ivy asks, being the first to notice him standing there.

Naturally, her saying that prompts Jasmine and Steve to both look over at him, with varying degrees of smiles on their faces.

“C’mere, honey, I saved you a spot,” Steve says, patting the seat beside him.

Well, so much for making the decision on his own.

“Here,” Eddie says as he sits down, handing Steve the throw he’d retrieved from his room. Part of him laments the loss; it really was a nice blanket, and not only because of lingering scent of Steve that clung to it.

“Oh, no,” Steve says, shuffling so that their legs are pressed together. “I wanted you to get it for you.” At Eddie’s perplexed expression, Steve smiles. “I know you get cold really easily, especially at night.”

Eddie feels his face flush at that. It’s true, of course, but knowing that Steve noticed it… well, it certainly doesn’t help with those pesky feelings. “Oh,” Eddie says after a minute, unsure what else he even can say. “We can share,” is what comes out of his stupid mouth.

Steve smiles, and it’s so damn soft that Eddie feels himself melting. “Well, if you insist,” he teases before pulling the blanket up over both of their laps.

“What is this movie?” Jasmine asks, and Eddie realizes with a start that there is, in fact, a movie playing on screen.

“It’s called Beetlejuice,” Steve replies. He glances at Eddie. “Have you ever seen it?”

Eddie shakes his head, ducking his head a little so that Steve doesn’t catch the embarrassment on his face. The truth is, he’d heard about the film, and while the premise sounds cute and relatively safe, he’s always been somewhat of a baby when it comes to any movie with any hint of scariness, and he definitely doesn’t want to show that card now. “No, I haven’t,” he mumbles, tugging at a loose thread hanging from the edge of the blanket across their laps.

“It’s pretty good,” Steve says. “Me and Robin went to see it in theaters when the twins were really little.” He drops his voice, and Eddie has to force himself not to lean closer than necessary to hear him. “It’s just comedy horror, most of it isn’t scary at all, so I think they’ll be okay.”

Eddie nods. “Great,” he says, his voice a bit weaker than he intends it to be.

He startles a little when he feels a hand on his knee. “You can hold my hand if you get scared, honey,” Steve whispers. He’s got a sneaky little grin on his face, and Eddie is grateful for the dimmed lighting in the room, which hopefully conceals his blushing cheeks.

“Oh- okay,” Eddie squeaks. His fingers twitch with the urge to do just that, but he knows that he shouldn’t. Instead, he laces his fingers together over his own lap, keeping his hands neatly to himself.

The pizza arrives just as the movie starts, so Steve pauses it while he jumps up to go get the food. Eddie goes to collect plates and napkins and drinks while Steve exchanges pleasantries and payment with the pizza delivery guy. They meet back at the coffee table around the same time, Steve smiling when he sees Eddie setting drinks out for everyone. “I was going to do that when I came back.”

Eddie shrugs, going back to his spot on the couch. “I got it,” he says with an easy smile back. He watches as Steve hands out pizza, half-expecting him to go back to his armchair rather than sit on the couch. He’s surprised when instead, Steve plops right back down beside him, accepting the corner of the blanket that Eddie hands out to him with a warm smile.

The movie starts out just fine, the humor aspect more than making up for any of the minor scares they utilize. Eddie finds most of his enjoyment in watching the twins watch the film at the other end of the sofa. Their faces are slack with intrigue nearly the whole time, and the few times they do get jump-scared is quickly followed by raucous giggles when the title character makes a joke of some sort. Eddie can feel his cheeks beginning to hurt from how much he’s smiling at them, but it feels nearly impossible to stop.

There aren't any particularly huge jump scares or anything over the course of the film, but as it nears the end, Eddie does wonder vaguely if the twins will struggle to sleep without thinking about all the weird distorted characters on the screen. They don’t seem particularly worried, though, and when the credits start rolling, Eddie is both disappointed and relieved. Disappointed, because he had managed to be good and spent the whole film with his hands to himself, which meant he didn’t get to touch Steve. And relieved, because even though he’s sad that the night is ending, he’s glad he won’t have to hold himself so tightly wound for much longer, finally able to escape to his room and just breathe.

They clean up their mess from dinner, sending the twins off to brush their teeth and get ready for bed while they collect the trash and leftovers from the coffee table. It’s an easy, domestic routine by now, one that Eddie feels he could repeat in his sleep. Once they’re finished, Eddie glances at Steve where he’s stood at the sink, rinsing out the cups they’d used.

“I’ll go, um… check that the twins are in bed,” he says, fiddling with one of his rings.

Steve glances at him and nods. “Okay. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

Eddie nods back before leaving the room, following the sound of the twins chattering and giggling in their bedroom. When he gets to the door, he pauses, watching as they try to sing the song from the end of the movie, although it’s immediately clear that neither of them know the words. He watches for a moment, just silently laughing at the scene in front of him, until Ivy attempts the floating scene by climbing on top of her bed.

“What’s going on in here?” Eddie asks smoothly, grinning when Ivy shrieks in surprise.

“Mommy, you scared me!” She squeals, flopping down on her bed and beaming up at him.

His heart does that same familiar squeeze when he hears her call him that name. “Sorry, honey. So, I take it you guys liked the movie?” he asks, going to sit on the end of Jasmine’s bed and smiling when she crawls into his lap.

“It was so funny!” Jasmine gushes, her hands flailing as she describes the scene where the Maitlands make their faces all long and distorted in order to prove that they can scare the humans away. Eddie nods as he listens to her talk, Ivy interrupting every few moments, as usual.

“-And then when Beetlejuice turned into a snake-” Ivy is saying when they hear a throat being cleared.

They all glance up to see Steve standing at their bedroom door, his arms crossed as his lips twitch. “Looks like a party in here,” he teases.

Eddie’s heart bursts with affection when the twins scramble off the bed to go to their father, dragging him into the room with them.

“Daddy! What was your favorite part of the movie?” Ivy asks, tugging him over to her bed.

He sits on the end of it, mirroring Eddie’s position on Jasmine’s bed. “Well, how about you two get into bed and I’ll tell you?” Steve bargains, quirking an eyebrow at both of them.

They’re quick to obey, scrambling under their covers and looking at him patiently, clearly curious about what he’ll say.

Steve smiles at them, sharing a little knowing look with Eddie. “Well, I think my favorite part… is probably either the waiting room scene… or maybe the song at the end.”

Eddie snorts at the irony. Steve gives him a curious look, but Eddie just gestures to the twins. “Do you guys wanna tell Daddy what you were doing when I came in?”

Jasmine looks mildly embarrassed, but Ivy, ever the shameless one, just lights up, sitting up in her bed quickly. “We were singin’ the song! Well… we don’t know all the words, but we’re gonna learn them!”

“Is that so?” Steve asks with a little chuckle. He reaches out, patting the bed. “Well, how about we work on that tomorrow, okay? We’ve had a busy day today, so I think we need some rest before we do all that.”

Ivy doesn’t look thrilled with that, but she nods in understanding. “Okay,” she agrees, snuggling back under her covers. She blinks her big hazel eyes up at Eddie then, her little hand reaching out. “Can I have my goodnight hug, please?”

Eddie melts. “Of course, honey,” he says, making his way over to her bed and crouching beside it. She’s quick to roll over and wrap her arms around his neck, snuggling in closely. He pets over her hair gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Goodnight, sweet girl. I love you,” he murmurs. He wishes, more than anything, that these were really his children. That he could scent them like their real mother would, that he could let them call him ‘Mommy’ without feeling guilty about it.

“Goodnight,” Ivy replies before pulling away, reaching for her father next.

Steve gives him a knowing smile as they sort of swap places, Eddie going over to Jasmine’s bed next to give her a hug and tuck her in. “Are you warm enough?” he asks, smoothing the blanket out and reaching a hand up to brush back an errant strand of hair.

Jasmine nods. “Mhm.” She holds her little arms out, and Eddie leans in to give her a hug, squeezing her tightly.

“Goodnight, honey. I love you. Sweet dreams,” he murmurs into her hair.

“Night, Mommy,” she whispers as she lays back down.

Steve finishes bidding each of them goodnight, and Eddie waits at the door as Steve gestures to the nightlight. “Nightlight or no nightlight?” he asks.

The girls agree that they would like the nightlight on, so Steve dutifully goes and flicks the button, blowing them kisses as he heads to the door. “Goodnight, girls. I love you, sleep tight,” Steve says.

“And don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Eddie adds from behind him, smirking when the girls giggle.

Steve rolls his eyes, but is clearly hiding a smile when he pulls the door shut behind them.

Before Eddie can panic about being left alone with him, Steve nods to the kitchen. “I think I could use a drink, what about you?”

Eddie would normally decline, but after the day he’s had, he can’t think of a reason to. “Sure,” he agrees before following Steve down the hall and into the kitchen. Eddie leans against the island counter as he watches Steve peruse the liquor options, wrinkling his nose up at the whiskey and bourbon he finds.

“You don’t really like whiskey, right?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t hate it, but yeah, it’s not my favorite.”

Steve hums, then opens the other cabinet, making a triumphant little noise at whatever he spots there. “Bingo. Red wine sound okay?” He asks, gesturing with the sleek bottle.

“Um.” Eddie swallows hard. Wine is a bit… romantic, he thinks. “Sure,” he says, despite himself. It’s fine. There’s nothing romantic about sharing a glass of wine with your boss after a long day of work.

Right?

Steve takes a sip of the wine first, smacking his lips as he considers it. “It’s a little on the sweeter side,” he says, glancing at Eddie. “Is that alright?”

Eddie nods. It would be even more alright if he was tasting it from Steve’s lips, his stupid, horny, traitorous mind posits. He ignores that thought entirely, smiling at Steve. “Yeah, that’s fine. I don’t mind a sweeter wine.”

“Great.” Steve nods and pours them each a generous glass, handing Eddie his before making his way back over to the sofa. “You wanna watch something else?” He asks, flopping back onto the same end of the sofa he’d been sitting on earlier.

Eddie hesitates. It isn’t that late, and it is a Saturday, afterall. “Would… would that be okay?” he asks, feeling like an idiot even as the words leave his mouth.

Steve gives him a look, his lips quivering like he wants to laugh but isn’t sure if he should. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t, honey.”

And that does make him feel a bit dumb, but then Steve is patting the sofa cushion beside him, and Eddie feels fine going to sit with him. He cradles his glass of wine close to his chest as Steve grabs the remote, clicking through the channels until he lands on something that apparently piques his interest.

“Oh, have you seen this?” Steve asks, turning the volume down a couple of notches and laying the remote back on the coffee table.

Eddie glances at the screen, frowning as he tries to recall if the opening scene is familiar in any way. “Um, I don’t recognize it. What is it?”

Steve laughs, for some reason, and Eddie looks over at him, confused. “It,” Steve answers.

“Yeah, what is it?” Eddie repeats, assuming that Steve had just misunderstood.

Steve rolls his eyes at that, but Eddie can tell he’s not making fun of him. “No, it’s - that’s the name,” Steve explains. “The movie is called It. You ever read any Stephen King?”

Eddie pauses. He has read some, actually, and the name does ring a bell, now that he gets what Steve was saying. The problem is that he actually avoided this one for a reason. Something about clowns… they just gave him the heebie-jeebies. “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of it,” he says carefully, trying not to betray his sudden nervousness.

Apparently he does well, because Steve just smiles, oblivious to the way Eddie is gulping his wine, like that’ll help. “We don’t have to stay up for the whole thing, but we can watch a bit of it, if you want?” Steve asks, taking a sip of his wine and tugging the blanket over their laps.

“Sure,” Eddie says with a nod. He can do that. He can just watch a bit of it, and then, when it gets scary, he can feign a yawn and escape to bed. Piece of cake.

Except that’s not what happens.

He actually gets sort of invested in the film, and after the first jumpscare with Pennywise in the sewer, he’s lulled into a false sense of security, thinking the film isn’t really all that bad at all. And to be honest, it probably isn’t. The problem exists solely in the fact that Tim Curry’s Pennywise is freaky as hell, and even though Eddie makes it through the whole film, he knows he’ll be hearing that creepy voice, and seeing those razor-sharp teeth in his dreams.

At one point, close to the end, Steve checks in on him with a squeeze of his knee. “You okay?” he whispers, his eyes glued to the television when Eddie glances over at him.

“Um, yeah,” Eddie murmurs back, twisting his fingers nervously. He’d finished his wine half an hour ago, and now his hands are fidgety and anxious as the movie draws to a close.

“Not too scared?” Steve asks, and this time, he’s smirking when Eddie looks over at him.

“No,” Eddie whispers, his heart thrumming with a new kind of nervousness.

Steve pats his knee, then withdraws his hand. “Good,” he says before he turns his attention back to the television. It gives Eddie whiplash, the way that Steve goes so quickly from this almost-flirting to being completely oblivious. Maybe this is why he’s going insane, he thinks absently.

The film ends with little fanfare, and Eddie doesn’t even notice until Steve leans forward, shutting the television off with a click of the remote. He sighs, standing up and stretching, his arms going high up over his head. Eddie tries not to stare at the sliver of skin the move exposes, but it’s nearly impossible, his eyes drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

“Ready for bed?” Steve asks, startling Eddie into nearly falling off the edge of the couch.

“Er, yeah,” Eddie replies, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Steve is definitely smirking at him. He grabs their wine glasses and goes to the sink, rinsing them out to be fully washed tomorrow. When he’s finished, he wipes his hands off on the towel by the sink, turning to face Eddie with a hesitant look on his face. “Do you want to…”

Eddie’s throat tightens at the half-question. He knows what he wants Steve to say, but he knows, before Steve even finishes his sentence, that it’s not going to be exactly what he wants. “To…?” Eddie prompts, raising his eyebrows at him.

