#this is the longest I've written so far

[skellagirl]

Hello everyone from the Potion Permit twitter!!!! Here's some more silly doodles of my beloved pathetic loser man 🥰

Also read my super self-indulgent Matheo/Chemist enemies-to-lovers fic??? 🥺

(descriptions in alt text)

[ravendruid]

Be In My Eyes - Chapter 27

You can read the previous chapters here or on AO3. Trigger Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of abusive relationships, domestic violence toward children, theft, and murder. Rating change: This fanfic will be rated Mature from this point forward. Summary: After Keyleth is taken by Kashaw, Vax starts spiraling. He gets into action to protect Keyleth, and later they exchange heartbreaking stories.

Keyleth was gone. She ran away. Vax had been so sure it would work after she practically poured her heart out with her song. Maybe answering her call had been a mistake. Maybe he had misinterpreted it? No. It couldn’t be. Keyleth had smiled at him when he sang those damn words to her. He saw the fire and wanting in her eyes. Vax couldn’t have been wrong. Keyleth wouldn’t have sung that song if she wasn’t testing him or setting a bait for him to answer, and like a damn sailor lost at sea, Vax had followed her voice and gave himself to her (and in front of everyone, too). And she ran away. Why?

Someone stepped in front of Vax, but his blurred vision did not allow him to see more than yellow, gray and dark colors. “Vax, are you okay?” One of the figures said. Vax recognized that voice. “Vax?” A different voice called him. They were both females, soft, concerned voices, but neither was the voice Vax needed to hear the most at that moment. “Come on,” The first voice said, and Vax felt someone pull him. He didn’t see where they were taking him because his eyes were still glazed with fear that he had done something wrong (again), that he had ruined everything (again), that he had pushed away the person he loved the most (again, again, again). 

You’re useless. You’ll never amount to anything. Who would want the son of a seamstress who allowed herself to get knocked up? Stupid. You are stupid and useless, like your mother was, Vax’ildan.

“No,” Vax’s voice was hoarse. 

“What?” Vex’ahlia. That’s who it was, the first female voice, the blur of yellow and gray. “Vax, what happened?” Her hands were on his cheeks, warm and calloused from years of labor and archery. His sister. Vax had failed her, too. He had failed her like he failed their mother. He had ruined everything for her, too. “For fucks sake, Vax’ildan,” She was angry at him, as she should be. Did Vex’ahlia know what he had done for her? Did Vex know about the blood that soaked his hands? She couldn’t know. She would never know what Vax had done to save her from that monster. 

Vex’ahlia let go of her brother’s face. The warmth of her touch evaporated like a droplet of water falling on hot coals, and then came the sting and a different kind of heat. “What the fuck,” Vax heard someone say behind them. Another hit, another sting. “Vex!” Another voice.

“Snap out of it, brother,” Vex’ahlia yelled above the music. Vax tried to follow the sound of her voice. The sting was vanishing as fast as her warmth had, pulling him with it. They had gone through the motions of this ritual too many times in their lives to count. Day after day, night after night, when Vax’s demons flared and took over his soul. He hated them. He hated their strong grip, dripping black ichor over his heart, coating it with pain and darkness and death. So much death. 

Vax’ildan saw his sister’s face when he closed his eyes, then his mother, Elaina, the baby he left behind in the hands of that monster, and lastly Keyleth with a blinding halo of radiant light around her. She had run away. He had come for her, and she had run. Why? He demanded to know. As if the gods had heard him, his sisters’ faces in the darkness vanished, and then his mother, leaving only Keyleth’s visage. Vax reached forward, trying to hold on to her, but she ran away—even in his mind, she ran away—leaving only that blinding light that twisted and turned until it became a golden thread that wrapped around his wrist. Vax raised his hand to examine it and pulled at the string that floated in the ether. It didn’t budge. It was tied around his skin, even though there were no knots. Vax felt another tug—not his—and when he turned his face in its direction, he recognized the woman with long dark hair and a face as pale as the moon that held the other end of the golden thread. She beckoned him silently, crooking a finger, tugging on that golden thread that floated from his wrist. Vax’ildan followed. 

“She’s in danger,” A pure crystalline voice said, coming from both the woman and the darkness surrounding them. 

“I can’t save her. I couldn’t save them, and I can’t save her.”

A cold hand caressed Vax’s face, “You did your best. You saved them as best as you could, and you will save her.” 

“I can’t. Please, you have to understand. I can’t save her.” Vax begged. He would have gotten on his knees if he could.

