#they were supposed to be really simple like here is a flower wreath around your job icon and a block of color

[captainbasch]

I thought I would take some time today to gather some flower refs for ffxiv prints, specifically flowers that matched the colors of job stones/soul crystals and BOY did it take a literal 3 hours to get all of them a match @ A @ ; and some of them are reaching LOL Like you want to find me a GREY, SEAFOAM, or GREEN HELLO? flower - too bad I did it already - but G O D. Some of the choices were like "oh wow, this flower matches the color and vibe of DRG perfectly. It even looks like a little snowflake to give Ishgard imagery and its spiky like the end of a lance!" but my favorite ones were "Oh GNB is yellow and mimosas are yellow and they're my fave, so :)" Hardest finds were NIN, MCH, and SAM T v T but i did it in the end. Everyone's got a flower match and hopefully I'll have enough drive to actually make these after all of this work LOL

[headkiss]

hellooo!! could i request something christmassy with joel? maybe something to do with a secret santa with the fam in jackson 🫣 thank youuu lots and lots of love <33

hiii lots of love back!!! tysm for your request baby <3 0.9k of fluff and christmas in jackson!

Christmas in Jackson feels like the closest thing to how life was before the outbreak. Feels the closest to normal you’ll ever get. Though, you suppose it’s your normal now.

There are string lights hung, wrapped around railings, and some porch light bulbs have been switched from their classic white to red and green. Wreaths hung on doors, snow on the ground.

Jackson’s been your home for some time now, but it feels the most like home in December.

There are people that feel like family in Jackson, too. Joel and Ellie and the house you share, Tommy and Maria and their place across the street. Although you don’t think you’ll ever be one hundred percent comfortable somewhere—not when things like clickers exist—here, you’re probably as close as you can be. A solid ninety on a good day, never any lower than a seventy-five on a tough one.

The people you’ve got have a lot to do with that.

Those of you that are old enough to remember what the holidays were like before the outbreak have tried to teach the younger ones about traditions. Santa Claus and Christmas morning, decorating a tree and making cookies.

This year, Secret Santa’s been added to the mix.

You’d have been happy getting anybody’s name from the hat Tommy had filled with folded pieces of paper, but you’re glad the one you got was Joel.

He’d already been in Jackson for a while when you arrived, and, because there are only so many houses built at a time, he’d let you stay with him. And you just never moved out.

He’s told you that he was different before Jackson, before meeting Ellie. Joel was colder, rougher, and he’d call himself a bad man for it, but you’ve all done bad things to survive.

Besides, living with him and getting to know what’s beneath all those layers he’s surrounded himself with, you don’t think you could ever call Joel a bad person.

You’re just finishing wrapping his present when he comes in, “you ready?”

“Don’t peek,” you say, tying a bow around his gift. “No spoilers!”

Joel shakes his head with a huff of a laugh, and comes up behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders and squeezing. “I didn’t see anything. Promise.”

The hand of yours that isn’t holding the present reaches up to hold one of his where it sits on your shoulder, and you spin to face him.

Joel’s wearing a flannel (like usual), the top buttons left undone just enough to catch a hint of his chest hair. He’s got jeans on and his boots, and though he pretty much always wears a variation of this outfit, you admire him all the same.

“‘Kay, let’s go.”

He grabs your jacket for you from where it hangs by your front door, holding it open and helping you shrug it onto your shoulders. You’ve told Joel time and time again that you can do it yourself, but you know that he likes to help whenever he can, so you let him.

Joel speaks volumes with his actions, a little love sprinkled in everything he does for you.

As you pass the garage, which is really Ellie’s apartment, you knock a pattern on the door, one that you and Ellie use for each other, like a code. She meets you and Joel outside quickly.

The walk to Tommy’s is incredibly short, his house a simple cross of the street away.

You’re greeted with smiles and a hug from Maria, a pat on the back from Tommy. They usher you into the living room, where they’ve got stockings hung above the fireplace, some that Maria must’ve knitted herself.

It’s not long before you get Secret Santa started, Ellie giving Maria a drawing of her favorite flowers, Maria giving Tommy a new mug for his collection, Tommy giving you a new pair of boots he’d found in your size.

Then, it’s Joel’s turn, who gives Ellie her very own guitar that he’d been working on late at night for weeks. You remember the way he’d come to bed, eyes tired and hands sore, the way he’d wrap his arms around you and that would be that.

He’d hidden the guitar at Tommy’s when it was done so she wouldn’t see it, and upon receiving her gift, Ellie gasps, “woah! Dude, you’re serious?”

Joel simply nods.

“This is so cool. Thanks, Joel.”

Ellie leans over from her spot on the couch to give him a hug, one that Joel reciprocates quickly, because he always does. You smile at the pair, at how they interact. It’s family.

Finally, it’s your turn, and you hand Joel the small box he’d walked in on you wrapping earlier.

“For you,” you say.

He tears the paper slowly, like he’s nervous to see what’s inside. Even though he shouldn’t be; Joel’s well aware you know him better than anybody else.

Inside, he finds a pair of work gloves, probably old, but in pretty good condition. No holes in the palm or fingertips.

“They’re for when you’re making your guitars,” you tell him. “I found ‘em on patrol a while ago and thought you’d like them. No more slivers for you, Miller.”

He sets them down in his lap and smiles that small, sweet smile of his, and it feels like a present in itself. Tossing an arm around your shoulders and tugging you close, he says, “they’re perfect, sweetheart. Thanks.”

And when everyone else is distracted by their own conversation, Joel presses a kiss to the side of your head, then your cheek, then, quick, your lips.

It’s the kind of Christmas tradition you could get used to.

[worth-more-than-two-thousand]

Returning from the Dead is Easier Said than Done...

Request: Welcome, Shiny! May I request an x Reader (can be fem or gender neutral) where Echo (post-citadel) comes up to their s/o's doorstep to give them flowers and ask them on a date? A plus if the Bad Batch teases him for dressing up nicely and buying flowers. Thank you! (@handmaidenthesimp)

Author’s Note: Enjoy! If anybody wants me to repost with a gender-neutral reader, just let me know. 

Story Notes: Some swearing, not much else to warn you about. Take place in-between Season 7 of CW and The Bad Batch. No Omega this time, sorry! 

🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑

Being declared dead was uncomplicated. Your Republic file was branded with a "KIA" stamp, everyone stoically mourned, and someone just a bit shinier would step in to fill your shoes. 

Being declared undead, however, was decidedly more complicated. Oh, Echo was reassigned to Clone Force 99 easily enough. But it was the little things that seemed to get mired in red tape. Getting his few personal effects back. Re-opening his modest credit account.

Approving a rental application.

Admittedly, it wasn't that Echo really needed his own place; clones were conditioned to be accustomed to share minimalist, often-cramped quarters. And they were always on the move, so it hardly made any financial or practical sense, in the long run. 

But right now, oh, did Echo dearly wish that he was dressing up in the privacy of his own space...and not the shared cabin area of the Havoc Marauder. 

He kept his face stoic, as though readying for battle, refusing to acknowledge his teammates goggling in the background. They had returned early from their supply run. Echo had meant to be out of here an hour ago, but (somehow) hadn’t counted on just how difficult it would be to get dressed into multiple clothing pieces with a scomp link for a hand. 

So that’s how his comrades found him: trying to wrangle a neck accessory into submission by sheer will. 

Oh, if Fives could see him now. 

“You look funny,” Wrecker had declared decisively after an unbearably long silence. “What’s that thing you’ve got on?” 

“It’s a suit,” he grumbled, refusing to look any of them in the eye. “I’m going to see Y/N.”

Wrecker gasped like a fishwife. He leaned forward, and pitched his voice low. As though the others couldn’t still hear him in the tinny space.  “Your girlfriend? You mean you’re going to see her for the first time....since…” Wrecker made a muted cartoonish sound with his mouth, clenching then expanding his fingers in a gesture for ‘explosion’.

Echo stared at him for a moment disbelievingly, before nodding slowly, forcing the sarcastic response he really wanted to say back down. He couldn’t fault Wrecker for being...well, Wrecker. He had all the tact of a rampaging bantha. 

“An’ what’s that? Around your neck?” 

Echo opened his mouth, but someone cut across his response. “A bowtie,” Crosshair drolled, though his eyes glittered with amusement. Echo tensed, knowing that he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. 

“Fifty credits says he chokes, and he ends up strangling himself with it in shame." 

“No way!” Wrecker exclaimed, always the optimist. He clapped Echo on the back, who was unprepared so his knees buckled. He felt his metal joints strain. “Don’t worry, Echo,” his brother rasped in the loudest whisper known to man. “I bet she’s gonna love it!” 

“You know,” Tech piped up unhelpfully, “Your strategy may backfire. The current deviation from your usual appearance may be so jarring for your beloved that she refuses your offer out of simple self-preservation instincts.” 

Echo gritted his teeth. “Right. You have stats to back that up, I suppose?” 

Tech blinked at him owlishly. “Of course I don’t. This is an obvious possible outcome.”

“I’m trying to look nice,” he snapped, scowling. 

There was a loaded pause. “...’trying’ being the objective word here,” Crosshair smirked.  

Before Echo could wipe the look off his comrade’s face with a well-placed ARC trooper punch that would’ve made Hardcase proud, Hunter wedged his way in between them, hands up in a conciliatory gesture. 

“All right, laugh it up, fellas. Personally, I think you’re all jealous because you don’t have a girl waiting for you like Echo does.” Hunter turned to face their newest member, took the bowtie that was clenched in Echo’s fist, and smoothed it out before proceeding to tie it around his neck with surprisingly deft hands. 

Crosshair ‘hmphed’ while Wrecker verbally agreed, looking slightly put out by the undeniable truth. Tech simply nodded in neutral confirmation. The group lapsed into a somewhat awkward (but not unwelcome) silence as Hunter finished tugging at the folded ends of the bow, then double-checking to ensure it was straight. He stepped back to assess his work.

“You look good,” he said sincerely.

Echo thought he was in the clear. 

Hunter frowned. “But...it looks like you’re missing something.” 

Or not. 

“Like dignity?” Crosshair drawled from a dark corner of the ship that Echo frustratingly couldn’t glare at. 

“A sense of self-confidence,” Tech suggested. He wasn’t joking. 

“FLOWERS!” Wrecker boomed confidently. “All girls like flowers. You gotta get her some before you see her!”   

“I...fine.” Echo relented, anything to get his teammates to shut up. He shoved his way through them towards the bridge. “I’ll get her some flowers. You all stay here until I get back. I mean it, Fives!” he warned.

An uneasy silence followed him, which he didn’t register until he reached the landing ramp. 

He shot an exasperated look back at them. “What?’ 

“...Your former comrade is not here, Echo.” Tech finally spoke. His words were clinical, as always, but there was a touch of understanding underlying his tone. 

Echo froze, just for a moment, then shook off the shock of his faux pas as best as he could. 

It wasn’t the first time that had happened, after all. 

Echo descended the landing ramp, squared his shoulders, and marched into town. 

Y/N lived in a run-down but culturally distinct district of Coruscant, characterized by food stalls from species and ethnicities all over the galaxy. Children often ran through the streets, sellers in colorful robes and attire shouting their wares and art for all to peruse. It was one of the nicer markets, he thought, having come here once. He had been accompanying Y/N on her usual run for specialized ingredients that made the diner she worked at the talk of the galaxy. 

Echo elbowed his way through the crowded street, content to simply blend in with the crowd, to forget about being a soldier for a moment. 

He paused at a flower stand and was mindful not to draw too much attention to his scomp-link hand as he ordered a dozen sunflowers, which he remembered were Y/N’s favorite. When his credit chip was declined, however, he sighed and reached into his pocket to see what spare change he could muster up. Being that he was wearing a never-worn suit, however, meant that there was no change to be found, and the unimpressed florist snatched the bouquet away. 

That’s okay, Echo. Y/N doesn't need flowers. She just wants to see you.

At least, he hoped that was the case. He hadn’t exactly written to her yet, unsure that he could sufficiently explain his sudden non-death in typed words...

Surprise! I’m not dead! Hey, you know that explosion on the citadel? Well, I survived! And out of it, I got an all-expenses paid trip to  the Techno Union research facility! Why didn’t I write? Well, I was in stasis most of the time and that part’s a bit fuzzy. I also was responsible for killing my brothers by using their own battle plans against them. Oh, and you might notice that I’m missing most of my fleshy bits these days… 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, which were more rapid these days thanks to his enhancements. He was good at compartmentalizing, though. He had to be. He was still a soldier, through and through, and no one wanted a soldier who was about two seconds away from a mental breakdown.

Yeah, a letter to Y/N wouldn’t have cut it. But he still felt like maybe he could have sent ahead some sort of...heads up? A warning? A ‘Please don’t scream when you see me because I don’t think my heart could take it?’ 

His feet finally guided him to the front entrance of the building where he knew she lived on the 14th floor. Glancing around, he spotted some blue flowers sprouting in a planter near the entrance. He yanked a fairly healthy-looking handful from the soil, shaking the roots to get most of the dirt off. He tucked the strangled roots into his fist so that they would be less obvious. 

It was time. He nodded to himself, squared his shoulders, and entered the building. 

A short elevator ride later, Echo could feed the sweat beading at his forehead and neck. At least his fight or flight response seemed to be healthy and alive, and Echo tuned out everything but the door in front of him, adorned with a purple wreath of lavender flowers. 

He stood in front of the door, and raised his hand to knock. 

He stood…

In front of the door…

...and raised his hand…

...to knock, you coward. Just fucking knock. 

His raised knuckles, however, refused to move. Echo caught a glimpse of himself in the curtained window panes on the sides of the door, and at the sight of his bloodless face, suddenly felt a whole lot less sure of himself. 

He looked ridiculous. 

He and Y/N had barely gotten to know each other before his untimely death. 

What if she was with someone new? 

This was a terrible idea. Echo should leave now, before he caused himself any more embarrassment. Crosshair might get his fifty credits, after all. 

Echo had just convinced himself to turn around and admit defeat, when the door suddenly swung open. 

Two Y/C/E eyes met his. 

There were points during Echo’s battle career where time slowed to a crawl. When an explosive grenade was thrown just a bit too close, or the comrade you had just exchanged banter with received blaster fire to the face. 

Echo was experiencing the same sensation now, but he would voluntarily stay in this moment forever, if he could. He fervently hoped his nightmares would be replaced with the sight that was etched before him. 

She was wearing her yellow work uniform, white apron pressed crisply with starch...and was as beautiful as ever. Her hair was up in a messy ‘late-for-work’ up-do, a smudge of blushed color not quite within the lines of her lips smearing her cupids’ bow where she had applied it in a rush.

He couldn’t determine whether her reaction to his sudden appearance was positive or not, and so didn’t dare speak first, breathlessly afraid that if he did, the moment would shatter. 

He saw her swallow hard, glancing at him from head to toe, gaze landing on his right hand. 

He guarded his heart. 

“Ech? Echo, is that you?” she whispered. Her eyes tore away from the scomp link hand, and began searching his face as though just as afraid he would disappear. 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s me.”

The silence stretched out, and the fight or flight response was creeping back. 

“I know I look a bit different.” He tried for a light-hearted joke, but couldn’t quite get his tone to match. “Had some work done. What do you think?” He winced slightly.

She stepped forward and he froze as Y/N lifted her fingers, hesitating briefly before gently touching one of the metal bolts by his left temple. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“...do they hurt?” 

He gasped a little as he remembered to breathe again.

“No,” he reassured her, raising his undamaged hand to steady hers. “No, it doesn’t hurt.” 

“...good.” 

The wind was knocked out of him as Y/N flung her arms around him, burying her face in his neck, tardiness to her job completely forgotten. 

She began sobbing. It wasn’t neat little sobs, like in the scripted holovids, but heaving sobs that wracked her whole body, and he worried slightly that she was going to faint on him. He forgot about his scomp link for the first time as he rubbed it in circles against her back, murmuring nonsense words of comfort in her ear. 

After several minutes, she sniffled, stepping back. She rubbed her nose ungracefully where snot was leaking out, but Echo could have cared less about any of that. He only kept his arms out to steady her, in case she needed support again.

Y/N glanced down suddenly, and flushed.

“Oh. I’ve crushed them.”

Echo followed her gaze and saw that he was still holding the blue flowers from the planter in his good hand, the bouquet having been caught in between their bodies when she had thrown herself at him. They did look a little worse for wear. 

He shrugged unconcernedly. “They were free,” he said, not wanting her to feel guilty. 

She stared at him for a moment before a bubble of laughter burst from her lips. She still looked like she was about to sob at any moment, but she smiled tremulously at him through shining eyes. 

Desperate to make her feel better, he began rambling. 

“I can get you better ones! N-not right now, though,” he stuttered. “Actually, it turns out that I don’t have any credits on me at the moment. Everything’s still kind of backed up at the bank regarding my accounts. Also, this suit is new. Well. Not new. It used to belong to this woman’s father who we rescued during a mission on Bith. Long story.” His brain, which worked faster than usual these days anyways, still couldn’t seem to catch up to his mouth.

He forced himself to get back to the task at hand. “I was actually here to ask you for a date. I mean, assuming there’s no one else at the moment…oh, but you have your job to go do…bantha spit, I forgot about that...” He would have to ask Tech if it was possible for his brain to actually short-circuit.

Echo finally trailed off. Now he was the one blushing. 

The whole of Domino Squad was probably having a good laugh at his expense right about now, wherever they were. 

But Y/N was still smiling at him. And her chin had stopped wobbling. She gently took the flowers from Echo’s hand and placed them on one of the side tables in the hallway before intertwining her fingers with his and grasping his right hand without hesitation. 

“Forget about my job. Let’s go on that date. My treat. Though, if I know Dexter, he’ll give us a free meal, on the house. And the rest of the day off."

For the first time since he had joined Clone Force 99, since he had been rescued on Skako Minor, and even before the Citadel...Echo allowed a true grin of happiness to spread on his face. 

“A free meal,” he echoed. “Sounds like a plan.” 

[op-peccatori]

Anthesis | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Hades!Victor/Persephone|Kore!Reader

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your ambition takes you down a path few would prefer to take, to the world where the dead go to rest. But in a place where you expect to find only darkness, you’re surprised to find so much more.

A/N: Better late than never? Happy (belated) Birthday, Victor! Ily. This was supposed to be up on his birthday but, well, I had zero motivation to write at the time lmao. Please keep in mind that this is mostly inspired from alternate versions of the Hades/Persephone tale, and not the original. These are pretty much my own versions of them.

(tags under the cut)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, virgin mc, vaginal sex, oral sex, a sad mix of formal and informal language, no abductions here folks, I’ll edit later just take this away from me

Violets and crocuses wiggle in delight and part as the grass, eager to cushion your stride, nearly presses up against your feet. Roughened bark meets smooth skin as your hands brace against it, the tree nearly twisting around you to shelter you as you peek around it; the leaves murmur to themselves, wondering what you're up to. 

You shush the leaves and pat the tree into compliance with haste, lest they give your position away. Another glance at your target shows no change. You have to wonder—does he really not know you're spying, or are you just being ignored? Pushing the question aside, for now, you hurry along after him. Your patience and labour are rewarded when you follow him into a meadow, where his ride awaits him. 

A gilded chariot, drawn by four of the most beautifully frightening beasts you have ever seen. Helios had been right; their tales don't do them justice. The same, however, can be said for their rider, who now greets them with gentle strokes upon their heads, the menacing horses whinnying and bowing their heads, competing for just a smidge more attention. The flowers stir with curiosity and terror, knowing these beings belong to another place, one where they would struggle to survive.

"Why have you come?" 

It takes you a moment to realize he's addressing you. You've heard it a few times now, yet the deep baritone sends a thrill down your spine. He does not speak with the condescension you're subjected to so often, and neither does he attempt to seduce you into his bed. All he asks is a simple question, his back to you, his hand stilling where it was stroking. 

"I wanted to see your chariot," you answer easily, stepping forward into the clearing so the moonlight can wash over you. His hair falls down his back in a river of ebony, his statuesque form clad in intricate armour of the darkest black so unlike the ones you see on the surface. He, in all his menacing glory, is so unlike anybody you’ve ever met. 

"You've seen it." He still doesn't face you, and you're startled to realize you're clenching your fist, uncurling it and flexing it nervously. "Run along now, little goddess." 

His words are harsh in their very nature and yet you brush them off, something about his tone striking you as odd. You step closer, and though he doesn't move, he stiffens further. 

"I'm Kore." The warm breeze in the air greets you softly, rustling your hair affectionately as it passes. "But you can call me ___." 

He says nothing, turning to step onto the chariot. He doesn't look at you, but you can see a side of his face now. It grates on you, how aloof he looks. How they avoid him. How every time you ask your mother to visit his domain, you're turned down. 

"Goodbye, Hades!" you call after him, satisfaction squeezing your gut when, as his chariot descends into the chasm, he's startled into looking at you. For a long moment, it seems as if time has stopped. Eyes that seem opalescent at this distance, flecks of blue and violet in that grey grey storm locking with your own. You're overcome by the urge to follow, and you nearly do, were it not for the hyacinths twisting around your feet in their alarm. 

The moment is broken as he disappears, the earth closing back in seamlessly in the aftermath of his departure. You can't quite look away, despite knowing it's unlikely he'll be back. It'll be a while before you see him again, as he rarely leaves his domain. You know you're young, younger in comparison to these older gods but the impatience you feel still catches you off guard. You don't know how much longer you can keep playing this long game, especially now that it seems like you're the only player on the board.

"___?" Distant voices call for you, prompting a deep sigh. Your mother is probably looking for you, and even as you turn to leave, you resist the urge to glance back until you're deep within the woods once more.

There is something you want. It's terrifying and it's exhilarating—it probably won't end well. But for the first time in your life, you want something badly enough to defy all odds and your mother. It's been slow to bloom, starting off as a sapling that has now spread its branches throughout your being, spreading sheer want in their wake. All you need is a plan. And so, it is with eyes shining with hope that you rush to your mother where she reads by a fountain, taking a seat next to her.

"Mother, may I invite Helios over? It's been some time since I saw him," you ask in the politest tone in your arsenal, batting your lashes and clasping your hands together. To nobody's surprise, she agrees. 

"But you stay where I can reach you," she says sternly, cupping your cheek when you purse your lips. "We can't have anyone getting any ideas, hm?"

"Yes, mother."

Helios arrives in a golden chariot of his own, his ivory-winged horses gliding to a stop where you wait in the meadow. His windblown, flaxen hair tumbles over his shoulders, and the honest blue eyes and cheery grin are a welcome sight—beautiful, but one that doesn't quite shake you, doesn't possess you with the impulse to stumble after it.

You don't speak of it right away. Instead, you offer up sweet wine and weave flower crowns as he shares all the gossip in the realm; some are things Aphrodite really will kill him for one day. As always, one name is conspicuously missing from his lively tales of love and debauchery, and that's the one you finally bring up as you adjust the wreath over his head.

"Hades? He rarely leaves his realm, I don't think he's one to indulge himself that often. I don't know how he does it," he muses. Kiro, as you're allowed to call him, eyes you speculatively. This isn't the first time you've asked after the reticent god, and he knows you too well to think your inquiries are innocent in nature. "Oh, just tell me." 

You look around the clearing, ensuring that none of your mother's agents are around. The trees would tell you if they were, but years of dodging them have taught you better. 

"I want to visit the Underworld," you confess, unable to help the smile that steals over your mouth when his mouth drops open. This is the first time you've said it aloud, and doing so only cements the desire further. Kiro groans, half despair and half lament, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I regret this visit already."

"I know you know how to do it." You cross your arms over your chest, your chin jutting out in a way that makes him sigh.

"There's a reason why nobody goes there, you know."

"It isn't forbidden."

"Your mother will destroy us both." She will, but with any hope, you'll be far away when she figures it out.

"Kiro, please?"

"Argh, fine! There's only one way for the living to pass through safely; you'll need a gift for the ferryman."

You pester him until he tells you what might be suitable, until you're certain you have just the thing in mind, flopping onto your back once you know everything you need to. You study the vast expanse of the sky, awash in strokes of pinks and orange, wondering if you'll get to see it once your plan is in motion. 

"He really caught your eye, didn't he?" Kiro muses as he lays down beside you. "Demeter will throw a fit."

"Hm. Something like that. And mother can throw all the fits she wants to. This is a decision I've made for myself." 

"Have you ever even spoken to him?" You can't quite bring yourself to look at him, giving it away and his next words are incredulous. "You haven't! That's why you aren't going through the usual channels! I thought it was just because of Demeter—"

"It is!" you insist, still refusing to meet his eyes.

"But you don't want H-Him to know either." 

"...not right away, no," you mumble, continuing before he can panic. "Only because he wouldn't agree to let me visit!" 

Kiro can't argue with that. "I don't know what you're thinking, just—don't irk him." That's just one of the many things you shouldn't, the first step of your operation being at the very top. 

Slipping out of your mother's grasp isn't easy; her watchful gaze, as you murmur promises of being careful and wanting to visit forest nymphs, tells you she knows you aren't being entirely truthful. But you're aware that she will chalk it up to you playing your silly games. 

Oh, you are. This is a game you want to win. The stakes are just higher this time. 

Helios agrees to fly you down to the ocean, flying you across it as if he's afraid Demeter is right behind you. It feels surreal as you finally stand at the entrance to the cavern, your form shrouded by a cloak of thick velvet with the hood drawn up. You hesitate, for just a moment. You might be sent back right away. Or, if you are successful, there will be no going back from this. 

As you close your eyes, memories of your mother pass through your mind. The good and the bad, the dreaded and the cherished. It transitions into a vivid memory of a battle you hadn't witnessed in person, but one that you had watched while you had been hidden away in one of your temples, a shallow pool of water reflecting the bloody battlefield so far away. 

It hadn't been the first time you had seen him, but it had stayed with you until the next time you saw him leaving Olympus. You had seen him obliterate the thieves attempting to steal away the souls in his custody with nary a blink, the cold fury in his eyes belying his smooth countenance. You had been thoughtful as you watched his chariot ascend from the gape of the earth, watched him greet the sable-black horses with a muted affection at complete odds with the ruthlessness he had displayed just minutes prior.

In that conflicting visage, you saw an opportunity. 

And so, you step through the threshold, your golden gift in hand. 

You weren't expecting it to be a pleasant journey, but the wailing and complaining souls you walk in line with are still unnerving. The silent ones even more so. They look human, just a little more opaque, almost glowing in the gloomy caves. They don't seem to realize you walk with them, which is admittedly a relief. You feel uneasy at the lack of life here, and not for the first time during your walk, you wonder if you can really do this.

There will be steep consequences, the world will change, you will change. You walk, and walk, and walk, and just as you begin to feel the frustration, you see it: the long stretch of water beyond the white sand you step onto, aglow with wisps of green light swimming beneath the surface. And on the boat that glides along the surface, coming to a halt as it reaches the shore, stands the ferryman.  You have to wait as the ones ahead of you climb onto the boat before you're face to face with him. Not an inch of him is visible, the cloak doing an excellent job to conceal whatever hides behind it. Still, you can feel him peer down at you. 

You brace yourself before slipping the hood back, inclining your head as you greet him. "Charon, I presume?" 

"You...are not supposed to be here." His voice seems to echo through the cavern, soft yet scattered as if it comes from all around you. 

"No, I'm not," you concede, before offering up the golden branch you had fashioned with painstaking care. "I did bring a gift." 

You can feel him studying you as if you are the strangest passenger he's come across before he holds out his hand for the bough. "I'll accept it. Welcome aboard, young goddess." 

"I didn't think you would let me pass so easily." You climb onto the boat, taking the seat right behind Charon. 

"As long as you do not cause trouble, young goddess, I don't see why I should not."  

The boat starts to move, needing no rowers, leaving behind the souls who will have to wait their turn. You're so preoccupied with examining the luminous water that it takes you a moment to realize Charon is looking at you. 

"Are you?" You blink. "Are you here to cause trouble?"

"I'm not here to cause trouble," you answer, your slight smile giving you away. 

"And yet, I do not think He will see it that way." He seems amused despite his words, and you're distracted from answering as you exit the cave, your gaze captured by the scenery. 

The air isn't stale. There are no skulls lining the shores. The river isn't filled with the blood of the dead, instead, it seems to be so pure it's glowing. You wonder why people are so fond of spreading false accounts of their experiences in the underworld. The sky, as you observe when you tilt your head back, is a blend of greys and purples with no sign of sunlight. You refrain from squirming in discomfort—you'll just have to get used to it, trade your bright skies for vaguely ominous ones. 

The shores on either side of the river are barren of anything but sand, and on one side you see a wall of obsidian rock that stretches along the shore as far as the eye can see. 

"How do I get to Hades' palace?" you ask in slight dismay, not fond of the thought of getting lost in this strange new realm.

"The boat will stop at the entrance to the realm," he murmurs. "From there, someone will come to get you." 

"Who?" 

"Someone from the palace, I suppose." He doesn't seem to be inclined to give you more answers, and you ease away with a quiet sigh, knowing he's done more than enough. 

True to his word, Charon's boat stops in front of what looks to be the only entrance to the realm. There are two enormous gates on either side of the opening in the wall, also carved with obsidian, unembellished but for the symbols etched into the surface. A closer look shows them to be sceptres, the symbol of the ruler of this realm.

You look back at Charon with a faint smile. "Thank you." 