It might just be the dim lighting, but Eddie could almost swear that Steve is blushing. “Can I scent you? Before we go to bed?” Steve rubs his arm awkwardly, as if he’s uncertain about what Eddie’s response will be.

And god, that makes Eddie feel like mush. “Of course,” he murmurs, already moving closer. “After all, we missed our morning shot,” he jokes, referring back to when Steve said that scenting him felt sort of addicting.

Steve shrugs, looking a little bashful as he reaches out for Eddie. “Yeah, well… I didn’t want to like… scent-mark you right before your date. Wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression, you know,” he mumbles, sounding petulant as he tries to duck his head into Eddie’s shoulder.

Oh. Right.

“Steve,” Eddie says, his voice bordering on a laugh as he gently pushes him back a bit. “You know I wasn’t actually on a date, right?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Steve blinks. “What?”

Eddie nods, feeling brave as he reaches out, running a hand through Steve’s flopping hair. “I was just meeting up with a friend from high school.”

“Oh,” Steve says. Eddie notices a distinct shift in his scent, a sweetness that wasn’t previously there tinting the air. “So you aren’t…”

“Nope,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Gareth is my best friend, but we’ve never been anything more than that.”

“That’s…” Steve hesitates, but then finishes his thought, though he looks a little ashamed. “That’s good,” he says, and yeah, he’s definitely blushing. “I- I just mean, like-” he says, stuttering all of a sudden. Eddie feels blessed to be seeing this so up-close, and for once, he feels like he might have the upper-hand between the two of them. “Like, it’s good that you’re seeing friends! Not that it’s good that it wasn’t a date, but-”

Eddie takes pity on him then. “Steve,” he murmurs.

Steve takes a breath, meeting his eyes again with an embarrassed smile. “Yeah?”

“It’s fine,” Eddie says. He wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders, tugging him in gently. “I would’ve told you if it was a real date,” he whispers.

He feels Steve’s arms wrap around his waist, and then that newly-familiar feeling of Steve tucking his face against his neck, breathing in deeply before scenting him. “You don’t have to,” Steve whispers back. “Your private life is none of my business.”

Eddie snorts out a laugh at that; he can’t help it. “Maybe not,” Eddie concedes. “But I wouldn’t keep something that big from you.”

Steve makes a soft noise, and Eddie could swear that he feels a brush of lips against his pulse. “Okay,” he allows, although Eddie can practically smell his desire to argue some more. “I appreciate that,” he says. “But… just know… you have a right to privacy, honey. Even though we’re… closer than most coworkers.”

Eddie definitely has to choke down another snort at that. Coworkers - it feels like the wrong word entirely for what they are, but he isn’t about to correct Steve. This thing is already so fragile, he couldn’t possibly bear to actually ruin it for real.

Instead of laughing, or speaking his mind, he tilts his head, allowing himself to be scented and held, pretending in some far corner of his mind that he’s loved by this man. This man, who never ceases to take care of him, to do everything he can to be the best father and partner a person could wish for. And even if he’ll never have that love reciprocated, Eddie will always have the comfort of knowing that Steve is the easiest person to love, and the most deserving of it.

“Can you…” Steve whispers, his breath ghosting over Eddie’s neck and making him shiver.

“What?” Eddie asks, just as softly.

Steve shifts, just a little, and Eddie realizes what he wants right before he asks. “Will you scent me, too?”

Eddie knows for a fact that he’s melting with affection as he nods, nosing against one side of Steve’s throat thoroughly before tilting his head and doing the same to the opposite side. “Good?” he asks softly when he feels that he’s done a thorough job.

“Yes,” Steve says with a sigh. “You know… you can scent me every time,” he says, pulling away slightly so he can look Eddie in the eyes. “You don’t have to wait for me to ask.”

Eddie smiles, but glances down, feeling a little embarrassed. It’s like Steve can just read his mind, sometimes. “But you might not want that every time,” he says, trying to sound reasonable and not like he’s just looking for an excuse not to get any closer than they already are.

There’s a gentle brush against his chin, and Eddie looks up when Steve’s fingers guide him to. “I’ll always want it, Eds,” he whispers. His gaze flicks down to Eddie’s lips, and Eddie feels like he might actually combust at the way his eyes flash.

“Okay,” Eddie breathes, trying to control his breathing, and his scent. “If you’re sure you’re okay with it. And that it won’t bother the girls, for you to smell like me.”

That seems to catch Steve’s attention, and Eddie feels a cocktail of confused and relieved when his gaze is dragged away from Eddie’s mouth. Steve furrows his eyebrows, looking confused himself as he says, “I don’t think they’d mind at all.”

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, allowing himself to pull out of Steve’s grip, slowly but surely. “I know you’ve been scenting me for a while now, but I don’t want them to feel like…” He wants to say, “I don’t want them to feel like you’re trying to replace their Mom with me,” but he doesn’t know how to say it tactfully. Instead, he stops there, watching Steve carefully for any indication that he understands.

Steve just looks more confused, if anything. “Honey, they love you. I mean,” he laughs a little, shaking his head. “Eddie, I’ve heard them call you “Mommy” several times now. I don’t think you scenting me would be the end of the world,” he says.

Eddie’s stomach clenches, and he knows his scent must go sour with the sudden anxiety, because Steve’s nose crinkles. “Oh… you heard that?”

Steve nods, but doesn’t look bothered at all. “I heard both of them say it today at the baby shower. And… and I know you probably told them not to call you that, but Eddie…” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t mind it.”

Eddie balks at him. “You don’t… mind it?” he repeats, baffled. “You don’t mind that your children refer to me as their mom, even though I’m not?”

Steve rolls his eyes, his shoulders sagging a little, like the conversation is exhausting him. “Eddie, no,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t mind that they’re calling you that, and like I’ve told you before, you are the closest thing they have to a mom. If they want to call you that…” Steve shrugs. “It’s fine with me.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. He’s not sure what to make of that. It doesn’t feel normal for an alpha to want their children to call someone who isn’t their mate by such a title, but before he can question his sincerity some more, Steve is speaking again.

“In fact,” he says, standing up a little straighter, like he’s just had a great idea. “I think that you should start scenting them, too.”

Eddie blinks. “What?”

Steve shrugs. “I scent them before school, Robin scents them every time she sees them, but they’ve never really had an omega around to scent them.” He nods at Eddie. “Until now.”

“But…” Eddie trails off. He needs to stop using the twins’ clearly absent mother as an excuse to not be close to his - Steve’s - children. Clearly Steve and the twins themselves don’t have a problem with it, so Eddie maybe needs to stop feeling so guilty about it all the time. “Are you sure they’d be okay with that?” he asks anyway, twisting the rings on his fingers.

Steve smiles at him, reaching out and twisting the rings back to their proper position. “Yeah, honey, I’m pretty sure. Ivy asked me about it, like, a week after I started scenting you. I think it made her jealous,” he says with a laugh.

And oh, that makes Eddie’s heart feel so full. “Okay,” he mumbles. “I’ll… I’ll ask them if they’re okay with that in the morning.”

“Sure,” Steve says with a nod. “Oh, that reminds me, do you have plans tomorrow?”

Eddie shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. In the months that he’s worked for Steve, he’s never had plans on a weekend, except for yesterday morning. And yet, Steve still asks, almost every time. “Nope. Figured I’d just hang out here, if that’s okay.”

Steve lights up at that, just a little. “Of course it’s okay. The twins will be so excited that they get to spend the day with you,” he says.

Eddie smiles right back at him. “Same. Maybe we could do something tomorrow?”

“Sure. We can figure something out in the morning,” Steve replies, and Eddie recognizes that for the cue it is. But then, Steve turns back to him, giving him a soft smile. “Are you okay, though? The movie didn’t scare you too badly, did it?”

Damn. Eddie had almost forgotten all about the creepy fucking clown. “Er…” Eddie says, trailing off. When he sees the concerned look on Steve’s face, he’s quick to shake his head. “I- yeah, I’m fine.” He lies. He’ll probably be sleeping with one eye open tonight, to be honest.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, his eyebrows crinkling up in worry. “You can… you know, if you’re scared, you could…” Steve pauses, gesturing to his bedroom awkwardly.

It takes Eddie a second to get it. And when he does, his whole body flushes in embarrassment. Surely Steve isn’t actually offering- “Um, what?” Eddie asks, suddenly desperate for clarification.

Steve blushes, scratching his neck awkwardly. “You could… come sleep in my room. If you want.”

Eddie blinks at him.

“Um.”

“You don’t have to!” Steve says quickly, and Eddie notices how he scoots half a step away, putting some-much needed space in between them. It gives Eddie a little room to breathe, at least. “But just, like… the offer is there, if you need it. Okay?”

Eddie nods slowly. His brain isn’t moving quickly enough for the turns this conversation has taken, so all he can manage to say is a stuttered, “O-okay. Um… I’m gonna…” he takes a step backwards, in the direction of his own bedroom.

He pretends he doesn’t notice the slightly hurt look on Steve’s face.

“Okay,” Steve says, resigned. “Goodnight, Eds. Um… sleep tight.”

Eddie gives him a weak smile. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” he finishes the little phrase, and is rewarded with a very cute smile mirrored on Steve’s face.

He gives an awkward little wave before making his way down the hall to his bedroom, growing increasingly wary of the lack of light in the apartment as he approaches his room. Like the scaredy cat that he is, he flicks his overhead light on immediately as he walks into his room, scanning every corner and crevice for anything suspicious. Content that he is well and truly alone in his room, he flicks the light off, all but jumping into his bed as soon as the lights are out.

It’s not like he never watches scary movies.

He does.

Just… usually he only watches them when he knows someone will be around to… comfort him, if he happens to get scared. Back when he was younger, that had been Wayne’s job, and bless his uncle’s heart - the man had spent many a night sleeping in the recliner so that Eddie could have the pull-out couch, terrified of being left in his own room by himself. Things had changed when Eddie and Henry started courting, but Henry didn’t usually like to deal with him after a horror movie. Eddie remembers being called “needy” and “childish” - both of which were perfectly true, just not very helpful, in the grand scheme of things.

Eddie forces himself to close his eyes, trying desperately to relax and stay calm, despite the images that dance in his head. Sharp teeth, long crooked fingers, a smile that’s just not quite right-

Was that a noise?

If he wasn’t so petrified, he’d probably laugh at himself for how ridiculous he’s being. Instead, he lays stock-still, his eyes just barely peeking open so that he can survey the room around him once more. He realizes how absurd he probably seems, and part of him is grateful that there isn’t anyone around to see this side of him. The bigger part of him, though… that part wishes he’d taken Steve up on his offer.

It’s not like it would be weird. Well… not in a bad way, at least. It would probably just be a little awkward, but surely it wouldn’t be that bad. And it’s not like Steve hadn’t offered…

That, and the lingering feeling that something is watching him from the closet, makes Eddie’s decision for him. He throws his covers off himself, making his way out of his room as quickly and quietly as possible. He closes the door behind himself, his socked feet aiding in his attempt to sneak through the apartment.

There’s a soft light streaming underneath Steve’s bedroom door, so Eddie doesn’t feel quite as terrible when he knocks lightly before pushing it open.

“Steve?” He whispers, peeking around the door.

“Eddie? Are you okay?” Steve’s concerned voice meets him, and Eddie takes that as his invitation, slipping through the doorway quietly. Steve is sitting up in his bed, a book in his lap, the lamp on his bedside table shining dimly. He’s also wearing glasses, something Eddie has never seen him wear before, although they’re actually quite a good look. His eyebrows are furrowed in concern when Eddie meets his gaze, but something in Eddie’s face must settle some of that, because it smooths out as he speaks. “Oh, honey. C’mere.”

“I’m not bothering you, am I?” Eddie asks before he even dares move closer to the bed. “I don’t want to be annoying, I just-“

Steve interrupts him with a shake of his head. “No, no. Come here, I told you that you can sleep in here.”

Eddie shuffles over to the empty side of the bed, feeling a bit like a little kid. “I feel kind of ridiculous,” he admits through a mumble. “I’m twenty-six, you know.”

“I know,” Steve says, giving him a sweet smile as he lifts up the covers. “You can be twenty-six and still be afraid of things, you know.”

Eddie huffs as he climbs into bed beside Steve, his movements a little stiff and uncertain. “Yeah, well you certainly don’t seem scared,” he argues petulantly.

Steve grins at him, patting his knee before his hand returns to his book. “I’m not twenty-six,” Steve jokes. Eddie pouts, and something about his demeanor gets Steve’s attention. “I am scared of things, Ed.”

“Yeah?” Eddie murmurs, turning over to lay on his side, looking up at Steve with wide, curious eyes. This feels important, like sharing secrets at a sleepover. “Like what?”

Steve makes a considering noise, and Eddie watches as he puts his book away on the nightstand. Eddie doesn’t catch the title of it, but vows to check in the morning, just out of curiosity. “Well,” Steve finally says, staring seemingly at nothing as he talks. “I’m scared of spiders. They gross me out, and I despise dealing with them when they’re in my house.”

Eddie snickers at that. “Everyone’s afraid of spiders,” he argues.

“Well, there’s still enough arachnophobia to go around, evidently,” Steve replies dryly. He sits for a moment, twiddling his thumbs as he thinks. His gaze is unfocused, like he’s deep in thought. “I’m scared of something bad happening to the people I care about,” he whispers.

Eddie’s throat tightens when Steve looks down at him, blinking meaningfully. “Yeah,” Eddie manages, twiddling with a loose string on the comforter. “I get that.”