“Vax’ildan,” The woman’s eyes burned with a raging fire. A slap, a new sting. “Go, now!” She tugged on the string again and Vax felt himself fall, and fall, and fall, and just when he thought he would be falling forever, a fourth slap hit him with the strength of a mighty giant.

Vax opened his eyes. He felt a warm liquid in his mouth that tasted like copper. Grog stared at him worried, hand lifted for another slap if needed. On his left, Vex’ahlia sighed and Vax let his eyes follow as she allowed herself to fall into a seating position on the table. On Grog’s right, Pike groaned in relief. Other faces were surrounding them, all concerned, but no one spoke until a white-haired man stood by Vax’s sister, squeezing her shoulder in reassurance, and said, “I don’t know what the fuck that was or what happened, but Keyleth is gone and we can’t find her, so get your shit together, Vax’ildan.”

“What do you mean?” Vax asked hoarsely. His hands came up to rub at his sore cheeks—the last slap was still stinging—as he looked from face to face. All his friends were wearing their coats, gloves and scarves.

“We looked everywhere,” Scanlan said, next to Pike. “Keyleth is not in the bar anymore, not even in the bathroom.”

Vax’s heart skipped a beat. What had happened to make her run away? What happened after? The same dread from earlier wrapped around his chest, tightening with each second, each word his friends spoke. When Vax thought it couldn’t get worse, Vex’ahlia raised her head from her hands with a panic in her eyes that Vax hadn’t seen since Saundor. “Kash is—” Vax didn’t let his sister finish the sentence before he was on his feet with his leather jacket in his hands.

Vax flew out of the alcove. He ran down the stairs as fast as his legs allowed him, jumping steps and pushing people aside. The jacket was on before he reached the landing, Keyleth’s scent still lingering on the interior of the fake leather jacket. Vax whipped his head to the counter, where he saw Gilmore surrounded by patrons—alone. He didn’t wait for his friends to follow. He didn’t care if they did or not. The woman’s warning rang in his ears, and the image of his knife where he left it on his nightstand flashed in his mind. He was an idiot to have left it behind. The only time he did…he was useless and powerless, just like all those years ago, just like that night. 

—

It was raining again. It was the third night in a row that Vax’ildan, Vex’ahlia and their puppy, Trinket, had to sleep huddled together behind a trash can. Vax had made sure to open and adjust the lid to provide them with some shelter from the rain, but even that wasn’t enough to stop them from getting drenched and cold. Vex’ahlia was sound asleep by Vax’s side, holding the puppy to her chest inside her damp shirt in a lousy attempt to keep them both warm. Her breathing was shallow enough that Vax knew she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. At least one of them was getting some rest.

The pattering of the rain on the alleyway was so loud and annoying, and even though Vax had barely drunk any water that day, it still made him feel like he had to pee every hour. He had been holding for a while, but a burst of pain shot through his bladder, forcing Vax to go relieve himself, so he stepped away from Vex, carefully so he wouldn’t wake her up, and crossed to the walled end of the alley. He was even more drenched by the time he zipped up and buckled his belt, the only thing keeping his loose pants from falling to his ankles. 

“One more step and she dies.”

Vax stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t heard them because of the loud rain. He hadn’t felt them lurking in the shadows, watching him and his twin, and now a hooded figure held his sister to his chest with a sharp knife against her neck.

“You don’t want to do that,” Vax threatened. He canvassed his surroundings from the corner of his eyes. Another figure stood at the open end of the alleyway holding a knife. He could probably defeat two of them with his bare hands if it wasn’t for the fact that a dark liquid started dripping on Vex’s neck. Shit.

“Oh yeah? And what are you going to do?” The male voice asked. 

Nothing. Vax couldn’t do a single thing to stop them. He had nothing but his hands and he wouldn’t risk fighting hand-to-hand with his sister’s life in danger. So Vax did the only thing he could do. He lifted his hands so the assailants knew he was submitting and took a tentative step back.

“That’s what I thought. Where’s your money?”

“We don’t have any money,” Vax tried to lie. They didn’t buy it. More blood started dripping down Vex’s neck, mixing with the dampness on her shirt. The man asked again, threatening to slit her neck. “That bag over there,” Vax pointed with his chin to his backpack where he had left it by the trash can. 

The second figure ran to it and opened it. They turned it upside down, sprawling all Vax’s clothes and belongings on the dirty, muddy ground, until a satchel fell, the clink of coins muffled by the rain, just like the two assailants’ steps had been. They grabbed it and moved back, just as silent as they had been. 