"You need not thank me for doing my duty, young goddess." As the boat starts back down the river, his echoing laugh sends a frisson of unease through you. "I wish you luck." 

The 'you'll need it' goes unsaid but you hear it clearly enough. Well, you will need luck when the god finds out you're here, but hopefully, it'll be a while before that happens. 

A few steps towards the gates let you know you will need luck for a lot more. 

There is no sense of alarm from the souls who continue to pass through the gates as if they don't feel the way the air grows heavy. You feel the hot, panting breath at the back of your head first, followed by a low growl. Every inch of your being tenses in place and the first thought in your head is-

'I don't have power here.'

You turn around on wobbly legs, biting back a whimper when you see him. A massive beast you had only heard rumours of, rumours you really should have given more thought because now there are three heads growling at you.

"Oh, h-hello," you croak out. The heads tilt in unsettling unison, sniffing at you in confusion. "You must be Cerberus." 

He's nearly as big as the towering gates, with a glossy black coat and eyes that possess a red sheen. One of the heads, the one on the right, whines low in his throat and is immediately snapped at by the one on the left. Their teeth look to be nearly as big as your forearm, and you curse yourself for not bringing extra gifts. You hadn't thought to prepare too much for the trip, as you aren't a demigod on a quest. 

If you want to stay in this place, it would be wise to forge friendships with its residents.

"I'm Kore," you offer when they continue to stare at you as if unable to figure out what to make of you. And then, the head on the right seems to win out as he darts forward, butting your shoulder gently as your shriek dies in your throat. You can tell he had tried to be gentle, and still, it sends you sprawling on the sand. 

You all stare at each other in surprise. The startled looks on their faces drain them of any menace they had previously displayed; it makes you clutch your abdomen as you burst out laughing. The headbutting head whines slightly, taking a hesitant step forward, sniffing frantically as if to make sure you're in one piece. 

The hand you place on his snout is gentle, your touch soothing as you coo at him, reassuring the oddly concerned looking dog. You're still giggling as the heads tilt in confusion, still unsure, and nearly miss the sound of horses whinnying from a distance. Nearly, for it's impossible to miss the thundering of hooves as they reach the ground, and your heart rattles in its cage as Cerberus sits back on his haunches, his tail curling and wagging with delight. 

And why shouldn't it, when his master has come to greet them?

"Well, I'm glad to see you're enjoying yourself." The icy words reach you before you've mustered the courage to look back at the chariot and its terrifying rider. Your fingers dig into the sand as you scramble to get ahold of the fortitude that had brought you here.

"Oh," is all you can say when you do turn around, for you're not expecting the casual attire. The armour is nowhere in sight, his body clad in flowing robes of red and gold, a sash tying them in place. His hair is free from its usual half-updo, flowing freely over his shoulders and back. 

You can't quite bring yourself to say another word, let alone give him the explanation you know he's waiting for. He raises a brow at you before scoffing, jumping off the small platform and striding towards you. Cerberus intercepts him before he can reach you, bounding forward to greet him with low whines escaping all three heads. He doesn't let Hades pass until every head has received an acceptable amount of head pats, giving you a moment to collect yourself. 

"Someone will come to get you," you repeat in a low mutter, fists clenching. "Charon, you evil, evil being."

"What was that?" A shadow falls over you, and you squint up at the god standing over you. Without the armour, however, he doesn't look as threatening as usual, though you won't be the one one to tell him that. You smile up at him brightly. 

"Nothing! Hello. Thank you for coming to get me," you say as if you hadn't sneaked into the realm and broken a few different rules. He squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds, before exhaling forcefully and holding his hand out. You can't deny the tremble in your chest when you take it, his hand pleasantly warm to the touch as he pulls you up. 

"Come, little goddess." Your fingers tighten around his hand and he drops yours as if it were dripping with the venom of a Hydra, turning on his heel and stalking back to his chariot, clearly expecting you to follow. 

You do so quietly, waving at the horses as they eye you, flexing your hand in an attempt to suppress the strange tingling. It doesn't work, and you try not to sigh as you climb onto the chariot next to him. You're here on a mission, and the warmth spreading over your cheeks is not helping in any way.

You're further embarrassed by the startled yelp that escapes you when the chariot takes off without warning, but it's forgotten when you feel a hand settle over the top of your head, pulling you closer to the body it's attached to until you're close enough to feel it's warmth. His warmth. 

"Try not to fall off," he chides, before seeming to realize that his hand is still on your head and pulling it away to rest it on the railing. The air whipping through your hair feels blessedly cool on your heated skin, and you focus on looking around instead. You pass by what looks to be a pavilion, wondering if it is what you think it is but not having the courage to ask when he's clearly irritated. All you can do is sneak glances. His hair whips around him, brushing against yours and you avert your eyes as he turns to glance at you in question.

Any excuse you might have come up with fades away when his palace looms into view. Sitting upon an island in the middle of a lake, the walls of obsidian stone matching the wall seem to give off their own strange glow. A cobblestone bridge connects the island to the rest of the land, a spiked portcullis standing in the way of whoever dares to visit. The four towers to each corner stand proud and high enough that you worry about running into them. 

The chariot circles the tower closest to you, flying lower with each lap until you arrive in a courtyard, stopping before the stables. A nervous-looking man in golden robes seems to have been waiting there, bowing as you both climb out of the chariot. 

"My Lord." He looks at you almost suspiciously. "Lady Kore."

"Hello." Hades steps into your path before you can continue. Why is it that you're unable to finish your sentences around this man?

"I will open the entrance to the surface, I think you've had enough adventures for this decade." 

Your what echoes, confusing you until you realise it had come from the other man.

"I did not come here to just leave," you argue hotly, squaring your shoulders when he glowers down at you. "This is not some silly adventure." 

"Oh? What would you call it?"

"I came here to ask you a few questions." And a few other things, but he doesn't need to know that just yet. "Surely you can grant me that much." You cross your arms, refusing to break eye contact until he grunts and looks at the...attendant?

"Prepare the guest wing for the lady." He turns back to you just as you open your mouth. "I have things to attend to, so I'm afraid your questions will have to wait. I assume you know the rule?" 

"The rule?" you repeat, trading glances with the other man, who nods in encouragement. "Yes?" You don't have a clue. 

He seems aware of that, leaning in until his hair falls forward in a silken curtain and your entire view is filled with thick lashes and stormy eyes. 

"Don't..." You're aware that you're staring at his mouth, but seem to have lost control over where your eyes stray. "...eat anything. Unless you want to be stuck here forever." 

"O-oh." You feel uncomfortably warm again, unable to meet the wicked glint of his eyes when he pulls back. "Yes, I knew that!" 

"Wonderful. We shouldn't have any problems then. Enjoy your stay, little goddess," he calls over his shoulder as he begins to walk away. "It'll be a short one."

And then there were two—left staring after the man who disappears behind a corner.

The attendant turns to you. "I'll show you to the guest wing, My Lady." 

"Thank you..." 

"Oh! My apologies," he leads you to what looks like a side entrance to the building. "You may call me Goldman." 

"Thank you, Goldman," you say warmly. 

As you step through the door, it begins to sink in. You're really here. You're doing this. How successfully, that has yet to be seen. But you have hope. 

"Please don't mention this to My Lord but," he leans in almost conspiratorially, his hair seeming to fluff up in his cheer. " I'm personally very glad to see you here."

"You are?" It certainly hadn't seemed that way earlier. 

"Yes, My Lord rarely gets visits from the Others. And if you're here for the reason I think you are," he grins at you. "Then I'm doubly glad!" 

You both come to a halt, just before stepping through the archway that leads to a long flight of stairs. The interior of the building is vastly different from its outward appearance, with its marble floors and gilded walls.

"How could you possibly know what I'm here for?" 

"My Lady, I make it my business to know as much as I can about My Lord's everyday affairs," he gestures for you to continue. "You must know. All of us here—we're rooting for you!"

Oh. 

"Yes, well," you laugh nervously, guilt trickling through your insides. "Thank you. I'll...I shall try my best."

The guest wing you're taken to looks completely out of place for something built in Hades' realm. The bedroom itself looks like one you would have designed yourself, with its sheer white curtains and plush rugs. Set in the middle of the room, the bed itself is orbicular with a sheer curtain enclosing it almost completely, with a parting in the middle to allow easy access. The walls here are white marble with speckles of gold, with a massive armoire resting against the one in the back of the room. 

Behind the bed is a shallow pool with steps built into the sides, but what surprises you the most is the tree that seems to be curling in towards the room through the balcony that has no doors, just wide arches. There is limited flora in this realm and you had already made your peace with it, but as you press your hand against the oddly smooth bark of the tree and feel it vibrate with delight, something tense unwinds in your chest.

"I'll let Him know you like it," Goldman calls from where he stands at the threshold, hands clasped in front of him. 

"It's lovely." You take a quick peek out the balcony, which shows you a lovely view of the glowing lake.

"Yes, well," he hesitates, shaking his head. "Ah, I shouldn't...I'll send someone in to attend to you." 

He hurries away before you can press for answers, leaving you to climb into bed with a huff. Your cloak is unfastened and thrown to the side, freeing your unruly tresses and limbs. Resting on your stomach, you feel silly as the loneliness creeps in. You miss your mother and the Naiads; you had, all your life up till now, been surrounded by the Nymphs' giggles and it pains you to think that you might never hear it again. 

But your melancholy is weak when faced with your ambition. If things go your way, this will be your new home and it is with that thought in mind that your eyes flutter shut as sleep crawls over you.

A glance at the mirror shows you, clad in a forest green dress that wraps around your body, and your hair braided back with golden twine. You leave your room with your attendants' instructions, heading straight for the throne room where Hades should be. They're pleasant enough creatures, but your heart still aches with longing. Kiki and Willow must be worried out of their minds; you had told no one of your plans, with only Helios aware of your whereabouts. 

Your path takes you along another winding bridge, chandeliers with softly glowing orbs lining the ceiling and the familiar green wisps darting beneath the lake. The sky above seems almost agitated, clouds of grey and violet swirling around each other restlessly. 

Strange though it may be, the Underworld is beautiful in its own way. How could it not be, when its ruler is the same?

He stands there now, peering down into the lake as if it holds answers to any questions he may have. You know the moment he registers your presence, his shoulders turning as if to leave before he aborts the movement and faces you. 

You should be afraid, you think, standing as you are across the bridge from one of the most feared gods in all the realms. And yet, your feet move on their own as if they can't help it, taking you to him. Your heart throbs with anticipation as you draw closer. He smells like smoke laced with magic, that drugs you with every breath you take, and you think you're a fool for being so relaxed in his presence. 

And yet he's the one looking at you so warily, as if you're the one to fear?

"Hades," you greet him evenly, watching curiously as his eyes dart down to your flowing dress before meeting your gaze. 

"Kore." 

"I told you, you can call me ___," you mutter. "I was told you have no other matters to attend to at the moment?"

"Hm." 

There’s no point in beating around the bush, it would only give him more chances to escape. 

"Lovely. So," you clasp your hands behind you, tilting your head to the side. You feel your hardened resolve waver when he only watches you carefully. "Why did you reject me?"

He seems to be at a loss for words, so you continue. 

"You thought I didn't know," you state, stepping closer to him. It annoys you that you have to look up at him, but a deeper part of you enjoys it, more so when he begins to look wary. "Oh, I know. About your proposal. Zeus agreed—and then you turned it down. Why?" 

He stares at you. "You came to ask me this?" 

"I did." 

"Wh-why?" He seems genuinely baffled, blinking when you narrow your eyes at him. "It doesn't matter-"

"Of course it matters!" you snap. He steps back as you step forward, and it continues step for step until his back is pressed to the wall beside the arch. It feels a bit silly, but you reach your hand out to rest it on the wall just over his shoulder, to make sure he can't slip away. "Am I that undesirable in your eyes?" 

The words burn in your chest but oddly enough, he seems to relax at that, his mouth twitching into a tiny smile. You're quite offended by how pretty it makes him look. "Kore, that's not the case at all. You're beautiful-"

"Do not patronize me."

"I'm not-"

"I could not care less how beautiful you think I am." You stand, face to face, and you know your face is flushed with the force of your anger in that deeply unattractive way your mother hates. "All I want to know is why you changed your mind after approaching Zeus yourself." 

"It...does not matter," he finally says after a long moment spent blinking rapidly in the face of your frustration. 

"I just told you it does," you growl, and you're unsure what he sees in your face, but it makes him twitch.

"You...aren't fit for the role. I think I hear Thanatos calling for me..." 

He slips from your grasp easily, feeble as it is all of a sudden. His words echo within your thoughts, a numbness spreading through you as you try to gather yourself. 

Not fit to—what, be queen? Be his wife?

You sigh, a faint ache in your jaw from how hard you had been grinding your teeth, and rest your hands on the railing. Are you supposed to go home now?

'No.'

After all, Hades was very clear in declaring you unfit to be his wife. There's nothing more to do. You got your answers. 

'It's not enough.'

"Answers aren't all I want, after all," you murmur, reaching out a hand, smiling as a glowing orb floated up from the water to flutter around your palm. "I'll just have to show him." 

Hades wouldn't have spent all those months watching you in the meadow if he thought you to be so unsuitable. He wouldn't have kicked up such a fuss after catching wind of Ares' proposal, although he would be pissed if he found out Zeus had told you about that too. No, you won't let him escape so easily. 

You came here to be Queen, and it wouldn't do to let the King slip from your fingers with a few thoughtless words, would it?  

Your resolve remains strong, and you have another plan. Now if only he would stop avoiding you. 

If nothing else, you can at least say that you can have the almighty ruler of the Underworld running in the other direction with just a word, as he's been doing for a few days. It had been exceedingly amusing at first, watching him try to make it look as if he isn't running from you, but now your frustration mounts. Yesterday, you had followed him to the courtyard only for him to quite literally melt into the shadows. It's infuriating and you're done with this chase.

Now, you lurk in the shadows of his throne room, watching him attend to his duties. He's a stern one, this god you're trying to lockdown. Not one to be swayed easily.  You're content to wait, determination tight in your throat, as you watch the last of the Judges leave. 

Hades leans back in his throne of ebony, his shoulders relaxing from their stiff posture. You move when his eyes slide shut, creeping towards him and drawing Goldman's surprised gaze to you.

You hold up a finger to your lips, indicating for him to keep quiet until you reach the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne. Goldman hesitates before nodding, hurrying down the steps and ushering the two armoured guards at the doors from the room. 

Hades, who now watches you from his throne, says nothing as you come to a halt before him, close enough to touch. 

He does nothing as you step closer, between his spread knees to take a seat on one of them. His hands, resting on the arms of the throne, clench around the metal. 

"Not running away this time?" 

"You would just hunt me down again," he mutters, still watching you as you lean closer. "One could think you're Artemis in disguise."

"Invoking another goddess' name while I sit on your lap? You're quite shameless."

"And you're astonishingly persistent."

"I can be when it comes to what’s mine," you counter coolly, fighting a smirk when you catch the slight flush spreading high on his cheeks. 

"You go too far, Kore." The slight tremble in his tone belies his harsh words. He's not wrong, but he also hasn't pushed you off his lap yet. 

"You've left me no choice, Hades." You lean in, smiling faintly. He turns his head away, but two fingers under his chin tilt it back towards you. For a moment, you say nothing. You can't because his mask is slipping, it's apparent in the agitation in his eyes and the skies beyond the windows. "They say you're elusive, but there's only so much a girl can take."

The tip of your nose brushes his and it has you swallowing, has his lips parting, the feel of your breath mingling with his dizzying and terrifying. 

"I'll be good to you. Let me show you," you whisper, pressing your lips to his cheek. A shuddering, almost pained breath leaves him.

"You don't know what you're doing." It's a rumble in his chest, a half-hearted attempt to warn you but you've come too far to quit now. Your lips carve a soft path to his ear, kissing the lobe lightly. 

"Tell me you don't want me," you murmur, tracing the shell of his ear with your tongue.

He says nothing, but it's clear in the way his muscles strain, in his eyes that speak of yearning and desire.

Just one move and you'll have him. 

But he's temptation given form, and you're shaken by how violently your heart thunders in your chest. This will change the game, for better or for worse, you know it in your bones. If you give yourself to him, he will never let you go. Your tongue sweeps across your full lips, his eyes focusing on it and for the shortest of seconds, your lips meet the corner of his mouth. And then you dart away—or at least you try to, were it not for the hand sliding into your hair and bringing you back to him. Your breath stutters at the fierce look in his eyes, at the sudden unyielding grip he has on your hair and your heart.

"You should finish what games you start, little goddess." His voice is somehow fuller, his eyes dancing with sheer want and it scares you how much you want it but—it's that word, the 'little' that sparks your stubborn desire and has your eyes sliding shut as you press your mouth to his. For a moment, there's a buzzing sound in the back of your head and then, it feels like you've been struck by lightning. As if you've jumped into the deepest fires of Tartarus, and somewhere in the back of your thoughts, you realize you're in trouble.

But then he tilts his head and moves his lips and you have nothing to spare for anyone or anything except for him. A moan comes to life and dies within your throat when his other arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer. The next is stolen by him when you're pressed into him, melting into the chiselled planes of his torso. 

You can't think. 

His hands rove over your body, drawing you closer until your parted knees rest on the throne, on either side of his hips. You're not sure how long you sit there, kissing deeper and deeper and wanting more. Your heart feels full and you can't believe you finally have this, have him and then his hips press up into yours. A hot jolt in your belly has desire dripping through you as you feel him, firm against your centre, and then you realise your dress has ridden up almost to your waist.

'Oh.'

You're both dazed as you pull away, unable to form a thought let alone words. But this feeling, this contentment, you don't want to give it up. His flushed ears, his warm breath, his burning gaze. You want to capture it all and hoard it forever. The flashing skies break you out of the moment.

"I think we both have things to think through," you half-slur, flushing in embarrassment as you clamber off his lap, righting the hem of your dress. You nearly give in when he reaches for you, the lost look on his face tugging at your heartstrings but you force yourself to turn away and sprint down the stairs. 

This was the plan. Leave him wanting more, and he'll come after you. But this desire you feel, this need to go back, to curl around him and spent an eternity there—this wasn't part of the plan.  

'But this is a good thing.'

It could be. You came here to be more. Because you had deemed Hades to be the perfect one to marry, to escape your mundane life and reach for more than you were given, more than you were expected to be. Here, you could spread your wings.

But you hadn't expected to feel this deeply. 

When did it even begin, you wonder? Was it when you first saw him in battle? Had it all already been set in motion when you had so very conveniently positioned yourself close to his preferred spot of opening a portal to his realm? When you had heard the first whispers of him watching you plucking flowers? 

You had been content to let him observe you, listening to the trees giggle at his attempt at stealth. You had no idea what was so interesting about watching you frolic about the meadow, giggling with the Naiads, but it had worked to your advantage. That had been clear when Zeus spoke to you of his interest. 

But then he withdrew the offer, snatched away your chance and you were forced to take matters into your own hands. 

You reach your room with haste, rushing to your balcony to collapse beside the railing closest to the tree, clutching your chest. The branches above shiver and reach down to you. Your heart longs powerfully, it aches with it, and it's so sweet it's foolish. You're a fool. All the other gods and mortals, they're all fools. 

Hiding away in the Underworld is, not only the deadliest but perhaps the fairest god of them all. 

This time, you're the one avoiding him. 

It grates at you, this cowardice, but your heart flutters at just the thought of facing him and it makes you nervous. You're emotionally compromised. You want him, more than you've ever wanted anyone. 

It's when the palace is still, when the skies are darker, that you sneak out to the stables. His chariot rests in the back, but you're distracted by the scarlet eyes watching you from different stalls. They're quiet when you come closer, reaching into the one on right, stroking its soft forehead gently as he neighs. 

"Nyctaeus is more tolerant than the others." You nearly jump in fright as He materializes from the shadows, smiling slightly as the steed, who you now know to be Nyctaeus, neighs softly. 

His hand joins yours in stroking his head and you wish he would do that to you too. 

'I wonder if Cerebrus would consent to eat me?'

"They're good companions, especially when you can't sleep. Alastor," he points at the one on the far left, "can be quite chatty. Orphnaeus is a bit more reserved. Aethon...he may kick you if you try to make conversation." 

This might be the longest you've heard him talk in one conversation. You glance at him; he's dressed in a robe similar to yours, muted red where yours is olive green. His hair seems a bit dishevelled, as if he had run a hand through it one too many times. 

"I would love to get to know them better," you smile when Nyctaeus butts his muzzle into your palm. You watch from the corner of your eye as Hades pauses, then hesitates. 

"Kore." You turn to face him and he offers you his arm. "Walk with me?"

You walk for some time before the silence is broken, coming up to the bridge where you had cornered him and he'd run from you for the first time. The chandeliers are inactive, the lake providing enough light as it isn't quite dark here. 

"The other day..."

"I regret nothing," you cut in before he can take that route. He huffs out a low laugh, pulling you to where it's brightest.

"No, I suppose you don't." The green light from the lake reflects onto his features, illuminating them with an eerie glow. "And neither do I."

'Perfect,' you think, but there is only anticipation where there should be more triumph. 

"So..." He sighs, and something within you squeezes painfully. 

"Kore," he begins, tugging you closer when you turn away. "I didn't withdraw the proposal because I don't desire you. If it isn't clear already, it's very much the opposite."

You look up at him as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling ruefully. "But?"

"But I think you would be wasted here. Spring has no place in this realm of mine." There is a flicker of something in his eyes as he says those words. It hurts him, and hurts you too. And more than that, it offends you.

"Don't you think that should be my decision?" Your breath grows heavy, anger and longing warring within you at how sad he looks in the dim glow. 

"I think you deserve better," he argues, rather weakly in your opinion. He looks pitiful, the look out of place on this dark king and you hate it. He looks pained yet he can't seem to look away from you, and you can't turn your eyes away now that you've seen him. You've had a glimpse of his heart and you want it.

You simply kiss him. 

You do feel triumph now—in how helplessly he kisses you back, in the low groan he lets out, and in how naturally his arms find their place around you. 

"Hades," you begin, pulling away and bracing a hand against his chest when he follows. "I know I made it seem that away, but I don't actually have time."

"What do you mean?" The husky timbre of his voice makes you shiver. 

"I mean, I have until my mother finds out I've run away and sends someone after me," you admit sheepishly. His eyes widen before squeezing shut. 

"Demeter doesn't know you're here."

"She might now. But no, I didn't tell her anything." He glances around as if expecting your mother to come raging out of the lake. 

"Kore..." he sighs.

"She would never have agreed!" 

"Well, you clearly have a plan. What do you want to do?" 

You shrug. "Marry you."

"Kore!" 

"I'm serious. That was my plan."

"So am I. A wedding for those of our standing," he begins, pulling you into his arms. "It must take place before the Pantheon for it to be valid in their eyes." 

"I don't care about what they think," you mumble into his chest, feeling it shake as he chuckles. 

"I more than agree with that but," his lips brush your hair, "I would like for your mother and anyone else you love to be there."

You take a moment to think, before scraping the marriage plan—for now. Another idea sparks, one that you'd considered and abandoned before kissing him that day.

"A lovely thought," you purr, standing up on the tips of your toes to brush your lips along his sculpted jawline. His fingers dig into the sides of your waist. "Then we need to leave them no other choice but to give us their blessings." 

"And how do we go about that?"

Your tongue flicks against his lower lips and he opens his mouth instantly; you've kissed others before, but never has it been this addictive.

"First," your teeth graze his lip, "we go to my room." 

His hands find the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up with ease. Your surroundings blur with his speed, as he sinks into the shadows that form a blanket around you. It's a second of complete darkness and then you're in your room.

Now that he isn't using it to escape you, it really does seem like a handy trick.

"And then?" He lets you slip off, watching with glittering eyes as you start walking back to where your bed is. 

"And then," your nimble fingers find the knot of your dress, easing it open and unwrapping the cloth swiftly. "you make me yours." 

You laugh loudly at how wide his eyes get before he's on you and you're on the bed. He kisses you desperately as if he's afraid you'll be torn from his grasp, and you pull him closer until the soft material of his robes meets your bare skin. 

Rough fingertips slide down the gentle slope of your neck, reverent in their touch, brushing over a hardening nipple, sliding over your soft abdomen, dipping into the mess of curls below but not reaching for what lies beyond. 

"You're so beautiful, ___." His lips are fervent on your skin. "Thank you."

You laugh helplessly, shifting into a moan when he takes a nipple into his mouth. "Thank you?" 

Your back arches when he sucks, until he pulls back to smile down at you. The sight alone is enough to stun you, and the slight dimple in one cheek ensures further silence on your part.

"Yes," he leans in to kiss you but doesn't elaborate. You reach for the sash of his robes, tugging it off impatiently. You regret it the moment you succeed and the part of his robe allows you a closer look at what lies beneath. His torso looks as if it could have been sculpted by Hephaestus himself, and his cock—the sight of it flushed and erect has your mouth dry. 

"Oh," you say, and your face could've been on fire with how hot it feels.

"You seem nervous, little goddess," he says lightly, but the darkening of his eyes displays his lethal desire. "With how boldly you climbed onto my lap that day, I almost thought you were going to have me right there." 

"Ah, well," you avert your eyes, unable to escape his teasing gaze, "I actually...I've never..."

You miss the way his eyes soften at your trembling words, blinking when you feel his lips on your forehead. 

"I know. They do call you the Maiden, after all." 

At this, you glare at him. "Well, then, My Lord—I trust you to change that tonight." 

He grins as if he thinks you adorable, prompting you to push him until you switch positions. You climb onto him with flushed cheeks, sliding your hands down his chest until they splay dangerously low on his abdomen. His smile is fainter, edged with a warning, his hair fanned out over the sheets. You simply smile as you wrap your hands around his cock, squeezing it curiously. 

"K-Kore," he groans. "Please be careful with that." He helps you adjust your grip on the base of his shaft, guiding you to pump it slowly. 

"I told you, call me ___," you insist, watching with fascination as the tip of his cock starts to glisten temptingly. "Everybody else calls me Kore." 

"Right," he croaks, bucking his hips when you finally give in to the urge to lick at the slit of his cock. "By Tartarus. You wicked little thing. Ah, then, you m-may call me Victor." 

"Victor?" you ask, tongue stilling where it was sliding along his length. He smirks down at you. 

"I certainly feel like one." His ensuing chuckle is cut off when you take him into your mouth, trying to remember what the Naiads had mentioned about pleasuring your lovers. "D-don't push yourself." 

You hollow your cheeks in response, taking him deeper until your mouth feels uncomfortably full. You begin to bob your head slowly, unsure until you hear him groan and begin moving more confidently. 

It's when your tongue begins to slide in unison with your mouth and your hand inches towards his ballsack that you feel him tug at your hair, not easing his grip until you've let his cock slip out of your mouth with a whine. He curses again, sitting up and pulling you to him, tasting himself on your tongue. His robe slips off completely and you're quick to take advantage of it, stroking over his flexing muscles avidly.

You tense when you feel his warm palm on your inner thigh, as if your body is waiting for something but you don't know what, not until you feel him touch your sex. His fingers slide along your slit and you gasp into his mouth, fingers clenching around his shoulders as he touches you gently, stoking the flame you hadn't realised was there, preoccupied as you were with his bare skin.

"You're so wet for me," he murmurs, pleased. He slides a finger in, hissing when your walls squeeze him tight. "Oh, ___." 

You've only ever indulged yourself a few times, mostly out of curiosity and restlessness, but here as you sit in the arms of the man you've claimed as yours, it feels completely different. His fingers are longer, thicker, and it seems so deliciously erotic; he swallows your moans, kisses your cheeks, whispers his encouragement as your hips begin to move, grinding into his hand. He makes you come on his fingers, holding you as you tremble and cling to him. 

He lays you down, kissing your forehead, the lids of your eyes, your nose, your cheeks. He lingers on your lips before his mouth glides along your neck, stopping to suck softly on your breasts. His lips on your abdomen feel ticklish, making you giggle until you feel his breath on your quivering cunt. He parts your legs, and his ravenous gaze makes you throb harder. 

"Vic-Victor-"

Any capacity to speak coherently is lost with the first lick along your slit, before his tongue pushes through and you're left writhing on the bed. He sucks and laps at you, his iron grip around your thighs thwarting your attempts at squirming away. His lips close around your nub and you keen, begging for respite or for more, you don't even know yourself. 

He does pull away, crawling over to kiss your hair and murmur soothing praises as you kiss his jaw and widen your legs in a silent invitation. Ha-Victor looks at you when he brushes the head of his cock against you, not looking away even as he begins to push in. The air feels charged with magic, you feel it in little sparks against your skin. Your head falls to the mattress, eyes rolling back as he pulls back to slide in further with shallow thrusts, overwhelmed by how full it feels. 

"You're going to be the death of me," he chokes out, feeling your walls fluttering around him. Locking eyes with him has been an intense experience every single time but now, with him throbbing within you, it feels almost painfully intimate.  

"G-Good thing you won't be going anywhere," you manage to quip, smiling even as he draws you into a kiss and begins to thrust. He sets a smooth pace, allowing you to try and keep up as your hips begin to undulate. It's with measured thrusts and clever fingers that you come again, with fervid kisses on your skin that soften with every breath you take. He empties himself within you, murmuring incoherent praises into the side of your throat as he shakes.  