The mattress dips and creaks as Steve twists to flick off his lamp and rolls over on his side to face Eddie. There’s just enough soft moonlight filtering in through the curtains for Eddie to make out the shape of Steve’s eyes and the slant of his nose. He breathes slowly and quietly across the distance between them, and Eddie’s eyes track helplessly down to study Steve’s lips.

“Eddie,” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes back. He’s obsessed with the way Steve’s mouth forms words in the dark, his teeth glinting beautifully every time the moonlight catches them.

Eddie feels a gentle hand rest on his waist, and he tries not to jump at the contact. “Are you still scared?” Steve murmurs, and Eddie’s not sure, but he thinks that maybe Steve has shifted closer.

“Not anymore,” Eddie whispers. He’s not sure that they’re still talking about the movie.

Steve smiles at him, or at least in the dark that’s what it appears like, and Eddie carefully nudges himself forward as well. It wouldn’t hurt anything, surely, for them to be close to each other. And if they happened to get even closer, surely that wouldn’t hurt anybody, since-

Their noses brush.

Eddie draws in a sharp breath, his hand instinctively gripping the covers in a tight fist. If he moved just a centimeter closer, they’d be kissing.

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, his voice broken and soft. Eddie stills, preparing himself for the inevitable let down and disappointment.

That’s not what happens.

Instead, Steve shifts somehow even closer, the hand on Eddie’s waist skating up to cup his jaw. “I need you to tell me no if you don’t want this,” Steve whispers.

Eddie is silent, staring at Steve through wide eyes. It’s wrong, Eddie is vaguely aware of that, but here, in the dark, it feels like it could be okay. It could be okay for them to kiss, just as long as these feelings stay tucked away in this little pocket of darkness and silence.

Even if it isn’t okay, a distant part of Eddie’s brain reminds him, he’s tired of fighting it. He’s tired of holding himself back every time he wants Steve, of pretending that he doesn’t feel something for him. And even if this is just about sex for Steve, Eddie would give him that, if it meant he got to have him in some way.

Steve is still watching him, clearly waiting for some kind of response. Eddie clears his throat and allows his hand to reach out for Steve, clutching the front of his t-shirt with ease. “I’m not going to tell you no,” Eddie says quietly. “Want this too bad,” he mumbles.

“You’re sure?” Steve whispers. “I know you said-“

“I know,” Eddie interrupts. “I… I know what I said. But…” he braces himself for what he’s about to say. He knows it’s desperate, and ridiculous, but at this point, he would do just about anything to have Steve. “It… it’ll be kind of like scenting, right? So… it’s fine.”

Even in the darkness of the room, Eddie can make out the incredulity that paints Steve’s expression. “Like scenting…” Steve trails off.

Eddie gets a horrible idea. It almost makes him sick, to think about what he’s about to say to Steve right now, the lie he’s about to let slip. But part of him knows that he won’t be able to handle it if Steve’s the one who says it first, so sparing himself that pain might be the only way he can handle this at all.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Eddie murmurs.

Steve stills.

Eddie watches him, his heart racing as he waits for any indication that Steve will argue with him, or question him, or anything that would prove that he wants it to mean something.

“Oh,” he says, eventually. Eddie holds his breath. “If you’re sure,” Steve whispers, his hand cradling Eddie’s cheek softly.

Eddie’s heart shrivels up in his chest, any hope he had left going right along with it. “I’m sure,” Eddie lies again. He can’t seem to stop lying.

Steve shifts just a bit closer, brushing their noses together. “Okay,” Steve whispers.

That’s all the warning Eddie gets before Steve is pressing his mouth to Eddie’s. It’s tentative, and somehow even more chaste than that fleeting kiss Eddie had stolen that first time. It still leaves Eddie breathless and wanting, his hand moving to clutch at the front of Steve’s shirt instead of the sheets beneath them. He can feel Steve’s heartbeat through the thin cotton, erratic and comforting underneath Eddie’s fingertips.

Steve doesn’t drag it out. It’s probably less than a minute after kissing him that he pulls away from Eddie, his expression unreadable. Eddie licks his lips without thinking, and Steve’s eyes track the movement. “Fuck,” he whispers.

Eddie’s heart, or the husk left in its place, sinks in his chest. He can’t bear the thought of disappointing Steve, but apparently, somehow he has. “What?” Eddie whispers back, afraid to raise his voice.

Steve closes his eyes, sighing deeply. “We shouldn’t have…” Eddie feels like he might cry. “I’m just going to want to do that even more now.” His voice is strained, distraught.

And, well. Eddie’s only human. And that confirmation of being desired, even if it’s just carnal, makes his heart sing. “Well…” Eddie trails off. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

Steve opens his eyes, but he looks sad when he meets Eddie’s gaze. “I know.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you were right… it’s really not a good idea. I won’t… I won’t corner you like this again, Eddie. I promise.”

Eddie feels like he has whiplash from all the back and forth. Every time he thinks he’s got Steve and his feelings figured out, he goes in the opposite direction again. It’s starting to make his head hurt. “Oh…” Eddie finally manages to choke out. “Okay.”

He hesitates. They’re still so close, and Eddie could probably just move back, but it no longer even feels appropriate to be in the same bed. He shifts, trying to subtly slide out from under the covers, but a gentle grip on his wrist stops him.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks, his eyes wide and hurt.

“Oh… I was just going to… I figured you’d probably want me to sleep in my own room,” Eddie explains, trying hard not to make eye contact.

Steve sits up with him, ducking his head to force him to meet his gaze. “Of course not. I don’t think we should let ourselves be so reckless anymore with…well, anyway.” He shakes his head, but his gaze comes right back to Eddie’s. ”I still want you to sleep in here.”

Eddie sighs, conflicted. As much as he wants to be close to Steve, and as much as he enjoys being wrapped up in the alpha’s scent like this, he’s just not sure his heart can take anymore. “Steve…” he starts, unsure of what he can even say.

“I promise I won’t touch you,” Steve says, his voice small. When Eddie blinks over at him, Steve is looking down at his hands, and Eddie can smell the shame rolling off of him.

That makes the decision for him.

Carefully, Eddie resettles, laying back on the pillows once again. He looks up at Steve, giving him a weak smile. “I’ll stay,” he murmurs, even as his mind is racing to a decision that he doesn’t feel he’s brave enough to make.

Steve lays beside him, keeping that promised distance between them. His hand twitches on the bed between them, as if he wants to reach out, and Eddie wishes like hell that he would. But if all this emotional motion sickness has taught him anything, it’s that he and Steve just want different things.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” Steve whispers into the dark. “Sweet dreams.”

Eddie swallows hard. God, he’s going to miss him.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

[mina-brekker]

Let The Time Pass | Chapter 1/3

Summary

❝Mobius wanted to burn everything down. He’d make his sacrifice worthless, so he had no choice but to come back to him. Why did they need to disobey, to listen to the goodness in their hearts? Morals meant nothing without him. The TVA meant nothing without him. He meant nothing without him. Nothing mattered anymore. He had nothing left to lose, so what’s stopping him? His hands craved great destruction, for vicious chaos, to raze down the TVA until dust floated around in a pocket, to rip apart each branch until he retrieved his heart.❞

What if Loki confessed his love for Mobius before his sacrifice

A rewrite of the last episode Glorious Purpose

Notes

uh so how we feeling after the last episode

keep in mind, i wrote this on a whim with minor edits. this idea has been begging to crawl out of me. i am not a smut writer and i never experienced a panic attack, so i tried my best. please be kind <3

full chapter posted on ao3

Before

Nobody else noticed.

Things had been going great. As great as things could be with the looming threat of the Temporal Loom exploding and destroying the TVA, but their questions were finally reaching resolute answers, so he held onto hope for a little longer. He had too for the sake of the timelines and the god standing near him. They retrieved He Who Remains’ variant, Victor Timely, a strangely fitting name, and Sylvie came back to help. Well, that part he wasn’t entirely happy about, he wished he’d been able to rant to Brad about her and Loki’s odd, egotistical romance since nobody else seemed to understand. It’s unnatural, yet abnormally predictable for a Loki to fall for themselves, he tried not to let his thoughts get carried away but whenever Loki uttered her name, Mobius clenched his jaw to ignore the nagging in his gut.

He wouldn’t let anybody know the satisfaction he felt watching Loki fight her to defend Victor, he almost smiled at the sight but Ravonna glaring at him as if he pruned her first stopped him from celebrating his small victory. He had to deal with her first. When the chaos erupted, as often happened with Lokis around, Mobius found what he could much to Loki’s dismay, he wouldn’t admit his glee when the god silently threw his leg over the tandem bike in defeat.

He wouldn’t dwell on Sylvie’s return. Not right now when things were finally looking up for them and she wasn’t acting as dagger-wielding violent as usual.

Loki had been standing beside them, nodding along to the rushed ramblings of O.B. and Victor about the loom and using the prototype while Casey commented when he could among the mad scientists. Mobius had no clue what any of it meant. Sylvie looked anxious to find a solution, bickering with Loki about timelines and godhood, so she could return to her shift at McDonalds and the little life she created for herself. He’d been tempted to ask how they made the apple pies but then it happened.

Loki’s eyes were blank for a moment then his shoulders tensed ever so slightly as if an unseen force grazed his spine, he looked around like he needed to recall his surroundings. The sudden change left Mobius uncertain and concerned, the urge to reach out and steady a hand on his back came over him.

A while after the time-slipping incident, he hovered over Loki afraid of the god disappearing again in sudden awful bouts of chaos. He was worried. What if he slipped again never remained, always to be stuck out beyond his reach. The thought terrified him. Mobius touched him more than usual; a firm hand on his arm, their legs tangled under his desk, his fingers on his shoulder while he leaned over him, reading a file on his desk; a touch on his back reserved for elevator rides. Loki seemed pleased from all his light affections; he was a god who still experienced mortal worship until he snapped at him for turning into an unbecoming nuisance with the little offended pout he always had when people frustrated him. Mobius laughed it off and ceased his need to reach out to feel him, to assure he remained, but the nervousness never faded, he never stopped thinking; what if he slips again?

Mobius couldn’t imagine living in a world without a Loki Who Remains.

“Hey, you okay?” The scientists didn’t hear him over their constant exchange of ideas over the clattering of tools and material. Sylvie glanced over; her eyes ran over his body to check for any changes in his condition. Mobius wanted to snap at her to mind her business, she didn’t care about his wellbeing when she was fighting him in a Ferris Wheel, but Loki had his attention.

“Mobius, yes, I’m fine.” Loki came over to him in big strides then grabbed his arms with a reckless need. Mobius grunted from the force, almost stumbling back as Loki leaned closer to him. The frantic, near desperate look in his eyes resembled his days of madness in New York. “I need to talk to you. In private.”

“We don’t have time. We need to-“

“To stop the Loom from imploding so you can return to your precious timeline.” He said with a rushed exhale, “I get it, Sylvie. But I need to speak with him, now.”

Loki shook where he stood. Mobius’ gut clenched as he stared at him, trying to look around to see if anything bothered him but Loki only tightened his grip if he dared move too much. He was normal a few minutes ago. He remembered the hatred in his eyes after calling him a scared little boy, but he truly looked frightened as if he’d crumble into dust without holding him. As Mobius reached out for his shoulders, his eyes ran over the paleness of his skin and lingered on the unshed tears in his eyes. Who hurt him? Who did he need to hurt back? Mobius cradled the side of his face; Loki closed his eyes and grabbed his wrist.

“Where do you wanna go?” He whispered.

Mobius hated how weak Loki made him feel. For the longest time, Mobius believed he’d been a model analyst of the TVA even with his workaholic tendencies. He became stern and unrelenting, not able to bend to anyone's will except for Ravonna. He appreciated the order, always planning his next step ahead while watching a trickster wreak chaos on a timeline beyond his reach. Mobius knew with all his centuries of observing Loki that he would find a way to disrupt the balance with his ramblings of glorious purpose in those brilliant green eyes. He’d nestle into his peaceful life, sleeping on his desk with his dark hair framing his face and listening to his fears over a slice of pie as if Mobius weren’t a mere mortal in the grace of a god, a force to be reckoned with.

That’s why he lov-

No, it’s ridiculous to entertain such a notion. Loki didn’t belong to him, he never did. He always belonged to himself. He’d never belong to Mobius. After Timely and O.B. fixed the loom, he’d jump between different timelines in search of his glorious purpose elsewhere. There’s no room for Mobius in his future. He shouldn’t have let a variant turn him soft, but the desperation in his watery eyes silenced the judgmental voice in his head. Right now, Mobius wanted to ease his pain, and nothing would stop him. If Loki told him to run down the gangway in the bulky suit, to stand until all his skin peeled away under immense radiation, he’d do it to get rid of the fear in his eyes.

“I-Is there some…something t-the matter w-with the wizard.”

“The realization must’ve hit him that we all face a fiery doom if we aren’t successful.” O.B. said while crouched behind the counter, the sounds of his hands rummaging through a box of junk. “I had similar feelings of dread when the loom started to expand beyond our control.”

“Let’s not think too much about it.” Casey said with a nervous smile. “Let’s think about what we have to look forward to afterwards.”

“I’m going to write another book!” O.B. shot up with the proper tool in his hand.

Casey perked up. “Will you sign it for me?”

“Of course.”

“M-May I h-have a signature a-as well?”

“Let’s focus! We have no time for chatting.” Sylvie said, looking pointedly at Loki’s back. Mobius wished he’d prune her when he had the chance.

Loki opened his eyes. Mobius’ breath hitched at the unease in them, from the god leaning into his touch. He ached to hold him close until the loom took away everything precious to him. Everyone else be damned.