“You’re in our city, so if you want to sleep on our streets, you have to pay up. Consider this a warning,” The first figure threatened, releasing Vex’ahlia with a shove that made her fall face-first on the floor. Trinket ran to her and licked her face, barking at the man who was stalking back, still facing them, the bloody knife dripping on the ground as he went. They were gone in the blink of an eye, just as quietly as they had appeared.

—

It didn't take Vax two steps out the door for him to realize that he had no idea which direction Keyleth could have gone—which direction Kashaw took her. Vax would never forgive himself if something happened to Keyleth, and he would surely not let Kash live to see another day if he touched a hair on Keyleth’s head. Vax looked to both sides of the empty, snow-blanketed road and held his breath trying to listen for any signs of life nearby. The only sound he heard was the creak of the door opening behind him and rushed steps coming out.

“Vax?” It was Percy, bundled in a thick jacket and scarf. It was so cold and Keyleth was only wearing his t-shirt. She had to be freezing. 

“Percy, I—”

“It’s okay. Go left, I’ll go right. Call me if you find her. The others are staying at the bar in case she returns.”

Vax nodded and they each took a side. For a large city, and for being located so close to the university, the neighborhood was quiet and peaceful. Vax passed by several closed stores—from bookstores to boutiques, and even a butcher—and a handful of dimly-lit windows on the residential buildings above. There were no alleyways between the buildings, at least not until Vax reached the end of the block. He stopped, walking quietly, trying to listen as he approached the dark alley—and good thing he did.

A hushed male voice that Vax’ildan knew belonged to Kashaw was speaking incoherently. Vax couldn’t decipher what he was saying, but he heard sniffles and Keyleth’s shaky voice saying something incomprehensible. Vax ran, his blood boiling with rage. Please don’t let her be hurt. Please, Gods. Please don’t let him hurt her.

Vax’s heart stopped when he turned a corner. Kashaw braced himself with one hand on the brick wall behind Keyleth and the other hand was gripping her jaw on her neck as he kissed her. Kash was kissing Keyleth. 

“Get the fuck away from her,” Vax growled. He grasped the neckline of Kash’s ridiculous gladiator outfit, pulled him away from Keyleth, and threw him against the wall on the opposite side of the alley. Vax was on him in a heartbeat, his closed fist meeting Kashaw’s jaw. The man was so stunned that Vax was able to land two punches before Kash pushed Vax away and tried to kick him, but unlucky for him, Vax was too fast and evaded him.

“You get the fuck away, I saw her first,” Kash spit blood on the ground between them. He lunged at Vax, managing to land a punch on his stomach, making him double over in pain and spit on the ground.

“Vax, no!” Keyleth cried. Vax couldn’t afford to look back at her. Any distraction could be his end. He lunged back at Kash, kicking him against the wall. The man’s head hit the brick with a crack and Kash cursed between his teeth. Vax took his rival’s moment of distraction to pin his wrists above his head and leaned in until their breaths mixed. Kash reeked of alcohol.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with you,” Vax spat. 

“Then why did she go out with me? Do you really think she would ever love a guy like you? Do you think anyone would?”

Kas was torturing him. He knew Vax had feelings for Keyleth, and he was torturing him since he couldn’t land a physical blow. You’re better than this, Vax told himself, trying to douse the flame of rage. 

Who would want the son of a seamstress? You are stupid and useless like your mother was.

Kashaw was right. Vax’s father was right. Vax was no one. He was nothing but vermin. No one could ever love him. He had been delusional if he thought someone like Keyleth would ever look at him. But Kashaw wasn’t much better than him, not after what he did to Keyleth.

“Let him go, Vax,” Keyleth asked. Vax still couldn’t turn his head. He couldn’t bear to look at Keyleth and see whatever damage Kash had done to her. “Please.”

Vax released his grip on Kashaw, but his face was still hovering above the other man’s as he spoke with a deadly voice, “I’m only letting you go because she asked me, but if you so much as look at her again, I will kill you.” Vax took two steps back. Kash must have seen the severity in Vax’s eyes, for his mismatched eyes were filled with fear. He nodded and left, not bothering to glance back at Keyleth.

Only when the sounds of Kash’s steps had subsided did Vax turn around. Keyleth was sitting on the ground, hyperventilating with her knees pulled to her chest. Vax ran and squatted in front of her, but before he could open his mouth, Keyleth looked up at him with tears in her eyes. She had dark streaks from the eyeliner running down her cheeks, and her lip was swollen and bleeding slightly from a small cut, but other than that, she looked untouched. Keyleth grasped Vax by the lapel of his jacket and pulled him. His knees rang with pain as they hit the hard ground on each side of Keyleth’s legs, but then his nose filled with the scent of her shampoo when she crossed her arms around his torso and cried on his chest. 