He takes you into his arms, a hand caressing the length of your back, and a memory springs up; once, one of the visiting nymphs had claimed to have bedded Hades. She had scoffed and declared him to be a cold lover, that living in the Underworld for so long must've drained him of all passion. You had suspected it even then, but now you know she had been lying. 

Your soft snickers draw his attention away from your shoulders, where he had been planting soft kisses.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," you say breezily, rolling over to grin at him. "Just congratulating myself on a job well-done." 

"As you should," he agrees. "But I don't see how this stops Demeter from taking you away." 

You stare at him. He hasn't realized it, has he?"

"That was just for us." You sit up, opening your arms when he shifts to rest his head on your stomach. "Now...I'm hungry."

He freezes, nearly flinging himself back with how quickly he rises. "___." 

"You can't tell me you hadn't considered it." You raise a brow at how his eyes fall with shame.

"I...did. It would've done the job. But at the time it would've been against your wishes," he admits, tucking your head under his chin as you wrap your arms around him. 

"And now it won't be." 

"___." He places his hands on your shoulders, looking at you gravely. "This will bind you to the Underworld. To me."

Your only response is to roll your eyes and kiss him. 

The conversation derails very quickly from there and time blurs as you lose yourselves in each other. It's when you sit on the edge of the pool, leaning back on your arms with your legs spread wide as Victor fucks you with his tongue, that a strange ringing sound reaches your ears. Victor growls and continues until you're a mewling mess on unsteady limbs that he pulls into the water.

"Hermes is here," he informs you, his arms tight around as you both realize your time is up. You kiss him, hard and fast, pulling him up the steps before your common sense takes leave once more. 

"We have to do it now," you insist, shaking your head when he opens his mouth. "I'm sure. I want you. I will have no one else as my husband."

He blushes, clearing his throat and nodding. "I feel the same. I...I want you as my wife. And my queen." 

You stand there like a pair of fools, smiling at each other until there's another insistent ring. Victor holds his hand out, and you stare at it in confusion until a pomegranate appears from thin air. 

"Right, we must consider your other duties as well," he mutters to himself, seemingly agonizing over it until he digs out six seeds. 

“...Yes, we must.” 

"Six seeds for six months?" he asks quietly. 

"That should do it." A shame that you can't stay by his side, but you must think of your mother and the people too. You did consider just having someone replace you but it's not that easy, and it would be too selfish of you. "You can come to visit while I'm there."

"I will," he promises, holding up the first seed to your mouth. He feeds you each seed individually, waiting patiently as you chew. You look down at yourself and then around. 

"I don't feel any changes." He laughs and laces his fingers through yours. 

"I do. They'll have no choice but to let you come now," he whispers into your hair. "Hermes will probably take you to Olympus." 

"I'll see you there, then." You can't help the mischievous smirk that curls along your mouth. "We do have a wedding to plan." 

Victor groans and pushes you onto the bed. 

It's with a cheerful grin and a skip in your step that you materialize out of the shadows to meet Hermes in the throne room. The Messenger looks confused by your enthusiastic greeting, which contrasts greatly with Victor's brooding pout.

"Hades. Kore. I believe you know why I'm here," he states, peering at you through his helmet when you just nod. "Kore, I'm to take you to Olympus. Your parents are waiting." 

Hermes nearly chokes when you turn to Victor, waiting until he lowers his head so you can plant a noisy kiss on his cheek. 

"I'll see you soon, darling."

"I'll be there,” he vows.

You take the hand offered by an incredulous Hermes, looking back at Victor as a golden ring surrounds you and your escort.

"___?" 

Your heart aches already, your lip quivering at the miserable look in his eyes. There’s an awful feeling burning in your chest and you think you’re starting to understand all those songs about longing for your lover.

"Yes?" your voice cracks pitifully, and he cracks the softest smile at that, watching you leave him so tenderly it may just break you. All you want to do is hold him and tell him every silly thought you’ve ever had, to dig deeper and listen to anything he wants to tell you. You manage a wobbly smile for him.

"I love you."

Your eyes widen, heart skipping as you open your mouth—and then he vanishes from sight. You materialize in a secluded garden within Olympus, Hermes staring at you in shocked silence as you try to compose yourself. It feels as if you’ve left your heart behind, and you hadn’t known love could ever be so bittersweet. 

"Well, now I almost want to take you back," he mutters as your eyes begin to burn. "Come, your parents await you. I suspect you have a lot to tell them."

Hermes is right. The sooner you inform them of your decision, the sooner you'll see Victor again. You've fallen in love with the King of the Underworld, with all his jagged edges and dimpled smiles—and there is no force in all of the realms that will stop you from making him yours. 

[diegoalvesisgod]

I was tagged by @ibarbourou​ to do this... writing self-analysis, I guess.

Can you think of three images that are recurring elements in your writing? Are they symbolic of something? What do these images mean to you? Do you have any memories/connotations tied to them?

Long post ahead.

fire and warmth

This was the only one I didn’t have to think about, the one I consciously know is a recurring theme.

The image or fire, or anything that represents warmth or creates warmth, or the warmth in itself.

Paulo takes a deep breath and walks inside. The interior looks very different from the outside. It’s not scary at all. It reminds Paulo of a museum a little bit, but it’s warmer and cozier. There is a thick carpet on the floor in the large hallway, and patterned wallpaper on the walls. Fire is crackling somewhere.

(My Love Will Never Die)

He crosses the hall carefully, trying not to trip over anything. The storm outside intensifies, rain beating at the windows and lightnings illuminating the empty hall at least thrice before he reaches the door. The room he finds behind it is much smaller, and somehow also feels warmer. Whoever covered the furniture and took down the paintings before leaving this place most likely forgot about this room. The armchair in front of the large fireplace isn’t covered, there’s even a pelt in front of it, like whoever used to sit there liked to keep their feet warm. A small table to the side to put a glass of wine or a book on, a candleholder near the window, chairs in the corners. There’s still a pile of wood neatly lined up next to the fireplace, and he finds a tinderbox on the mantelpiece.

(let the darkness lead us into the light)

My grandfather was a concentration camp survivor. I was little when he died, but there are some things I remember him talking about to me, and this is one of them. Warmth means life. There is nothing if there’s not warmth, because if you’re cold, the only thing you can think of is warmth, the need to get warm, the lack of warmth. I deeply believe in the third generation trauma theory, and this may be one of the ways it manifests. I am able to cope with cold much better than most of my friends and family - what is cold for them isn’t cold for me, but I also subconsciously focus on things that represent warmth. I love blankets and candles and hot tea and fireplaces, I hoard sweaters, and when I was a little girl, I never wanted jackets, I wanted fur coats. 

For me, warmth, or the lack thereof, sets the vibe and the atmosphere of the story. It determines if the story has potential to have a happy ending, if the characters are even able to experience something positive.

There’s fire burning in the giant fireplace, started by someone from their small entourage, but the stone has been cold for too long, and it only slowly lets the flames warm up the salty air. The shadows in the hall are long and tall, making everything seem monstrous.

“It doesn’t feel like home,” Viktor says, just because the words are burning on his tongue and he needs to spit them out, even if it means another bruise.

(Stars)

The vibe of the entire story is cold and crude, and for me, at the mention of fire, it changes for the better, it starts to get hopeful. It’s what starts the change, and it’s slow and perhaps an impossible task to completely warm it up, but it’s already less dark and desperate.

flowers/plants

I don’t use flowers or plants that often, but when I do, it’s always with intention.

Denis lingers for a while. He takes off the rye wreath and runs a hand through his hair.

“I just… wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Sorry for what?” Vasek asks.

“Just… you know… being… generally disappointing.”

(all hail the underdogs)

I picked rye as the symbol of love and fidelity, because that’s what their relationship is about. But for the scene between Denis and Taylor later on in the fic, I picked cattail:

Denis nods, and then realizes that he doesn’t have to look for anything. He’s already got it. He pulls out the cattail he had picked earlier, and puts some of the pollen on the wound.

“Here,” Taylor says, handing him a piece of cloth in which Denis recognizes the silvery fabric of the small parachutes that transport sponsors’ gifts to the arena. “Do you need help?”

Denis nods and holds his hand up to him. Taylor wraps the fabric around his palm a bit clumsily, and ties it firmly.

(all hail the underdogs)

Cattail symbolizes peace, mainly between two people who are fighting. It’s literally a symbol of this temporary treaty between them, and of a friendship that could be if it weren’t for the circumstances.

I used the comparison of two different flowers again in Where my dreams are made of gold. 

Alessandro sits at the table and looks at the pile of leaves and blossoms. “What do you need all these flowers for?”

“The leaves. Green pigment,” Riccardo explains and tears another leaf off.

“Lily of the valley,” Alessandro smiles. “My favorite.”

Riccardo just stares at him. Are men even supposed to have favorite flowers? Does he have his favorite flower?

“Simple, innocent, fragile… but also deadly,” Alessandro says, picking up a flower and smelling it. “It’s said it sprang from Eve’s tears when she was leaving the Garden of Eden.”

Riccardo wants to say something about this flower not suiting Alessandro, since he knows from Giampaolo that it symbolizes humility in religious paintings, but holds his tongue. After all, who is he to tell anyone what flower they should like?

(Where my dreams are made of gold) 

Alessandro’s favorite flower is lily of the valley - actually a very feminine flower, associated with purity, humility, chastity and sweetness. It’s not representing him as he is, but the values that he is looking for, the way he wishes he were.

Alessandro nods and looks at the paper in Riccardo’s lap, the sketches of blooms and branches.

“Magnolias,” Riccardo says. “My favorite flowers. They look beautiful up in the tree, but you can’t really take them down. They wither and rot if you do. Beautiful and delicate as long as you just look. If you touch them, they turn to death.”

(Where my dreams are made of gold)

On the same note, Riccardo likes magnolias - exactly for the reason he gives. They are beautiful up in the tree, but if you touch them, they turn ugly and die. They symbolize dignity and nobility - which are qualities that he is seeking. Just before he states this, he says about himself: “A kiss for money or a favor? Not like I haven’t done it myself, although I didn’t call it trade. But see, I’m no one to judge you.” 

In this one, roses are kind of obvious, because it’s a Beauty and the Beast retelling, but here they also play into the whole crucifixion allegory, thorn crown and all that I created - which to this day I can’t believe I did in a piece I didn’t even intend as entirely serious.

The guards apparently didn’t keep the story to themselves, because among the jeers and laughter of the crowd slowly gathering on the square, he hears mentions of roses and the Beast almost as often as he hears himself being called a fool.

Someone pushes a flower crown made of roses on his head. He feels the thorns sink in his forehead, but the pain never reaches where it should. He can’t quite feel his body, nor see where he’s going, and he doesn’t think that he would be able to walk on his own, if it weren’t for the guards’ grip on his arms.  

He stops when they tell him to, looks up to the wooden post and sniffles. This is the thing he feared the most all his life, and now he feels nothing. He raises his hands obediently and lets the guards close the iron rings around them, and he looks down at the crowd like they mean nothing. He doesn’t even feel like explaining anything to them, even if it could stop the jeering and curses and an occasional rose being thrown at him like it’s worth nothing. They would never understand.

(let the darkness lead us into the light)

In let's be winners by mistake, I used roses, but paper roses. On purpose - while they should symbolize love, they are not real. Andrey repeatedly gives Sascha paper roses, but he’s aware of his feelings not being reciprocated, and in this scene, where he already knows that Sascha is in love with someone else, he burns the rose to show him that love like that, with an “outsider”, cannot last and be real.

Sascha lifts his eyes to him for a moment, and when he lowers them again, Andrey is holding a red paper rose.

“We all have dreams,” he says and hands it to him. “But like everything that happens under the Big Top, they are not real.”

He runs his palm over the paper flower, and out of nowhere, it catches fire. Sascha drops it quickly, and watches the flames swallow the crepe paper.

“What… how do you do the things?” he breathes out.

“If I told you, it would no longer be magic,” Andrey smiles.

(let's be winners by mistake)

For me, flowers are a great way to establish a character, or a relationship. When I look at a person, I can usually associate a flower with them. I love flowers, and I’m very picky about them. There are flowers I can’t stand and would never bring them home, and then flowers I am attracted to. So I generally think of flowers just like I think of people. 

liminal spaces

“The spatial dimension of liminality can include specific places, larger zones or areas, or entire countries and larger regions.Liminal places can range from borders and frontiers to no man's lands and disputed territories, to crossroads to perhaps airports, hotels, and bathrooms which are spaces people pass through but do not live in.”

I feel like I oscillate between establishing homes for the characters, and using liminal spaces a lot. I think I used these mainly in my old fics, but sometimes I still like to reach for them. 

The motel he stops at is far from the city, and looks like it could be accidentally demolished any day, as it seems to be completely abandoned. But Paulo knows it’s still open, and barely anyone there cares who rents the rooms.

The room is far from nice, but as long as it has a bed and running water, it’s all they need.    

Álvaro hasn’t said anything since Paulo picked him off the ground and cut the zip tie on his wrists. Paulo suspects that he concentrates on staying conscious. At least whenever he peeked at him from the driver’s seat, Álvaro’s lips and hands were shaking, and by the time they get into the tiny bathroom, he is barely able to stand. Paulo peels off his shirt and the torn jeans, and almost gasps. Álvaro’s body is colored in bruises, none of them dangerous, but all with the purpose of hurting. But Álvaro doesn’t complain, save for an occasional hiss, almost like he takes it as his penance.

Paulo helps him into the bathtub and lets him sit down. Then he reaches for the shower, an old thing that sprays water everywhere, and starts to wash him, not really touching him, just letting the hot streams run over his body. He then scrubs the dirt and blood out of Álvaro’s hair with the hotel soap and tries to dry him as gently as possible with the scratchy towels.

(No Rest For The Wicked)

I am big about the vibe of buildings. As much as I don’t think of myself as of a spiritual person, sensitive to whatever supernatural may exist in this world, and I have trouble perceiving human emotions, I can feel buildings. That’s my quirk. I have a whole theory of buildings, and my own terminology - for example, I know that old houses built of stone are grounded - they have a stable energy, and if I spend some time inside, I just feel very calm, relaxed and at peace. 

I often go to liminal spaces when there’s a transition in the story.

The sky is pale pink interwoven with blue veins, and they both shake from cold and fatigue. They can see the border from here. Ander leans over the car, soaking in the warmth from the engine.

A car’s headlights blink from somewhere behind the border. Andoni grabs his bag. Ander watches him silently.

You could go with me, Andoni says then.

Ander shakes his head slightly. He can’t go anywhere. Your war is over. I still have a lot of battles to fight.

(Hold My Hand When This Ends)

Same here:

He looks like a ghost.

Not that Simon believes in ghosts, but at night the road becomes a strange place, almost like he can cross the line between this world and some alternate space anytime. Sometimes, when he stops for a cup of coffee at a gas station this late, and he’s the only one sitting there, he feels like he’s all alone in the world, like the whole population was wiped out during some catastrophe or epidemics and he’s the only miraculous survivor.

But although he knows that the person he’s seeing is real, has to be real, what is he supposed to think of a boy walking down the side of the road dressed only in jeans and a white sweatshirt when Simon is sure - and the red digits on his car stereo temperature display confirm it - it’s freezing cold outside?

(like all good kids from broken homes)

The whole fic is basically about liminal spaces - it’s about that moment of transition, and there’s basically no plot needed, the liminal spaces do all the magic.

The room is small and simple, with the obligatory double bed, because paradoxically one’s not expected to sleep alone in a place like this, but it’s at least warm and relatively clean. Viktor looks around like a trapped animal, and it takes him some time to relax at least enough to let go of his backpack and kick off the wet trainers.

“I think a hot shower will do you good,” Simon says, nodding towards the tiny bathroom.

For the first time, Viktor’s lips curl in a smile. “Will you feed me, too, and tuck me in bed?”

(like all good kids from broken homes)

Liminal spaces are something I personally love, because they have a special energy, time is very altered there, and they feel like a half-step, like a portal to something new. (The best liminal spaces are the F1 and Ibis budget hotels in France. Their lobby at about 1 AM can take your mind to very interesting places. Gas stations in the middle of the night come closely second.)

[my-random-ocs]

Rise Up Chapter 2: We Fight Demon Scorpions

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x OC (eventually)

Warnings: Angst, weapons, betrayal

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The next morning, the buzz at breakfast faded into the background as I attempted to wake up. I never really managed to fall back asleep after my nightmare.

A nudge against my shoulder made me jump, and I turned to see Silena sending me a worried look. “You okay?” She asked.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. I zoned back into the breakfast announcements. Apparently at around three this morning, an Aethiopian drakon had been spotted at the borders at camp. I was so distracted by my nightmare and tossing and turning that I hadn’t even noticed. The magical boundaries kept the monster out, but it stalked along the border, looking for weak spots in our defenses. It didn’t go away until Lee Fletcher, the Apollo cabin’s head counselor, led his siblings in pursuit. After shooting a few dozen arrows into its armor, it finally got the message and left.

“It’s still out there,” Lee was warning us. “Twenty arrows in its hide, and we just made it mad. The thing was thirty feet long and bright green. Its eyes-” He cut himself off, shuddering.

“You did well Lee,” Chiron said, patting him on the shoulder. “Everyone stay alert, but stay calm. This has happened before.”

“Aye,” Quintus said from his seat at the head table. “And it will happen again. More and more frequently.”

Wow, how helpful.

The campers murmured amongst themselves.

Everyone knew that Luke was planning an invasion into camp. Most of us expected it to happen this summer, but no one knew how or when. Our attendance was down, and that definitely didn’t help. When I started about four years ago, there had been over one hundred. Now there were only a little over eighty. Some had died. Some had joined Luke. Some had straight up disappeared.

“This is a good reason for new war games,” Quintus said. I didn’t love the glint in his eyes. “We’ll see how you all do with that tonight.”

“Yes…” Chiron said. “Well, enough announcements. “Let us bless this meal and eat.” He raised his goblet. “To the gods!”

We all raised our glasses and repeated the blessing.

I grabbed my plate, stood, and led my siblings to the brazier. “Aphrodite,” I whispered, tossing a hash brown into the fire. Mitchell showed Lacy what to do as I prayed to my mother. “Help me with Luke, and Grover, and protecting Amara…”

There was so much to list that I could have gone on all morning, but I headed back to my seat.

After a few minutes, I noticed that Grover was eating with Percy. Suddenly, my fork was halfway to my mouth when I felt somebody lift me by my shirt and take me to the Poseidon table. She plopped me down next to Grover and I swallowed my breakfast while Annabeth slid into the bench next to Percy.

“I’ll tell you what it’s about,” Annabeth said. “The Labyrinth.”

“Oh, okay, so we’re talking about this now,” I realized.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Percy told Annabeth. Campers weren’t allowed to switch tables. I wasn’t sure what the punishment was for switching, because it’s never happened. If Mr. D had been here, Annabeth and I would have been in big trouble, but he wasn’t here. Chiron apparently had already left. Quintus was still sitting at the head table, but didn’t say anything.

“We need to talk,” Annabeth insisted.

“But the rules-”

“Look, Grover is in trouble,” Annabeth interrupted. “There’s only way we can figure to help him. It’s the Labyrinth. That’s what Clarisse, Zia, and I have been investigating.”

“The Labyrinth isn’t in Crete anymore,” I continued. “Like a lot of ancient Greece myth stuff, it’s moved to America. Or, in this case, under America.”

“So… is the Labyrinth part of the Underworld?” Percy asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Well, there may be passages from the Labyrinth down into the Underworld,” Annabeth corrected. “I’m not sure. But the Underworld is way, way down. The Labyrinth is right under the surface of the mortal world, kind of like a second skin. It’s been growing for thousands of years, lacing its way under Western cities, connecting everything together underground. You can get anywhere through the Labyrinth.”

“If you don’t get lost,” Grover grumbled helpfully. “And die a horrible death.”

“There has to be a way,” I told him. Again. We’ve had this conversation more than a few times over the past few months. “Clarisse made it out.”

“Barely!” He countered. “And the other guy-”

“He was driven insane,” Annabeth interrupted. “He didn’t die.”

“Oh, joy,” Grover said sarcastically. “That makes me feel much better.”

“Whoa,” Percy said. “Back up. What’s this about Clarisse and a crazy guy?”

I glanced over at the Ares table. Clarisse eyed us like she knew what we were talking about, but as soon as we made eye contact, she quickly focused on her plate.

I lowered my voice as I turned back to Percy. “Last winter,” I started, “Clarisse went on a mission for Chiron.”

“I remember,” he said. “It was secret.”

I nodded. “It was a secret because she found Chris Rodriguez.”

“The guy from the Hermes cabin?”

Chris was a son of Hermes who had come to camp before I had. He was about a year older than I was, and used to be friends with Nisha and I, until he left camp soon after Luke did. Last summer, Percy, Annabeth, Tyson, and I had found him on Luke’s war/cruise ship, the Princess Andromeda.

“Yeah,” Annabeth confirmed. “Last summer he just appeared in Phoenix, Arizona, near Clarisse’s mom’s house.”

“What do you mean he just appeared?” Percy asked.

“A few weeks after we got back from our quest,” I said, “Chris was found wandering around in the desert, in a hundred and twenty degrees, in full Greek armor, ranting about string.”

“String,” Percy said.

“He’d been driven completely insane,” Annabeth said. “Clarisse brought him back to her mom’s house so the mortals wouldn’t institutionalize him. She tried to nurse him back to health.”

“Chiron even came out and questioned him,” I added. “But it didn’t do much good. The only thing we were able to figure out is that Luke’s men have been exploring the Labyrinth.”

“Okay,” Percy said, trying to take all of this in. “Why were they exploring the Labyrinth?”

“We weren’t sure,” I said. “That’s why Clarisse went scouting. Chiron kept things quiet because he didn’t want to start a panic. The only reason he involved me was because… well, it’s Luke.”

“And he involved me because the Labyrinth has always been one of my favorite subjects,” Annabeth said. “The architecture involved…” Her expression turned a little dreamy. “The builder, Daedalus, was a genius. But the point is, the Labyrinth has entrances everywhere. If Luke could figure out how to navigate it, he could move his army around with incredible speed.”

“Except it’s a maze, right?” Percy asked.

“Full of horrible traps,” Grover added. “Dead ends. Illusions. Psychotic goat-killing monsters.”

“But not if you had Ariadne’s string,” Annabeth countered. “In the old days, Ariadne’s string guided Theseus out of the maze. It was a navigation instrument of some kind, invented by Daedalus. And Chris Rodriguez was mumbling about string.”

“So Luke is trying to find Ariadne’s string,” Percy said. “Why? What’s he planning?”

“I wish I knew,” I answered. “At first, we thought he wanted to use the maze to invade camp, but that wouldn’t make sense. The closest entrances Clarisse found were in Manhattan, so Luke wouldn’t be anywhere near our borders, let alone be able to get past them. Clarisse explored a little ways into the Labyrinth, but it was really dangerous. She had some close calls. Annabeth and I researched everything we could about Daedalus, but it didn’t help much. We can’t figure out what Luke is planning, but we know that the Labyrinth might be the solution to Grover’s problem.”

Percy blinked in confusion. “You think Pan is underground?”

“It would explain why he’s been impossible to find,” Annabeth said.

Grover shuddered. “Satyrs hate going underground. No searcher would ever try going in that place. No flowers. No sunshine. No coffee shops!”

“But,” Annabeth said, “the Labyrinth can lead you anywhere. It reads your thoughts. It was designed to fool you, to trick you and kill you-”

“- But if you can make the Labyrinth work for you-” I continued.

“It could lead you to the Wild god,” Percy finished.

“I can’t do it,” Grover insisted, clutching his stomach. “Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up my silverware.”

“Grover, it may be your last chance,” Annabeth said. “The council is serious. One week or you learn to tap dance!”

A throat clearing gained our attention, and my head swiveled to the head table, where Quintus was staring pointedly at us. I had a feeling he didn’t want to make a scene, but Annabeth and I were pushing it by staying at the Poseidon table for this long.

“We’ll talk later,” Annabeth said. She squeezed Percy’s arm. “Convince him, will you?”

Annabeth got up and went back to her table.

“It’s going to be okay, Grover,” I tried to reassure him. “We’ll figure it out.”

He just stared dejectedly at the table. I stood up and returned to my breakfast with Cabin Ten.

____________

That night after dinner, Quintus had us put on armor like we were going to play capture the flag, but the camp’s mood seemed more serious than that. At some point today, the crates from the arena had disappeared, and I had a bad feeling that whatever was in them was now running around in the woods.

Quintus stood up at the head table. “Right,” he said. “Gather ‘round.”

I found Ethan in the crowd and went to stand between him and Silena.

He was dressed in black leather and bronze. Mrs. O’Leary bounced around him happily, looking for food scraps to eat, then came right up to me.

I grinned, scratching behind her ears.

“You will be in teams of two,” Quintus announced. Immediately, everyone started moving around to get to their friends, he shouted, “Which have already been chosen.”

Everyone groaned.

“Your goal is simple,” Quintus continued. “Collect the gold laurels without dying. The wreath is wrapped in a silk package, tied to the back of one of the monsters. There are six monsters. Each has a silk package. Only one holds the laurels. You must find the wreath before the other teams. And, of course… you will have to slay the monster to get it, and stay alive.”

The crowd muttered excitedly.

“Lot more exciting than capture the flag,” Ethan grinned.

“Tell me about it,” I agreed. The goal seemed simple. Most of us had killed monsters before- that’s what we trained for.

“I will now announce your partners,” Quintus said. “There will be no trading. No switching. No complaining.”

“Arooof!” Mrs. O’Leary howled. She moved from my side to bury her face in a plate of leftover pizza.

Quintus took out a scroll and started reading off names.

Silena was paired up with Beckendorf, and she couldn’t hide her smile. I nudged her shoulder with mine, smirking. She shoved me playfully, both of us grinning. See, Silena had a crush on Beckendorf that neither of them would do anything about, and hoped they would soon, because it was super annoying how they wouldn’t tell each other how they felt.

Travis and Connor Stoll were paired up, which wasn’t a surprise. They did everything together. Clarisse was with Lee Fletcher. Percy and Annabeth were together. Grover and Tyson were paired together, which neither looked very happy about.

Then my name was called. “Ghaziyah Banerjee and Ethan Nakamura!” Ethan and I grinned at each other, and high fived.

“They don’t want to give anyone a fighting chance?” Ethan joked. Both of us were great sword fighters, and always rocked capture the flag when Aphrodite and Hermes were allied. I couldn’t wait to see how this would turn out.

____________

The actual game itself wasn’t important. Ethan and I almost beat Clarisse and Travis, but Grover and Tyson had a little issue. In order to make sure they didn’t accidentally kill each other, we missed the box with the laurel that would have made us win.

Luckily, Ethan wasn’t mad.

As I started taking off my armor, Ethan shuffled around nervously. “You okay?” I asked, undoing the straps of my breastplate.

“Yeah, I just-” He stopped. “I need to talk to you.”

I furrowed my brows. “About what?”

Ethan took a deep breath, then said all at once, “I wanted to leave camp.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “You-”

“I wanted to leave,” Ethan continued, “and join Luke’s army. But I don’t anymore.”

My mind was reeling. “You wanted to leave?” I asked, unable to keep the hurt and confusion out of my voice.

Ethan nodded, looking ashamed. “I did. I have a lot of anger toward the gods- you know that. And when I met Luke, so did he. The gods don’t pay enough attention to their kids, and he was really the only one doing something about it. But I realize… that he isn’t going about it the right way. I’ve decided to stay.”

“You have?” I asked, my hopes raising slightly.

“Yeah. I just- you’re my best friend in the world,” he said. “You’re the only one who actually accepts that my mother is Nemesis. You’re basically my little sister. The last thing I want is to mess that up.”

I processed everything Ethan just said, finally whispering, “So… you’re staying?”

Ethan nodded, beginning to smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m staying.”

I grinned, squealing happily, and gave my best friend a bear hug, causing him to laugh.

“Hate to break up the fun,” a voice called, causing me to pull back. I turned to see Clarisse. “But we have a problem.”

I tensed, placing my hand on my sword. “What’s wrong?”

“Percy and Annabeth are missing.”

I would love to say I didn’t freak out.

Truthfully, I just about had a heart attack.

The whole camp, including Chiron, searched the entire woods.

After about an hour, I was on the verge of a panic attack when we heard shouts that they had been found.

Ethan and I followed the voices to Zeus’ Fist.

“Thank the gods!” I exclaimed, launching myself into Annabeth’s arms, causing her to stumble back from the force. Before she could react, I pulled away and hugged Percy tight. “Where were you two?”

“We’ve been looking forever,” Clarisse added as I pulled away, examining my friends for injuries.

“But we were only gone a few minutes,” Percy protested, confused at my outburst.

“Only a few minutes?” I repeated. “What, did you time travel?”

Chiron trotted up, followed by Grover and Tyson.

“Percy!” Tyson cried. “You are okay?”

“We’re fine,” Percy said. “We fell in a hole.”

We stared at him, confused, then looked at Annabeth.

“Honest!” Percy insisted. “There were three scorpions after us, so we ran and hid in the rocks. But we were only gone a minute.”

“You’ve been missing for almost an hour,” Chiron said. “The game is over.”

“Yeah,” Grover mumbled. “We would’ve won, but a Cyclops sat on me.”

“Was an accident!” Tyson protested, then sneezed.

I would have laughed if I wasn’t so confused.

“A hole?” Clarisse asked suspiciously.