Mobius swallowed. “It’ll be quick."

Note

hi again um this is honestly me coping with everything. i hope you enjoyed the snippet. the full chapter is ao3 and it's a doozy. not me having crippling writer's block then popping out 10k+ lokius fic on a whim. is this what the cool kids call hyperfixation?

[stealingpotatoes]

Never Isn't Forever

Summary: Julianna’s grown up with countless stories of Captain Colt Vahn, but she still doesn’t know what to expect when she meets her father. 

[also on ao3]

--

“Mom, can you tell me about Dad again?” 

Snow was falling lazily outside, casting the moonlit buildings in a blue-ish white. It looked like another world, so different to the warm and safe orange of the lights in Julianna’s little bedroom. The yellow-patterned walls and the happy clutter of toys across the floor couldn’t be any more distinct from the cold brick that Julianna’s mother was about to shut out. 

Lila paused her shutting the curtains to give her ten-year-old daughter that wistful smile, one that only came out when someone mentioned him. “I thought we were going to finish The Great Whale tonight?” she asked, her black ponytail falling over her shoulder. 

“We can finish it tomorrow,” Julianna bargained pleadingly, holding her pony plushie tight in her pink-pyjama clad arms. “Please can you tell me about Dad?” 

“Again? Don’t you know everything by now?” Lila half joked, tilting her head.

“I want to know more. Please… it’s for um, history reasons.”

“Well in that case, of course,” Lila smiled, and gently sat down on the end of Julianna’s bedsheets. “I could never keep you from your research! What do you want to know?”

It always went like this. Lila would try -- or pretend to try -- to get Julianna to talk about something else, but fold like a stack of cards after two pretty pleases. They practically had a routine by now. And Julianna couldn’t exactly break it by not eagerly asking the same question she always started with, could she?

“Hm… what was my Dad like?” she asked. 

Lila sighed distantly, eyes drifting to the floorboards below. “He was… brilliant. He was so bright and strong -- sometimes a little too stubborn. And he was funny,” she chuckled, “really funny.” 

“Was he funnier than me?” 

Lila lifted her eyes to the sky, really exaggerating how hard she was thinking. “Hmm… maybe. Though you’re pretty hard to beat in the comedy department.”

Julianna grinned, squeezing plushie with glee.

At that, Lila chuckled again. “You have his smile, you know.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm,” Lila nodded, lips pressed together. “And his eyes.”

“What else? Tell me more,” Julianna leaned forward, feeling her short curls of hair bob about her face as she did. She wanted to know everything about him. Even what she’d heard before, she didn’t care. She could hear it again and again and again. 

“Um, let’s see… you already know he was the single best pilot the world had ever seen. But really, baby, he could fly anything,” Lila said, her hands splaying out on the last word. “It was really something to see him in the air -- whether you were in there with him, or on the ground. He was amazing. You would’ve loved to see it him up there.” Lila swallowed. “You would’ve loved to see him...” 

Julianna sensed the immediate drop in the mood, like someone had cruelly shoved her mother’s remote joy off a particularly high cliff. 

Julianna knew, vaguely, that he was missing-presumed-dead. But she’d had never asked how they knew that, why her mother was so certain-and-uncertain of Colt’s fate, and the dip in the mood seemed the perfectly wrong moment to finally sate her curiosity. “How did they know he was gone?” she asked quietly.  

Lila’s mouth folded into an failed attempt at an apologetic smile. “They don’t,” she shook her head. “But we never got word or… anything from him, so it was presumed. That’s what the scientists told me. And after a few years the entire program shut down, and… well, I’ve told you all this before.” 

“So he could still be out there?”

“Julianna…” 

“Yeah, I know, I know,” she sighed. Tonight might have been the most Lila had ever said about Colt’s disappearance, yet still, Julianna couldn’t even count how many times her mother had told her that yeah, maybe he was alive… but the chances were astronomically small. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to think he was still around, lost on Blackreef. It wasn’t worth getting their hopes up for something so unlikely. For something so impossible. 

“Now come on baby, it’s getting late,” Lila smiled. She stood up, ready to close her daughter’s flimsy white curtains. “You have school in the morning, and I have work.” 

“Can you tell me the story about when he first took you flying? Quickly! And then I’ll go straight to bed, I really promise. Please?” 

Lila’s wistful smile returned, and she held out a finger briefly as she came to kneel by Julianna’s bedside. “Alright, but just the one story…” 

--

She wasn’t here just for him, obviously. 

Objectively, the research was important and groundbreaking. And this was the opportunity of a lifetime, to be the archivist of such a momentous, historic experiment. More subjectively, Julianna was almost born on Blackreef. As much as she wanted to help make history here, she wanted to learn about the island’s already-made history. The history she was a part of… that her parents were a part of. There were so many reasons for her to join. 

But… she would have been lying if she said that meeting Colt wasn’t at least one -- however small -- of the reasons she joined the Aeon Program. And she’d expected this. She knew it was coming… so why was she so nervous?

Julianna was the last Visionary to arrive on Blackreef. An archivist hadn’t been the most immediate concern for them all, but as the program progressed -- it was just under a year in, now -- she assumed they’d realised the need for documenting this great leap into the unknown. While she was little offended on behalf of her profession that they’d gotten an entertainer before an archivist, Julianna had passed all of Dr Serling and Dr Evans’s tests and interviews for the Program -- obliterated them to perfection, really -- and now she was actually here. 

Frank Spicer and Harriet Morse, heads of recruitment, had greeted their new archivist and a host of new Eternalists as they arrived on the dock in a great big Aeon-labelled boat. Both were swamped by excited Eternalists, but Frank had managed to keep his fans away better than Harriet had kept her followers, and he’d done most the talking. He’d drawled out a few starter things with what seemed like a smoky lack of care for protocols, before insisting that really he needed to show her round more than talk her to death. 

Once Harriet had managed to calm and leave her devotees, they’d given her a quick tour, starting with Karl’s Bay -- which Harriet seemed to have claimed as mostly her own. Then to the Complex, where Julianna had met Egor Serling and Wenjie Evans, who both seemed alright, though the former was a bit too eager (or egotistical) and the latter a little too busy for the three of them. Wenjie had, at least, promised to send all research she deemed archive-worthy over to Julianna at the earliest time convenient, which was far better than what Fia or Charlie had given her in Updaam. Charlie seemed almost afraid of Julianna, despite the odd confidence he was displaying, and Fia was smiley but obviously couldn’t care less about the concept of an archivist. 

Aleksis, on the other hand, was far too excited about the concept of an archivist. He positively couldn’t wait for her to write all about him. He was going to be a handful -- as were they all, really -- but Julianna had always liked a good challenge. 

He’d delayed the day’s itinerary by a good half hour at least, and while  outwardly happy to be shepherding Julianna through her first day, Julianna got the feeling Harriet wanted to get back to her loyal followers soon. 

Now, finally, they came up on Fristad Rock, one of their last stops -- and where Julianna was to meet the last of the Visionaries. Where she was to meet him. 

Julianna stepped out of the car just before a half-blocked road stacked with building supplies and other trucks, and into the light wind of Fristad. Frank stepped out of the driver’s seat at the same time and quickly adjusted his jacket before throwing his arms out wide. 

“Welcome to what will be the best place on this rock, my Ramblin’ Rock Club,” Frank grinned charmingly, gesturing to half-built structure across the bridge ahead.

Julianna smirked as the three of them walked towards it. “Didn’t you say that about the Library, too?”

Frank narrowed his eyes and grinned, shaking a finger at her. “That sharp ear is why we picked you as our archivist, Miss Blake.” 

Julianna gave him a short chuckle. The building did look like it planned on being impressive. A horde of builders and Eternalists were moving around the area -- most of them not noticing the Visionaries, but a few passing wide-eyes and whispers between them -- operating and assisting the cranes. 

Frank and Harriet artfully guided Julianna through the mess. Julianna had to utter the odd apology as she almost bumped into a person or two, but neither of them said a thing. 

“The security office is this way,” Harriet pointed to the coast, where a small and fully-constructed structure -- a box more than a building -- stood at the end of a pier.

“He oughta be out by now, I told him to watch for us. Fuckin’ Aleksis, throwin’ us off our rhythm,” Frank muttered, shoving his hands on his hips as they all stepped onto the fenceless pier. 

But as if on cue, the box-building’s door swung open, and out came a man in a light leather jacket, swiftly walking towards the small group on the pier. 

Julianna’s heart paused in her chest. 

“Colt! There you fuckin’ are,” Frank drawled, his smokey throat rasping with glee. “Julianna, meet Captain Colt Vahn, our distinguished head of security.” Frank introduced eagerly, continuing his saunter so he was about half way between Julianna and Colt. 

The two of them met eyes for a moment, and Julianna was greeted with an overwhelming urge to just say it. To tell him, right here, right now, exactly what they were to each other, what they should have been. But she forced the childish idea down. That would be insane, and unprofessional at the very least -- especially on her first day. But… shit, he was real, and here, and alive, and… he looked just like every crappy-quality photo her mother had of him, barely seeming a day older. It felt wrong, in such a right way, seeing him alive and around and in that same jacket he seemed to wear in every other picture. It felt…

Frank jolted her out of her mild bewilderment with a gentle nudge, seeming to have noticed her pause. He leaned over, half-shielding his mouth. “I know Colt seems all tough, but he’s all soft and cuddly on the inside. You won’t have to worry about him,” he said in the loudest possible stage whisper. 

Julianna let out an amused huff while Colt rolled his eyes, stepping forward to shake Julianna’s hand. 

“And Frank seems like he knows what he’s talking about, but he’s really full of shit half the time,” Colt said with a playful glare at Frank, as Julianna took his hand and shook it. “Hi,” he greeted. 

Julianna laughed a bit. “I’ll have keep that in mind when I’m archiving,” she joked. 

Frank shook his head with a tut at the Captain. “You better not be ruining my chance at a good history,” he admonished. Frank and Colt were clearly close, a stupid fact that Julianna couldn’t help being almost jealous of. 

“Well done on passing all Egor and Wenjie’s tests, by the way. Pretty impressive, I honestly didn’t think anyone was gonna do it,” Colt said with a smile. It wasn’t like Frank’s charming and charismatic smile; it was something more genuine, warmer. Maybe it was just her imagination, but it felt… homely. Warm. 

You have his smile, you know. 

“Oh-- thank you,” Julianna beamed, taken a little off guard by the sudden compliment. Why was she acting so sheepish all of a sudden? This wasn’t like her. 

“Is now a good time to discuss security? It’s protocol, all the Visionaries have gotta know it--” 

“Actually, we have a fair bit of the tour left,” Harriet cut in before Julianna could answer. “We’re behind schedule.” 

Julianna didn’t massively appreciate being spoken for, even if it was in a tone as acid-sweet as Harriet’s. But hey, she was going to spent eternity with Colt, right? There’d be plenty of time to talk then. And to work out how the hell she was going to tell him -- if she ever was.  

Colt nodded, seeming like he expected this. “Alright, good luck with the rest of the day. I know you’re gonna be real busy for a while, but make sure to drop by my office--” he pointed a friendly thumb behind him-- “soon, so I can run you through the all that necessary security stuff.” 

“Will do Captain,” she said with a half-assed mock salute. 

Colt huffed amusedly at the title. “Good meeting you, Julianna,” he waved as he walked backwards to his office. “See you soon-- or whenever Aleksis throws your welcome party!” 

Julianna gave him a tiny wave before he turned around in full, leaving the trio of Visionaries across the pier.

She was vaguely aware of Harriet stepping away, ready to finally finish her welcome duties and get back to her Two Paths. But Julianna couldn’t take her eyes off the bridge, off the man that should have been a ghost. Off the man that she should have known her entire life but had met for the first time today. The timeloop wasn’t the weirdest thing about this place. 

“I know it’s been a pretty whirlwind day for you, but it’ll all come together, Miss Blake. Blackreef will feel like home soon enough,” Frank said with a comforting hand on Julianna’s shoulder. 

Julianna’s eyes were bright as she finally turned away from Colt. “Honestly, I think it already does.” 

[ryuseibutgayer]

Hi, I seen your match up game and wanted to try it. (I seen your button and idk if I literally have to pay or not but if I do just ignore me, this is my first ask so I’m not quite familiar with this 😭)

Anyways~ My preferred fandoms are TR and Danganronpa, preferred gender is male, and I would prefer not to get match with Kisaki or TeruTeru

Traits - I'm a little bit goofy, I'm quiet/reserved (but once you get to know me I'm way less quiet/reserved), and l'm quite indecisive.

Toxic Traits - I'm quite uncommunicative, I can be inflexible at times, and I can be a bit of a people pleaser

Their Traits - They must be accepting and composed

Their Toxic Traits - I could look past jealousy and passive aggression

My focus in a relationship is building trust and being able to support each other

Preferred time of day - I like late night’s because I don’t have to worry about any responsibilities and I can relax

Oh yeah no, no worries about any of it! You don't have to pay and my blog is completely free, so if you ever have anything tapping away at your mind then don't be afraid to come by with an ask again :) also it's so nice to meet another danganronpa fan lmao

Late at night, there's nothing better to do than just come to terms that maybe it's OK to let him do this for you....he's used to taking care of everyone, and he loves you beyond just giving you a moment of mental peace. You both did a lot for a lot of other people, but the both of you needed more help for yourselves, and you know what? You were both just the right person to do that.