“Okay?” Vax asked, kissing the top of her head and rubbing the hair on her back. Keyleth nodded. She forced her breaths to follow Vax’s heartbeat—Vax almost stopped breathing when he realized Keyleth was doing that—and eventually, Keyleth calmed down, although she was still shaking. 

“Here,” Vax took off the jacket. Keyleth broke away just long enough for him to help her put it on and hugged him again. “Everyone’s worried sick about you, Kiki.”

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, love.”

Keyleth nuzzled further into his chest and released a wet chuckle. Things had been different for a while with Keyleth, but his father and Kashaw were still right. No one would ever love someone like Vax. Whatever was going on between him and Keyleth, it was bound to end, but Vax still tried to enjoy every moment he had until Keyleth saw the truth about him and left like everyone else did. 

“I want to go home,” Keyleth asked after a while. Vax nodded. He helped her up, fixed her hair by tucking a few evading strands behind her ear, and held out his hand in invitation. Keyleth took it without a second thought, and they left the alleyway.

“Shit, I should call Percy,” Vax let go of Keyleth’s hand just long enough to dial his roommate’s number and then immediately grabbed it again. He saw the slight curl of her lips as he laced his fingers with hers, ignoring the pain shooting from his split knuckles. Keyleth’s hand was still cold. In fact, she looked like she was still freezing without a scarf and gloves, so Vax slid both their hands inside the pocket of his jacket and nodded at her to do the same with the other hand. It was a bit awkward, but it worked.

“Did you find her?” Percy asked as a way of greeting when he answered the call.

“Yeah, I got her.”

“Is she alright? Please tell me that fucker didn’t hurt her.”

“She’s okay, a bit shaken up. We’re on our way back.”

“I’m outside. I’ll wait.” Percy said. 

Vax looked ahead, and just as he had mentioned, Percy was outside the bar, one hand deep inside his jacket and the other holding his phone. He hung up as soon as he saw them and ran towards Keyleth, grabbing her by the shoulders. Percy winced at the sight of her split lip and pulled Keyleth into a hug. Vax stood back to watch, having let go of Keyleth’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Percy asked her.

“Yeah.”

“That fucker. I’m going to kill him.”

“Men,” Keyleth shook her head disapprovingly. “Vax already took care of that.”

Percy looked over to Vax, who shrugged and replied, “I’m pretty sure I broke his nose. Let’s just say he’ll be running with his tail between his legs next time he sees Keyleth.”

Percy nodded, “Thanks.”

“You two are insufferable,” Keyleth complained, rolling her eyes, but Vax still saw the smile. 

“What did he do to you?” Percy asked, carefully moving her jaw so he could see her lip better in the light.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Percy. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Now I just want to go home and get warm.”

“Alright, tomorrow then. Do you want me to walk you home?”

“I got it,” Vax approached, placing a hand between Keyleth’s shoulder blades.

“A word in private, please?” Percy asked his roommate. Vax nodded and they stepped away enough for Keyleth to still be in sight but not be able to hear them.

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you two, but I’m trusting you with her life. Make sure she gets home safe, or you’ll be the one with a broken nose, got it?” 

For the first time since they met, Percy gave Vax a look that made him want to run for the hills, screaming like a little girl. With a name like his, Vax knew his roommate had to have money and status, which meant he could also probably find someone to kill him if he stepped out of line. However, Vax couldn’t afford to let his friend know he had gotten to him, so he schooled his expression into a bored look and replied, “I would let myself get killed before anyone laid a finger on her.” 

Percy’s eyes softened, seemingly happy with Vax’s answer. He moved to turn back to Keyleth, but Vax grabbed his arm. “Oh, and Freddie, I’m trusting you with my sister’s life. You better bring her home in one piece otherwise you’ll get a fate much worse than Kashaw’s. You know what I keep under my pillow, right?”

“Yeah, I know. She’s safe with me.”

“Good. I’d hate to get a new roommate in the middle of the school year.”

“Are you boys done with your pissing contest?” Keyleth asked when they returned. 

“You’ve been spending too much time with my sister, Kiki.” Vax teased, grabbing Keyleth’s hand. He wasn’t sure if Percy had seen the gesture because the man was already pulling Keyleth into a hug and kissing her forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Go take care of that and get some sleep.” Keyleth nodded in response and started leaving, dragging Vax behind. 

“Make sure you let everyone know Keyleth is safe,” Vax said above his shoulder. “And tell Shaun I’ll call him tomorrow to let him know what happened.”