Annabeth turned to our mentor. “Chiron, maybe we should talk about this at the Big House.”

Suddenly, it clicked, and I looked at Clarisse, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “Oh, my gods,” I said in amazement, my eyes widening. “You found it, didn’t you?”

Annabeth bit her lip. “I- Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

About fifty campers started asking questions at once, but Chiron raised his hand, quieting everyone. “Tonight is not the right time, and this is not the right place.” He eyes the boulders like he just noticed something wrong with them. “All of you, back to your cabins. Get some sleep. A game well played, but curfew is past!”

There was a lot of complaining, but the campers made their way back to the cabins.

“This explains a lot,” Clarisse said. “It explains what Luke is after.”

“Wait a second,” Percy said. “What do you mean? What did we find?”

Annabeth turned to Percy, worry clear on her face. “An entrance to the Labyrinth. An invasion route straight into the heart of camp.”

After that, Clarisse, Percy, and Clarisse headed back to their cabins, and I followed. It was difficult wrangling a bunch of eleven- to sixteen-year-olds together for bedtime. And I thought living with a one-year-old was difficult.

I turned toward the cabins, and I noticed Ethan was still there, a little ways away. He looked like he heard everything, but I wasn’t too worried. I smiled, pretending nothing was wrong.

“Come on, let’s head back,” I said happily.

He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

I couldn’t read his expression, and it made me nervous.

We stopped as we reached our cabins. “Good night, Ethan,” I said quietly.

“‘Night, Zia,” he responded, and we went our separate ways.

[crockettmarcel]

day 10 - trees

The snow had fallen overnight, quiet and heavy, and as soon as Crockett saw it, he started making plans for the day ahead. It had been two days since Lolly’s birthday, which meant the Christmas decorations were going up all over the palace, and Ava and Sarah had given him specific instructions the night before - don’t let Lolly get in the way of anything. He’d spent the night stressing over it, wondering how he was going to keep the three year old princess entertained when she’d want to be helping with the decorations, but the snow made everything easier.

There had been some a few weeks back, and Lolly had practically dragged Crockett out into the palace grounds every single day so they could play in it, but it wasn’t long before the country had a milder spell, and all the snow melted. But this looked like it was here to stay, hopefully until Christmas, and Crockett knew it would be enough to distract Lolly from what was going on inside.

Sarah got Lolly dressed so Crockett had time to get himself ready, then he took her to the other wing of the palace for breakfast. He talked to her the whole way there, encouraging her to look out of the windows at the snow in the gardens below, and telling her about how they were going to build a whole army of snowmen to protect the kingdom, just like he protected her. She was so excited she barely chewed her breakfast, and instead wolfed it down in record time so they could go and play as soon as possible.

She was almost vibrating as Crockett bundled her up in her little duffel coat and fur-lined boots, impatient to get outside and unsure why he was wasting all this precious time that should be spent playing. As soon as he was finished, she set off down the hallway, stopping only when they got to Crockett’s room so he could retrieve his coat. It was a woollen one, deep red and identical to the ones the other guards wore, and it was perfect for icy weather like this. 

A guard was stationed at the door to the gardens, and he attempted a bow as Lolly rushed past him, nothing more than a blur of dark blue against the bright white ground outside. Crockett managed a nod and a smile before hurrying after the toddler, worried that she’d slip and hurt herself, as she was prone to with her poor coordination.

He found her by the pond just a few feet from the door, staring at the fish as they swam under the ice.

     “Look!” She pointed at one particularly large orange fish, holding her hand out until Crockett came over and joined her.

     “You think he likes the cold as much as you do?”

She grinned at him and shook her head, then reached for his hand. “Elsa?”

     “Do you wanna build a snowman?” He tried the sing-song voice that she liked, and it was enough to have her hands flapping in front of her, her grin even wider than a moment ago. 

She found it easier to communicate through quotes from her favourite movies, and at the moment that was anything Disney. She had a whole set of sayings that she used the most, which Crockett had quickly got used to, and some of the less common ones were easy to work out. Frozen was her all-time favourite, and Crockett had seen it enough times to recognise the intonations of young Anna’s voice.

He took her hand and led her down the stone steps to the lawn, where there was plenty of open space to build as many snowmen as she liked. 

They started off with a big one, higher than Crockett’s waist, then as promised, made an army of smaller ones around it. After about ten minutes, one of the scullery maids came out with two baskets - one filled with carrots, and the other with coal - to make the snowmen’s faces. 

Lolly giggled with delight when she saw them, and as soon as they were on the ground, rushed over and grabbed as many carrots as she could carry. She held them against her chest as she walked back to the ever-growing group of snowmen, and with as much grace as a three-year-old could manage, gave each snowman his own nose. 

After an hour, they had well over two dozen snowmen, and Lolly was starting to get tired. She insisted on making one more before they went back inside, then followed Crockett back up the steps and into the warmth of the palace.

He helped her out of her boots, not wanting to tread damp footprints all the way to her bedroom, and as they made their way down each long corridor, they caught sight of multiple decorators, hanging garlands and wreaths and fixing brand new flower arrangements.

It all looked so beautiful already, and despite her tiredness, Lolly was transfixed. She kept running over to grab at the baubles hanging off the garlands, and Crockett was sure he felt his heart stop when she managed to pull one off. 

They made it to her bedroom with no more bauble casualties, and the two played with her new doll’s house while they waited for one of the butlers to bring their lunch up. She almost never ate lunch in the dining hall unless it was a special occasion, which meant he didn’t either, so the two of them were free to eat where they pleased. 

It was a simple meal - a grilled cheese for Lolly, and a bowl of pasta for Crockett - and by the time they were done, she seemed to have her energy back, enough to want to go wandering around the palace again. She had something in mind, Crockett could tell, and he knew there was no way he’d be able to distract her, not when she was already this determined.

He allowed her to lead him out of the room, and it was only after a few minutes that he realised where she was taking him. 

The Great Hall was always decorated far more excessively than the rest of the palace, and although he wasn’t sure how much she remembered from the previous Christmas, it was obvious that she knew something special would be happening there.

And she was right. The first thing they noticed when they arrived was the tree that had been put up in the middle of the room. It was taller than its predecessors, and in the process of being decorated to fit with the same red and gold colour scheme that was used everywhere else. All Lolly could do was stand and stare at it in awe, until Crockett managed to convince her leave with him because they were getting in the way.

That wasn’t entirely true - the room was big enough that two extra people wouldn’t be noticed - but he didn’t want to run the risk of her knocking something over or causing problems. He gently took her hand and led her back the way they came, hesitating slightly when she stopped outside Sarah’s study. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to see her mom, but he also knew that she wasn’t supposed to go in the study during the day.

The decision was made for him though, because without warning, Lolly ripped her hand away from his and pushed the door open, eager to see what her mom was doing.

Sarah and Ava were standing there, both in their formal dresses and giggling into glasses of champagne. There was another tree in here, smaller than the one in the Great Hall, but still striking nonetheless, and the two of them seemed to be in the middle of decorating it themselves.

They turned around when they heard the door open, and both of their faces lit up when they saw Lolly there. Ava set down her glass, then opened her arms for the little princess. 

     “What have you been up to this morning, angel?” Lolly was comfortably resting on Ava’s hip, squirming and laughing as her mom peppered her face with kisses.

     “Olaf!” She turned as much as she could to point at where Crockett was still standing in the doorway, unsure if he was allowed in or not.

     “We built snowmen on the lawn,” he explained with a smile.

     “Oh, that sounds like it was really fun! You’ll have to show us later, yeah?” Sarah had joined her wife and daughter, and was gently stroking Lolly’s face with the back of one of her fingers.

The three of them stood in silence for a few moments, simply enjoying each other’s presence. They didn’t get many moments like this, especially not during the day when Ava and Sarah were so busy, so it was nice for them to just be together. 

     “Look!” Lolly was the first one to say something, and as she spoke, she held her hand up so her moms could see what she was holding.

It was the bauble she’d taken earlier, her little fist wrapped tightly around the ribbon so she wouldn’t drop it, and she was grinning from ear to ear, proud of her find. She shook it a little, watching the light reflect off its shiny surface, and Sarah felt her heart swell with love at the sight of it.

     “Do you want to go put it on the tree for us? I think it would look so much better with your special decoration!” 

Lolly nodded, and Ava carried her over to the tree. They looked together for the perfect space for it, and once Lolly was satisfied that they’d found somewhere, she hung it up without help from either of her moms. 

She clapped her hands once she was done, then relaxed back against Ava, her cheek pressed against the soft fabric of her mom’s dress and her curls fanned out all over Ava’s shoulder.

This was a special moment for them, not because it was a particularly big occasion, but because Lolly was the baby they thought they’d never be able to have. She was everything to Ava and Sarah, and even the little things like watching her decorate a tree meant the world to them, because they’d never been sure if this was something they’d get to experience.

She was their miracle baby, and every day was better with her in it.

[essays-for-breakfast]

Remembrance

Author’s note: So... I want to do a little experiment. I really like this scene, but it is locked behind fifteen previous chapters of my long-fic that no one will read. Luckily, this extract works quite well out of context. And if you want to know the context... I’d be all the happier if you give the story a try.

Despite the high-rising walls of Liones’ capital, the harsh winds bit through Elizabeth’s long-sleeved dress. Another shiver rocked her body. The February snow had melted into dirty puddles, and icy water specks splashed up her boots whenever she stepped into one. But the cold winter air had yet to release its grasp on the city, and only the most crucial of tasks could tear man and child alike from the warmth of an oven fire. No wonder Elizabeth was the only soul in sight.

The graveyard had grown in the aftermath of the New Holy War and had pushed back the wild gardens that neighbored it, with only a handful of sallows left standing to accompany the monotony of sometimes more, sometimes less immaculate rows of tombstones which spread the length of the burial ground. By the layout design alone, Elizabeth identified whether she stood in a period with victims of war or peace; where there had been many dead to be buried, the graves aligned with more precision as supposed to the clusters before and after.

Elizabeth left the identical white tombs of war victims behind to where affordable slate was replaced with granite, and where objects of remembrance increased in frequency. Candles that no longer held fire; polished stones with words engraved on them; and wreaths of woodland crocus and black hellebore. She knew her destination well, had come here often over the past four years, and her feet found the way through the sallows and acres of unkempt grass on their own.

The dark stone before which she stopped bore no sign of difference to those around it, if not for the name and the absence of a date. The lettering had begun to faint, and Elizabeth let her fingers follow the engraved lines. In a few years the text would be intangible. She considered carving the name a second time before then.

Even now, she struggled to let go. To turn her back on the weather-tormented stone and never again place a single white feather at its feet. Meliodas hadn’t come here since, not as far as she knew. Perhaps he wanted to forget. What would he think of her if he knew she hadn’t left home for a short walk in need of fresh air? What would he think of her inability to let rest what had rested here for years?

“I knew you would hide here.” Elizabeth turned to face Margaret, almost ashamed to have been found out like this – she should have been aware of her sister approaching. The splashes of water amidst the silence of the graveyard must have heralded her arrival long before she opened her mouth to speak. “You’re easier to read than you think, Ellie.”

“I hope you didn’t come here for my sake alone,” Elizabeth said with a glance at the bunch of flowers in Margaret’s hands.

“Sadly not, I wanted to visit father’s grave,” Margaret replied. Her tone never drifted into bitterness; a strength Elizabeth admired her for. Margaret had always possessed a quite strength, so different from Veronica’s brash manner, since Elizabeth had fled to her sisters out of fear from a thunderstorm. How far away these days seemed.

“But my visit has its merits since it gives me an excuse to drag you away from here,” Margaret continued. “Katrina is hardly three days old, and you already mourn over the dead again. You were never scolded enough when we were kids and now you compensate by beating yourself with guilt. Don’t you have congratulants to attend to?”

“Diane and King won’t arrive before tomorrow, and Merlin has already returned to Camelot,” Elizabeth said and stepped back from the patch of frozen grass in front of the tombstone. All these flimsy explanations didn’t excuse the fact that she should be with Katrina, and Elizabeth was all too aware of the game of deception she played with herself.

Margaret’s gaze shone with warmth when Elizabeth at last found the courage to meet her eyes. “I can’t and I won’t say that I understand how you feel. But I hope you will one day be able to move on, for Katrina and for yourself. No one can bring back the dead. Not even you.”

No, she could not. With all this power to heal wounds, purge the darkness, and save those at the brink of death, she had been helpless that day. And with time and strength borrowed from those she loved, she would learn to accept this truth.

“Would you like to come with me to the Boar Hat then?” Elizabeth asked with a weak smile. “I think Katrina really likes you; her eyes always light up when she hears your voice. She’ll be happy to see you again. And as her guardian, you have the responsibility to see her often.”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Elizabeth only shot one look back to the tombstone as they left the graveyard together. She thanked the heavens and every might in this universe for the simple gift that Katrina was healthy and well. Whatever sacrifices it might take, she would make sure it stayed that way. Even if it meant moving on. Even if it meant never going back here to spare her daughter the sight of her mother in tears over what was long gone and buried.

Read Conquest of the Past here if you dare.

[varibean]

Would You, Could You, Say ‘I Do’?

here’s a fanfiction inspired by the wonderful artwork by @fluttytheflutt here! it’s wedding time! hope y’all enjoy!

In previous stages of his life, when Sam I-Am thought about his future, marriage was never part of it. He was a romantic, somewhat at least. Having never gotten to experience romance first hand he couldn’t really say for sure but he liked the idea. The notion that somewhere there was a person just for him who would vow to never leave him behind, to always stay by his side, was enticing to put it plainly. But he never thought it was an actuality. The thought had never crossed his mind that such a life could be for him.

His life was anything but consistent and marriage was the most steadfast constant of it all in addition to-as his elders always said-death and taxes. But he’d cheated death and he didn’t pay his taxes so that was already two down.

Everything was always moving; his jobs, his home, his identity. Never in his life was he one person for two long. It started to make him sick if he was. Every new persona was fun at first but in the back of his mind there was always the thought, the fear that if he stayed as one person too long he would find out a terrible truth: He didn’t like the person he had become.

So he jumped and switched from fake ID to fake ID, only staying for the fun part. Nothing more, nothing less.

And then there was Guy. His Guy. His wonderful, amazing, perfect Guy who could do so many amazing things and came up with the most incredible ideas. Suddenly, with Guy, he wasn’t scared of being the same person anymore. He didn’t have to fear who he would be because whoever he was, Guy was going to be there too.

For a while it was just a promise of words. Nothing binding or set in stone, just the knowledge that Guy would always be there for him, that he liked him just the way he was. Sam thought that would be enough. They didn’t need to take the next steps forward because why risk the unknown when life was so comfortable as it was?

Then came the night that Guy took him on a small hometown cold air balloon. And there among the clouds just barely scraping above the roofs of the houses below them, Guy got down on one knee.

The ring wasn’t terribly special; just a silver band with the tiniest emerald in the middle, the green hue sparkling in the moonlight like a cosmos seen from a far off telescope. What could Sam do but say yes?

Up there, away from the world with just the two of them, the words seemed so easy to say. Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes! They spilled from his mouth like the crack of a perfectly runny yolk and he never thought anything in the world could taste as good as green eggs and ham but then Guy kissed him as the fog of the night drifted by him and he knew that some things just existed beyond compare or dispersion.

Everything was easier up in the air. But all things had to come back down to earth eventually.

The dressing room he stood in was lit up like a mall during the holiday season. On their own Sam and Guy couldn’t afford much but as there luck would have it the rest of the Am-I family wanted to pitch in for the youngest golden child. The bruckles poured in from Mr. and Mrs. Am-I and Guy’s brothers and no expense had been spared on setting everything up for the two. The venue, the flowers, the food; all if it five star and perfect in every way.

And of course, above all else, the dress.

The long and wide floor to ceiling mirror in the dressing room reflected the fabric back perfectly. If one were to spare it only a glance, it could be said that the dress was simple. The cut was a flower bud covered boat neck, showing off the slight dip of his collar before fading into a near sheer sleeve design. Crystals were sewn into the fabric, making his arms sparkle under the lights. The dress itself had a ribboned waist that showed off his slight form before fanning out as the rest of the dress poofed around him. It wasn’t overly fluffy, but it was well fitted and flowy. Plenty of room to move while still looking elegant.

Was he elegant?

Staring in the mirror, Sam wasn’t so sure. Elegant was never a word he thought of when he considered himself in a physical sense. Short, slender, rounded; those were words that described him. But beautiful? Radiant? Elegant? All the things he was told someone to marry should be? He wasn’t quite sure.

“Sam? It’s almost time. Do you have the veil on?” Michellee’s voice echoed in the near empty room.

For such a large and grand dressing room, there really wasn’t anyone else needed to get him into the dress. The lingering con-artist in him thought of money and how easy a wedding scam could go off. But he quickly shook his head at the thought before he ran his hands over his face.

“Yeah I’m-I mean no, I haven’t put it on yet I was just...uh-”

“Nervous?” Michellee offered with a smirk.

Sam opened his mouth to object but then realized it was useless to do so. He was trying not to lie as much, to be more honest with himself.

“Maybe, just an itty-bitty-teeny-weeny-itsy-bitsy smidgen of a smidge. Like, half a smidge. No, strike that, one twenty-seventh of a smidge.”

Michellee laughed and suddenly Sam felt a little bit better about everything.

“It’s ok Sam. I remember my wedding day. Of course, I didn’t have rich in-laws to pay for everything-”

“Hey come on, it’s not like we asked for it!”

“-But it was still the most important day of my life. Well, up until I had E.B.”

Sam chuckled and smoothed out the fabric of his dress even though it didn’t need it. As he did so, Michellee picked up the veil from its resting place and put it on his head.

“How’d you know?” Sam asked.

“Know what?”

“How’d you know that it wasn’t one big mistake? How’d you know that everything wasn’t going to fall apart?”

There was hardly a moment of silence before Michelle gently turned him around to face her, away from the mirror, away from all of his doubts reflected back at him.

“I didn’t. That’s the fun part isn’t it? Not knowing but still wanting to see. Going for it and knowing no matter where you land you’d be holding someone else’s hand. Trying something new.”

“Trying something new.” He repeated.

A smile formed on his lips and he reached for her arm to loop his around.

“Alright. Alright, here you go I-Am. Off to try something new.”

_______________

Guy’s Mother walked Sam down the aisle and the action only caused the slightest pang of sadness within him. But he was able to shake it off, kept his eyes forward and fixed on the altar.

The venue was a small park area just beside Guy’s home, everything rented out and decorated for an informal (but still, at the older Am-I’s insistence, fairly expensive) ceremony and party.  

The second he saw Guy he knew that he was ridiculous for ever having any doubts. The knox was dressed in a charming bowtie and a deep blue wreath of flowers topped of his head. He looked so much younger without the hat, without the scowl marks. Instead smile lines had taken their place as his husband to be positively beamed at him.

Sam hadn’t even realized he was at the stand until Guy reached over to take his hand.

“You look amazing, Sam.”

“Yeah, well, one of had to do a booty tooch down the catwalk.”

Sam smiled as he saw Guy’s cheeks puff up as he choked back a laugh. He wanted Guy to make that face every day and soon, that goal was going to be closer to a reality.

The officiant nodded to Guy after the happy murmurs of the crowd died down to start.  

“Sam I-Am, the first days after I met you, you took my briefcase, dragged me along on the craziest job in the entire world, nearly got me killed more times than I could count, and stole my wallet three times. Those were the best days of my life and every day since then has just kept getting better. You’re a weird little adult and I can’t find any room in the refrigerator for any of the groceries because all you keep in there is ham and eggs. The amount of luck you possess is almost infuriating and you are, by far, the biggest dope I’ve ever met. But...you’re my hope man and I always know that I have you in my corner. You gave me a reason to keep on trying and, Sam, every day...every day for the rest of our lives I want to keep trying new things with you. I think your luck really did rub off on me at some point, because otherwise I can’t imagine how I ended up so yipping lucky-sorry I know I’m not supposed to curse during these things but it’s true. So, if you’ll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you...um, the end? It’s-It’s been a while since I’ve been to a wedding I didn’t really think of a closer.”

There was a small chuckle that passed throughout the audience at Guy’s fumble and Sam could see in his eyes that he meant every word of his vows.

“Wow. You see, I had this whole spoken word musical number that I was gonna try to pull off in a dress but that just made me forget about ninety percent of it. So I guess I’ll just say that no one has ever really wanted me to stay the same person before. No one’s ever hung around long enough to decide if I was worth it. But you did. And that was the first time I thought that maybe I didn’t have to run away from myself anymore. I still don’t know who I want to be in this world, what kind of a difference I want to make, but I know I want to do it all with you. And, this is embarrassing, I don’t really have a closer either.”

Both men turned to the officiant with a questioning look, only to have the other shrug at them.

“I always thought weddings were supposed to be way longer and more boring,” Sam started, “But I think we’re good? Can say the Big Final Words and do the kissing thing now? I wanna skip to that part.”

Sam and Guy took out their rings and slipped them onto each other’s fingers with another nod of approval from the officiant.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous. I do.” Guy said.

“I do!”

And with that, Guy lifted him up bridal style and dipped him, a small nuzzle passing between them before they finally sealed it all together with a kiss.

The small crowd of friends and family cheered for the two as their grins became so wide that it seemed like their faces would crack.

Guy sat Sam down gently and before they began to walk into the crowd, he leaned over and chuckled.

“I was really excited to see you in your wedding attire. And as always, you didn’t disappoint.”

Sam giggled before standing on the tips of his toes and whispering something into Guy’s ear.

As the cheering and talking started to commence all around them, the knox’s face turned a bright red.

“Can’t say I don’t feel the same with you Wedding Buddy!” Sam chirped before heading out to the sea of smiling faces ready to congratulate him and get the party started.

Guy stood there for a moment, his face beating red as his brothers came and slapped him on the back for a job well done.

It was going to be an interesting honeymoon.

[twilighteve-writes]

Feather One Divided -- Chapter 12: The Confrontation

Feather one divided, fate’s ties frayed,

Fractured and wedged, scattered and gone.

After sharing an unsettling dream of Felldrake, the Three Caballeros decided to join back together with Xandra to form a stronghold in case the sorcerer returned. But Felldrake’s plans proved to be bigger than they expected, and when he struck so close to home, it was all Donald could do to keep his family – and himself – together.

(Also available in AO3)

(Chapter 1)

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Wind and water swirling into a hurricane.

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She wasn’t sure how long they’d spent walking on the road. With everything looking exactly the same, unchanging and stagnant, it was hard to tell.

But there was movement, at least, and little by little the fog lifted. The drab cobblestone road didn’t change much, but she could see… something in the distance. After more walking, the fog cleared enough for her to see, and she squinted her eyes.

“Is that a… gate?” she asked.

“And overly ornate fence,” Uncle Scrooge agreed. “This is shaping up to be a pain.”

“It’s really not that bad, it’s just a gate and a fence,” Xandra said. They got to the gate, and she stared at what was beyond it. “Okay, those plants look about dead, but that’s not a guarantee this will be that bad.”

“You’re not helping our case,” Donald said with a sigh. He went to the gate and reached out to open it. The moment his fingers brushed against the metal, it swung open with a loud creak, and lurched.

Della stepped forward to him, but José and Panchito both caught him before he fell. He looked at them and blinked a few times. “I – I don’t know why that happened.”

The sound of something shaking drew their attention, and they looked into the gate. The seemingly dead plants were gone, replaced by lush, lively foliage. The whole place looked like a well-tended garden, richly green and drunk with flowers and leaves. Della frowned and stepped forward, tentatively entering the garden and letting her fingers brush against a bush. It felt real enough.

The rest of the group followed. Donald trailed at the back, and when he stepped inside, the gate swung shut with a loud, final slam. They stared at it as Donald rattled the gate, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Only one way to go,” Goldie said.

“And not a long way to go,” Magica said. “That’s a well if I’ve ever seen one.”

Della turned to look at what Magica pointed at and was hard-pressed to agree. The wall that made the well was large and circular, thick, made from old stones that had long since overgrown with moss. The roof over it was conical, made from slabs of mossy wood, the pulley system was rusty, and the rope looked so worn that Della was sure that if she touched it, the rope would crumble to dust.

Dewey inched forward, clearly curious, but Donald pulled him back. For once, Della agreed; the garden and the well had made her feel nervous, with how closely linked it seemed to Donald and his moves.

Magica had no such qualms. She strode with an easy confidence and peered down into the well, and then tensed.

“What?” Uncle Scrooge demanded.

Magica straightened and stepped back from the well. “Nothing. I was surprised; the water is golden.” She scooted back from it. “Now the issue is what to wish for and how to wish it. Wishing wells require a price.”

“Do we have to wish for something before we leave?” José asked, looking around uncomfortably.

“Well, how else do we leave?” Magica challenged.

“I suppose we can make a wish,” Goldie mused, “but then it comes to the question of the price – “

She heard it before it came. It sounded like a whoosh, of something cutting through the air, and then a sickly purple whip came and looped around their waists and pulled them back.

They were thrown back without care. Della managed to find her footing and landed on her feet instead of her face, as did Uncle Scrooge, Goldie, and Xandra, but Magica fell flat out on her butt, while Donald, José, and Panchito fell awkwardly trying to catch Lena, Huey, and Dewey.

The beat of wings and the feeling of being swallowed by poisoned nebula clued Della in on who had attacked them. She looked up, and sure enough, Felldrake was there atop Leopold’s back. Della felt herself stiffen when she saw her missing son, his hoodie looking worn, his whole body shimmering softly golden. It reminded her of the glow that surrounded Donald after he took the seeds, but it felt even more wrong.

“Louie!” she yelled, hoping to get some sort of reaction. Her stomach lurched when she realized he wasn’t reacting at all.

“Give him back!” Huey screamed, bordering on a snarl.

Felldrake didn’t even bother responding. He peered at the roof of the well, and he glowed faintly purple, the toxic galaxy spreading around him. The liquid in the well responded, glowing golden.

Magica’s eyes widened and she turned to Lena. “Lena! Lend me the amulet!”

Lena’s eyes widened. “No!”

“I’m not going to do anything dangerous to you, but I know how to use the well and I need magic to do it,” Magica said, almost pleading. “Neither of us want Felldrake to get his original body back.”

Lena stared at her for a moment, stricken, and made her decision in the split second that followed. She ripped the amulet out of her neck and tossed it to Magica, who caught it with a look of surprise in her eyes. “Don’t make me regret it,” Lena said, but it sounded more like a plea than a threat.

Magica nodded and ran to the well. Della gritted her teeth, decided to trust her, and turned her attention to Felldrake and Louie. She called the winds to her aid and let it surround her until her hair whipped about as she floated, briefly surprised that it was so easy to gather her magic to support her, and she knew that it would take barely any effort at all to summon a tornado if she chose to.

She was yanked back, and the pull would have sent her crashing if she wasn’t caught in strong arms. She groaned and looked up, not surprised to see Xandra had pulled her back to the ground.

“Let me get up there so I can beat Felldrake up for taking my kid,” she growled.

“I can’t let you use your magic like that,” Xandra said. “Magica will be fine because she channels her magic through an amulet. The Caballeros have their own amulets to protect them. If you use that much magic here it’s going to be hell once we get out of here.”

“Then I can limit my use; simple.”

“It’s not that simple! You’ll still be drained, and that’s the best case scenario!”

“That’s a problem for future Della.” She wiggled out of Xandra’s hold and shot up to the sky before the goddess could yank her back.

She glanced down. Felldrake had released a ton of tiny straw dolls to occupy the others and keep them away from the well, and she managed to get to the air before the wave came out. Uncle Scrooge and Goldie fought back-to-back, whacking away the dolls, while Donald, José, Panchito, and Xandra formed a circle around Huey, Dewey, and Lena, while Magica had formed a magical barrier around her, shadows flitting about her.

Which left her as the only one who was available to fight Felldrake, ill-equipped as she was. She had heard Xandra and the Caballeros yammering on about being the only ones able to beat Felldrake; it was well-instilled at this point.

It didn’t matter. She would get Louie back or she would die trying.

Ignoring Xandra’s warning, she called her magic forth and flitted behind Leopold, who hadn’t noticed her closing in. Putting herself in his blind spot would help her. It helped that it was also Felldrake’s blind spot.

From her place, she could see that Felldrake was holding Louie’s hand, who was unresponsive in his place. Louie’s faint golden light was devoid of its usual emerald green glitters, and the same light shone softly in Felldrake’s eyes. He had his hand outstretched to the well, tendrils of gold and sickly purple emanating from it. She glanced down at Magica and saw that she was peering at the well, similar tendrils of dark purple emanating from her with hints of Donald’s aquamarine-gold that surrounded him just before they entered the pocket dimension.

Mind made up, she took in a deep breath, let her magic wreathe her from head to toe, and rushed forward like the sudden gust of hot wind to Felldrake. The tendrils dissipated in an instant as he threw his hand out and sent jagged crystals her way, but she maneuvered around them to avoid being hit. It was easy to let her magic run wild, so she did; she sent a gust of wind to knock Felldrake off Leopold, but he held on safely.

“Della!” she heard Donald yell, and his magic touched hers, sending alarm and concern and a general feeling of what the actual fuck are you doing.

She ignored it because she had to focus on avoiding another wave of jagged crystals to her. Once the onslaught was done, she sent a quick wave of shaky reassurance and refocused her attention to Felldrake. “Give me my kid back,” she demanded.