»»————-　♡　————-««

TOKYO REVENGERS

Mitsuya Takashi couldn't help but notice how uncertain and tired you were when you first met- but that wasn't all he saw about you, of course. He saw someone else that probably needed a little bit more of support in their life, and your presence intrigued him enough to invest. Eventually, he was over the moon with glee as the profit flew in the moment of realization that hit him and made him realize he'd finally gotten to break past your quietness (which he didn't really mind in the first place, seeing as it gave him room to honestly put all of his thoughts out there for you). Mitsuya appreciates your sense of humor, since no one seems to be able to keep this gloomy world just a bit lighter in conversation. He doesn't mind that you don't express your thoughts much in communication or words or that you're indecisive, because this man has initiative and intuition. Like it or not, he's going to do the best for you and himself. Even if you're adamant about a decision you've made, he'll try his best to work things around from behind the scenes so it *hopefully* all works out for you, or he'll simply support what's coming. He won't accept it when you happen to wear yourself thin in the name of another person's satisfaction however, so please be open-minded when your protective and caring match will stick up for you and your well-being; whether it be against another person, or yourself. He's worked hard to get you to trust him. :)

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DANGANRONPA

Rantaro Amami, being the adventurous type, even if neither of you knew what to decide about something, Rantaro is the carefree man who will grab your hand and lead you head first into an uncalculated gut feeling and help you make the choices you need. You may...need to keep this ordinary man from making unordinarily instinctive decisions....but only now and then (hopefully you enjoy travel). Honestly, with you being the only quiet one within this horrid killing game, you were the only truly interesting person there. He really does enjoy taking care of others knowing that he won't have to worry for them once he gets the job done. Having taken care of little sisters when he was younger, he knows how to get quite a few things done, so chores are basically an expectation he has for himself that should bare no weight upon your overworked or stressed shoulders. He really won't go away once you show him the thumbs-up in the start of a close relationship, even if he doesn't quite understand how to get you out of your own mind or how to change it. He accepts that by loving you, he's put whatever's to come on himself, and he'll be very much accepting of the (few) decisions you're able to make. He can trust you really easily- it's just others he has a hard time with.

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[riftwalker-limbro]

have some nonsense that bit me hard yesterday. 1k ish fluff between mostly verica and vince but also pule. and bruiser is there also. and ordis is a little shit

It had been bad enough that she'd left Pule alone with Vince for the morning while she was out to Fortuna with Bruiser. Now Verica was on the radio, giggling and refusing to tell him what was up, demanding he come down as well.

Ordis seemed to have some idea of what was going on - his signal was coloured bright with choked-back amusement while his words remained polite and informative. He and Pule were being deliberately kept in the dark, getting lured to Venus on uncertain conditions. This had to be some sort of prank. He was walking into a trap.

Bah, if it was a prank of Verica's design, it was usually worth his time and embarrassment. It's not like he'd been able to focus on any of his research this morning anyway. Just that kind of day - might as well go have fun instead of try to force his scattered focus back into any kind of functional shape.

Pule was waiting for him in the Liset already, motioning for Vince to hurry up, which he refused as he strode up the ramp with the dignity he was sure he was about to lose. The ride down to the planet's surface was smooth and took barely a minute, which didn't stop Pule from acting like the three seconds he'd have saved by jumping up into the craft like an over-excited child had been absolutely crucial, because what if whatever she'd found was something that could run away? What if it was-

The landing craft docked and Vince was out first, unwilling to suffer Pule's nonsense for another second. While he was looking around for Verica, casting out for her signal, Pule exited as well. The Liset remained in place - when asked why, Ordis simply replied he wanted a visual on this. Incredibly ominous, but at least Vince knew he had a quick way to hide, if not get off the planet outright, depending on how much Ordis felt like helping today.

Pule tapped his shoulder and sent him a wordless direction - Vince turned his head, and at the horizon, there was a growing cloud of snow getting kicked up by something. It had two uneven bumps in its outline and was coming straight for them.

Oh hell no. Vince turned around and briskly walked back up to the Liset. The ramp didn't come down.

The cloud was getting bigger and bigger, and Ordis wasn't letting the ramp down, wasn't saying a word, except for transmitting growing glee and mirth. Vince had a bad feeling about this one - but if they were in actual danger, Ordis wouldn't be acting like this, so he forced himself to calm down.

Then, Verica entered range, and their connection flared back to life - and she was a mixture of excitement and pure smugness, but carefully hiding the exact reason why. Her location matched up with the cloud of snow that had almost reached the Liset's location.

Vince and Pule only got the briefest mental warning of "duck!" before the cloud arrived and snow was sprayed onto them from top to toe. He almost lost his balance at the force, had to take some steps back, as Pule cackled and shook off the snow like a kubrow, launching more onto Vince himself.

Grumpy, he wiped off the biggest deposits that hadn't already fallen back off by themselves, before looking up and immediately losing all of the attitude.

That was- a heavily modified k-drive, modified to look specifically like a hoverbike. Verica was sitting on it, hunched forwards, hands on the handles and elbows out, wings flared, in a pose clearly meant to be intimidating. It had the complete opposite effect on him.

---

Pule howled with laughter and clapped at the show, congratulating Verica and Bruiser on their impressive entrance. He jogged up to Bruiser's bike, which was much sturdier-looking than Verica's, to ask them where they'd gotten these, and could Pule please also get one, oh my god they were so cool.

Behind him, Verica started laughing, and it didn't sound like she'd stop soon, so he turned around to look what was so funny, only to see Vince barely hanging on to the Liset that he'd stumbled back into when they got snowed on. His transference signal, now that he was paying attention to it, was all kinds of scrambled, and Pule was reminded of long-ago times of watching Verica chew out assholes through bar windows - and clearly, she had the same idea, because she sat up on her bike, placing her elbows on the handles, cocked her head to the side, and did the transference equivalent of wiggling her eyebrows at Vince.

"Get a fucking room, you two!" Bruiser yelled through the ensuing chaos of Pule and Verica losing their shit at Vince trying to pull together a coherent thought and failing entirely.

"Oh, that's a great idea!" Verica said, mischief sparking bright, "come on, honey, hop on!"

"H-hop on?" Vince asked, weakly. "There's-"

"Space enough for two," Verica winked, ignoring Bruiser's loud groan. Pule heavily regretted not bringing something to record this with. In a whisper, Ordis let him know that he had that covered, don't worry about it. Fuck yeah.

Vince managed to release the Liset and start slowly walking forward. "That can't be safe," he protested, not at all stopping.

"Oh, I'll keep you safe, don't worry about that," she replied. "Just hang on tight and you won't fall off, promise."

Pule glanced to his side, where Bruiser's bike was still idling. He made a rough motion for him to get on as well. "We made a deal with the Ventkids," he said with a grin. "We can get you one, too."

"Oh hell yes," Pule said, getting on immediately, putting an arm around Bruiser's waist with zero hesitation. "Best brother in pranks. Let's go."

"Let's finish watching this show first," Bruiser replied.

Pule turned his head back to the scene, to find Vince had at least managed to find his way onto Verica's bike as well, looking uncomfortable and still trying to settle, to find a good way to sit - until Verica suddenly and loudly revved the bike, at which point he gave up all pretenses and just clung to her with one arm and to his hat with the other while burying his face in her wings, transmitting a mix of panic and excitement while Verica failed to fall over wheeze-laughing in his suddenly-iron grip.

Fucking goofballs. Bruiser yelled something that Pule didn't parse through his own howling and immediately set off, making Vince and Verica eat their dust.

[theartistknownaslymond]

Gotta have some faith in the sound / (You got to give what you take)

Sorry it's Them again! Jerott/Danny post-canon (mid-90s ish) post-finally-getting-together fluffy, happy smut! Body positivity all the way for intersex Danny, who is into sensation play and who now has a boyfriend who knows how to give both good massages and good head. Jerott is just so happy to be there with someone who wants him and gets him, and if Danny decides to praise him along the way, well, he might just learn something about himself :')

Happy non-denominational smutmas to all my followers 🙃

thank you as ever @stripedroseandsketchpads for your enthusiasm, encouragement, researching, fannishness and for this excellent prompt:

holding hands making love prompt? 👀

---

Jerott closed his eyes and inhaled the sickly floral scent of the oil, rubbing it between his palms meditatively.  "Jasmine isn't a traditional Ayurvedic oil, Danny," he said with a smile.

Danny made a sound of pleasure and amusement, and Jerott heard the bedcovers rustle as Danny's body shifted against them.

"This isn't an Ayurvedic massage, remember?" Danny purred.

Jerott let out a laugh of acknowledgement. He looked down and felt his heartbeat skip to a quicker signature. His lover was lying on their bed, naked from the wispy puff of strawberry blonde hair on top of their head to the painted toenails at the end of their feet. In Danny's eyes was something of the wry challenge that was their customary way with new experiences, but these days Jerott found he could also read the anticipation in Danny's mien: the pale, freckle-dusted skin was flushed red in patches. On Danny's cheeks and neck there were blotches of colour like poppies painted in aquarelle: they bloomed out from Danny's sternum, filling the valley between the soft rises of their breasts and colouring the tops of their thighs as though Jerott's hands had already manipulated that flesh as he intended to.

This was not an Ayurvedic massage. If it had been, Jerott wouldn't have been totally naked himself - his body's appreciative response to the sight of Danny's body wouldn't have been visible, and Danny wouldn't now be biting their plump bottom lip with rakish glee, eyeing him up in return.

Jerott ran his gaze over Danny again, feeling spoilt for choice, uncertain where to begin. He would have happily fallen to the bed and smothered Danny with his kisses, with his body, with the desperate, disorderly wandering of his hands - but he'd been the one to offer the massage when he'd seen the way his touch could make Danny shiver with unexpected, honest delight.

The techniques he'd learned came from the ashram at Pune. They'd been honed on a body he didn't care to think of - broader than Danny's, muscled and infused with the scent of ground spice and patchouli. Then he'd used his skills professionally on the ashram in Nevada - he'd seen all kinds of bodies with these hands, unknotting muscles, rebalancing energies and loosening purse strings as he worked on behalf of Rajneesh's great message.

For years afterwards, he'd done his best to forget the lessons of the ashrams - the cod psychology, the smug anti-conformism, shallow in the face of the leader's demands. The massages had seemed like just another trick thought up by Rajneesh, exploited by Geetesh, designed to win them rich backers. But when he'd finally returned to the Indian subcontinent on his own terms, when he'd reached the country of his father's birth, he'd let himself rediscover things that had existed - oblivious to the manipulative gloss put on them by one movement or another - for spans of time beyond the reckoning of someone as small and petty as Graham Reid Malett. What was one megalomaniac to such a deep-rooted, enduring culture? Jerott had seen his former master's power atomised in the face of an ancient and indifferent spirituality and realised he was free.

He drew a deep breath and sent thoughts of his past out of his mind. This wasn't an Ayurvedic massage - not like he'd given to clients at the Nevada ashram, not like he'd given to Peder and his friends in Denmark when he'd come back with a renewed confidence in himself. This was something new - between him and the person he was deeply, terrifyingly in love with.

Jerott climbed onto the bed and straddled Danny's hips and Danny whimpered in anticipation.

"Shh," Jerott murmured habitually, smirking down at Danny's torso, still working his hands together to warm them to the temperature of the oil.

Danny's hips twitched provocatively beneath Jerott's seat and he began by running a teasingly light touch up the centre of Danny's body, fingertips tracing the line of the chakras... No. Tracing the sensitive skin from Danny's navel up to their throat, out over their shoulders and arms. Jerott drew the pads of his fingers along Danny's skin, echoing the feeling of a silk blouse being pulled down and away from Danny's body, like he was opening up the layers of the person lying beneath him.

If he were doing an Ayurvedic massage he'd start at the head - so Jerott shifted his seat a little and rubbed his thumbs over Danny's hips instead, making circular motions, now soft, now increasing in pressure, thumbs now sliding inwards, following the line of the pelvis down, bringing heat and colour to the surface of Danny's skin.

He watched his own brown fingers work, the gloss of oil on them transferring to Danny's body. It was as though, beneath his touch, he was bringing each muscle and sinew to life - glowing and eager. He ran his hands over Danny's belly, feeling soft flesh yield, feeling the hardness of muscle beneath puppyish fat. He didn't tell Danny to relax - he didn't need to. His fingers furrowed the land of Danny's body, unpicking tension, even undoing Danny's tightly wound anticipation, freeing Danny from the control they were used to maintaining.

In answer, Danny sighed and arched their back a little against the bed as Jerott's hands worked up, his touch again feather light at first, caressing inwards around Danny's ribs, his thumbs tracing the undersides of Danny's flat breasts, gently building until the strokes of his digits squeezed as they circled, until Danny's nipples had become hardened points that Jerott's thumb-pads could pass over as softly as the shadow of something on the wing.

Danny moaned at the hint of touch and watched, open-mouthed, as Jerott's thumbs scudded over the pink peaks again.

Jerott circled his thumbs this time, applying a little more pressure and eliciting another sound of pleasure that made his own stomach flip and his cock start with interest. Helpfully, Danny rolled their hips up against him and Jerott let out a breathy laugh of appreciation.

He dipped his fingers in the cup of oil at the bedside again and ran his palms up the planes of Danny's pecs, reaching for Danny's shoulders with clever, squeezing caresses as he shifted and bowed down to lick and suck at the nipples he'd just been teasing with his thumbs. The jasmine oil didn't taste great, he'd be the first to admit, but what did it matter when he felt Danny's whole body shudder beneath him, and that witty tongue, normally so ready with a snappy remark, was reduced to supporting the gasps and moans of Danny's undoing.