—

Vax didn’t let go of Keyleth’s hand for a second. They walked in silence for the most part, only stopping to comment on the few decorations that were starting to pop up on storefronts. Keyleth had noticed the redness from the cuts on Vax’s knuckles from punching Kashaw so hard. She had never been more scared—not for her, but for Vax. Kashaw was drunk and he looked violent enough to hurt Vax really bad. She knew Vax had some knowledge of fighting, but seeing him in action… Vax had been so fast she hadn’t even been able to keep up with his movements and so strong that Keyleth had no doubt Kash would be bleeding from hitting his head on the wall, but, at the same time, it looked like Vax had been pulling back punches, like he could do more—worse. 

“Thank you for tonight,” Keyleth said when the first lights of campus appeared around a corner. It was becoming a habit to have Vax come to rescue her. Maybe he was indeed her knight. 

“As if…” Vax shrugged dismissively. Keyleth looked at him. “Did you really think I was going to let anything bad happen to you?” Keyleth smiled and bumped against him, chuckling. 

Keyleth and Vax were greeted with a wave of warmth once they opened the apartment door, and then a woof and a warm, wet nose poked their hands. 

“Hey buddy,” Vax greeted the dog. “I see they finally turned on the heat.”

“It was about time,” Keyleth groaned, taking off Vax’s jacket and hanging it by the door. They removed their shoes and ignored the messy bundle of blankets on the couch. What Vex didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and Trinket was usually pretty good about obeying the no-couch rules. One time wasn’t all the time.

“I’m going to change into something more comfortable. I’ll give you your shirt back after washing it, I promise.”

“You can keep it,” Vax said. He was still untying his boots by the door, so he didn’t see the shock on Keyleth’s face.

“It’s your favorite,” She argued. Vax shrugged. “No. I’m not taking it, Vax. I’ll give it back after I wash it.”

“Fine,” He said, shrugging again. “I’m going to change and grab the first aid kit. I’ll meet you in your room to take care of that lip.”

“I’m fi—” Keyleth was about to say, but one look at Vax and she backed away (not scared—never scared of him—but with respect). “Fine, but you have to let me take care of your hand,” She challenged him back.

Vax looked down at his fist and shrugged. “As long as you let me take care of you, I’ll let you take care of me, Kiki,” he said, stopping to kiss Keyleth’s cheek as he walked towards his bedroom. 

Keyleth had just finished putting on a t-shirt when Vax knocked on the door. Now that the maintenance had finally turned on the heat, and with Keyleth’s comforter and fuzzy blanket, she didn’t need to bring out her warmest pajama sets. Although she loved them, Keyleth hated sleeping in lots of clothes because sometimes they made her feel trapped and wake up with shortness of breath. 

“That looks cute,” Vax smiled at the embroidered rainbow across her chest. Keyleth blushed. “Do you embroider all your clothes?”

“Not all. Most of them. All my clothes are hand-me-downs or thrifted, and I like to alter them to give them more… personality, I guess,” Keyleth explained. They sat on her bed and Vax immediately got to work on bringing out the supplies and cleaning her lip. The swelling had gone down and the cut was barely noticeable, but she still allowed him to take care of it, if anything, to help him feel better. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Vax asked, dabbing her lip with cotton. Keyleth winced at the sting and Vax blew at it with a soft, “sorry.”

“He didn’t do anything… you know…” Vax paused to look at her. “I promise I would have told you.” He nodded and went back to his work. Keyleth waited until he was done to say, “I bumped against him at the bottom of the stairs. He said something about wanting to talk and brought me outside. I was so disoriented I couldn’t answer.”

Vax got up to wash his hands and throw away the used supplies. Keyleth waited until he returned and started cleaning up his knuckles. “I started panicking because none of you knew where I had gone. He was so drunk I don’t think he realized I wasn’t okay. Or maybe he thought I was drunk, too. But he brought me to that alley because he wanted somewhere quiet.”

Vax instinctively closed his hand in a fist. Keyleth saw anger burning in his eyes and slapped his wrist to help him focus. “Sorry,” Vax said, opening his hand. He let it rest on her lap while Keyleth grabbed more supplies.

“He asked why I hadn’t called him to go out again and if it was true that I was on a date tonight, but he didn’t let me answer. Then he started saying I looked really hot and asked if I wanted to go to his place and shit like that, and when I said no, he said fine. I thought he was going to leave, but then he leaned in and kissed me. Next thing I know, he bit my lip when you pulled him off of me,” Keyleth gave Vax a shy smile.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. It’s no big deal. It was just a kiss,”

“It wasn’t just a kiss, Kiki. He shouldn’t have taken it without your permission.” Vax’s other hand came up to cradle her face. Keyleth leaned into his warm touch. He was always so gentle with her.