Felldrake scoffed. “He’ll find his way back once I’m done with him. Get lost.”

“And let you get what you want at his expense? Not a chance.” Della zoomed in close, let her magic dissipate from her limbs, and dropped to send a kick at Felldrake, aiming with her metal leg for an extra helping of pain.

Leopold threw a wrench in her plans, dodging and swiping at her. The blow caught her in the arm and she careened aside, catching herself midair, momentum broken. Felldrake glared at her as if daring her to disturb him again.

Who was she to deny it?

White plumes bloomed around her as she gathered as much magic as she could to her limbs and shot ahead, shooting gusts of wind to disturb Leopold’s flight and drop Felldrake to the ground. If Louie fell, she knew she was fast enough to catch him safely, especially since she could harness as much magic as she needed.

Apparently, it pissed Felldrake off enough. The dying stars burst out and formed a dome around him and his ride, and he clenched his teeth. “Stop getting in my way.””

“What about you stop getting in our way?” Della sniped. “How did you get here in the first place, anyway? There was only one road and we didn’t see you.”

“There’s more than one road and there’s more than one gate,” Felldrake scoffed, “since there is more than one key.” He dug his fingers into Louie’s scruff, and Della saw red. She gritted her teeth and let her magic build to call on a storm, and Felldrake lifted a hand in response, his magic gathering in his fingers, but he stopped, suddenly.

Della stopped in her tracks, too. Something was happening down below.

The water in the well bubbled, the gold liquid shining over Magica and dissipated the barrier she had made. The magic in it pulsed, once, twice, then blasted out, gold light shining brightly.

Felldrake snarled out an angry no. Below, Donald gasped, losing his footing and dropping like a sack of potatoes, José and Panchito scrambling to catch him only to stumble last minute. Overhead, Della gasped, feeling something in her drain as Donald’s magic touched hers in a desperate grab and dragged, trying to siphon away her magic as his own was drained away faster than he could supply it. Below, Lena let out a short but sharp shriek and dropped to her knees, shining bright aqua light that disappeared as soon as it appeared.

Around Magica, amongst the spilling golden light, shadows woke and swirled. Soon, it expanded and overtook the well’s light, and swallowed them all in darkness, and for the longest second everything hung frozen, and then Della felt the sensation of something shattering around her as her magic abruptly left her and she plummeted below, staring up uncomprehendingly up at the thinning shadows and the shine of the full moon and the morning star above her. Overhead, Magica flew atop a sphere of solid shadows, her wand in her hand, green in her feathers, and the unmistakable feel of strong, pure shadow magic oozing off of her. She glanced at them for a moment, and the shadows swallowed her, and she disappeared in a wave of reawakened magic and aloof, almost indifferent, smile.

“Thank you, Donald Duck,” she said just before she blinked away in the dark.

She crashed into the sea with a big splash, somehow managing to hold her breath so she didn’t inhale a lungful of seawater. To her panic, she found herself unable to move her limbs, her magic so drained she felt a physical backlash over it. She closed her eyes and opened her beak to scream – in its place, a big bubble of precious air escaped.

Someone caught her by the armpits and brought her to the surface. She coughed and sputtered, wheezing as she tried to breathe air into her lungs. When the hacking subsided, she turned around to see who had her. She blinked. “Uncle Scrooge?”

He stared at her with grim eyes. “Let’s swim closer to the others,” he said, partly dragging her through the water. She blinked and looked around and felt something in her freeze.

José and Panchito both looked tired, but they kept themselves alert somehow, with an unresponsive Donald afloat between them. Xandra swam around them like a protective shark, looking ready to drag them out of the water as soon as she was able. To Della’s surprise, all three Caballero gripped their weapons, still, seemingly undisturbed by the difficulty that came with trying to swim with their blades. By them, Goldie kept Lena afloat as she girl stared at her hands in what looked like a mix between fear and wonder, dying sparks of white-blue light clinging to her fingers.. And then there were Huey and Dewey, looking around with a searching look in their eyes.

“Donald,” Della whispered, hurrying to him. Her limbs locked in her exhaustion and she lurched, inhaling seawater up her nose, and Uncle Scrooge had to drag her up coughing and hacking again.

The sound of a boat fast approaching took her attention, and she turned. She saw a familiar trawler coming closer, and she blinked, staring at it. Webby waved frantically at them, Violet by her side. Fenton was behind them, holding them by the waists since they looked ready to jump into the water themselves. He saw the group, said something to the girls, and ran inside, only to come out with a life preserver and ropes. He tossed it out, and Xandra caught it, immediately gathering the Caballeros into her arms and climbing up into the boat. Uncle Scrooge had Della climb up, still coughing, and then Huey and Dewey behind her, then Lena. Goldie and himself followed after.

“What happened? Where’s Magica? Where’s Louie?” Webby asked. “We saw what happened when you guys were away, there’s this weird floating orb we could look into, we saw you guys in there. Louie’s not here with you guys?”

“No,” Goldie said. She pointed up. “He’s up there.”

Della looked up, following Goldie’s finger. Sure enough Leopold was there hovering, Felldrake on his back, Louie with him.

Donald’s magic stirred. “Louie,” he croaked.

Felldrake glared at them, hateful eyes seemingly shining in the dim moonlight. He glanced at Louie disdainfully. “Useless little trash. I couldn’t even use you for the well.”

“That’s not even Louie’s fault,” Della said, incredulous. From what she gathered, she had concluded that the well had used at least a part of magic from the person who brought them into the pocket dimension for the wish – so Magica thanking Donald was probably because his magic had paid the price for hers to revive, if she had guessed correctly. Did she want Louie to experience backlash the way Donald was experiencing? Definitely not. Did she find Felldrake’s vitriol over Louie not being able to grant his wish ridiculous anyway? Absolutely; the guy lost his chance because Magica was faster in getting what she wanted, Louie had nothing to do with that.

Felldrake clearly didn’t feel the same way. With a scoff, he pushed Louie off Leopold.

Della screamed and lurched forward, but her limbs were too weak for her to move. Uncle Scrooge beat her to the punch, rushing forward and jumping to the sea, and to her surprise, Goldie followed right after.

Donald shone, sea blue and white seafoam, and the ocean jumped to intercept Louie. Instead of plunging like a rock, the sea embraced him and guided him down, letting Uncle Scrooge and Goldie both to get Louie and pull him to safety. As soon as the light dissipated, his magic depleted, he slumped back down and Della felt herself being drained even further.

“Uncle Scrooge, quick, the orb!” Huey yelled, and Uncle Scrooge paddled faster, Goldie following. They got up soon, with Fenton helping them while Launchpad and a guy Della didn’t recognize getting out to help.

As soon as Uncle Scrooge was on board, he carried Louie closer to Donald, grabbing Della’s hand on the way and dragging her along. He had them sitting together, Della hugging Louie desperately and ignoring how his faint golden glow seeped though her eyelids and how cold he felt in her arms. He was breathing, still, but he was so quiet, and Della hated it.

Uncle Scrooge pulled her hand, and Louie’s, and Donald’s, and had them hold the Orb of Remedies together. Almost immediately, her limbs relaxed, and her magic started to fill her up again. It was weak, and it came in a small trickle, but it came all the same. She let out a shuddering breath as relief came flooding in, feeling Louie grow warmer and Donald’s magic healthier, but Louie’s magic was still active and she couldn’t wake him up.

“Donald’s still unresponsive,” Xandra noted grimly. “His magic is too drained.”

“He might be better if he took from us,” José said. “But he didn’t.”

Xandra groaned. “He knows he’d be drained. And we still need to fight Felldrake. What’s he doing?”

Della glanced up just as Panchito answered, “He’s just up there chattering with Leopold.” He glanced at Della. “He does that. We’ll have a minute or two before they stop.”

“We need to jumpstart Donald’s magic,” Xandra said with a hiss. “We need all three Caballeros.”

Dewey took in a sharp breath. “The pin.”

“Pin?” Uncle Scrooge repeated.

“We took the Three Feathers Pin and the Void Ring from your Other Bin,” Webby admitted. “We thought they might help.”

“We’re sorry,” Huey added.

Uncle Scrooge sighed. “Tell me next time. There are a lot of dangerous things in the Other Bin.”

“But Three Feathers Pin…” Xandra’s eyes darted around in thought. “That might work. It will be really volatile, but if we can just jumpstart Donald’s magic and let it build a little bit…”

“I have it with me,” Violet said, taking out the pouch containing the pin. She handed it to Xandra.

“Right,” Xandra said, taking out the pin. The pin did nothing to her; her magic didn’t go wild, but maybe it was different for deities than mortals. She took a deep breath, took Donald’s free hand, and placed the pin in his palm.

Donald’s back arched immediately, his beak opened in a silent scream. His magic soared, and the ocean around them exploded upwards, raining seawater as he opened his eyes; pools of the deep and seafoam as sea blue enveloped him from head to toe. His grip on the orb tightened, and there was a zing through his magic as the orb’s influence seemed to spike, and Della found herself breathing easier as Donald’s magic returned to its usual power, erratic as it was. She blinked at the same time as he did.

“That’s it.”

The feathers at the back of Della’s neck stood on end. She looked up, suddenly realizing Felldrake hadn’t spoken in a while, and saw that he was staring at them hungrily. A smile stretched in his face.

“What – “

Felldrake patted Leopold’s neck twice, and the creature nodded, then dove in to the ship. Donald sprang up, but he was too late, and Leopold knocked him over and he skidded and fell back as Felldrake landed lightly on the ship. The pin laid conveniently near to his feet, and he took it, his magic going wild immediately.

“To think you had this with you,” Felldrake said, letting out a low chuckle. “I should have robbed your mansion outright.” His eyes darted to Della, who still held the orb. “I really should have just robbed you blind.”

Della gripped the orb tighter just as both poisoned outer space and smoggy night sky bloomed around Felldrake. She scooted back, holding Louie closer to her chest and making sure he was still holding the orb together with her, while Uncle Scrooge stepped in front of her and glared at Felldrake as if daring him to come closer.

To her surprise, Donald gasped and stood, yelling, “Sheldgoose!”

Panchito patted José’s arm repeatedly, and José snapped up in surprise. He took a deep breath, and green glinted in his eyes, snaking out of his beak like vines. “Sheldgoose, speak to us. Surely you don’t want to stay locked inside your body like that?”

Della stared at him in confusion. She turned her attention to Felldrake, who froze in his spot, the dying stars abruptly swirling back inside himself while the smoggy sky rose up, lit up in the light of eternally, listlessly awake city, the honks of cars and skidding tires and sudden brakes a phantom symphony that painted an orchestra in his magic.

Felldrake gasped, eyelids fluttering, and Della was suddenly struck with the certainty that this was not Felldrake.

“What do you even get from letting him take over?” Panchito added. “It’s your body. He’s just there. You can kick him out if you want to.”

Felldrake – Sheldgoose? – stood his ground and let his hand curl tighter around the pin. The smoggy sky grew stormy, the poisoned fog growing thicker and thicker. “I can’t.”

“We can help you,” Donald said. “He’s not worth shielding.”

Sheldgoose let out a laugh that was equal part derision and disbelief. “You’re the ones who locked him inside me in the first place.”

“We wanted to seal him inside the staff and you know it,” Panchito said. “You’re the one who broke it.”

“And it doesn’t matter,” José said. “We can get him out. Let us help, and – “

“No,” Sheldgoose snarled. “I will not get your help.” He bent into a stance, and the smoggy sky expanded then focused, condensing into tendrils with uncomfortably pointy ends. They soared forward, to Della.

On instinct, Della called to her magic and shot up to the sky, ignoring the tendrils and hugging Louie close to keep him safe, the orb safe in her hand. Below, Uncle Scrooge swung his cane and jabbed a tendril to keep it down, but the tendril easily knocked him away. Panchito let out an uncomfortably piercing whistle that made Della frown and Sheldgoose flinch, but he powered through it.

Another tendril went for her, and Della dodged. Soon, it became apparent that even with her flight magic it was hard to avoid the tendrils that kept chasing her. She could feel Donald pouring his magic into her, but eventually the tendrils caught her and slammed her back to the poop deck. She curled in pain, keening, still hugging Louie close. Smog rushed at her, almost solid in its presence. She gathered her magic frantically and tried to blow the smog away with wind but it was too strong for her to fight.

Something snatched away the orb in her hand. The storm of smog left her be, at last.

Sheldgoose gripped at the stolen artifacts, one in each hand. Leopold landed by his side, nuzzling his face and calling him mommy of all things, and he scratched Leopold absently under his chin. His magic was still going haywire, but it wasn’t as bad as the triplets’ outbursts, or hers, or Donald’s. She wasn’t sure if it meant his magic was weaker than theirs or if Felldrake’s presence lent some sort of control for him.

“Why do you do this? You get nothing from this!” Donald demanded. “He’s inside you. He just needs to get out. What do you think he’ll do to you once he’s out? He has no use for you!”

Sheldgoose glared at him. “Lord Felldrake will not cast me aside,” he said, and he closed his eyes. The smoggy sky seemed to freeze for a moment, and then poisoned outer space bled out and burst, and when he opened his eyes again he was back at being Felldrake instead of Sheldgoose.

“Let’s see if strengthening my magic with this can let me break free,” Felldrake said, and gripped the pin closer to his chest. The toxic nebulas exploded, dying stars winking, and the full moon was swallowed in his magic. Something akin of cracks appeared in the feathers around his eyes as sickly purple bled out and tried to burst from his skin.

Donald, José, and Panchito shot forward as one, amulet shining and weapons drawn. Felldrake took one glance at them, nonchalantly flicked his wrist, and the three were flung back.

Webby took something from Violet’s sling bag – a familiar leather pouch that Della couldn’t place. She took out the content, shook with barely contained rage, and threw it to Felldrake. “Stop hurting them! I hope you get corrupted!”

Xandra stared wide-eyed. Something shot to Felldrake’s head with deadly accuracy, but Felldrake somehow managed to catch it between two hands, sandwiching it between two other stolen artifacts. He stared, then smiled entirely too gleefully. “Oh, a present,” he purred, “you really didn’t have to.”

“You didn’t tell me you have the Void Ring,” Xandra hissed to Uncle Scrooge.

“It’s dangerous! It almost killed Donald and Della,” Uncle Scrooge said, defensive.

“Okay,” Xandra took a deep breath. “Okay. Void Ring is a bit of a wildcard. Let’s just hope it will corrupt Felldrake’s magic so bad he can’t – “

The poison in Felldrake’s magic grew thicker. His magic swelled, soaring, growing, as the cracks in his skin grew wider.

“Or it will just make him stronger because his magic is already so rancid. Okay,” Xandra muttered.

Webby staggered. “Oh no,” she breathed. “Oh no, did I make it worse? I didn’t know – “

“Webby, none of us knew,” Uncle Scrooge assured. “If it wasn’t you, someone else would throw the ring. I know I would, if I knew you brought it here with you.”

“But – “

Webby didn’t get to finish her words. Sinister-looking sickly purple storm clouds gathered around Felldrake, who slowly floated up to the sky, Leopold flying about around him. The storm clouds grew in size, enveloping the sky, and soon Della couldn’t see the dying stars above anymore. Wind picked up, the sea grew rough, and fat droplets of rain began to fall. In no time at all, it all grew into a storm so bad Della could barely see her own hand in front of her.

Despite the storm, she could still hear Donald, screaming in alarm and rage and then getting to her. She jumped anyway when his hand closed around her wrist. “Felldrake is making a storm and a big whirlpool. If we don’t do anything the boat’s gonna sink!”

“What are we supposed to do? We can’t do anything about this,” Della protested.

“No, we can,” Donald said. “But I need your magic. Come on, Dell.”

Della looked down at Louie in her arms, still as unresponsive as before. Donald’s gaze fell to him, and he gulped, suddenly looking both angry and torn at the same time.

Huey and Dewey came to them, waving to catch their attention. “We’ll take care of him!” Huey assured.

“We’ll try to wake him up,” Dewey added, practically vowing then and there. She let them take Louie from her arms and stood, eyes still glued to her children.

Donald’s squeeze at her wrist called her attention back to him, and before any other word was exchanged he let his magic twine around hers. She let him rouse her battered magic with his own, just as battered one. She didn’t need to see to know white cloudlike plumes had bloomed around her and Donald was covered from head to toe by the blue of the sea. Wind rose around her and whipped her wet hair around, and she could feel the sea responding to Donald’s call. Their magic twined so deeply that it was impossible not to understand when they sent impressions to each other.

We have to stop the storm and the whirlpool, Donald practically said.

I can try taking the wind, Della sent back. Might need help. It’s not just wind, it has water too.

Together, then, Donald said.

She let her magic plunge into his and mix together. Through sheer force of will, they managed to coax the storm to subside into drizzles, and Donald had somehow managed to stop the whirlpool using his magic.

An unmistakable feeling of oh no cut through Della’s connection, and she stared at Donald. Sure enough, he was looking at something in the sky, so Della followed his line of sight and couldn’t help but mutter the words.

Felldrake was still floating in midair with Leopold flying around him, but the flight had grown panicked and Felldrake looked… different.

At first glance, he still looked like the goose that Sheldgoose was. Della could almost ignore all the purple streaks in his feathers. But something was wrong; he looked deformed for reasons Della couldn’t fathom or point out, like something inside was trying to burst free.

Felldrake slipped on the Void Ring, and his magic flared brighter, and then Sheldgoose broke.

It was as if Sheldgoose was a balloon, and someone had blown air into him. The purple streaks grew bigger, cracks spreading until he was purple all over, and then he swelled, growing larger, larger, larger, as the white plumage turned into sickly purple. Horns appeared atop of his rapidly swelling head, and Della almost couldn’t see his face since the big, rotund belly obstructed her line of vision.

Felldrake let out a booming laughter and let his hand swipe down at their trawler. It landed instead on the water, just inches away from the boat’s hull, and it sent the boat flying. Instead of landing roughly on the sea like Della had expected, it floated in midair, as if gravity had forgotten to lay its claim on them.

“Oh no,” Xandra spoke, soft and faint. “The seal broke. Felldrake is back.”

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

fidelity (kinds of love)

Tony Stark x Reader

Part Ten of the Kinds of Love Series

Summary:  *wedding march plays*

Characters/Pairings: tony stark x reader, laura barton, clint barton, natahniel barton, lila barton (mentioned), cooper barton (mentioned), nick fury (mentioned), steve rogers (mentioned), natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff (mentioned)

Warnings: pure, unadulterated fluff.

Word Count: 3.033

Prequel - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 -

MARVEL MASTERLIST or CHECK OUT MY FANFIC DEDICATED BLOG

Light, airy music trickled in through the ajar window along with the breeze, and you stood, moving to the window as you tried to recognize the tune. An artfully-made archway of light-colored wood had been built on the lawn outside about thirty feet from the house, draped in stark white cotton and blush-colored flowers and delicate wreaths of baby’s breath. There were no chairs – it seemed unnecessary with so few guests invited – just a small table set to the side of the arch to hold the marriage certificate.

Butterflies rose in your midsection.

You returned to the dresser, eyes on the mirror as you applied the finishing touches to your make up. You traced your lips in red, bright against the white of your wedding night lingerie and the robe you wore over it.

“Oh, honey, you look beautiful!” you glanced up, smiling widely at Laura Barton’s reflection behind you. She closed the door quietly behind her as you wrapped the robe around yourself and secured it, three-year-old Nathaniel balanced on her hip and already dressed in his own little button-down and vest.

Laura was wearing a lilac wrap dress, Nate’s tiny fist bunched in the ruffle over her shoulder. She’d tucked her curls over the other shoulder, no doubt to avoid them getting the same treatment. “Mr. Stark isn’t going to know what hit him.”

“Pretty sure he asked you to call him ‘Tony’.”

“And I will,” she smirked crookedly. “As soon as he stops calling me ‘Super-Secret Housewife’.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll have a word with him.”

“Ooh, you are going to be a wife to be reckoned with,” Laura teased, and the butterflies relaunched.

You grinned, your excitement pulling your mouth too wide. “I’m gonna be a wife.”

Laura gave a little squeak of excitement, juggling Nate to the side to wrap an around you in a hug. She touched a hand to your hair as she pulled away, smoothing a flyaway delicately. “He’s a lucky guy, Y/N.”

“Not as lucky as me,” you replied, squeezing your hands together. “Would I sound like a huge cliché if I said I can’t believe this is really happening?”

“Only as much as I did on my wedding day,” she laughed.

“Laura, thank you so much for all of this.”

You were standing in the master bedroom of the Barton farmhouse, with a garment bag hanging from the wardrobe door and the contents of your make up bag strewn across the top of Laura’s dresser. Your overnight bag sat open on Clint and Laura’s bed.

Tony had tried to convince Ross to lift Clint’s house arrest for your wedding day – set a month before the decoy date that had been leaked to the press once they’d caught wind of your nuptials – but the man hadn’t budged. So, Tony had surprised you with another idea.

He’d called Clint and surprised you with the venue change on the drive last night. He’d dropped you off with a kiss on your cheek and a friendly wave to Clint before he’d driven off to the room he’d booked in the nearest hotel. You’d woken to breakfast on the stove and a gaggle of excited kids running into the guest room to wake you.

Lila had already knocked eagerly on the door to show you her new dress, and you’d heard Clint holler more than once for her and Cooper to stop running down the hall.

“I mean, you barely know either of us, and you’ve done all this…”

“Are you kidding?” she told you, setting Nate down on the bed. “Honey, you’re family! After everything you’ve been through with Clint, and all those times those magic shields of yours have saved his life—”

“—But after everything with the Accords—”

“Families fight, Y/N. You did what you thought was right; Clint was never going to be able to hold that against you. It’s the same thing he was doing. Besides,” she continued with a warm smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as speechless as he was last night. You might have broken him.”

You snickered, your nerves stirring in your belly again as you heard a car door slam. “Is that Tony?”

“He got here an hour ago.” she said with a shake of her head. “Must be the photographer. I better go show them where to set up.”

“Okay.”

“Nate, no—” she scolded exasperatedly as he tried to climb into your suitcase, fat little fists closing around the heel of your shoe. She scooped him up into her arms before he could bring it to his mouth, giving you a smirk before she moved to leave. “Better get dressed, honey. And no more peeking out the window; you’ll ruin the effect.”

You gave her a mock-salute and a grin. “Yes ma’am.”

You turned to the window as the door closed behind her only to close the blinds before moving to unzip the garment bag. The stark white lace spilled from it, and you ran your fingertips along the pattern gently. Everything seemed so surreal.

“It’s a pretty dress.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around, eyes wide. “What are you—”

Nat smiled at you from where she stood against the door; one of those warm and familiar, one-sided smiles you’d missed so much over the last year. She was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, and you couldn’t help but double-take as you took in once-fiery hair now hanging a pale blonde. “Did you really think I’d miss it?”

Her grin widened as you rushed to her, wrapping your arms around her neck. She squeezed you back, her chin tucked over your shoulder. She held onto you for a few long moments before holding you out at arm’s length. Your robe had loosened, and she raised a teasing eyebrow.

“Stark really never really stood a chance against you, did he?”

“You make it sound like I seduced him.”

“Only by being your incredible self.”

“Flatterer.” you said. “What are you doing here? How’d you even find out? Why the hell are you blonde…?”

She chuckled, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s easier to be lost in a crowd when they’re looking for one thing and you happen to be something else. Sometimes the simplest things can do wonders.”

“Do the others know you’re here?”

Nat shook her head. “Plausible deniability in case Ross has any questions. Although, I wouldn’t doubt that Clint has realized it by now.”

“You aren’t going to see him?”

The curve of her smile turned sad. “Don’t want to risk extending his sentence.”

“Then he didn’t tell you we were here. Or about the wedding.”

“Even off the grid we still get the news,” she replied as she stepped past you to sit on the edge of the bed. She touched a hand to the duvet, running her fingers over the material. “And you’ve been all over it. Still, the two of you caught Steve by surprise.”

“We caught each other by surprise, I think.” You said quietly, sitting beside her.

“That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you scoffed. “So, we caught Steve. Did we catch you?”

She smiled again, her lips pursing slightly in amusement. “You should be getting ready. Won’t be long before the wedding march starts.”

You snickered, standing and moving to take your dress from its hanger. You turned your back to her as you slipped the robe from your shoulders and went through the motions of slipping on your wedding gown. “So, if Clint isn’t the one who told you, who did?”

“Tony did.” she said simply as she stood, stepping up behind you to begin carefully fastening the many buttons that lined the back of the bodice.

You paused, surprised. “He did? How?”

“Steve sent him a phone. Said if he ever needed us, all he had to do was call.” she explained. “He didn’t tell you?”

You shook your head.

“He told him you needed us,” she continued gently, fingers soft on the back of your dress. You could hear her smile in her voice. “I don’t think it was an easy call for him to make. With his pride, I didn’t think he’d ever call at all.”

“He’s not so proud. He’s just playing pretend.” you said quietly as she stepped back, and you turned to face her. “You were supposed to be my bridesmaid, you know.”

“Who do you have now?”

“I don’t.” you shrugged, a tightness in your throat. “Couldn’t think of anyone else I wanted there with me.”

She touched a hand to your cheek. “You’re a beautiful bride, Y/N.”

You looked down at yourself, smoothing your hands anxiously over the skirt of your dress. You arranged the folds of it carefully around yourself. A simple, understated A-line cut that fell from your waist to flare ever so slightly down to the floor. A slit rose daringly high on one thigh. You ghosted your fingertips over the light corseting at your waist; nervously adjusted the deep cut of the v-neckline. You looked back up at her, biting your lip.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too,” she replied, warm and honest. “And we’re going to be here. Steve and Wanda and I. We’ll see the whole thing. We wouldn’t miss it.”

You smiled, and you could feel tears well in your eyes. “Thank you.”

“I have something for you,” she continued, as though she’d only just remembered. Hand in her pocket, she took your hand in her other. She looked down, a smile gracing her lips again. “Consider it your something blue. And something borrowed.”

She turned your hand over in hers, pressing a patch into your fingers. It was an Avengers’ ‘A’, and you ran your thumb over the material. “Is this from…?”

“Steve’s uniform.” she nodded. “Guess he wasn’t as ready to give the team up as we thought.”

You grinned, pressing your lips together in hopes that you’d keep your emotions under control. You fumbled for a place to put it for a moment before pulling your skirt aside and tucking it into the thin lace garter halfway up your thigh. Nat chuckled as you straightened.

“You’re coming home, right?”

“Someday.” she said. “World always seems to need saving, doesn’t it?”

***

“You know, Clint, I don’t think you have to escort me all the way from here. I think the edge of the porch is fine.”

Clint grinned widely, offering you the crook of his arm. You took it with a good-natured roll of your eyes, his hand warm and calloused it slid over yours, holding it in place against his forearm. “Can’t have you tripping down the stairs, can we?”

“Once. Once that happened.” you protested with a laugh as he began leading you down the stairs. “And I didn’t break anything, did I?”

“Only ‘cause you fell straight into Bruce.”

“Which I apologized for!” you said, and Clint snickered. Sobering slightly, you gave him a warm smile, squeezing his arm as you came to the foot of the stairs. “You look pretty damn good in a suit, by the way. I’m starting to see how you managed to snag a fox like Laura.”

Clint gave you a lopsided smirk and a laugh. “You don’t look so bad yourself, kid.”

“It’s my wedding day, and you still call me ‘kid’?”

“You could be eighty-three and President of these United States and you’ll still be ‘kid’ to me,” he said affectionately. He bumped his shoulder against yours playfully and you scoffed.

“Yeah? And what would that make you, old man?”

“I would hope your dashing and formidable Vice President,” he teased, and you laughed. He brought you to a stop as you came to the back door; you could just hear the sound of music and light chatter through the wood, warmth and excitement underscoring the conversations you couldn’t quite hear. He turned to face you, clearing his throat and taking your hands in his. “I, uh… I know I haven’t been… exactly…”

“Supportive?”

“There’s a word for it,” he smiled sheepishly, relaxing slightly. “I—”

“Clint, it’s okay,” you assured him. “You don’t have to give me some big speech about how you want me to be happy or how you’ve accepted me being with Tony. You’re here. You let us be here. You’re walking me down the aisle. You’ve said it already.”

“You’re a hell of a lot more eloquent about this shit than I am.”

“Pure talent, Hawkeye.”

“Sure it is, Barricade,” he snickered.

“So,” you smiled, straightening slightly and exhaling. “How ‘bout we go get me married?”

Clint grinned back at you, offering you his arm again and moving to open the door. “Let’s do it, kid.”

***

“You know, I put a lot of thought into what I was going to say today… more so than I would usually put in in any other situation.”

“So, it turns of Mr. and Mrs. Hawkeye throw a pretty good shindig, Tony said with a smile, one hand warm and delightfully possessive on the small of your back. The other was wrapped around your own; his fingertips kept finding the wedding band on your finger, like a tiny, subconscious desire to make sure it was really there. You laughed as he spun the both of you in time with the music; his body was pressed to yours, his lips touching your temple as he spoke in your ear. “Remind me to tell Ygritte they did a good job.”

“You know her name is Laura, right, honey?” Your arms were around his neck, a half-full champagne flute for the each of you in your hands. The stems clinked together with your movements, and you’d surprised even yourself that you hadn’t spilt any yet. You’d tried to tell him that as he’d pulled you into his arms, but he’d shrugged away any worry about potential damage to his tuxedo.