Jerott's hands massaged Danny's shoulders, upper arms, shoulders again and neck, and Jerott felt Danny melt in his hold, whimpering some inarticulate command as Jerott's teeth grazed sensitive, puckered skin and his thumbs moved in patterns of pressure up and down the vulnerable contours of Danny's neck. Then he swapped his gestures, stroking down over Danny's chest, gripping each small breast and palming muscle and flesh as he leaned in to suck hard on Danny's earlobe.

Danny's voice slipped into a higher pitch and they shivered and moaned again beneath Jerott's mantling body. Jerott shifted his weight and nudged one knee between Danny's legs, drawing ferociously on the soft flesh of Danny's earlobe with his lips and tongue as he did and eliciting his own name as a desperate plea from Danny's throat.

"Mm?" Jerott answered, pausing to nuzzle kisses into the hot skin behind Danny's ear.

"Don't stop," Danny said in a strangled voice, so Jerott nudged Danny's head the other way on the pillow with his nose and took the second earlobe in his mouth as he worked his other leg between Danny's knees and rolled his hips and hard cock against Danny's body.

It was enough to break down another part of Danny's control: they could no longer lie beneath Jerott pretending to be a passive recipient of such devoted attention. Their hands came to Jerott's back, smoothing up his spine and pulling him close - and it was enough to remind Jerott that he was meant to be delivering a massage, not plunging straight into sex, no matter what his nerves seemed to demand.

He released Danny's ear and kissed Danny's mouth instead, and rubbed Danny's earlobes between his thumbs and forefingers, feeling the little specks of scar tissue where Danny's piercings were. He had to stop and refresh the oil on his hands again, and then he fingered the hot cartilage of Danny's ears and worked his touch slowly, meticulously - soft and then hard and then soft again - down Danny's oil-glistened body until his hands were at Danny's hips and he was left kneeling, poised between Danny's legs.

Danny's hands remained on his back, his shoulders and arms, until Jerott was too far away to reach, and then, reluctantly, they returned to the sheets, gripping and twisting the cotton each time Danny let out an appreciative sound.

Mostly, Danny's eyes were closed - it was easier that way to sink into the sensations of Jerott's touch, and Jerott didn't begrudge himself the opportunity to stare back openly at Danny's rose-gold lashes, to watch the way their nostrils flared as they breathed deeply through the pleasure, to note the severe line of their jaw, which wasn't usually visible but now, from the angle Jerott saw it, rose like a peak at the top of the bed as Danny's head pressed back into the pillow.

Jerott ran his hands lightly over the skin of Danny's thighs, down not halfway to Danny's knees and then back up again to the pale drifts of hip bones lying beneath fat. He swallowed and licked his lips, but made himself wait as he made Danny wait, moving his hands down - smoothing hairs so fine and sparse they were invisible - and up again - ruffling nerve endings and heightening the anticipation of his next stroke - down, smoothing, soft as silk, light as soap washing off Danny's body.

He continued the movement as he finally lowered his mouth to Danny's cock, taking the firm stub of tissue in his mouth and sucking, drawing his tongue up the base in broad strokes that covered over the line of scar tissue where some part of Danny had been sewn shut by a doctor desperate to recreate normality.

Fuck normality, Jerott thought with savage glee, grasping Danny's hips and flicking his tongue from side to side over the soft, silken texture held in his mouth.

He ran his hands down Danny's thighs again, his grip firmer this time, his thumbs caressing the marshmallow-white flesh on the inside of Danny's legs, rubbing in circular motions up to the apex of Danny's thighs, his digits competing with his own face for access to Danny's most sensitive areas.

Danny whimpered and then cursed in French and, to Jerott's delight, in Yiddish. He'd never made that happen before so he repeated what he'd done and Danny's pelvis arched off the bed, pushing back against Jerott's mouth.

Jerott sucked the nub of Danny's cock and then laughed into the damp, downy tuft of hair above it. "Vraiment bien, puce?"

"Vraiment," Danny said from between clenched teeth. "Now come up here, I have something for you."

Jerott cocked a black brow at the head on the pillow but didn't immediately obey. He let his thumbs repeat their massage of the inside of Danny's thighs and he met Danny's tousled expression with an arrogant smirk.

Danny groaned and their legs shivered under Jerott's touch.

"Come here..." they repeated, with a new edge of despair in their voice.

Jerott came slowly, his hands and mouth retracing their way up Danny's body, now guided and tugged at by Danny's impatient touch on his shoulders, back and arse.

When Jerott reached Danny's lips Danny squeezed his arse cheeks vindictively and pulled Jerott's body flush against theirs. Jerott let out a gasp inside Danny's mouth, rolled his hips desperately against Danny's body, and ran his palms down over Danny's nipples again.

Danny's fingers covered Jerott's, pressing his touch down on Danny's chest, and then Danny took Jerott's hands in theirs and sat up, pushing him back with insistent kisses until he was half kneeling, half sitting. Clasping Jerott's hands in theirs, Danny guided his touch around to the small of their back as they leaned, chest first, against Jerott.

"You have something for me, hm?" Jerott asked between kisses, speaking into the softness at the corner of Danny's lips.

"Yes," Danny smirked, their cheek curving beneath Jerott's mouth. They held Jerott's hands in place behind their back and shuffled closer, leaning into Jerott until Jerott shifted his legs out from under him and sat with them splayed to either side of Danny. Danny wasted no time in moving into the space between and wrapping their thighs tight around Jerott's hips.

"What is it?" Jerott tested Danny's grip gently, attempting to run his hands round Danny's waist only to find that his lover's tight hold arrested the movement, keeping him close in their embrace.

Danny pushed their body closer, closer to Jerott's until Jerott felt the unmistakeable demand to lie back and let Danny straddle him, as he had earlier straddled Danny.

He let himself sink down to the sheets and Danny allowed his hands to move around to rest on their hips. They looked down at Jerott with a regal air: chest puffed out, streaked and glistening with jasmine oil like it was war paint, eyelids low over a gaze sparkling with lust. Flushed red lips, a body drawn in indistinct outlines that were as remarkable as any work of art Jerott had seen - Jerott's cock twitched insistently, trapped as it was  beneath Danny's warm arse cheeks.

Danny's smirk was devastating. "What do I have for you?"

They shuffled, one knee then the other, holding Jerott's hands to their hips, up Jerott's torso until they only needed to lift their legs over Jerott's arms and they'd be poised to sit on his face.

"Me, of course," Danny said in silken tones. The certainty, the pride and confidence in those words made a sound rise in Jerott's throat. He swallowed and licked his lips and ran his eyes over the body above his, hungry to taste Danny in his mouth again.

Danny beamed down at him and released his hands so that they could shift their legs and position Jerott's head between them.

Jerott groaned happily as Danny lowered themself to his mouth. He ran his freed hands up Danny's arse and lower back, rubbing and massaging flesh as he went until Danny's hands grasped his again.

Danny threaded their fingers through Jerott's and held his hands against their arse as they ground their body down against Jerott's open mouth.

When Danny did this it never felt suffocating or uncomfortable: Danny paid attention to the way Jerott responded and moaned encouragements that made Jerott's skin prickle. He could hold all of Danny's small cock in his mouth without his jaw aching or feeling like he was about to choke when Danny rolled their hips down. He could find his way around the rest of Danny's anatomy with his tongue, running it softly at first over places that could either be painfully sensitive or dulled to touch by old scar tissue - he worked carefully, like he would do with his hands during the massage - working out what felt good to his lover and what didn't.

And Danny was always happy to help him find the right spot, moving their body and delivering gasped instructions.

All it took was for Danny to breathe an honest "Oy...you're good at this," and Jerott felt his nipples harden and his hips squirm against the bed, his cock responding instantly to the praise. He made a grateful sound against Danny's body and Danny whined and rocked against his mouth.

They tightened their grip on Jerott's hands and then guided his right one away from their arse. Danny reached behind themself, arching above Jerott to draw Jerott's hand away from their body. Danny stretched back, pushing Jerott's fingers towards his cock, and Jerott felt how smooth his own hand was, softened by jasmine oil and hot from the use he'd put it to.

"Don't forget about yourself," Danny purred, looking directly into Jerott's eyes. They released the hand they'd guided to Jerott's cock and sat forward again, reaching down to gently sweep the hair off Jerott's face.

"Ok?" Danny checked. "I'm not smothering you?"

They clocked Jerott's mischievous expression immediately and let out a low laugh. "Careful how you answer that, doudou..."

Jerott, who had no interest in occupying his mouth with mere words when he had other means at his disposal, dipped his chin a little and sucked pointedly at the smooth, domed head of Danny's cock, pressung his tongue up against it.

Danny laughed shakily again and groaned. "...Good answer," they conceded, and Jerott knew that when they opened their eyes again and looked down at him they'd see the satisfaction, the smirk in his expression.

His arms were pinned beneath Danny's body still, but he didn't need to move much to jerk himself off, not when he was already this hard. His right hand moved rhythmically up and down his cock even as Danny held his left hand still, their fingers knotted together behind Danny's back.

Jerott didn't let any of it affect the attention he gave Danny - his own pleasure wasn't a distraction or a splitting of his goals, rather it was like singing while playing guitar, or even just using two hands on the one instrument to make the perfect music. He did what felt good to Danny, Danny told him how good it was, and Jerott's hand quickened with pride, his blood rushed with the thrill of knowing he was making Danny feel that way too.

It could take time and patience to make Danny come, and Jerott enjoyed the challenge - besides, even if Danny didn't get there, Jerott wanted to be certain he'd made them feel exquisite in any case. So long as he was occupied with Danny's pleasure, time stopped and pure sensation ruled: Danny's soft thighs squeezing his cheeks; the warm, wet air Jerott breathed that tasted of the mingling of their bodies; Danny's fingers gently combing through his hair, squeezing his hand tightly behind their back; the feeling of his cock against his palm, as eager for Danny's release as its own.

When his neck felt stiff he shifted and kissed the insides of Danny's thighs, applying pressure with his tongue or plunging his teeth into yielding flesh to leave bruises that made Danny yelp with delight.

Another exclamation in Yiddish - Jerott grinned and nipped Danny's leg playfully. He took another mouthful of skin and sucked, like he'd suck on Danny's cock, and Danny whimpered, their hips bucking, their arse cheeks clenching. French insults mingled with Yiddish; an agonised "hob rachmones!"; a litany of evocative terms that made heat gather in Jerott's groin, spoken as they were with such awe.

He was on the edge now, and he took Danny's cock in his mouth again in case they were too. He tasted their anticipation, and rubbed his tongue against the underside of the head, and as they said, "That's it, that's it, you're an artist!" he felt himself lose the vestiges of his own control as thought and sense and intent all suddenly rushed down to his groin and left the rest of his body flushed empty of all but a ringing pleasure.

Danny's unashamed cry harmonised with the singing of his nerves and Jerott gasped as he let his head fall back to the mattress, satiated and exhausted and fizzing with a vital glee he didn't think he'd felt in years.

Danny released his hand and climbed off him, and Jerott lay in a state of near shavasana, his eyes closed and a smile on his lips. He waited, knowing Danny was coming to him, which Danny did, stretching out alongside his body and stroking his hair back around his ear with the utmost tenderness. They kissed him slowly and deeply and Jerott murmured happily into it.

"You're a treasure, doudou," Danny said against his lips.

Jerott smiled and heard Danny tut immediately. "But don't let it go to that pretty head of yours. You'd be insufferable if you knew..."

Jerott blinked and looked at Danny in sleepy puzzlement, wondering why they'd stopped mid-sentence.

They were staring at him intently, thoughtfully, more seriously than he'd expected. Their lips were red and their cheeks blotched pink; their hair was a disordered, sweaty mess. Without make-up they still looked vulnerable and new to Jerott - beautiful but often wary, a warrior without their armour on.

"If I knew...?" Jerott prompted, lifting a heavy arm from the bed to stroke Danny's chin with his thumb.

Danny's lips moved, and a puckered, vexed smirk fought its way onto them. "You'd be insufferable if you knew how much I love you."

The words still made Jerott's body blush with sensation - instant heat, instant gratification making his skin prickle. He offered the bravest, lopsided grin he could. "Lucky I have you to keep me humble, hm?"

Danny smiled toothily and kissed him. Jerott accepted the insult that followed in all its fondness.

[winterdeepelegy]

The Keys to Survival

"Brother Frost?"

During one of Frost's visits to Castrum Occidens, before his siblings disappeared, he was awoken from a half-hearted doze by one of his Brothers, a Miqo'te and Combat Unit, number 211. Rather, he was a Combat Unit the last time they saw each other, but had just recently gone through an upgrade. The changes weren't outwardly visible but the unique signal emitted by 211's core told Frost of the recent promotion.

Frost sat up on the side of his bunk and dipped his head informally in greeting and waited for his Brother to speak his mind.

"I'm like you now! Mother said there were options, but knowing what you've accomplished for us I... well, I was a little inspired. A Survivalist now... but I have so many questions." He was chipper, still bearing a certain amount of child-like glee, no matter what sort of experiences he might have had as a Combat Unit.

"Like me?" Frost wondered audibly, if barely so. Someone with more of an ego might have taken the Miqo'te's words as a tremendous compliment and let it go to their head but he, instead, scratched his chin in contemplation. "No... you're far from being like me."

211's ears flattened momentarily. While he sensed no contempt in the Elezen's assessment, he couldn't help but feel some disappointment that no congratulations seemed forthcoming. "Well, not as far as experience, no. No matter how much I try, I doubt I could ever match you on that."

"Brother, why exactly are you telling me this?" Frost asked. Surely there was more to his reasoning than a Look At Me moment.

"I guess I'd hoped for some advice?" he rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck, ears still turned sideways and lowered against the top of his sand-colored mane.