“How’s your stomach?” Keyleth asked. Vax let go of her face to poke at where a bruise was already probably forming and shrugged. 

“I’ll be fine in a few days. What are you looking for?”

“Bandaids.”

“We don’t have any. Grog used them all the last time he tried to cook. He cut himself five times until Pike took the knife away from him.”

Keyleth snorted and got up. “I think I still have some, but they have flowers,” She said, opening her closet. She dug out a box of bandaids from inside a travel bag and showed it to Vax.

“I don’t need them. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Is it because of the flowers?” Keyleth asked, pouting as she returned the box inside the bag and back into the closet.

“Of course not. You know I’d wear them even if they were shock pink or bright yellow with polka-dots.”

“Fine,” Keyleth stopped in front of Vax. She grabbed his hand, taking one last look. She had done everything she knew. It looked much better than before—at least it wasn’t bleeding anymore. Satisfied with her work, Keyleth cleaned up the trash and headed to the bathroom to wash her hands. She didn’t flinch at seeing Vax leaning against the door jam, his head cocked as he examined her.

“Can I brush your hair? It’s a mess,” Vax asked. It had been a while since someone offered to brush her wild hair, especially when it looked like she had fallen through a bramble of bushes.

“Sure,” Keyleth handed Vax the hairbrush. He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him. It was the same way Kash had grabbed her earlier, but it felt so different with Vax. His hands were more calloused, but it was such a softer and more gentle touch. Keyleth would let him guide her wherever he wanted, which, at the moment, wasn’t far. Vax sat on her bed and patted the blanket in front of him. He carefully removed the elastic that still tied part of Keyleth’s hair and expertly started parting her hair in sections.

“Can I ask you something?” Vax asked, brushing the ends of Keyleth’s hair.

“Anything, Vax.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I was wondering…” He hesitated. Keyleth looked above her shoulder, but he turned her head forward with a tut. “I was wondering if you could tell me about your family.”

Oh. That was a sore subject, not just for Keyleth, but also for Vax from what she gathered. “You’ve met my dad. He raised me by himself. He’s a great dad.”

Vax paused his brushing, “How old were you when—”

“I was five,” Keyleth replied before he could finish. More than anticipated the question, Keyleth had a feeling that was the real reason why Vax asked about her family. “My mom went on a business trip and didn’t come back. Boating accident. Her body was never found.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Vax leaned forward and rested his head on Keyleth’s shoulder. 

“It’s okay. I mean… it’s not… but you know what I mean, right?” She looked back at him. The look of understanding they exchanged was worth more than words. “I have a grandma on my mother’s side. She taught me how to embroider and crochet. She’s really nice. I’m sure she would love you. I know she would put so much food on your plate,” Keyleth giggled so violently that Vax had to pause the brushing again. 

“I’d love to meet her. And your dad. I mean actually meet him.”

“You’re welcome in Zephrah anytime,” Keyleth offered. Vax nodded, but then he realized she couldn’t see him and replied, “I’d love to, but I don’t think I can afford it.”

Keyleth felt bad for him. She knew the twins were in a strict financial situation, although she didn’t know how bad it was. Vax often refused to go out with the group, not just because he didn’t like bars but also because most of the time, the twins couldn’t afford to pay for both to drink, so Vax stayed home to let his sister have fun. Keyleth also noticed the exchanged glances between the siblings whenever the group planned to go out for lunches or dinners, how their contribution to the communal food and household goods seemed to grow smaller and smaller every week (not that anyone had ever called them out on that). Keyleth had even heard the twins fight about something Vex’ahlia had bought out of their budget, and from what she gathered from the conversation, Vax was very adamant his sister returned it to the store, but she refused. 

“Maybe one day?” Keyleth extended the offer. She wanted to tell him she would buy all the plane tickets he needed, but she knew her friend was too proud to accept.

“Maybe,” Vax replied, but she knew he had no hope.

Keyleth’s mind returned to the look of understanding they had shared moments before. The words he had spoken to her months ago when he found her curled over herself against the kitchen counters. She had opened up to him and told him about her mother, and while he didn’t owe her anything, Keyleth couldn’t stop herself from asking, “How old were you?”

Vax knew what she meant because the hairbrush stopped again, and he took a long breath. Keyleth waited patiently, looking at the massive, shaggy dog curled on her roommate’s bed—Vex’ahlia, who also had lost a mother. 