Tony raised an eyebrow at you with a smirk, leaning back enough to take his glass from you. “Not Laura. Her husband.”

“’Ygritte’?”

“Game of Thrones.”

“Ah,” you rolled your eyes with a smile, now empty fingertips playing idly with the hair at the nape of his neck as you sipped your champagne. “I might regret convincing you to watch that one. Your archer references are getting a little too obscure.”

He brushed hair behind your ear with a gentle hand, a light smile on his lips. “Noted.”

“I tend to just say the first thing that comes in my head… most of which is something sarcastic. But I did. I spent a lot of time over the last few weeks… hours… thinking about what it was I was going to say up here, standing here with you in front of all the… in front of some of the most important people in our lives.”

“I don’t think this quite counts as a shindig,” you replied teasingly, sliding your free hand over his shoulder and smoothing the lapel of his suit. “I haven’t seen a single wine barrel, or a bale of hay being used as furniture.”

“Ah, but that would be a hootenanny. Not a shindig.”

“Oh, of course,” you eyerolled with a smile at his scholarly tone. “How silly of me.”

“Always happy to help, Mrs. Stark.”

His lips were in your hair again, and you wanted to melt into his embrace. You settled for returning the gesture and pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“I don’t think I want to be called anything else ever again.” you blushed.

“So, no more ‘sweetheart’?”

“And just like that it turns out I was wrong,” you laughed, slinging your arm around his neck as he captured you in a kiss. It was sweet and loving, tickling with champagne and joy.

“Sweetheart Stark.”

“Great,” you joked. “It’ll sound like you married a stripper.”

“Well, you are really good at—”

“Or a My Little Pony.” you finished pointedly, pinching him by way of teasing reprimand.

“And y’know, everything sounded so cliched and old hat except for the fact that I love you. I can’t think of anything more important and more incredible than that.”

“Hey,” you started slightly as Tony found you again. The two of you had been separated by well-wishing friends; he’d been lured away by best man Rhodey with a bottle of scotch while you had danced with Lila and Cooper. His hand slid over your hip, and you smiled as you leaned back against him, interlacing your fingers with his over your side. The sun was setting, setting the lawn aglow. “What are you looking at?”

You dragged your eyes away from the edge of the Barton land reluctantly, eyes closing as he kissed your forehead. “Nothing. Good day?”

“Happiest.” He said, offering you his glass. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Couldn’t be more perfect.” you grinned warmly from over the rim of the glass. “So, are you going to tell me whether or not Fury was ordained before this wedding?”

“What, do you think he actually told me?”

“You ever gonna let each other go?” Clint called out from where he was sitting on the porch step, grin on his face and Nathanial on his knee.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Tony called back, pulling you towards him and wrapping his arms around your waist as your back met his chest. You laughed as his lips brushed against your neck, and he rocked the two of you playfully back and forth to the music.

“God, you’re such a dork,” you said, arching your neck back to kiss him. His arms tightened possessively around you it deepened.

“You love it.”

“It might even be the biggest cliché, a guy like me telling a girl like he loves her. But maybe that’s why clichés exist. Because they’re true. Because they’re real. And there is nothing in the world that is more real to me than the way I feel about you. And I really, really love you, Y/N. More than I really thought was ever possible. And at the risk of another cliché, I gotta say, I can’t wait to spend the rest of my damn life with you.”

[mandos-little-friend]

A Party, a Promise, and Spotchka

The Mandalorian Fan Fiction

Rating: General

Characters: Din Djarin, Omera, Winta

Relationship: DinxOmera

Summary: After ten years the immediate threat is gone, and Din and the child have settled on Sorgan as a home base, but are still frequently traveling in the search for the child’s people or those that could train him.  Some people are not okay with this arrangement. Includes some Mandalorian headcanon of my own making.

Notes: Just posting this here first, I may put it over on AO3 later. There may be more, but I wanted to get this main idea out of my head primarily.

Feedback always welcome.

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

On a cool summer evening on a small, backwater planet, a tiny fishing village celebrated. A band of three played rustic instruments with gusto while many of those gathered clasped hands and stomped feet and laughed. Torches had been set up all around the center of the village adding light to the moons’ illumination and allowing the party to continue long into the night. Poles had been erected on which strands of flowered garland streamed overhead, and tables of homemade food and never-ending pitchers of spotchka were set up at frequent intervals.

In the center of the merriment was the couple of honor, bride and groom dancing together while laughing and waving at their family and friends, like multitudes of newlyweds that came before them. However in this instant the bride was carrying a child unlike the humans of the village – small, green, large-eared. The child laughed and raised his hands in the air in celebration.

Din Djarin stood off from the crowd smiling contentedly as his child was bounced gleefully in Winta’s arms. The girl – no, woman now – was as radiant as any bride should be. She wore a gauzy dress of a rich plum color, which Din had himself purchased for her as a wedding gift. A wreath of flowers in pinks and purples and blues circled her flowing dark hair. The smile hadn’t left her face since the simple hand-fastening ceremony had completed and her bridegroom had swept her up into an ecstatic embrace. They had eaten and danced and drank what seemed to be a krill pond’s worth of spotchka, and all the while Din stood back and watched, only offering nods to the few villagers that felt comfortable enough to approach him. After all, he had no official place in the festivities, while the mother of the bride, equally as radiant, mingled and accepted all manner of congratulations, occasionally giving him a smile and a wave.

Once the latest song of a particularly hectic tempo fell to an end, the musicians took an opportunity to catch their breath and partake of the refreshments. Din watched as Winta gave his boy a squeeze and set him down, the child then running with carefree abandon into a group of adults who immediately began showering him with attention.  Winta grabbed a mug off a table and downed it quickly before turning and catching sight of Din. He nodded to her and she stared at him for a moment, the previous smile fading. Finally, after wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she marched towards him, grabbed his wrist and kept walking without waiting to see if he would follow.

Perplexed, he allowed himself to be led past several huts, until they were between the village and the forest far enough away that the sounds of the reception were barely echos. Too far away from the torches, the only light was the weak silvery glow from the moons, however the filters in his helmet amplified the light enough to see that Winta was clearly upset.

“What’s wrong?” he asked trying to reach for her hand, but she pulled away from him. She swayed a moment from what Din suspected was the alcohol.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked sharply.

Din sighed, the datachip in his pocket weighing heavily. “Yes, we are.”

“Momma knows?”

“Of course. We agreed to wait until after your wedding.”

She looked down at her hands that were now clasped together tightly. “She cries, you know.”

Din blinked. “What…? I don’t understand.”

Her head flew up, eyes blazing. “When you leave!” she hissed. “Every time, for two or three nights. She thinks I don’t know, but I do. I’d hate you for it, but then you’d come back and everything would be good again. Until the next time…”

“Winta -”

“She’s had marriage proposals too. At least three. Turned them all down.” He tried to open his mouth but she cut him off. “I’m not going to be there anymore! She’s going to be alone, completely alone, and it’s not fair!”

“It’s not like you’re moving off-planet,” he observed quietly.

Her eyes widened in anger and one clenched fist came up and rapped on his beskar-covered chest. “That’s not the point! She deserves more. She deserves a commitment from you!”

Din gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Winta, I can only make a marriage vow to another Mandalorian. Either she would have to swear the Creed, or I would have to break mine,” he finished softly. She looked up at him and he could see the tracks of tears flowing down her cheeks.

“We’re not important enough for you?”

“That’s...that’s not...you both are of extreme importance to me. But so is my boy. I need to find his people, and I need to protect him. I’ve sworn it. The best way I can do that is as a Mandalorian.” He swallowed. “Do you remember me explaining dar’manda?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“My Creed is my core, it is who I am. To be stripped of it, to lose my soul…even in service of my heart, it’s unthinkable, profane.” He sighed. This wasn’t a conversation he’d planned to have tonight.

“What if you never find them?” she asked, previous rage gone, now sounding like the girl he’d first met ten years prior.

“I honestly don’t know. I can’t stop looking just because it’s inconvenient for me.” He pulled back and crossed his arms. “When I finally got the nerve to come back here, when I’d felt it was safe enough, I did question if it was the right thing. It seemed selfish to invade your lives after so many years. Your mother and I spoke for a long time about expectations, about what I could offer...and what I couldn’t.”

Winta was looking at the ground again. He reached out and lifted her chin with a finger. “I know your heart is in the right place, but maybe trust that your mother is strong enough to make her needs well known?”

She sobbed and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that!”

He wrapped his arms around her tenderly. “Never apologize for fighting for those you love, cyar'ika,” he whispered to her.

They stayed like that for several moments, until light footfalls and a small cough caught their attention. They both turned to see Omera approach, clutching a shawl around her shoulders against the cool evening air. Flowers of the same color as Winta’s crown were woven through her hair and she was radiant in the moonlight. “There you are,” she said with a smile. “What are you two doing out here?”

“I was just giving Winta a proper Mandalorian blessing for a bright, prosperous future,” Din said and Winta hastily wiped tears from her cheeks.

Omera beamed at both of them. “Well, your new husband is getting worried sick that you’ve changed your mind already.”

“Oh no,” Winta gasped, then giggled.

“Go find him and make sure he knows you’ll never let him go.”

Winta threw her arms around Omera. “I love you, Momma,” Din heard her whisper, then she was running back towards the party with the energy of youth and love.

“So, are you going to tell me what this was really about?”

Din sighed. “She’s concerned about you being alone.”

“Hmm.”

“She says you cry. When I leave.”

“Ah. Can’t hide anything from that kid.”

“So it’s true?”

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s a...void, at night right after you go, getting used to sleeping alone all over again. But it passes. Nothing wrong with a good cry once in a while.” She smiled up at him in that way that made his stomach feel like melted beskar.

He was silent for a moment, then, “She also said you’d turned down a few proposals of marriage?”

“Oh, she did!” Omera exclaimed. “Well yes, I’ve been turning those down for years. Any single person of child-bearing age is considered fair game around here. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Nothing?”

She shook her head firmly. “Nothing.” She moved closer and put her arm around his waist. “Trust me, if I had only wanted to be married again, I would have done so years before I met you.”

He pulled her in tight, gently placing his helmet against the top of her head.  He had a sudden need to feel the silky hair beneath his lips and smell the flowers that were nestled in the tresses. “Omera,” he said softly. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, eventually, but I suppose now is as good time as any.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “What?”

“You know my Creed is based on the Six Actions?” he asked.

She nodded, hesitantly. “The Resol…”

“Resol’nare. Yes. The Actions include protecting one’s family and clan, and rallying to the call of the Mandalore, the leader, in times of battle.”

Omera nodded, but her face had gone tense. “Are you saying you’ve been called to fight?”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “But the Resol’nare demands I be ready and able to go to battle if it should come to that.” He swallowed. “For most Mandalorians a life spent following the Ways of the Mandalore end...abruptly and early.” She frowned at him. He laid a hand gently on her shoulder and continued. “But many do survive a life of battle, past the time they are able to safely contribute.”

He pulled away from her and turned slightly, to gather his words carefully. “A Mandalorian may be deemed unable to fight effectively due to age, or infirmity, or serious injury. They become a liability in battle.”

“And then what?” she asked softly from his shoulder. “Are they rejected?”

“No! Not at all. They are revered for having both the discipline and the fortitude to survive. But there is an opportunity at that time. To be relieved of the duty to serve the Mandalore, if they so choose. They are given full funeral rites, their name is remembered and honored along with those who fell in battle.”

“Wait, you’re not saying they...die?” she said.

Din turned back to her. “Only symbolically. They remove their armor and are released from the Creed. They are not dar’manda but they must leave the tribe, forever. While the physical body still remains, it is as if the soul has already gone to Manda.”

“And does this happen a lot?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Most Mandalorians would rather die than be separated from their loved ones, their tribe, their home. Many, choose to...go out on their own terms rather than become a burden.”

“Oh.”

“But,” he stressed, “most do not have a life outside the tribe. They have no where to go. No one to go to,” he finished, placing a hand along the side of her head.

“Oh!” she whispered and smiled brightly.

He smiled back, and realized just how much he wanted her to see that. Instead he said, “I can’t promise this is something that will happen soon. But I’m nearly fifty. My joints ache most mornings. My back…” He chuckled. He’d lost count of just how many times he’d fallen or been thrown down violently. “But my son still needs me.”

“I know,” she said firmly, taking his hand in both of hers. “I know.”

“And I need you,” he whispered hoarsely. She pressed into him, laying her cheek against his chest. “Some day,” he promised and stroked the back of her hair. Flower petals rained down to the ground. “I can’t say when, but the day will come. Will that be enough?”

“Yes. More than enough.”

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

Mando’a translations:

Resol’nare - Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life dar'manda -  a state of not being Mandalorian - not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul - regarded with absolute dread by most traditional-minded Mando'ade cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart

[froggy-beans]

everyone feels like a liar these days (don’t know how not to feel that way)

This was written for @cinnamonrollstark for the 2019 Irondad Fic Exchange with the prompt “Tony comes back to life years after the snap. This is their reunion”. 

| 1/1 Chapters | 7,121 Words | No Archive Warnings Apply | Teen and Up Audiences | 

Summary: Written for the 2019 Irondad Fic Exchange for CinnamonrollStark. Prompt: Tony comes back to life after the Snap and this is their reunion. ---- Then, as Peter dodged bullets and destroyed drones, a flash of red and gold caught his eye. Attention elsewhere, he slammed into a drone and was sent sprawling to the ground. His mind raced a mile a minute.

It’s not real, Peter. It’s not real. It’s not real. You know what Beck is capable of, he’s only trying to distract you.

He could only watch, stunned, as he saw his childhood hero blasting drones out of the sky. Beneath his mask tears began to fall as he told himself it wasn’t real. How could it be?

link to story

               Peter didn’t know what to do. There were too many of them, too many drones. How was he supposed to destroy them all? There were thousands, hundreds of thousands, and he was one teenager with spider powers. Stickiness and super hearing weren’t extremely helpful when one was flying through the air. Why on earth had he believed he could take care of this by himself?

               Oh, right. He didn’t. Fury did. And where was Fury now? Cozy up in his tower watching the whole event unfold from his office window. Peter wished he had never agreed to go with him in Venice. He wished he could have just enjoyed his school trip and asked MJ out at the top of the Eifel Tower. God, life seemed so much simpler a year ago. So much simpler before Thanos and the Snap and . . . and . . . Tony’s death.

               Even now the thought was more painful than Peter could have imagined. Peter knew that Happy hadn’t meant to, but hearing his words made him feel so much worse. “He wouldn’t have done what he did if he didn’t know that you would be here after he was gone.” Tony’s death had never really gotten easier, not when he saw reminders around him all day every day, but that statement sent Peter reeling even further backward. And then there was the glasses. Tony had trusted him, and he gave them to Beck.

               Then, as Peter dodged bullets and destroyed drones, a flash of red and gold caught his eye. Attention elsewhere, he slammed into a drone and was sent sprawling to the ground. His mind raced a mile a minute.

               It’s not real, Peter. It’s not real. It’s not real. You know what Beck is capable of, he’s only trying to distract you.

               He could only watch, stunned, as he saw his childhood hero blasting drones out of the sky. Beneath his mask tears began to fall as he told himself it wasn’t real. How could it be? He watched the light leave Tony’s eyes, felt his heart stop under his palm. Beck had used what Peter had told him to stop him, to torture him. It was sick.

               “Stop messing with me, Beck!” He screamed, using the fresh anger and adrenaline pulsing through his veins to fight. He shot a web at the nearest drone and yanked it out of the sky as forcefully as he could, an explosion sending asphalt and concrete flying. As soon as his bravado had appeared it disappeared. His comms, always silent, came to life.

               “Slow down, kid. I’ll handle the rest of this. Happy is waiting for you a few blocks away, okay?” Came Tony’s voice. Peter shook his head.

               “I know he’s not real! I know you’re just trying to mess with me!” Peter shouted. He tried to have Karen shut off his comms, but she told him that he didn’t have access to that feature. Puzzled, Peter wondered if Beck had hacked his entire system instead of just the comm channel.

               “What do you mean? Peter, I’m not trying to mess with you.”

               “Yes, you are. Tony is dead. He’s dead. I know he isn’t here right now.”

               “Kid—just go to Happy and wait for me. He’ll explain everything.”

               “I’m not letting you win!”

               “Just listen to me for once in your life, Peter. I swear it will all make sense later—”

               “Why should I believe you?” Peter asked, voice weak. He didn’t want Beck to know how much he was affecting him, but he couldn’t keep the desperation and hope out of his words. His heart ached with the idea of this all being real.

               “Because I know that your favourite song is Pompeii by Bastille because you love the vocals and that May hates it because of how much you play it in the car. I know that you say you love Star Wars because it’s Ned’s favourite, but you really prefer Star Trek. I know that you used to hide your Spider-Man onesie in the ceiling so May wouldn’t find it—”

               “Okay, okay!” Peter said, tears flowing hot and heavy under the mask. “I believe you.”

               “Go to Happy, he’ll explain everything, and I’ll be there soon.”

               Peter nodded even though Tony couldn’t see him and took off in the direction Karen told him to go. She must have gotten the directions from FRIDAY. After a few blocks of swinging through the deserted London streets he found Happy, along with MJ, Ned, Betty, and Flash. Betty and Flash looked confused at Peter’s arrival, but he couldn’t have cared less.

               Peter ripped the mask off as soon as his feet touched the ground. Not long after he was on all fours and breathing heavily. What the hell? What the actual hell? Tony was alive?

               Happy came rushing over and lifted Peter into a sitting position. He was well trained in the art of Peter’s panic attacks, having become accustomed to them over the past year. He assured Peter that he was alright and everything was going to be fine, while rubbing reassuring circles on his back. Ned was soon at his side as well, though MJ hung back awkwardly with Flash and Betty.

               Several minutes later after Peter had (relatively) calmed down and drank some water, he asked Happy to kindly explain what the fuck was going on. Happy took a deep breath and shot a nervous glance to the rest of the teenagers.

“Cat’s already out of the bag, Happy. Just tell me,” He said tiredly. With no more adrenaline coursing through his veins a nap sounded like a very pleasant idea.

Happy explained the situation slowly, as one might do to a young child. Peter, who usually hated being talked down to, found that he didn’t mind. One could even say he appreciated the simple words even though they did not fit the situation. Tony had actually died on the battlefield, that much was true, but everything else Peter knew was a lie. From there the remains of SHIELD had taken his body back to one of their top-secret facilities (hence the lakeside funeral) and executed something called Project Tahiti. Project Tahiti was a top-secret program developed to bring back an Avenger or other important SHIELD member.

“So, what you’re telling me is that Tony died and then was brought back to life?” Peter asked. Happy nodded his head with a sigh. “Who else knows?”

“Pepper and Morgan, the remaining Avengers, Rhodey, and myself.”

“And he never told me?” Peter felt a sharp pain in his chest, almost like he’d been stabbed. Was I not important enough to tell? Did Happy even mean what he said on the plane?”

Peter was pulled from his stupor by the loud clank of the Iron Man suit landing behind them. He stood up quick enough to send his head spinning, but that didn’t matter. He barely waited for Tony to step out of the suit before the words came.

“How could you not tell me?” He shouted. Betrayal stung deep in his bones, more painful than any injury he had acquired in the past week. Tony’s eyes held emotions Peter couldn’t even begin to process at that moment, but Peter barreled forwards. “I mourned you! I cried for you!”

“Peter, listen—”

“I went to your funeral! I saw you die! I heard your heart stop beating!” Peter’s breathing was erratic, breaths coming in short bursts between his words. It had been a year since that god-awful day on that god-forsaken battlefield.

“Someone was supposed to tell you—”

“What do you mean?”

               “There was a list. I gave Fury a list of people that he was supposed to tell. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that he didn’t tell you.” Tony looked sincere, but Peter didn’t want to hear another word. He picked his mask up from the ground and pulled it on roughly before swinging away.

               The comfort he had so wished for the past year stood three feet away from him and here he was, running away.

                 Rain fell softly that day, sending ripples throughout the lake and filling the air with the sweet smell of wet earth as the universe wept for the loss of her best defender. Peter watched the summer birds flying wide circles above him and wondered if they knew the true weight of this day.

               If Peter listened hard enough, he could hear the distant calls of bullfrogs from across the lake and quiet rustling of the leaves. It was worse, somehow, to know the world went on when your own was standing still.

               Peter glanced towards the tree line as Pepper lowered the wreath into the water, unable to watch the final piece of his mentor drift away from him to a place he couldn’t reach. He caught the orange flash of a robin’s wing as he gathered sticks for a nest and the light whistle, he gave whilst working. Another robin, this one sitting on the porch railing, whistled back.

               Will they remember him in a hundred years? In a thousand? And do the habitants of other planets know the true cost of their loved ones lost and found? Will they care, in the end, of the price of being able to hold them again?

               Peter stood still even as the crowd dispersed, lost in thoughts of another kind. He wondered what the world had thought. He wondered if Mother Nature had minded their absence. Maybe not, he supposed, maybe she didn’t even know.

                 Tomorrow morning the trees would rustle in the wind and flowers would grow, forgetful of today’s sorrow. Tomorrow morning the birds would sing their beautiful song, none the wiser of their loss. Tomorrow morning the sun would rise on a universe unaware of Tony Stark’s sacrifice, unaware of the true price of their salvation.

                                 The plane ride home could not have been more awkward if Peter had tried to make it that way. He sat in a row with MJ and Ned, all of them reeling from the recent revelation. Flash kept shooting the trio odd glances and Peter was worried he might stand up any second and announce Peter’s secret identity to all the passengers.

               “I shouldn’t have been so stupid earlier,” Peter sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “Now Flash is going to tell everyone and make my life a hundred—no, five hundred—times harder.” His only escape was Spider-Man and soon he wouldn’t even get to have that.

               “No, he won’t,” MJ said firmly. “He wouldn’t even dare.”

               “And why is that? It’s not like I can blackmail him into keeping it a secret.”

               “Mr. Stark can.” Ned chimed in. Peter knew Ned was only trying to reassure him, but the name sent Peter over the edge of the precipice he had barely been holding onto in the first place.

               “Don’t say his fucking name, okay? I don’t need his help.” Peter stood abruptly and pushed his way to the aisle. He nearly tripped on Ned’s feet but managed to make it to the bathroom and slam the door shut before anger gripped him like a vise. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold tile of the tiny airplane bathroom. There wasn’t enough room to stretch his legs, so he pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his head against the wall. Peter took several deep breaths to calm himself down.

               His anger faded slowly until it became nothing more than a dull ache. Peter checked his watch (the one Tony had given him two—seven?—years ago) and saw that he had been in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes. He knew he had to go back to his seat soon, for the descent at the very least, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want to see Flash’s stupid glances or listen to Ned’s empty reassurances.

               When he finally did go back to his seat, though, he was met with neither of these things. Flash appeared to be engrossed in some movie and Ned was playing on his computer. Peter sent a silent thank you to the universe. He would apologize to them later, of course, but he took the opportunity to try and rest. He would need it later when he finally tried to sort out his thoughts.

               The plane finally landed around one am. May was waiting for Peter at the gate with a sad smile. Peter assumed she would know by now what had happened between the news (who hadn’t stopped reporting on it since that morning) and Happy (who Peter was sure called her as soon as he was gone). May greeted him with a comforting hug.      

               “Ready to get your luggage?” She asked eventually, pulling away. Peter shook his head.

               “Don’t have any. It got blown up, remember?”

               “Oh, right,” May nodded. Peter, oddly, wanted to laugh. The whole situation just seemed so stupidly funny to him all of a sudden. Blown up luggage should be the least of his worries. He almost died this week. His friends almost died this week. His whole life got turned upside down (again) this week.

               “What are you laughing about, Peter?” May asked, confused. Peter just stood there laughing and drawing the attention of strangers.

               “My life is such a fucking joke, May. My whole goddamn life is a joke,” Peter said. May sighed and started leading him to the car. She couldn’t say she disagreed. Getting bit by a radioactive spider, meeting your childhood hero, fighting aliens, finding out your mentor wasn’t actually dead, and almost destroying Europe sounded like something straight out of a comic book.

               “How about we go home, okay? You can sleep, have breakfast, and then we’ll talk about all of this. Everything will be fine.”

               Peter just kept laughing.

                 Later that morning Peter heard May calling Happy. He tried to tune out most of their conversation, unwilling to listen to lovey-dovey comments coming from his aunt. Super hearing turned out to be more of a curse than a blessing when it came to living in an apartment. Especially when your neighbors were two young newlyweds. Peter hoped he never ran into them in the hallway, or god forbid, the elevator.

               Twenty minutes after the call ended Happy was knocking at the front door and Peter knew he would have to get out of bed. Instead of waiting for May to come get him, he pulled the covers off and grabbed a hoodie before heading to the kitchen. May liked the apartment colder than he did, but Peter wasn’t going to complain. At this point it was a miracle they even had an apartment to keep cold.

               Peter could feel the pair of them staring at him the second he stepped out of the hallway. He pretended not to notice as he grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and a box of Lucky Charms from the top of the fridge. The tension in the room was palpable. Peter ignored May and Happy for another five minutes while he ate, wishing he could ignore the situation all together. How, exactly, did one deal with their dead mentor/father-figure coming back to life? Was that the sort of thing you could go to counseling for?

               “So, Peter, about yesterday,” Happy started awkwardly, glancing towards May. She nodded and he kept going. “You did an amazing job handling Mysterio. There are a few things we need to discuss.”

               That’s an understatement.

               “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Peter asked calmly, the very opposite of the emotions swirling in his mind. He knew that being hysterical wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “Tony said there was a list.”

               Happy nodded. “He gave Fury a list as soon as he woke up of people who were supposed to be told.”

               “So why did no one tell me?”

               “Because we didn’t think you could handle it.” Happy answered truthfully. After everything else that had happened, he hadn’t had it in him to lie to the poor kid.

               “What do you mean?”

               “The remaining Avengers, Fury, me and Ma—”

               “They didn’t think that you would be able to act like Tony was gone if you knew that he wasn’t.” May said quickly, shooting Happy a pointed glance. Peter didn’t miss May’s quick intervention. Were they hiding something else from him, too?

               Oh. Oh.

               “May,” Anger quickly took over despite Peter’s efforts to keep it hidden. The spoon he had been holding was like putty in his hands. “Did you know?”

               “Sweetie—”

               “Did you know?”

               “—it’s complicated—”

               “I don’t care!” Peter yelled. “Did you know?”

               “Yes, but you have to understand something, Peter. We didn’t—”

               “—think I could handle it, yeah I got that part. That’s low, May, really fucking low. All those times you woke me up from nightmares and caught me crying and you never told me.”

               Peter’s chair flung backwards when he shot up and went to his bedroom. He needed to be somewhere else before he did something he regretted. He pulled his backpack out of the closet and roughly filled it with clothes and his phone before pulling on his (severely damaged) suit. He didn’t bother shouting a goodbye before exiting through the window. They would realize he was gone soon enough on their own.

               Tony watched the tv half-heartedly. Every channel was stuck on one thing: him. He watched looped video after looped video of himself blowing up Mysterio’s drones. He had to admit, he did look pretty cool doing it, but that didn’t make up for the hundreds of calls from Nick Fury blowing up his phone. The man clearly didn’t know how to take a hint. Sometime in between the twentieth and twenty-fifth call, a plan hatched in Tony’s mind. On the twenty-seventh call he answered.

               “Nick Fury, you son of a goddamn bitch.” Tony said coldly. Pepper glared at him from the kitchen where her and Morgan were making lunch. Tony shrugged his shoulders. “You didn’t fucking tell him?”

               “Tell who what?”

               “Don’t play coy with me, asshole. You didn’t tell Peter I’m alive.”

               “We didn’t think he could pull it off.”

               “You have no fucking clue what he can pull off and thanks to you my kid ran away from me in London and refuses to talk to me.”

               “Stark, we have more pressing issues—”

               “The fuck we do.” Tony said finally, hanging up the call and tossing his phone to the other side of the couch. Pepper rolled her eyes.

               “This is why our daughter says things like ‘shit’.” She said. Morgan giggled innocently. Tony laughed despite the overwhelming stress he felt. Peter clearly wanted space, and as much as it would hurt, Tony knew he had to give it to him. Nobody could push Peter into doing something he didn’t want to. Peter would come to him when he was ready, and when he did, Tony would welcome him with open arms.

                               Peter had been on a normal patrol—as if anything could be considered normal anymore—when it happened. He had stopped in Times Square when he saw Quentin Beck’s face light up every screen, dumbstruck. Wasn’t he dead? Or in some high security prison somewhere at least? Peter perched on the nearest lamppost to watch the video.

               The film was shaky and loud, explosions and sirens filling the background. Beck was wearing his illusion suit, helmet cracked, and fabric torn. If Peter listened close enough, he could make out the faint blast of Tony’s repulsor in the background as he joined the battle. Anger filled Peter’s mind at the memory. A month later and he still couldn’t believe they hadn’t told him. Especially May. How could she keep that a secret as she comforted him about nightmares of Tony’s death? Through the panic attacks that often accompanied the reminder that he was gone?

               “I wish there was something I could do, honey,” She’d say, carding her fingers through Peter’s messy curls. You could have told me, Peter thought. You could have told me he was alive instead of letting me think that my curse had finally caught up to him.

               Peter’s anger only grew when Beck began speaking, looking around anxiously.