Leaning forward, the elder Survivalist draped his hands between his knees and regarded his younger Sibling in a too long moment of silence. Eventually, he exhaled a lungful of air and offered, "Rule number one: Learn your environments and climates. As many as you possibly can. This includes learning about native food sources and how to find water when there are no flowing sources or lakes nearby. Sun position, how the wind shifts..."

211 had at least come prepared to take notes and busily scribbled down any morsel of information the Elezen offered.

"That's all basic, basic stuff, though. I'm sure you know that's a must," he continued. "Find your specialization. Like, for me, I'm acclimatized to ice, so I function best in places like Coerthas and Garlemald's surroundings where my aether expenditures are minimal. Figure that out, and you'll be able to adapt your own elemental abilities to help you survive in other climates."

He paused, waiting to speak until his Brother had written most of that down.

"Last, and probably most important... hope."

"Hope?" 211 perked an ear and blinked his slit-pupil eyes at the Duskwight in front of him. "For what? Easy weather? Luck?"

Frost shook his head, "Figure out what it is that you live for. The one thing that keeps you going, that keeps you from just giving up, laying down, and accepting death."

Silence reigned. The fledgling Survivalist wasn't sure he understood, so he started ticking off a list of things he enjoyed. "...Let's see... music. Sex. Fried dodo... sneaking into the girl's show--"

"No! No no no..." Frost briskly waved a hand to cut him off, "No, uhm... those are all fine things, but they're not enough when the chips are down. For me, the thing I hope for most, the thing that means the most to me? Our Siblings, and Mother. Making sure they survive is what makes me survive. Get it?"

Still, 211 looked uncertain. "So, what, you're saying I should find someone worth fighting for?"

"Close. More importantly, find someone worth living for. It could be the others, it could be the family you want to see again someday. But no matter what, no matter how much pain you might be in, you can't be any kind of Survivalist without something to hope for. Dying means failing your prime directive."

Thus did he see illumination finally dawn in his Brother's eyes when slit pupils expanded to eclipse the green-gold halo of his irises. 211's ears stood upright and a grin spread across his face. "That's it! I get it now."

"Good. Now can I go back to sleep?"

The question barely finished before 211 darted back out of the room, leaving Frost to his silence again. He sprawled back on the bunk to resume his light slumber.

[stubborn-amphibian]

Vi has a new look, baby! And I finally have a concrete timeline for her after Coruscant. (Click for better quality)

After spending many painful years on Coruscant, Vi finally finds a way off the planet with the help of a few friends. She leaves her old life behind and embarks on several adventures. She connects with a rebel faction and helps them with the odd job here and there. However, she is very aware of the fact that she is one of the few remaining force-sensitive people alive with Jedi training. This fact weighs heavily on her and she tries her best to conform into the Jedi standard, but she feels like a fraud. She had been a terrible student, and it didn’t seem fair that the Jedi who were more skilled, confident, and powerful were the ones that died during the purge.

When she was young, it hadn’t been her choice to go to the temple and follow the Jedi path. Her parents had lived in poverty. When they discovered that Vi was force-sensitive, they sent her to the temple in hopes of providing her with a better life, but she never really fit in. Now, she’s faced with a choice: abandon the Jedi path even though she’s one of the few survivors, or follow her own path.

To help her on this self-discovery journey, she travels to Glee Anslem and reconnects with her family. She finds her brother, Sookin, on Glee Anslem. He was the leader of a small rebel faction on the planet. Their father had been the leader of this group initially, but he was captured and publicly executed by the Imperials. Their mother was captured too and she was transported to a work camp on the planet, filled with other native nautolans to do back breaking work. Sookin stepped up in his father’s place to lead the rebels, but their morale was low. They had endured many losses. When Vi arrived, it sparked hope within the group. Sookin knew of the Jedi’s skill and he knew Vi would be the one to change the tide of the conflict. Sookin devised a plan to infiltrate and free the prisoners in the work camp. Vi was hesitant at first because she had come to this planet to discover who she was outside of being a Jedi, but she quickly realized there wasn’t a choice. She agreed and the siege began. They were successful in freeing many prisoners, including their mother, but there were casualties too. Despite this, the nautolan rebels knew their luck was changing and turned to Vi with hope. Vi was unsure about this and believed their faith was unfounded. She still felt extremely uncertain about her abilities, and her mother could tell.

Vi’s mother was force sensitive too, but she was a healer. Nautolans don’t necessarily believe in the force, but they believe in something known as Ocean Spirit, which controls the balance of the ocean and the land. The ocean is neither good nor evil, and the nautolan people don’t believe in a defined line between the two, unlike the Jedi and Sith. Instead, they value a belief that is very similar to karma- if you are good, good things will come. Nautolans are a peaceful race and force sensitive people on Glee Anslem are revered and respected healers. They are seen as spiritual leaders that have a special connection to the Ocean Spirit and hold a very regarded place in the culture. Vi’s mother began to teach her daughter about the Ocean Spirit, and Vi quickly accepted the teaching. She could feel the Ocean Spirit around her and it reinvigorated her. Even though Vi wasn’t a traditional nautolan healer, the other rebels greatly respected her. With her influence, their missions were becoming more successful. They saw her as a warrior for their people and regarded her as their champion. Vi embraced this and after time, she became more confident in herself and who she was. She realized she was capable of protecting the people that needed her, and that meant the world to her. She still fights like a Jedi and regards many of their teachings, but she embraced the Ocean Spirit to guide her through the current of existence. After time, Vi’s mother gifted her with the shells of the Healers, which is a greatly respected and earned trinket to be worn through her tendrils to signify her connection with the Ocean Spirit. Now, Vi is a much more confident person who, for once in her life, is proud of who she is and her connection to the force.

[downwiththeficness]

The Guarantor-Chapter 32

Summary: Frankie went to work every day knowing that there would be an end. A deadline. Reconnecting with her adoptive father, Godric, throws that deadline into question. Teaming up with Godric’s child, Eric, obliterates it entirely. With an uncertain future ahead, Frankie has to learn if she can trust the people around her, let alone herself. Eric Northman/Bisexual!Fem!OC

Word Count: ~4,300

Warnings: Death. Kind of.

Taglist: @mousee555

A/N: This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.

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She should not have drank that blood. It had been sixteen hours and Frankie was still alternating between giddiness and dissociation. She’d slept some, waking in a tangle of sheets next to Eric a couple hours before sunrise. They’d fallen into bed with little fanfare, unconscious before Godric could turn out the lights.

With only her cell phone to guide her, Frankie dressed and headed out into the city to find something to eat. She had just enough time to get in a meal before sunset, as long as she didn’t get distracted by the motes of dust wafting all around her.

Her feet knew where to go, even if her mind was working hard to concentrate. Frankie could still feel the blood running around in her veins. Her vision was razor sharp, her senses heightened to nearly painful levels. All the aches and pains of age and old injuries vanished. When she looked at her reflection in the passing windows, the image before her was at least five years younger.

Frankie should have been freaking out.

She wasn’t.

Frankie should have been scared.

She wasn’t.

As she made the familiar turn towards the deli, all Frankie could feel was glee. Her mouth seemed permanently turned upwards in a smile, her step light and energetic. Everything was right in the world, and it would continue to be right as long as she got some food.

Stepping into the deli, Frankie waved at the cashier and made her way to the little fridge where they kept the easy to eat items. She selected a sandwich and grabbed a soda before heading to the register to pay. Food in hand, Frankie went back out into the street and sat on a nearby bench to eat.

Had deli food ever tasted so good?

Frankie ate slowly, sipping occasionally at the soda. It was too sweet, and hurt her jaw, but she kept drinking it nonetheless. When she’d finished the sandwich and most of the soda, Frankie threw the wrapper and the nearly empty bottle into a nearby trash can. As she looked around her, she recognized the neighborhood. Her feet had carried her within a block of her old apartment.

It had only been a few months, but that life seemed far, far away. Frankie wasn’t the same person who’d kept her head down and worked day in and day out at the laundromat, fearing Anton’s wrath or Andrei’s fists. She wasn’t even the same person who’d taken that long drive with Carissa. It was fair to say that Frankie wasn’t at all sure who she was, anymore, and that was just fine with her.

Turning the corner, Frankie slowed as she crossed the parking lot. It looked the same—same brick, same shutters, same stairs. In the light of the fading sun, Frankie could just barely make out the curtains she’d hung her first week in the unit. Scared, exhausted, and worried, she’d picked out a soft, breezy yellow that didn’t go with the rest of the décor—wanted something cheery in spite of her situation.

But, that was then. Now, Frankie didn’t need brightly colored curtains to lift her mood.

Wheels squealed on asphalt. Frankie had no time to react as an SUV swerved towards her. Body frozen, she brought her hands up to cover her face, ready for impact. The air whipped around her, needling her skin. She grit her teeth.

The SUV lurched to a stop in front of her, one of the back doors opening. Hands grabbed at her, and Frankie was hauled into the car. She screamed and kicked and scratched. The door closed, the engine roared. Frankie rolled her body and got her legs underneath her, pushing back against the door so that she could get a good look at her attackers.

In the front seat, Mikhail was chuckling to himself, his hands turning the wheel. Across from her was Russ.

“Ah, fuck this shit,” she breathed, yanking on the door handle.

Useless. They’d activated the child locks. Frankie wasn’t exactly surprised—she’d been stupid enough to go out on her own while in Masha’s home turf. Absently, she remembered her conversation with Eric about how the threat of the Council couldn’t possibly deter her ex. The fact that she was speeding down the highway in the back of a late model SUV with two of Masha’s men definitely counted as case in point.

“Fucking, fuck,” Frankie growled, looking for an exit, for a weapon, for anything that would help her.

Russ laughed, and she noticed the gun in his hand.

“Fuck you, too.”

Russ laughed harder. Frankie bared her teeth and gave in to the impulse she’d always had where he was concerned. Grounding herself with one leg, she kicked out with the other, catching him in the diaphragm. The sound of the air being punched out of his lungs was almost as satisfying as watching his face crumple in pain.

“I’m gonna shoot her!” Russ wheezed, taking aim.

Mikhail reached back and swatted ineffectually at him, “No. Masha wants her alive.”

Fucking Masha.

She must have heard from the Mediator—or, she’d gotten impatient. Either was a distinct possibility. Frankie sniffed, trying to gird herself against the natural fear that wanted to overcome her courage. This was not the time to make another one of her famous mistakes.

Russ was still yelling sharply and he’d switched to his native Russian. Mikhail was unsuccessfully trying to placate him. The car was hurtling at high speed down the highway towards the interstate. From there, they would take the exit towards the suburbs. Frankie would need to make a decision about how she was going to get out of this, and she was going to have to do it soon.

Taking advantage of their distraction, Frankie went for the gun. She threw herself across the seat, both hands gripping Russ’ forearm and pushing it into his chest. The gunshot was far too loud. Her ears rang. Frankie put her weight onto Russ, drawing back her fist and hitting him in the throat.

The sound he made was garbled, all air. Tears leaked from his eyes as he tried to recover. Frankie turned her attention to getting the gun away from him. Another shot. This time through the headrest to her right and straight into the back of Mikhail’s head.

Blood and brain matter spattered the cracked windshield, the car veered wildly off the road until it dug into a ditch. The momentum flung the vehicle up and over itself. Frankie hit the roof hard, her vision swimming with the impact. Glass shattered all around her, the world spun violently.

When it stopped, Frankie had to take several long, slow breaths to keep from throwing up. She crawled out on her hands and knees, wincing as the glass dug into her flesh. The grass beside the highway was cool and damp, giving way beneath her weight. She couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of her blood rushing through her veins—the pounding of her heart matching the pounding in her head.

She crawled until she reached the road, and then she rotated and sat heavily. Blinking, her vision cleared and Frankie could make out the wreckage. Mikhail’s body had been thrown partially through the windshield, the weight of the car crushing everything from the waist up except for his arm. It hung loosely in the ground, fingers relaxed.

Frankie was so focused on the odd angle of the hand that she didn’t notice Russ ambling towards her. His shadow fell over her line of sight, the dying sun reflecting off the barrel of the gun in his hand.

She didn’t hear the third shot.

Frankie woke with a scream that caught in the back of her throat, a ragged thing that felt as unnatural as it sounded. She pulled off the sheet that covered her face, sitting up slowly. The room was unfamiliar—ostensibly an office. There was a desk to her right with a couple of chairs. In front of her was a doorway flanked on either side by pendant lamps.

Instead of books, purses and shoes lined the walls, illuminated by light bars tucked beneath each shelf. They glittered, reflecting and refracting in a way that set Frankie on edge. The carpet was soft beneath her hands.

Frankie inhaled…

She could smell her...Masha. The scent was engraved on ever fiber in the room, wafting around with the air flowing through the vents. Her usual perfume meshed with salt and amber and violet.

It made her nauseous.

Frankie stood, with difficulty. Her cheekbones ached, and her jaw. She felt like her teeth were out of place.  The sensitivity from earlier was still there—the lights were too bright.

Gaining her composure, Frankie turned in a small circle, taking in the rest of the room. The walls sparkled faintly with glitter, lending a mystical atmosphere. More heels, more purses.

And—

Yuri.

Frankie grabbed for the back of one of the chairs, her eyes trained on a display case along the opposite wall. There were four large glass jars lined up neatly on the shelf. In the first was Yuri’s head. His eyes were closed peacefully, his skin a little mottled with decay. The second jar held the head of Agent Mercer, his mouth tugged down in a permanent grimace. He was in better condition than Yuri, almost fresh. The third was Andrei, and Frankie wondered deliriously how Masha had figured out how to dust a vampire and keep their head intact.