When Vax spoke, there was no ounce of anger or frustration for being asked such a personal question. If anything, Keyleth heard some relief that they were finally brushing up on the subject, as if he had been waiting to share that piece of himself with her. “We were ten.”

“And your dad?”

Vax chuckled, “Long story. He’s an asshole and we’re as good as dead to him, as he is to us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I can tell you about it one day,” Vax finally set Keyleth’s hair brush aside and started braiding her hair.

“I don’t have anywhere to go tonight.” Keyleth tensed and waited. Vax finished the braid, tied it with the elastic, and dropped it over her shoulder.

“I’ll tell you if you make us some tea while I grab cookies.”

“Deal,” Keyleth replied, looking over her shoulder. Vax looked exhausted. She almost faltered for a moment, but then he raised and headed towards the door, and Keyleth decided to follow him.

Keyleth loved the quietness of the house where the only sounds were the boiling water in the kettle and Vax plating homemade cookies for them. They moved around each other in the kitchen so effortlessly that one would think they were a pair of professional dancers who could lead each other with their eyes closed in perfect synchrony. Trinket raised his head and sniffed the air when they returned to the bedroom with hot mugs of tea and a plateful of cookies, but Keyleth tutted at him, reminding the dog that he was not allowed sweets. She took the side of the bed closest to the wall and held the blanket open for Vax to join her, which he did without hesitation.

“Trinket, come,” Keyleth patted the blanket at the end of her bed. The dog looked up at the pair sitting with their backs against the headboard under the blankets and leaped from his bed to Keyleth’s. He spun three times and curled up at their feet with a sigh. “What a rough life you live,” Keyleth joked. With a plate of assorted homemade cookies on her lap—from where Vax bashfully grabbed a chocolate chip cookie—a steaming mug of honey lavender tea warming her hands, and Vax’s warmth pressed against her side under her blankets, it was the perfect cozy mood for long, deep talks. 

“This feels nice,” Vax said, using his half-bitten cookie to point at the string lights around the top of the walls. That had been Keyleth’s doing.

“It’s cozy.”

Vax finished his cookie and looked at the plate on Keyleth’s lap, “I have to warn you, it’s not a pretty story, and you might change your mind about me towards the end.”

“I doubt it,” Keyleth slapped Vax’s hand as he went for a butter cookie. Instead, she handed him a coconut one. “But go on, tell me your deepest and darkest secrets, Vax’ildan,” She half-joked, looking at him. 

“You asked,” Vax shrugged. He bit into the cookie and hummed. Keyleth nodded as if to say, see? “It all started when my mom was 18. She lived in a small town in the south called Byroden. My father was passing by on a business trip and stopped for the night, as travelers usually do. He and his buddies went out for a drink and my mother just happened to be the barmaid on service that night.”

“She was so young,” Keyleth interrupted. Vax nodded. 

“She had just graduated high school. She grew up poor, so college was not in the plans. My father took a liking to her, it seems. They spent the night together and he left the next morning without so much as a goodbye. My mom only knew his name because she had heard the other men say it. A few months later, she found out she was pregnant. She found my father’s contact to tell him, and the bastard had the audacity to say…” Vax paused. He chewed on his lip for a moment, then finally said with growing rage, “The asshole had the audacity to say he had serious doubts it was true, that my mom was trying to bait him for money, and if she did had gotten herself knocked up—his words exactly—how was she so sure it was his and not some random guy she fucked.”

Hearing that, Keyleth dropped her cookie in her tea. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah,” Vax shrugged. His head was bowed low, avoiding eye contact. “The bastard told me that himself.”

“What a fucking asshole,” Keyleth grumbled, fishing the soggy cookie from her tea with a spoon. “What a fucking, bastard, shit-eating asshole.”

Vax chuckled. “Oh, Kiki,” He shook his head. “Just hold on tightly to that rage. I haven’t gotten anywhere near the worst yet.”

“You don’t have to keep going,” Keyleth bumped Vax’s shoulder with hers. She had known Vax long enough to recognize the signs of withdrawal, and the last thing she wanted was to regress once they had become so comfortable and vulnerable with each other. Keyleth watched Vax silently set the empty plate and mugs on her nightstand. She didn’t balk when he arched an arm behind her shoulders, and Keyleth definitely did not stop Vax from pulling her so close that her legs were practically curled on his thigh. Keyleth counted their synchronous breaths, looking at Vax’s hand on his lap, fumbling with the tassels of her blanket. 