               “I don’t have much time left.” He said hurriedly. As much as Peter wanted to leave, he was curious as to what Beck was going to say. When he did finally call Nick Fury for a debrief, nothing was mentioned about a video.

“Tony Stark isn’t dead and—” Beck was cut off by a particularly loud blast that rocked the bridge he was hiding out in. “I know Spider-Man’s identity.”

Peter’s heart started to race as the New York passerby glanced at him. The very last thing he needed right now was another shit show. Of course, that’s when Beck announced his name, accompanied with a school photo from sophomore year. He looked slightly younger, but not different enough to not be recognizable now.

Peter felt everyone’s attention shift to him. He glanced around, mind going a million miles a minute. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. Peter shot a web to the nearest building and took off. It didn’t matter what direction. He couldn’t go back to Ned’s now. People would follow him there. He would be putting Ned and his family in danger.

And what about school in the fall? What about ever being able to leave the house again? There was only two people he could think to call, and he didn’t want to speak to either of them. Of course, he could try to call Nick Fury, but what would he do? He would probably use this as another chance to get Peter to work with SHIELD, which Peter didn’t want.

               Five minutes later Karen announced that Peter had a phone call from Ned. He almost didn’t answer, but thought better of it at the last second.

               “Where are you?” Ned asked worriedly. Peter tried to look for a landmark, but this area didn’t look familiar to him. Maybe his brain was just too muddled right now to figure out where he was.

               “I don’t know. Somewhere.”

               “As opposed to nowhere?”

               “Star-Lord told me about a place like that once, but I think its spelled with a K.”

               “Okay, we can talk about how incredibly awesome that is later. Right now we have bigger things to worry about.”

               “That’s the understatement of the year.”

               “Yeah, it is. But you need to get back here, dude. Mom is worried about you, and so am I.”

               “I can’t go back there, Ned. I don’t want to put you guys in danger. What if someone follows me?”

               “Well first off, you’re a superhero, so I’m not too worried. But if that doesn’t work out my dad keeps a gun somewhere. I’m pretty sure, at least. I guess I don’t know because I’ve never seen it, but he says he does and why would he lie about that—”

               “Okay, I get it. But if something happens—”

               “Then we’ll deal with it. Just come back, okay? Then we can sit down and actually talk about this.”

               “Okay,” Peter sighed. “I’m on my way back.”

               Karen hung up the phone and plotted a course home for Peter. She was worried he might get lost otherwise.

               “Should I contact Tony Stark?” She asked. Peter had told her not to bring him up last month (“Spider-Man is the only escape I have from all this anymore, Karen, don’t bring him up), but he had never actually programmed her not to do it.

               Peter debated her question. Tony would know what to do about this, for sure, but Peter wasn’t ready to see him.

               “No.” He said finally. He reached Ned’s bedroom window two minutes later, opening it and slipping in quickly. He found his best friend and his family sitting at the dining room table.

               Boy, he was in for a rough night. A very rough night.

                 A very rough night turned into a very rough week. Peter stayed in the apartment until he couldn’t stand it anymore (which with his ADHD and overactive spider energy, was only two days). On the third day he found an old baseball hat in Ned’s closet and borrowed his dad’s sunglasses, hoping to avoid any kind of unwanted attention. But it turns out that the more you don’t want attention, the more you seem to attract it.

               Five minutes after leaving the apartment building Peter dropped his phone facedown on the concrete (normally that wouldn’t happen, but his spider-sense had been going batshit crazy since what will be henceforth referred to as The Incident). He sighed at his luck and bent down to pick it up, the over-large sunglasses slipping right off. Peter scrambled to pick them up, but the damage was already done. Somebody had seen him.

               “Peter Parker?” The man who spotted him said. Peter tried to shake his head no and stammered out a response.

               “No, no—”

               “Hey! It’s Spider-Man!” Another person shouted. All eyes were turned to Peter as he tried to make excuses, tried to convince them that he wasn’t who they thought he was. In the end, he ended up running back to the apartment as fast as he could while people took pictures and tried to ask questions. If just walking down the street was a nightmare, he didn’t want to know what kind of hell school in the fall would be.

               Peter suspected that Flash would be even worse than before, if that was possible. Now that he knew the kid he had bullied for years was Spider-Man he would try to be friends with him. Everyone at school was probably going to try and be friends with him, save for the ones who thought enhanced individuals were a disease and not to be interacted with.

               Maybe it was incredibly twisted, but it was sort of comforting that not everybody would want to talk to him. Peter was already used to people hating him (although he could never figure out why, because he never bothered anyone), so a few more wouldn’t matter.

               Somehow Peter found himself back not at Ned’s apartment, but May’s. He stared at the seven story building wistfully, every muscle in his tired body aching to step through the front door. May couldn’t solve all this, try as she might, but she knew how to comfort Peter. She would make hot chocolate with exactly four marshmallows, no more, no less, and put on some old movie they’d seen a million times while they talked.              

               No matter how much Peter’s feet wanted to carry him up the stairs and into the apartment, he couldn’t make them. Instead they took him back down the familiar path to Ned’s apartment, each footstep a pang in his heart. It had been over a month since he’d seen or spoken to her last. Would she even want to see him after the stunt he pulled?

               Deep down Peter knew the answer was yes, but he wasn’t quite ready to face her yet. He could still barely process the fact that his dad mentor wasn’t truly dead and that everyone had thought him incapable of handling the truth and keeping the secret. It took time to face things like that when someone didn’t have to worry about much else, let alone dealing with an identity reveal and Peter’s whole life being turned upside down (again).

               Maybe tomorrow, Peter thought, I’ll be ready.

                 After his last shit show of an outing, Peter decided to stay in indefinitely. He drove Ned’s family crazy by constantly doing pushups at every turn and using the doorways to practice his pull-ups. None of them mentioned his crazy behavior for worry of sending Peter into an even more mentally precarious state. Ned walked in on him watching a nature documentary about spiders once at three in the morning and when one of the spiders got eaten by a bird, he started crying. Not normal, sniffle crying, but full on sobs.

               “How could you?” Peter said to the bird, unaware of Ned’s position in the doorway behind him. Ned wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or just disappear like nothing had happened. In the end he had gone with the third option, but his escape was cut short when Peter turned around to search for a box of tissues. Peter stared at him owlishly for a moment before fresh tears began to fall.

               “How could the—the bird do that, Ned?” He’d asked. Ned sighed. He’d done some weird shit to help Peter out before, but this was a whole new level.

               “It was just the spider’s time, Peter. That’s nature. The circle of life.” Ned had answered. This was not the correct answer, however, and made Peter cry harder.

               “But David had so much to live for.”

               “David?”

               “The spider, Ned! His name was David and he had a family! Mr. Nature Guy said it himself!”

               “Peter, I think its time for you to go to bed.”

               “I’m not tired.” Peter protested, barely holding back a yawn. Somehow Ned managed to wrestle him into bed and Peter fell asleep before his head hit the pillow. Ned hadn’t mentioned that incident to his parents, but they were probably woken up by Peter’s not-so-silent breakdown.

               In short, Peter was a mess. Ned understood why Peter didn’t want to talk to his family, but he could tell it was really wearing on him. Four days after what will be referred to as the David Incident, Ned tried to discuss the situation with him. It was late, probably sometime after eleven, and Ned’s parents had already gone to sleep. The only reason the pair were awake was because they were finishing up a movie.

               “It’s been over a month.” Ned started casually. He glanced sideways at his best friend to see his reaction, but Peter’s expression remained neutral. “Since the thing with Mr. Stark.”

               Mr. Stark had told Ned multiple times to call him Tony, but it felt weird to call his childhood hero by his first name. Peter had had the same issue at first.

               “I think you should talk to him.” Ned continued.

               “Why? He hasn’t tried to talk to me.”

               “He knows you wouldn’t pick up the phone. Everyone knows how stubborn you are. ”

               “I’m not being stubborn—”

               “He calls me. And my parents. May does too, to make sure that you’re okay and stuff. They’re worried about you. They were only trying to give you space because that’s what you wanted.”

               Peter’s mouth hung open, whatever argument he had prepared gone.

               “It was a really shit thing to do, alright, not telling you that Mr. Stark was still alive. But now that you know he is alive, why are you wasting time by avoiding him? I don’t know about you, but if I thought my dad was dead and then it turned out he wasn’t, I would talk to him. Mr. Stark didn’t know that nobody told you because he was stuck in some shield facility somewhere. You can be mad at May and Happy and Pepper all you want, I totally would be too, but Mr. Stark wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. He might be Iron Man, but sometimes even he can’t control who’s pulling the strings.”

               “Ned,” Peter said, eyebrows drawn together in thought. “I have to go.”

               New York City was never quiet, but it seemed to be as Peter walked through the residential streets of Queens. His thoughts were much louder than anything else around him at the moment. He’d had no idea that May and Tony called to check on him. He was still mad at May, Happy, and Pepper, but those bridges would be slow to repair. He loved them still, of course, but it was hard to think of them without being angry. They didn’t trust him. They hadn’t believed in him. And it hurt.

               But, hopefully, he could fix the mess he’d made with Tony. At the very least he could try.

                 Tony was asleep when his phone rang. Pepper shifted beside him and mumbled something that Tony couldn’t quite catch, though he suspected it was something along the lines of, “What is it?”. Tony didn’t answer, fumbling around for his phone on the nightstand. The screen practically blinded him before FRIDAY adjusted the brightness. When he could see again the name Peter Parker flashed across the screen.

               “It’s Peter,” Tony said, suddenly wide awake. It had been a month and a half since the pair had spoken. Peter had wanted space and Tony wasn’t going to begrudge him that, no matter how much it hurt. Yelling at Nick Fury had made him feel better, but only temporarily.  

               “What?” Pepper asked.

               “It’s Peter,” Tony repeated. The excitement at the call quickly turned to dread as he realized the time. Was Peter in trouble? Before his mind could fall further down the rabbit hole, Tony pressed the answer button.

               “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Tony asked anxiously, sitting up. A thousand possibilities, each more terrible than the last, played out in his mind in the moments it took Peter to answer.

               “Yeah I’m—I’m fine.” Peter answered. Tony released the breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. Thank god. “I was just wondering if, um, if I could come over?”

               “Yes, yes. Of course, Peter, you can always come over. Do you need me to pick you up?”

               “Yeah. I’m a few blocks away from Ned’s apartment in Queens—” Peter was cut off by someone shouting in the background. The only words Tony heard were “look”, “Spider-man”, and “over”.

               “Is everything okay over there, Peter?”

               “Come on guys, we can work this out. There’s no need for anyone to get shot tonight—”

               “Peter?”

               Tony heard three things: a gunshot, a scream, and the sound of someone hitting concrete. He immediately jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. Barely a minute later Tony was suited up and flying towards New York City. FRIDAY located Peter using his phone.

               “Hang in there, kid. I’m on my  way and then Dr. Cho will get you all fixed up, okay? Just hang in there. Can you do that for me?”

               Some by miracle Peter answered. “They got away.”

               “I’m not worried about that right now, Peter. I’m worried about you. You gotta sit tight for a few minutes until I get there, okay?”

               “Okay.”

               In Tony’s opinion it took far too long to find Peter. He landed the suit on some quiet residential street in Queens and ordered FRIDAY to scan vitals as he stepped out of the suit. Peter was curled up on the ground and shivering. He quickly rolled the kid onto his back to examine the bullet wound, eliciting a moan from Peter.

               “I know it hurts, buddy, I’m sorry, but I have to see it. Soon we’ll be back at the compound and we can give you the Captain America drugs. Then it won’t hurt at all.”

               Blood had soaked through Peter’s t-shirt and the light jacket he was wearing, turning the blue t-shirt a deep purple. It was everywhere. On Peter’s shirt, on the sidewalk, on Tony’s hands. God. There was so much of it that Tony couldn’t even figure out where the wound was. He would have to hope that Cho could locate it as soon as they got to the compound, or at least before Peter’s super healing kicked in.

               Tony hated to leave Peter’s side for even  a second, but he had to put the suit back on before he could carry Peter to the compound. Peter was light in his arms, head lolling as Tony picked him up. Tony prayed to every god he’d ever heard of that Peter would make it to the compound. How cruel it would be of fate to split them apart now after all they’d fought through.

                 Tony didn’t think he would ever forget the image of his kid on the operating table at three in the morning. Somehow there was even more blood than before, and yet Dr. Cho and her colleagues were as collected as ever. Tony knew that Cho was worried even if she didn’t show it. In the couple years before the Snap she had gotten to know Peter quite well while they worked on discovering the limits of his powers.

               Three and a half hours later, Peter was out of surgery. Dr. Cho decided to keep him in an observation room instead of taking him back to his bedroom at the compound just in case there were any complications. She didn’t expect any, but she decided to err on the side of caution.

               “He’s stable now, but I don’t want to take any chances. If you need anything or if something seems off, tell FRIDAY and she’ll let me know.” Dr. Cho said after briefly explaining Peter’s situation. “He must be extremely lucky. The bullet barely missed his spine. If he’d been shot half an inch to the left, he would have been paralyzed.”

               “Thank you.” Tony replied.

               “Of course,” Dr. Cho smiled. “We’re going to keep him asleep for awhile to let his super healing do its job. You should probably try to rest.”

               “You know I can’t.” Tony sighed. If something bad happened while he was asleep, he would never forgive himself.

               “I know.”

               Moonlight was streaming through the windows when Peter opened his eyes. Everything seemed fuzzy around the edges, as though it wasn’t quite real. Through the muddled fog of his mind he recognized the med bay. What was he there for? The last thing he remembered was watching a movie with Ned in the living room.

               Tony was sitting quietly in a chair next to the bed, phone in hand. But that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. He was . . . dead. Oh, Peter thought, I must be dreaming. These sorts of dreams had happened to Peter before. Sometimes is was Tony, sometimes it was Ben.

               He hated them. He always woke up in the morning with a fresh wave of sadness, pillow wet with tears. It was like starting the seven stages of grief all over again.

               A few moments later, maybe sensing Peter’s staring, Tony looked up at him. “Hey sleepy head, how was your nap? You were out the whole day.”

               “It was fine.” Peter answered. He hated the excitement he felt at talking to Tony again, even if it was all in his mind. “I’m still tired though.”    

               “Go back to bed, then, kiddo. It’s almost midnight anyway.”

               “I don’t want to.” Peter said. “If I go back to sleep then I’ll wake up in real life and you won’t be there.”

               “What makes you think I won’t be there?” Tony was confused. It must have been the drugs. Cho did say that he would probably be dazed when he woke up.

               “Because you’re dead. You’ve been gone for over a year.”

               “I’m not dead. Underoos, I’m right here. Don’t you remember?”

               “I remember the first time you called me that,” Peter said idly, changing the topic. “I was so excited to go to Germany even though I was nervous. You were the first person that really believed in Spider-Man and I wanted to make you proud.”

               “I am proud of you.”

               “And the new suit was super cool. It probably would have been embarrassing if I’d shown up to the airport in the old one. Can you imagine if I’d actually met the Avengers dressed like that?” Peter wrinkled his nose at the thought. He was incredibly glad that hadn’t happened, although it probably didn’t make a difference anyway. There were hundreds of videos of him in that suit on YouTube.

               “Yeah, it might have been a little rough, but I’m sure everyone would have loved you anyway.”

               “Really?”

               “Of course. We all start somewhere, right?”

               “Yeah,” Peter said, pausing to stifle a yawn. Tony smiled at the memory of fourteen-year old Peter Parker walking in the door with headphones in. He was smaller back then, more innocent. How Tony wished he could go back in time and prevent Peter from ever being involved in any of this. Deep down, though, he knew that he couldn’t. Peter would have never stopped being Spider-Man. The least that Tony could do was protect him while he did it.

               “Get some more rest, kiddo. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

               “No, you won’t,” Peter sighed. The tears didn’t have a chance to fall before he was asleep again. Tony hated to see Peter upset, but the only way to fix this was for him to sleep off the rest of the drugs. Until then, Tony would be waiting in the worlds most uncomfortable chair at his bedside.  

               Next time Peter woke up the August sun was shining cheerfully through the med bay window. The chair next to his bed was empty and there was no sign of anyone else having been in the room except for Peter. Because Tony was gone. Because he was never really there in the first place.

               “Oh, you’re awake.” Tony said, surprised. He had left to get a quick snack before Peter woke up. “I hadn’t expected you to be up yet, but if you’re hungry I can—hey, hey,  what’s wrong?”

               Peter looked up at the sound of Tony’s voice, crying. “What?”

               “Do you need more pain killers? Cho said they shouldn’t have worn off but I guess you never know with your special metabolism.”

               “Tony?” Peter’s voice was impossibly quiet, as if he was afraid that if he spoke any louder the world would shatter around him.

               “. . . Yes?” Was the anesthesia still messing with Peter’s head? Peter was quiet for a minute as Tony set his coffee down on the night table and sit at the foot of the bed. He was careful not to jostle Peter too much for fear of hurting him.

               “I’m so sorry.” He said finally, bringing a fresh wave of tears to the surface. He hated crying—he had been doing it so much lately—but he didn’t care this time.

               “Me too, kiddo, me too. I love you.”

               “I love you too.”

               Peter’s life was still upside down, and would be for a while, but he was relieved. He loved Ned and his family, he truly did, but they didn’t understand. They never could. But Tony could. He understood being a superhero, he understood being famous as a teenager, and he understood the trauma that came along with both. He could help him through it.

               Maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out okay.

@irondad-fic-exchange

[shoalfoodblog]

Earthshine, Chapter 2

Again, I don’t consider myself a writer whatsoever but I guess I’m following my compulsions. We’ll see how long I keep doing this, but yeah. Here’s more??? Sorry if it’s lame or anything is wrong, etc. Just doing this for fun~~~

Sesskag. 

First Chapter

Kagome had seen more battles than most decorated soldiers in her time. She’d waged a war against an unspeakable evil and lived to tell the tale. And from those experiences, she’d learned a thing or two about strategy. 

Information is everything. Namely; know your enemy. If you can think like them, you’ll be two steps ahead at all times and be able to guide them into your trap. 

Mostly Naraku had done this brand of bamboozling to their group, but that's besides the point because it worked. They’d all been tricked and lead like lambs to slaughter more than once by that creature. And while Kagome wouldn’t normally be molding her behaviors off a maniacally evil megalomaniac, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Not that she was desperate.

With her mind made up on seducing Sesshomaru, daiyoukai of the west, most powerful AND beautiful demon in the four territories, and veritable icicle, Kagome knew she had to think ahead. 

It was disconcerting to realize that if she were to list things she knew he liked, she wouldn’t even use up the fingers on one hand. 

1.) Fighting. She imagined he got bored defeating opponents so easily. He was a beautiful and deadly figure on the battlefield without match. The lack of worthy challenges probably explained all of the spontaneous “friendly” bouts with Inuyasha (which Kagome vehemently disapproved of, since it was her supplies she’d burn through patching up the battered half demon) over the past few years since Rin came to live in the village.  

2.) Knowledge. This one was subtler. When he’d seen some of her futuristic objects while visiting Rin, he’d ask her pointed questions, his intense stare giving no room for anything but a full and thorough answer. These were always followed by an almost inaudible hum of acknowledgement, and a swift departure. Kagome supposed dogs were often curious creatures, so why should dog demons be any exception? 

3.) Rin. This did not translate to humans as a whole whatsoever. Just Rin. He maybe tolerated some others, but he definitely didn’t like them. In all likelihood he held a quiet disdain, but Kagome figured she was at least in the ‘tolerated’ camp, considering he trusted her with his charge, so that was encouraging.

Thinking of Rin, caused Kagome to smile. Rin was a wonderful girl, even if she suffered from the effects of a serious case of hero worship for her Lord. Kagome remembered countless times where they’d spend time together, harvesting herbs and naming the blooms they came across. The now teenaged girl didn’t really have any female figures in her life, so Kagome filled in the roll by default. She genuinely adored Rin, and suspected Rin found a good friend in return. So really this point wouldn’t be an issue. 

As far as fighting went, Kagome was a decent shot, but sparring with the daiyoukai seemed like signing a death wish. 

Now. His curiosity. Kagome knew she was a novelty to him. Even if he wasn’t interested in her exactly but in the information she had about the future, it was at least a doorway in to some decent conversation. But what could tempt the stoic demon lord? He’d seen most of her futuristic belongings she kept in this era.

She really couldn’t, in good conscience, divulge information that could change the future, just in case this didn’t work out. So no politics, investment strategies, nor extreme advancements in engineering. 

Cultural tidbits would be safer. 

Music?

No. She imagined her tastes would appall him. Pop music with all of its thick instrumentation and driving rhythms didn’t exactly fit with her image of him and she’d rather appear dignified then explain why pop music was… well, popular in her era. 

Art? 

She would be the first to admit she didn’t know shit about art.

Food?

Kagome struggled to imagine Sesshomaru eating. Maybe she was guilty of putting him on a pedestal, but such a normal, everyday act seemed out of place for him. She’d certainly never seen him eat, but that wasn’t really saying much given the longest time they’d been in each other’s company was when he was fighting with Inuyasha. Also what could she prepare him that would be both impressive and appealing to a dog demon?

She decided to consult Rin. 

A direct approach was always best. Searching out her young friend Kagome inquired 

“Rin-chan. I was curious. What does Sesshomaru-sama eat?”

Rin stilled her hands, which were busy tying up herbs to dry in Kagome’s storehouse. Turning to Kagome, she gave the universal shrug of ‘I have absolutely no clue’ 

“Huh. Rin never saw him eat, now that Rin thinks about it. Or Rin just wasn’t paying attention.” 

Kagome huffed in frustration, maybe a little louder than she should have, because Rin furrowed her brow at her. 

“Why do you ask, Kagome-oneesan?” 

It was imperative Rin not catch on to her plans. She needed a reasonable excuse. One would appear any moment. Seem calm, you crazy woman.

“Oh! Well you see… I just wanted to offer him something as thanks for taking such good care of you all these years. I feel very thankful to have Rin-chan in my life. It may be too forward though… just forget I said anything”

Nailed it. 

“Rin is also happy she knows Kagome-oneesan! And is grateful to Lord Sesshomaru for bringing her to your village!”

She was clutching the fresh cuttings closely to her chest, beaming up at the older woman. The picture of earnestness. 

“I’m sorry but Rin doesn’t know what Lord Sesshomaru would like to eat! Rin only knows Lord Sesshomaru doesn’t eat human food. He told me when we first met and I tried to give him some fish, and other things”

Huh. Well, that was…less than helpful. 

“Don’t worry Rin-chan! I’ll think of something to give him. Don’t fret about it” Kagome tossed her a reassuring smile while she set about finishing their work. Reaching to tie the next bundle up to dry, Kagome, ever the optimist, was sure she’d think of something.

That was two weeks ago. She’d gained no ground since. 

Her brainstorming had lead her down very uncomfortable roads. She shuddered as she recalled that Koga’s pack used to survive by eating humans. And when she asked Shippo, he just shrugged and said dogs were “weird that way” but couldn’t provide any specifics. Sango said there just wasn’t a lot of research her village had done on dog demons since they generally stayed away from messing with human settlements.

Dog Demons. You’d think they’d be as easy to please as their mortal counterparts. 

Kagome was contemplating chucking a box of milk bones at the demon lord and taking her chances.

Maybe a change of scenery would shake an idea loose in her brain. It had been a while since she’d visited her family, and her childhood home always helped to clear her mind.

…

Sliding the door open to her family’s house, she was greeted by the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods. 

“Tadaima, Mama! Souta! Ojii-chan!”

“In here, dear!” 

Following her mother’s voice to their kitchen, she arrived in time to see her pull a fresh sheet of cookies from the oven. 

“Kagome! It’s so good to have you home! And with such good timing! I just made some peanut butter cookies. Would you like-“

Peanut butter. Lightning ricocheted through Kagome’s mind. Her breath hitched, and her eyes grew wide.

An epiphany held her in place. A eureka moment erupted across her consciousness.  

It couldn’t be that simple!

Glancing around, she spied the half-empty jar of peanut butter still out on the counter, a spoon jutting from the top. Kagome fumbled with the container, her hip bumping the table in her haste to get back through the well.

“-some to take to your friends?” 

And with that, the matron of the Higurashi family was left alone with a full tray and an empty room. Hearing the front door slam, she exhaled and began to wonder. Would her daughter ever settle down long enough to lay down some real roots? 

…

‘Peanut butter! Dogs loved peanut butter!’

Kagome swallowed a triumphant shout. It was the best idea she’d had yet. Even if it was the only idea she’d had. 

It had been 10 days since Sesshomaru had last checked on his ward, and since you could predict the tides based on the precision of his schedule, Kagome knew he’d be checking on Rin today at dusk. 

That gave her…maybe 20 minutes to catch her breath and set her trap.

Kagome clambered up the rope ladder they’d installed in the well, jar in hand, and made her way down the path towards her home. Upon rounding the corner to the field it was settled in, she noticed Rin, who often watched her home when Kagome was away, was siting by the entrance with a flower crown gently held in her hands.

The young girl perked up as she caught sight of her sisterly figure. 

“Kagome-oneesan! Welcome home! Rin thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow!”

“Ah - I uh, hello Rin-chan! Well you see I forgot to bring my mother - uh” glancing around she eyed the circlet of blooms in her young friend’s hands “Flowers! I was going to pick her some flowers!”

“Oh! That’s wonderful Kagome-oneesan!” 

She felt awful fibbing to Rin. But these were dire times. 

Kagome slumped on the stump near the entrance of her home where she would split wood for the hearth, trying to catch her breath. Rin sidled closer to her, then noticed the strange container Kagome had in her possession.

“What are you holding, Kagome-oneesan?” gesturing with her eyes towards the young miko’s grasp.

With an exhale, she lifted the container towards Rin. 

“It’s a snack from my home. It’s called Peanut butter. It’s kind of sticky, and nutty, but it’s not really made of nuts, it’s made from legumes I think? - I don’t know if we have peanuts here - and I’m rambling, It’s kind of sweet and salty. ” Noticing the spark in Rin’s eyes, she also added “Would you like to try it?”

“Oh! Could Rin?!” She leaned forward clutching the wreath to her chest. She was too infectious. Kagome entertained the passing thought that in the future, Rin would be able to wrap any man she wanted around her finger. 

“Of course! You might not like it however… I think it’s kind of an acquired taste.” Kagome retrieved the spoon from the jar, wiping any excess along the rim before handing it to the eager girl.

She popped the spoonful in her mouth. 

“It might be a little sticky, so don’t choke on the stuff.” Rin tried to pry open her mouth to respond but all that came out was a jumble of muffled syllables that had Kagome giggling brightly. Rin tried to talk between swallows of the sticky treat, but more stifled sounds escaped instead, which caused both women to erupt in peels of laughter. 

Neither of them noticed the third presence suddenly appear in front of them.

Sesshomaru arrived at the miko’s dwelling to discover the two human women in a puddle of frenzy, to such an extent that they both failed to mark his entrance. 

It was rare indeed for any being not to take immediate notice of the towering dog demon, so much so Sesshomaru wasn’t sure how else to gain the silly mortals’ attention. 

He set about employing the strategy he used in most of his dealings, thinking formidable thoughts and staring, sure his presence would speak for itself soon enough. 

He was wrong.

 The females were in hysterics. 

Wondering if, despite all reason, his imposing bearing had run thin Sesshomaru decided a more direct approach was necessary.

“Miko. Rin.” he intoned smoothly. Sesshomaru applauded himself when the females ceased at once.

The pair, now still, they turned to face the intimidating demon lord, fighting the urge to erupt into laughter once more. Of course Sesshomaru showed up right at this moment. 

“Lord Sesshomaru!” somewhat out of breath, Rin stood to greet her guardian. 

“Hn. This Sesshomaru trusts you’ve been well, Rin” He flicked his gaze over his charge, appraising her well-being.

“Oh yes, Lord Sesshomaru! We’ve just finished drying the spring herbs, and Kagome-oneesan has just shared a most interesting treat with Rin!” 

Gazing over the miko, he unabashedly sized her up, maybe for the first time, considering her fully. How long had Run bestowed the miko with that sisterly honorific? 

“Hn.” He swept his gaze over the woman, seeing as she fumbled with the strange container in her hands. 

“It’s nothing really, just a little something from my home” She waved her hand in mock bashfulness. Though flustered, Kagome hadn’t forgotten her self-appointed mission. She knew Sesshomaru was a curious creature by nature. She refused to give up more information than necessary. He’d have to come to her for answers. 

To Sesshomaru, the substance did not appear to be having any long lasting ill effects on his ward. Was it some sort of drug? Was this responsible for the fit of hysterics that descended upon the two? The miko stirred the thick mass in the strange pot she carried. Scenting the air, its aroma wafted towards him. It smelled unlike anything he’d encountered before. 

It smelled delicious. 

“Miko.” 

This was it. She had trained her attention on the demon lord and saw the moment the spark of curiosity flitted across his gaze. 

“Hai, Sesshomaru-sama?’ She continued to stir the peanut butter around in the jar, hoping the smell would be released more strongly into the air. 

“What is this substance you have given my ward?” He was the picture of disinterest, eyes gazing at some distant point on the horizon, busying himself by running his hand once across his mokomoko. 

Knowing the demon lord was painfully direct in all his dealings, Kagome realized he must be really tempted to put on this kind of show.

His actions confirmed her theory. She had him. 