The fourth was empty.

The image of her own head floating in that jar pushed Frankie to look for an exit. There were no windows, just the door. She walked up to it and pressed her ear to the wood, listening for movement on the other side. Hearing nothing, she carefully tested the knob. It wasn’t locked.

As slowly and as silently as she could, Frankie opened the door. It revealed a hallway that was painted a bright blue. She stepped out into it, looking both ways and listening. Voices came to her, seemingly from very far away. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear the anger in their tone.

Footsteps.

There was nowhere for Frankie to go—she sure as shit wasn’t going back to the office with its macabre trophies. Setting her jaw, Frankie squared up to the sound and waited. She wished that she had her gun with her, regretting that she’d stupidly left it in her suitcase.

Masha sashayed around the corner, her eyes going wide as she caught sight of Frankie. She stopped, her mouth pursing into a surprised circle. Frankie was as still as Masha, and only a fraction as surprised. She wondered at the calm of seeing Masha again, after everything that had happened.

Frankie wasn’t struggling to breathe. Her heart wasn’t pounding in her chest.

Her heart wasn’t pounding at all.

It washed over her so suddenly that Frankie took a step back. Her heart wasn’t beating. The blood in her body wasn’t flowing in its usual way. There was such a stillness in her that could only mean one thing.

Frankie was dead.

Or, undead.

And, she knew exactly who to blame.

God damn it, Masha.

“How?” Masha croaked, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, “You were dead. I saw it.”

Frankie let herself feel the raw pleasure in watching Masha try to recover from her shock. It wouldn’t make up for all the times Frankie had to run, to hide, to fight her way out of Masha’s machinations, but it was a start.

“Yeah,” Frankie replied with little inflection, “Well, now I’m not.

Stunned, Masha said, “We didn’t—Prudence wouldn’t let me give you blood. She said it was too late.”

There was a kind of relief in knowing that neither Prudence nor Masha had turned her. Frankie was under no obligation to either of them. It begged a question that she couldn’t answer.

“Guess I got lucky.”

Masha’s face crumpled into unrestrained happiness. She moved quickly, her hands on Frankie’s cheeks. Masha’s skin felt almost warm, a product of Frankie’s transition away from being human. She looked down at Frankie, smiling fondly, the corners of her eyes tinted red with tears.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Masha breathed.

Frankie’s mouth trembled as she fought against her own revulsion. Masha was looking at Frankie the same way she’d looked at her all those years ago, before things had gone so completely sideways. Where once it had been a deeply needed sign of Masha affection, it was now only a reminder of Masha’s selfishness.

“You have,” Frankie said, eventually.

Masha pulled back, “What?”

Carefully taking Masha’s hands from her face, Frankie angled around the other woman, “This is where it ends, Masha. I won’t play your games anymore.”

“Games?” Masha’s voice rose in question, her finely groomed brows coming together.

“Yeah,” Frankie replied, backing away. “You tried to kidnap me—again. I got shot—again. I died, this time.” She took an unnecessary breath, “You’re not going to get another chance.”

Moving slowly, Masha held up her hands plaintively, “I didn’t know that this would happen. I would have never hurt you.”

God, but she was convincing. From the tone of her voice, to the expression on her face, Masha was all regret and penance.

Frankie shook her head, “I don’t care. I don’t care what your motives were. I don’t care what how you thought this would go.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Masha cried, sensing the steel in Frankie’s words.

“I don’t care.”

The sound of a growl rose from behind Frankie. Recognizing the sound, she turned and began moving towards it without thought. Her arm was caught by Masha’s hand, the acrylics digging into her skin.

“Please, milaya,” Masha begged, “We can get through this.”

Calmly, Frankie loosed her arm, saying, “No, we can’t.”

She followed the rising voices, working her way down the hallway, through a living room, and to the threshold of a foyer where three vampires were arguing loudly. Eric had Prudence by the neck, lifting her off the floor so that he could snarl in her face. Behind him, Godric was waiting impatiently with his arms crossed. Trails of red marked his boyish face and his eyes were black with fury.

“I don’t care,” Eric bit out, “what you think happened. You will show us to where you’ve laid her to rest, and you will do it now.”

Masha whipped past her, moving breezily into the room, “You can put your fangs away. She’s fine.”

Annoyed that Masha was once again inserting herself where she shouldn’t, Frankie stepped into the foyer. Her movements were small, sheepish. There was no telling how either of them would react to her change, what they would think now that she was no longer human.

Awkwardly, Frankie gave a little wave, “Hey.”

Godric was suddenly hugging her tightly, covering her with the smell of roses and the safety of knowing he was near. He pulled back, his mouth opening, but no words came out. Frankie watched him process and begin to understand what had happened in real time, his expression morphing from relief to murderous.

“Which of you is her Maker?” he asked in a dangerous tone.

Masha, of course, was the first to answer, “Apparently, no one is her Maker.”

Eric dropped Prudence and stepped forward, shoulders canting down, “The fuck does that mean?”

Masha’s natural height meant that Eric couldn’t quite loom over her as he so often did with Frankie. Her natural arrogance meant that she could continue to look him in the eye, “She was dead when she got here. The bullet went through her carotid. No vampire could have saved her. There was no time.”

Prudence put her hand on Masha’s shoulder in support, “She’s telling the truth. Frankie was dead long before we were able to retrieve her body.”

Looking unconvinced, Godric leaned down and inhaled deeply near her neck, “She smells the same.”

Eric’s face pressed into her neck and shoulder, another deep inhale, “You’re right.”

“Okay,” Frankie muttered, feeling tired, “that’s about all the weird I can take for one night.”

Godric shook his head, “How—?”

He stopped, his mouth shutting with an audible click. Then, “Eric, take her out of here. I need to have a conversation with Prudence.”

Eric started to protest, but Godric cut him off with a stern look. His mouth curled in disgust, but he obeyed, pulling Frankie along with him out the front door. She stumbled along behind him, looking over her shoulder to watch Godric close the door resolutely.

Pulled along by her arm, Frankie blinked owlishly at the night sky. Seeing the stars, even in the suburbs, was always more difficult up North. But, when she looked up, Frankie found that she was covered in a blanket of them, little pinpricks of light that sparkled like diamonds. It was a sight that was eerily familiar.

There was no shadow, no darkness—no, the darkness was still there, but changed. Frankie could see every step ahead of her, moved through the front yard with a grace that she did not have the night previous. Her nose picked up and identified smells with frightening speed, not the least of which was jasmine.

Frankie’s jaw ached, her lungs expanding to get more of his scent. Belly clenching, Frankie felt a wild hunger bloom. It overcame her wonder at the new world she was walking in, a pain that she could not ignore.

Pressure built inside her soft palate, forcing her lips to peel back from her teeth in a grimace. Her feet stopped walking, her body bending forward with a sound that she’d never made before. It rumbled out of her chest, flexing the muscles at the back of her throat. They rippled forward, until they reached her teeth, pulling open to snap her fangs into place.

Wheezing, Frankie slumped forward. Her feet stopped moving, although Eric still kept hold of her hand. He waited silently, watching her come back to herself.

Frankie looked up at him, “I’m sorry.” When he said nothing, continued to look, she apologized again.

Sighing, Eric helped her to stand upright, his hand coming up to hold her chin so that he could get a look at her teeth, “They’re a good length.”

Brows furrowed, Frankie muttered a confused, “Thanks.”

With him so close, Frankie began to lose focus. He smelled so good and she wanted him. She wavered forward, needing to be closer.

He gripped both shoulders, looking her in the eye, “Have you fed?”

Absently, she shook her head.

Taking her arm, Eric moved her to sit on the sidewalk, “Don’t move.”

Frankie reached for him, already bereft at the loss, but he was gone too fast. Not even her faster reflexes could keep him. She dropped her arms onto her bent knees and did as he asked.

Her senses widened to seek out any sensation in the world around her. She could feel the heat of the earth’s molten core roiling beneath miles of rock. The wind carried a cacophony of scents, dirt and grass and animals, fuel and oil, the burn of ozone. There was blood on her clothes, dried and stale.

Frankie felt him long before she saw him, a presence that signaled a predator far stronger than she was. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, made her want to run. It was only knowing that it was him, knowing that he wasn’t hunting her, that kept Frankie in place.

Eric knelt down beside her, a Tru Blood in his hand. The open bottle teased her. And Frankie took it out of reflex. The first pull was frantic enough that she swallowed twice before the taste hit her. It was...not good. Like reheated fries, soggy when it should be crisp.

Blinking down at it, Frankie licked her lips, “That’s, uh, something.”

He laughed, “Its enough until you’re ready to hunt.”

Holding to bottle in both hands, Frankie cast him an apprehensive look, “I don’t know that I want to hunt.”

“Its your first night,” Eric replied lightly, “You have time to figure out what you want.”

Frankie did have time. An eternity of it.

Sensing that she might begin to brood, Eric pushed the bottle in her hands closer to her mouth, “Finish that.”

Reluctantly, Frankie chugged it down.

Taking the empty bottle from her, Eric set it aside and offered his hands to help her stand. Frankie took them, rising just as the front door to the house behind her opened. She turned to find Godric walking confidently down the steps. Facing him, Frankie waited for him to say something.

Godric stopped a few feet from her, his expression unreadable as he took in her change, the empty bottle at her feet. He looked so long that Frankie, uncomfortable, looked away. In the window of the house, Prudence was watching. Frankie could see her stricken face clear as day, caught Masha pacing behind her.

“I wish it hadn’t happened this way,” Godric said, finally.

“I’m sorry.”

He reached for her, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But, I do,” Frankie whined, “I shouldn’t have gone out. I should have stayed in the fucking hotel.”

Godric smiled, “You’re an adult, Frankie. You’re allowed to make decisions for yourself.”

From behind her, Eric added, “Even if they kill you.”

Unable to help herself, Frankie cut him a glance, “I only died a little bit.”

“This time.”

“Alright,” Godric censured, “We can’t change what is.”

“That’s an understatement,” Frankie groused.

“Let’s discuss this at the hotel,” Godric pronounced, ushering them towards Eric’s car.

Frankie squinted at it, “Did you have the car shipped back here?”

Eric pulled out the keys with a smirk, “Problem?”

“No,” she said quickly, “No problem.”

Godric sighed loudly as he dropped into the passenger’s seat. Frankie couldn’t help the way she smiled as she climbed into the back. She might be a vampire now, but everything else was almost the same.

At the hotel, the three of them piled onto the bed in Godric’s room. Frankie leaned into Eric’s side, watching Godric pull from his suitcase a sealed box that hissed as he opened it. From inside, he produced a bottle with oozing red sloshing within. A portion was poured into the little Dixie cups with the hotel’s logo printed on them.

Cup in hand, Frankie sniffed its contents, “Holy shit.”

Godric’s smile was conspiratorial, “This one was a sommelier.”

She saluted him with the paper cup, “I have no idea what that is, but I’m still going to drink it.”

And, she did. And, it was very, very good.

Frankie covered her eyes with her hand, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Eric’s body shook with restrained laughter. She reached out blindly and swatted at him. He caught her hand, kissing the palm lightly before threading his fingers through hers and setting their entwined hands on his thigh.

When she could open her eyes again, Frankie caught Godric hiding his amusement behind his cup, fingers diving the hotel logo into three parts.

“Cut me some slack,” Frankie said, “Its my first night.”

“You’re doing better than I did,” Eric told her.

Godric nodded, “I had to restrain him, but he calmed down after he fed.”

Frankie sipped again from the cup, the flavors complex as they rolled over her tongue. It was nothing like the Tru Blood she’d had not an hour before—which might as well have been a rice cake for all its flavor and the way it didn’t fill her stomach.

“Masha had heads in her office,” Frankie announced, without preamble.

Godric’s eyes narrowed, “She mounted heads?”

“Nope,” Frankie answered with a shake of her head, “She keeps them in glass jars.”

Eric made a sound of disgust, “What happened to skewering them on pikes to scare your enemies?”

“These were her enemies,” she said, “Agent Mercer, Andrei, and Yuri,” her voice cracked as she said Yuri’s name. Out of anyone in this whole mess, he was the only innocent. It was a shame that he couldn’t see the danger that was right in front of him.

“That explains why I lost track of Mercer so easily,” Godric murmured, reaching over to refill his cup.

“I think,” Frankie began, her voice small, “that she wanted to put my head in one.” She paused, then, “There was an empty jar and she thought I was dead.”

Eric’s hand tightened on hers, “She won’t get the chance.”

“No,” Godric confirmed, “she won’t. I will be filing a counter suit with the Council.”

Frankie frowned, “For what?”

His expression was grave as he said, “Masha all but admitted she attacked the human of another vampire—its no matter that you were turned. She broke our laws. As Eric’s Maker, I have a right to restitution.”

Eric leaned further back into the pillow, “I fucking hate paperwork, but I’ll come with you.”

Curious, Frankie edged, “What kind of restitution?”

Godric met her eyes, stone-faced, “Masha will meet the sun. I’ll accept nothing less.”

It was what Frankie expected to hear, the thing that Godric had been telling her needed to happen all along.

“You’re not making the face,” Godric commented, with suspicion.

Eric chuckled, “I said the same thing last time I brought up giving Masha the true death.”

Pulling back, Godric asked, “Why aren’t you making the face?”

Frankie shrugged, “Maybe getting shot twice was enough to teach me not to trust her, anymore.”

He sipped from his cup, taking a moment to digest her words, “Its a hard lesson to learn—that someone we love isn’t who we thought they were.”

She looked away, “Yeah, it is.” Then, with levity, “I am really tired of getting shot, though.”