“Would you like to try it?” Kagome offered him the handle of the heaping spoonful.

He would deny the small flare of his nostrils, and the twitch at the bottom of his mokomoko if anyone questioned him. 

“I do not eat human food, priestess” 

Kagome internally congratulated his commitment to his image. He even mustered a small sneer on his face. 

“Of course Sesshomaru-sama. How silly of me” Kagome smiled knowingly at the stubborn dog in front of her. Making a small show of it, she swiped a finger across the spoon and plopped it her mouth, humming in satisfaction, before setting the jar beside her on the stump. She could feel his eyes follow her movements.

“Well I’m sure you have more important things to do with your time, Sesshomaru-sama. I have a few things to take care of myself before nightfall, so I’ll take my leave. Safe travels. Rin, have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow” 

“Yes! Thank you again Kagome-oneesan, Rin will see you soon!” 

Sesshomaru didn’t respond, instead turning on his heel,he departed towards the village, no doubt escorting Rin who trailed after him talking animatedly about something or other. 

Kagome didn’t call after them when she saw the jar of peanut butter was mysteriously gone. 

…

Elsewhere, with legendary control, Lord Sesshomaru, Ruler of the West and powerful Daiyoukai, resisted the urge to smack his lips when the miko’s strange and addictive morsel stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

The proud dog demon dissolved the empty plastic container with acid. 

There could be no evidence of his lapse of control.

[whereyoursoulresides]

Without Words Chapter 7 Update!

This seems to happen every time the winter holidays roll around, but I finally hit a fanfic inspiration streak! So I’m updating and writing as much as I feasibly can. We’re nearing the climax of this fic!  Only 3-4 more chapters to go until the end!

Ao3 link here, or otherwise you can also read it under the cut.

"What is this...feeling?"

Nausea. Inexplicable, terrible nausea. From the moment his vision blurred and his stomach lurched from discomfort to sick, Izou knew something was wrong.

He just hadn't known what …

It was now Saturday. In his old room at the rehabilitation clinic, Izou was sitting in bed, recovering. He had a sketchbook in his lap and a few bouquets of well-wishes on his table.      

Over the past few days, the nausea and its subsequent disorientation had slowly begun to dissipate. However, the nightmares persisted: vivid flashes of grotesque faces, monsters with muscles that were warped like tree roots, and stone columns that reached to a black sky that was smothering as it was endless. A soft coursing of petals that always felt real to his cheek, and filling his blood with a strange sense of tranquility. A garden basking in sunrise; being held by someone warm.

And then he would always bolt awake.

In the quiet solitude of the room, Izou had always felt safe. Even though the anachronism would send his heart ramming or his stomach lurching, the simple tactility of his surroundings would always ground him back to reality. He could understand the things in this world, even if it took some time to remember them. The softness of the cream blankets, the coolness of the metal rails, the brightness of the flora on his bedside table. These were all touchable things, things he knew . Things that grounded his existence, confirmed he was alive.

Even if flowers occasionally filled him with a strange sense of melancholy...

A knock came at the door, and Izou paused from his sketching. When he saw his guest, he perked up into a big smile.

"Saitou-sama!"

The older man was standing in the doorway, in his casual clothes and long, heavy coat. Outside of his usual uniform, he seemed somewhat awkward and stiff, as if he wasn't sure what to do.

"Pardon my intrusion."

Izou quickly waved it off. "No intrusion at all! Please, come in." He pushed the book aside, and scooted over to make room for Kunihiro to sit on the bed.

Despite his enthusiasm, it took some time for Kunihiro to pass through the room. He seemed to be taking great care in his steps, not wanting to upset whatever delicacy he felt hung in the air. As he approached the bed, his eyes drifted over to the flowers on Izou's bedside table in succession: several bundles of classic red roses, a warm burst of peonies and other garden blossoms, clusters and clusters of daisies in every color and size. Finally, closest to him, a clear vase containing a single white rose.

Izou couldn't help but be amused at the slightly disconcerted frown on Kunihiro's brow. "Is everything alright, Saitou-sama? Are you allergic?"

"No," Kunihiro said automatically, his eyes lingering on  the blush-pink peonies. “My apologies, I'm afraid I haven't brought anything to add to your...collection."

"Oh, please, don't worry at all!" Izou immediately waved his hands. "Any more of them and I wouldn't be able to bring them all home. "

Kunihiro nodded, and finally pulled his eyes away. He cleared his throat and opened his jacket to pull forth a manila envelope.

“I came to give you these,” he started, but there was a note of hesitation in his voice. “A collection of summative assignments. I wasn’t sure if you were up to it, but I also didn’t want your hard work to go to waste…”

Unable to help himself, Izou felt his heart melt. It was so thoughtful for Kunihiro to go through all this trouble for him. Even if it hadn't been the man's intention, these assignments would bring Izou the sense of normalcy that he craved. He raised his hand to take the packet.

“Thank you,” he said genuinely. “I could use the distraction.”

“How long do you still need to remain here?”

“Perhaps another week, thereabouts. They want to observe me a little longer yet.”

Kunihiro nodded. On one hand, he seemed to want to stay. His discerning gaze was trained on Izou, worried. But on another, he also seemed concerned about overstaying his visit.

“Perhaps I should let you rest, then,” he finally said. “I don’t want to be a both-”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be a bother at all!” Izou exclaimed. He scooted over further, to give Kunihiro some space on the bed. “Please, stay. Just for a little while.”

It was hard for Kunzite to refuse Zoisite when he begged like that. So awkwardly, Kunzite remained. Not wanting to intrude on Izou’s space, however, he first thought to sit down in the guest chair - but then realized it was already occupied with a wreath of sunflowers and a teddy-bear.

“I’m sorry, the girls at the coffee shop maybe went a little overboard,” Izou giggled behind him. “Please, Saitou-sama, sit. I really don’t mind.”

Sighing, Kunzite turned away from the chair, and carefully sat himself on the edge of the bed. He tried to keep himself contained in his space, not wanting to accidentally trigger another memory too suddenly. But, the echo of Zoisite’s voice still drifted in the back of his mind.

“Kun-...zite-...sama…”

“Saitou-sama?” Izou’s voice broke him out of his daze. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Kunzite blinked. “Yes, yes,” he said automatically. “Sorry, I was... distracted by the flowers.”

“Do you not like them?” Izou asked, as he pulled the assignments from out of the packet.

“No, it’s not that,” Kunzite said honestly. “It’s just… a bit hard on my eyes. It’s a lot of colors.”

Izou peeked up briefly, an amused smile on his face. “What would you do differently?” he asked innocently. As he waited for Kunihiro to answer, he flipped through the sheets of the assignment, relieved to find all the equations familiar. So he hadn’t lost any memories this time, as far as he could tell.

“...Separate them,” Kunihiro finally answered. “When they are all clustered, they compete and clash with one another in the same space. It becomes hard to appreciate their singular, individual beauty."

This reply surprised Izou, and he raised his head. He hadn’t expected Kunihiro’s response to turn so… serious.

“I think there’s times when they look good together,” Izou countered. “Like in a garden. Then they become concentrated bundle of beauty. A cluster of joy, like the sun.”

“Yes,” Kunihiro agreed. “I suppose I prefer to view them as stars in the night. That way you can see each bud’s personality, admire its individual imperfections. Appreciate its unique charm.” His voice dropped a bit then, and his eyes grew distant, as though he was just realizing something.

“Yes?” Izou prodded, transfixed.

Kunihiro still looked like he was in his own little world. And give it your utmost adoration , Kunzite had been about to say. Give it the love it deserves…

“Like that one there,” Kunzite quickly said, breaking away from his train of thought. He gestured to the single white rose in the vase next to Izou. “There’s simplicity in its elegance. And I couldn’t help but notice it’s the one closest to you. It must be special to you.”

Izou glanced over to the flower in question. “Oh! Yes.” His smile grew soft. “This one was from Kuroi. It’s his favourite flower.”

Once more, Kunzite felt his gut shrivel up and die a little inside him. At every angle of Izou’s life, this man was wedged between them. This man who shared some similarities to Kunzite, but who was ultimately not. He wouldn’t treat Zoisite the same, give him what he really needed, or truly understand him. The flower wasn’t even Zoisite’s favourite - it wasn’t even pink!

Carefully, Izou pulled the flower out from the vase, and brought it close to his lips. Its scent was calming - clean and fresh like a spring morning. It smoothed his anxieties, sanitized him from his dreams.

“Kuroi-chan used to be a patient here, you know,” Izou started quietly. “He woke up one day in a room like this, without memories, with no recognition of friends or family. But the one thing he knew for sure - the one thing he knew before he remembered his own name - ...was that this was his favourite flower. White roses.”

There was a moment of silence then, as the new information seemed to sink into Kunihiro. Izou continued to hold the stem carefully, twirling it slowly to admire its open petals from all angles.

“I’m surprised,” Kunihiro finally confessed, with some care in his voice. “I would have thought red to be his favourite color.”

“It would seem that way, wouldn’t it?” Izou agreed. “But it’s actually white. White flowers, greenery, the sea. Those were his favourite things, the earliest things he could remember with total certainty.” He slowly returned the flower back to the vase.

Kunzite watched Izou closely, considering if now was a good idea to ask what he was thinking of.

“When you woke up, what could you remember?” he finally asked softly. “Was there anything deep inside you that you knew, for sure?”

Izou paused, and his face fell. His hands dropped as well, back down to his lap, and Kunzite couldn’t help but notice they had started to play a little with each other, a little anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Izou mumbled. “When I woke up, apparently all I was speaking was gibberish.”

“Do you remember what kind of gibberish?” Kunzite pressed.

Izou shook his head. “Nothing anyone could understand. Some names, maybe, but I don’t remember them now.”

“Any persons? Reoccuring dreams that felt right?” Kunzite pushed some more.

Izou shook his head again, now feeling a rise of anxiety in his chest. “No,” his voice cracked a little.

“Familiar colours, scents, places?” Kunzite was desperate. He knew that it was in Izou, it was accessible, Zoisite was there - but for some reason Izou was sealing everything in, hard. “Flowers?”

“Only that I like them!” Izou suddenly cried. Tears rushed to his eyes and heat flooded his cheeks. “Only that I love them,” he repeated, heart thudding loudly in his chest. He brought his hands to his face, hiding his eyes and cradling his forehead. “I- …”

Realizing he had overstepped his bounds, Kunzite’s urgency burnt to ashes, and dropped like coal into the pit of his gut. On one hand he wanted to reach forward to comfort Izou, but on the other, he realized that this was his doing. If he wasn’t careful, he could send Izou to another breakdown.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. He glanced around and offered the tissue box on Izou’s bedside table. “Forgive me, I - … didn’t mean to upset you.”

Izou was swallowing his tears now. But he accepted the tissues, and Kunihiro’s apology.

"It's okay," Izou managed to say, dabbing his eyes. "I'm sorry, Saitou-sama. I'm just...not ready to talk about these things right now."

Kunzite felt even more ashamed now. "Please don't apologize. It was my wrongdoing. I'm sorry." He let Izou have some time to breathe. "If you prefer, I can go…"

"No, it's okay," Izou insisted. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Kunihiro off. His tears had mostly stopped now, and his heart rate had resumed to a more acceptable pace. "I'm afraid I haven't progressed as far as Kuroi-chan has. I have figured out some friends and family, but…" He shivered a little. "But I still get nightmares that don't make sense."

Kunzite continued to hold the tissue box. "What sort of dreams, if you don't mind me asking?" he ventured carefully.

Izou took a deep breath. "Just...really scary stuff. Monsters. Scary faces. Shadows, terrifying-looking trees. The feeling of being smothered underground, buried alive. A crystal castle, and it suddenly grows these thick green veins, and a heartbeat."

Kunzite reconsidered how far he should push. These were clear examples of Izou remembering his past life in slumber. Nightmares to him, but dreams to Zoisite.

Izou couldn't read Kunihiro's emotionless stare, but he feared the worse.

"Kuroi used to have bad dreams too," Izou was quick to explain, desperate to show Kunihiro that he wasn't crazy, that in time he could be normal too. "He had nightmares of him fighting people. Like the sounds of metal clashing, flashes of a gold and red in a uniform. Winning over someone. Possibly hurting them. Stabbing them, sometimes over and over!"

Kunzite sat up straight. "Izou, are you safe with him?" He immediately asked. "Has he hurt you?"

"No, that's not it at all!" Izou exclaimed. "Don't you see? Kuroi figured it out, in the end. The fighting he was dreaming about was his past sword matches. The red and gold he saw? Those were his competition colors. His dreams of hurting people? They were anxieties that stemmed from not understanding what his dreams of fighting were referring to." Izou looked off to the side. “For the longest time, he didn't want to find out who he was. He feared he was someone horrible. But then it turns out - ...he was fine.”

Kunzite took a moment for all this to sink in. Izou glanced back at him hesitantly, waiting for his response, almost anxiously. His fingers drifted up to twist the ends of his ponytail. He pulled so tightly that they frayed out of their curl, like storm-blown hay.

Finally Kunzite spoke, and when he did, his voice was solemn.

"You've dreamt about something similar, haven't you?" Kunihiro asked softly. "That you've hurt someone."

Izou's eyes flew wide open and his heart stopped. How had Kunihiro known? Izou felt his soul wither and he buried his face in shame. He couldn't tell Kunihiro the worst of it. The worst of the feeling that had surged him in the park.

The feeling of triumph…

"I can't shake the feeling I've done something terrible," Izou whispered. Something terrible, but something also so very good. He deserved it, whoever he had been. The rush of peace, tranquility, confidence at the aftermath. The twisted sense of pride made Izou sick to his stomach.

Very gently, he felt Kunihiro lay a hand on his knee.

"Will it make you feel better," Kunihiro said softly, "if I told you that I know of no criminal record or juvenile offenses committed by a Kozakura Izou?"

At this, Izou's head lifted up. His wide eyes tracked across Kunihiro's face for any kind of lie or deceit, but found none. Kunihiro's face remained as soft and passive as the day he first heard Izou's story.

"You- you're sure?" Izou whispered, desperate to believe it. "Really?"

Kunihiro nodded. "Really," he confirmed quietly. "If any such thing had happened, I would have known."

Izou's eyes lit up, and his heart flooded with relief. The dreams must've been something else. He sank back, hand over his mouth as he tried not to cry.

"You are young," Kunihiro continued. "And have a bright and sensitive soul. It's very possible your dreams are your imagination's way of abstracting your past. But that doesn't mean you've done the things you fear."

Izou's eyes scanned over Kunihiro again, and slowly his hand dropped, revealing a tentative little smile.

"You really think so?"

Kunihiro nodded. "And if your friends are any indication…" He gestured to the flowers and gifts all around the room. "Who you fear you were is not who you are now. Nor, who you choose to be." Kunihiro's eyes were so beautifully kind, even if his expression hardly ever changed. "Your choices in the present are what truly defines you."

Izou let his hand slowly fall to his lap, unable to express to Kunihiro just how much he appreciated all this.

"Thank you, Kunihiro-sama," Izou whispered. He slowly glanced over at the white flower in the vase next to him. "Kuroi-chan says the same thing…"

There was a heavy sigh from Kunihiro, and the weight on Izou's knee pulled away and disappeared.

"He is right," Kunihiro admitted. "You are lucky to have him."

Izou turned back to Kunihiro, and reached forward to lay a hand on his arm.

"I'm lucky to have you too."

There was that moment again: when the world grew quiet and everything around Kunzite seemed to pause. Izou's hand felt so warm and lovely on his arm, even through the thickness of his coat. And the way those bright green eyes were gazing at him so clearly…

"Ahem."

Both were startled out of the moment and looked towards the door. Izou pulled his hand away.

"Kuroi-chan!"

The dark-haired man stood in the doorway, this time with his white-haired friend, as well as the receptionist. Kuroi had another bouquet of red roses collected in one arm, while Shirai was bearing a more eclectic collection of sunflowers, carnations and random greenery. The receptionist was peering into the room, and upon seeing Kunihiro, frowned quizzically.

"Are we interrupting anything?" Kuroi asked from the door.

Before Izou could respond, Kunihiro rose to his feet.

"No, I was about to leave," Kunihiro said, before Izou could protest. There was a certain note of finality in there than quelled any chance of Izou convincing him otherwise.

Kuroi nodded as Kunihiro gathered himself. He turned back to Izou just to say:

"No need to rush the assignments. Whenever you're ready, you can pass it back to me by leaving it at the coffeehouse. Goodbye."

The abruptness took Izou off-gaurd, but Kunihiro was already heading out the door before he could even say anything.

As Kuroi stepped aside to make space for Kunzite to pass, the receptionist's brow furrowed some more. Then, a light of recognition sparked in her eyes.

"Ah, you must be -"

"No," Kunzite cut her off curtly. "I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else. Good day."

And before anyone else could say anything, Saitou Kunihiro had disappeared down the hall.

[knightowl725]

Healing in a Graveyard, Ch. 3

Fandom: Critical Role

A continuation of my work for Fjorclay Week 2020′s modern au prompt that will likely continue past this week. How long will it be? Only the Wildmother knows.

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828932/chapters/57343630

Chapter Three: A Peaceful Goddess

It was later that night, after another warm meal with his friends, that Caduceus found Fjord on the patio.

“Good evening,” he said as he stepped outside.

“Hey Caduceus.”

Fjord was seated on the bench. There seemed to be an unspoken rule to leave the rocking chair be, plus it was too big for his comfort.

“I was just making some tea. Would you like some?”

Ah, dead people tea. Fjord was still...adjusting to the concept. But it really was good if you got past the psychological barriers. “Yes, thank you.”

A few moments later, tea and firbolg joined him. Caduceus settled into the rocking chair, gently rocking back and forth with his tail swishing about idly. He held his mug close to his chest as he stared out over The Grove.

“Hey, Caduceus?” Fjord asked.

“Yes, Mister Fjord?”

“Do you mind...You don’t have to answer, but I noticed you were outside by that large tree over there earlier. What were you doing?”

He glanced at the tree when Fjord pointed, then turned back to him. “I was talking to the Wildmother.”

“The Wildmother?”

He nodded dreamily. “The Wildmother is my family’s patron goddess. We have, for many generations, cared for this land in Her honor.”

“What is she a goddess of?” Fjord asked, looking at the gravestones.

“Nature, in all its forms,” he answered simply.

“Oh. That...makes sense,” he said. “I didn’t know you were religious.”

He smiled lazily at Fjord. “She’s always been a part of my life, another family member of sorts. I’ve devoted my life to Her. All of the Clays have, in their own ways. But I chose to stay here and honor Her this way.”

Fjord stared at him for a moment, then, almost laughing, said, “You speak so calmly of her. I’ve never heard people talk about a god like that. Usually it’s more reverent. Or fearful. Or...Jester.”

He chuckled. “The Wildmother is not about big ceremonies and hefty offerings. It’s about honoring Her through nature. Caring for it, nurturing it. Civilization and nature can coexist. As followers of the Wildmother, we work to remind the world of that.”

He gestured out towards the edge of the Grove, where one could just see the plethora of buildings and busy city that began the exact inch the Grove ended.

“She also watches over the seas,” Caduceus mused.

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

He nodded. They lingered in calm silence, Caduceus lost in Caduceus-esque thoughts, and Fjord wrestling with the confusing contradiction of a peaceful deity.

“Does she… All she asks you to do is manage The Blooming Grove?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” he said. “She asks all of Her followers to respect and care for nature, for the wildest parts of the world. To resist and destroy that which is unnatural in the darkest sense. To defend the wilds from civilization. The Blooming Grove is a special place to Her. It is our sacred duty to protect it.”

“Which is why you have so many plants around.”

He nodded. “You understand.”

“I don’t think I do,” Fjord confessed with an awkward laugh. “She doesn’t seem like the gods I’ve heard of.”

“She is, and She isn’t, I suppose,” Caduceus agreed. “But She suits me.”

“What does she...do for you?” Fjord asked. “Is that wrong to ask?”

Caduceus considered it. “I can’t say to your second question. But for the first… She provides guidance, support. She offers protection where She can, and cares for the natural world. She doesn’t speak to me the way the Traveler speaks to Jester - She is more traditional in that sense, but isn’t that enough? It is for me.”

“No, of course. It’s certainly enough,” Fjord said respectfully, though Caduceus was clearly not offended. “She seems to be a compassionate deity.”

“She is.”

~~

The next afternoon, on a warm Friday, Fjord took a break from studying to do a little research.

Caduceus's words about the Wildmother had stuck to him. Rather than the sweat-inducing dreams of being swallowed by a snake god-thing, he dreamt of warmth and calm. Like what he felt when he hit that specific point in meditation. And when he woke up, he thought of the Wildmother.

There was a vast theology section in the campus’s main library. He remembered when Jester razed the place trying to prove the Traveler was real to them, to no avail.

Standing at the top of the stairs, staring down the "Theology" sign, he wondered if he had to look for "Wildmother" or "The Wildmother".

Which felt like a stupid question, but here he was.

He eventually found mentions of her by searching the library database, pulling the relevant dusty books from their home on the shelves. He could use the Internet, but he wasn't interested in running into conspiracy theories or discussions about which god was best. His attempts at understanding the other deities he'd encountered had ended thusly, and he wasn't taking that risk.

To no surprise, Caduceus was spot on. The Wildmother was a nature goddess, presiding over land and sea. She was separated from the mortal planes with the other gods way back then and blah blah, not what he was looking for.

He found stories of key followers, as well as her connections to other deities. Apparently she was a lesbian goddess, partnered with the goddess of civilization. An opposites attract situation, he imagined, except he remembered what Caduceus had said about them coexisting. What better way to show their followers that the two could live side-by-side in peace than for the deities to find peace as a couple. Goddesses that led by example, it seemed.

He read on, making notes in a notebook he hadn’t quite used up last semester. His focus had narrowed in on the subject, and he read and skimmed and wrote and wondered with the kind of intense concentration he knew best from his time on the sea.

The Wildmother, named Melora, seemed gentle, but not without her bite. Like nature, like forests and the sea and wildlife itself. He recognized her simple, swirl symbol from the shape of Caduceus’s wooden earring. Her more complex symbols, wreath of plants and flowers around a spiral-topped staff made of wood, was also familiar. Where had he seen this?

His phone range. The sudden noise broke him from his focus and sent a chill down his spine. Why had he left the call ringtone on?

He checked the phone, seeing an unfamiliar number. His stomach dropped. There were half a dozen missed texts based on the icon at the top of the screen, too. Who? Maybe a wrong number or a telemarketer, but then why did he have a backlog of texts?

He took a deep breath, trying to quickly mimic his attempts at meditation. Then he swiped the screen. “Hello?”

"Ah, good, it's you," said a familiar, drawling voice. All of the tension left Fjord as he released his held breath. The voice grew distant for a moment as he called out, "It's Fjord everyone."

"Caduceus? Of course it's me. This is my number."

Caduceus returned to the phone as chatter rose in the background. "We were just a bit worried, and Beau and Yasha lost their phones in a pond this morning, so they've been in rice all day. The others' phones were dead, and you weren't answering Jester’s calls or texts."

"I didn't hear her call."

A sudden gasp in the background and a panicked, "Oh! I changed all his contacts to a silent ringtone the other day."

"Why would you do that?" Beau exclaimed.

"It was just a prank!"

"That's a weird prank," Nott said.

"I’m stepping away," Caduceus announced. After a moment, in a quieter setting, he said, "Sorry about that. Bit distracting in there."

"Caduceus, I don't mean to complain, but why did you call me? Is something wrong?"

"Well, you see, it got to dinner time and no one had seen you since meditation. And then the phone issues, and we were all fairly worried something had happened."

"What time--" Fjord pulled his phone from his face just long enough to glimpse the screen. "Oh shit! I'm sorry Caduceus. I'm getting my things and running right home. I just got caught up studying."

"Must be an interesting subject," Caduceus laughed. "Care to tell me about it on the way back?"

Caduceus seemed like the type of friend to have you text them when you got home, or who made sure you made it inside when he dropped you off before driving away. Fjord held his phone between his ear and shoulder so he was free to quickly pile up the books and leave them on the nearest return cart.

"I was actually reading about the Wildmother," he said, a little anxious even if it didn’t reach his voice. If he hadn't known Caduceus was alone, he probably wouldn't have had the courage to be honest. While he had learned Caduceus pulled no punches when he disapproved of something, he was also somehow one of the more accepting people he'd met. And everyone else liked to tease.

"Certainly an interesting subject, I’d say,” he said with a little laugh. “Learn anything noteworthy?”

“Just more of what you already shared, but it was interesting. There were some legends and histories of her followers. Big heroes, and such.”

He hummed on the other end. “We heard a few of those growing up, now and then. Not sure if they’re the same, or just old stories passed down in the family. My sister always liked the heroic ones. Haven’t talked to her lately. I should give her a call.”

“Is this the one running the outdoor gym, or the one studying Entomology in another city?”

“The one running the gym.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to hear from you, either sister, really.”

“Well, I chat with Clarabelle nearly every day. She’s the one studying Entomology. She sends me pictures of bugs, and I send her pictures of my plants and recipes.”

Fjord made it outside the library and into the lit streets. He kept an eye out, paranoia peeking through. As he walked further from the center of campus and people grew fewer and far between, he was glad to have Caduceus on the phone.

“I would never have guessed she was your sister.”

A pause, then Caduceus’s throaty laugh. “Clarabelle and I are probably the most alike of us kids. My other siblings took more after my mother, I think.”

Fjord asked more about Caduceus’s eccentric family, drawn into the warm, fond tones of Caduceus’s voice. At moments, he could just pick out a vein of sadness, or perhaps loneliness, but that was always quickly smoothed over with a cheery comment.

And then, in what seemed to be an instant, he was on the dirt path to the Xhorhaus.

“Ah, there you are,” Caduceus said with a little wave. Fjord smiled and waved back instinctively.

“I’ll, uh, hang up now.”

When he walked up the porch steps, Caduceus greeted him with a warm, relieved smile and a simple, “Hello. Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Let’s get you inside.”

The Nein cheered at his entrance, lingering at the dining table around empty takeout containers.

“Yours is in the kitchen - just gotta heat it a bit,” Beau said. “We got you that thing you like.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll pay you back.”

She flapped a hand dismissively, and he stepped back into the kitchen with Caduceus to reheat their meals.

“You didn’t have to wait, Caduceus,” Fjord said.

“I didn’t really plan it. I just got distracted enjoying our conversation,” he confessed.

Fjord didn’t reply, mind trying to scramble up an appropriate response until it was too late to say anything. They took their food back to the table, sitting in the same spots opposite each other. They ate while the rest of the group continued chatting, until they, too, had finished, and everyone began to disperse.

He was starting to get the hang of the house. A few questions texted to Beau and observation taught him the basics. It seemed Caduceus cooked dinner most nights, with everyone else taking turns cleaning up, but never on Fridays. Fridays were takeout days, when the rest of the group split the cost of Caduceus’s meal as thanks for cooking throughout the week. Caduceus did his shopping each week in bulk, getting most of his ingredients from a local farmer’s market and his own plants. Receipts for what he purchased, sometimes just scraps of notes from less formal sellers, were left in a little hanging basket in the kitchen. Every month, Caleb sat down and divided up the total cost between everyone, which was paid out in the same timeframe as rent and utilities.

It was a simple system, one with a clear paper trail if anyone had questions. While it may not have worked with less bonded tenants, it worked smoothly for the Nein.

That night, Fjord tried to find some rest in sleep. After waking from a third nightmare, his racing mind wondered how much it might really cost to live here. He’d heard everyone talk about their costs before, and he’d seen Caleb working on the receipts over the week. With rent, and a rough idea of utilities and the house meals, well. It really wasn’t bad at all for a place so close to campus, with his own space that was clean and functioning. In fact, it was a great deal. Why hadn’t he taken it back when Beau and Jester did?

Ah, that’s right. Avantika had told him to move into The Champion house. Which cost more in base rent than his estimate of rent, utilities, and house meals at the Xhorhaus. And he had to share a room. And the house was shitty. If he could work part-time at minimum wage and manage to barely scrape by there, surely he could manage --

What was he thinking, wondering about living here? He had, what, one weekend left before he was supposed to go back. To make his final commitment, to beg for his job back, to be reunited permanently with The Champions. Two days before he had to say goodbye. Goodbye to a quiet, clean room. Goodbye to a short walk from campus. Goodbye to a beautiful, if a little eerie, alcove of nature around him, goodbye to that gorgeous tree, goodbye to morning meditation, goodbye to home-cooked meals that were actually good for him, goodbye to…

Nott wouldn’t snip at him for taking up the bathroom. Jester wouldn’t mess with his things. Frumpkin wouldn’t nap at his side while he studied. Beau and Yasha and Caleb would all be so far away again. And Caduceus…

Fjord had only known him a few days, but it felt much longer. The quiet firbolg had nurtured a deep respect and admiration in Fjord, seemingly without trying or noticing. Not much older than Fjord, Caduceus still seemed wise beyond his years. For the first time since Vandren, Fjord felt like he had someone to look to for guidance in a way his friends - well-meaning as they were - couldn’t really provide. Except Caduceus seemed more personally invested in Fjord’s well-being after five days than Vandren had after years.

He didn’t want to think about it. That was the point of The Champions. Not having to think. Fjord turned over and tried to somehow cram himself further into bed, as though that might force him to sleep.

He shouldn’t have let Beau drag him away.