One. Vax twisted the green tassel between his index finger and thumb. Two. His hand stopped. Three. Vax turned his head to look at her in the eyes—the pain made Keyleth want to scream. Four. Vax’s arm moved to Keyleth’s lap, where she twisted and turned her hands on the tassels. Five. He grabbed hold of one of her hands and tugged it free. Six. Vax brought their joined hands to his lap and intertwined their fingers. Seven. Both their gazes were fixed on their hands, Vax’s thumb grazing softly against the palm of Keyleth’s hand. Eight. A pause. Nine. Vax opened his mouth.

Ten. “My mother died when we were ten and we were forced to live with him. We ran away when we were fifteen. He almost killed Vex’ahlia.” 

Vax was crying. His tears slid down his eyes and onto Keyleth’s cheek. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, barely breathed. 

“My mom got sick. The town doctor couldn’t do much, and we couldn’t afford to take her to a big city doctor or pay for treatment. She died within six months of finding out.” Keyleth’s face grew wetter the more Vax spoke about his mother. Vax’ildan paused to look at her, and his face contorted into more pain as he released her hand and cradled her cheek. “I’m sorry, Kiki. I can stop talking about it,” Vax apologized. Only then did Keyleth realize the wetness in her face was not just from Vax’s tears but her own as well.

“I’m okay,” She whispered, sniffling. Keyleth leaned into his touch. Vax was so warm and smelled like tea and cookies. “I’ll listen to as much as you want to share.”

A sigh and a kiss on the forehead had Keyleth melt further into Vax’s warmth. He continued sharing his story in a hushed voice as he leaned his brow against Keyleth.

“We were taken to Syngorn, to our father’s estate, by the authorities because my mom had no other family. Our grandparents had died and she had no siblings, so our father was all we had left, and he earned our full custody. We weren’t allowed to bring more than a backpack of clothes and a few belongings. We arrived in Syngorn the day after we buried our mother but my father refused to take us in. He denied knowing about our existence and informed the officer that he would only take us with a positive paternity test. For a week, Vex’ahlia and I were separated into two different foster families in the city until the results came and our father was forced to take us in. It was the first time Vex and I had been separated since we were born, and it was the hardest week of our lives until that time.

“It’s funny. I always laugh at people who tell me to go to hell because I’ve been there. My father made our lives a living hell. We found out that he was part of a big conservative family, rich as the eyes could see, and having children out of wedlock was highly frowned upon. His family refused to accept us. He refused to accept us. For the first few months, we didn’t see him. My sister and I were assigned a maid each to tend to our needs, and then we were forced to attend etiquette classes. The first time we saw our father since we moved in, he threatened to kick us out onto the street if we didn’t do what he told us. He forced us to attend those etiquette classes to make us more ‘civilized’,” Vax spat the word with disdain, “and we were forced to adopt Syngorn’s customs, including changing our accent and wearing Syngorn’s fashion.”

Vax took another pause. Keyleth gave his hand a quick squeeze in reassurance, just in case he thought she had fallen asleep. Her face was still scrunched against Vax’s shoulder, where a large wet stain formed from her tears. It took a moment for Keyleth’s brain to click with what Vax had said, but when she did, she raised her head, eyes glimmering with curiosity, and asked, “Wait. Did you have a different accent before?” Vax nodded. Keyleth’s face opened in a mischievous smile that was enough for Vax to anticipate what Keyleth was about to ask because he quickly stopped her from saying anything else. “No, I will not use it. I don’t even know if I remember it. It’s been so long, Kiki.”

“Oh. Well… You’re safe with me. I won’t think less of you for it. You know… in case you suddenly remember what it sounded like,” Keyleth batted her eyelashes at Vax in a lousy attempt to flirt with him.

Vax chuckled. The sound was enough to inflate Keyleth’s heart like a balloon. He wiped the tears from her face, then his, and then broke the hold he had on her. Keyleth watched him go into the bathroom and close the door. She blocked out all sounds that came next, brought her knees to her chest, and dropped her head on them, thinking. She had known the twins' story wouldn’t be pleasant. She had seen the few trinkets on Vax’s desk and the emptiness of their wardrobes, but had never considered that it would be this hard. Even though she lived most of her life without her mother, Keyleth still had her father’s love, her grandparents, her village. She hadn’t been alone, not like the twins had. And their father… How could someone be so hateful towards their children? They were so young, barely older than Keyleth when her mother died. They were suffering the loss of everything they knew and were forced to live with someone who not just plainly rejected them but who also did nothing to disguise their hatred for them. What a fucking asshole.

Keyleth was still deep into thought when Vax exited the bathroom. She only noticed him when he stopped by the foot of her bed to ruffle Trinket’s head, and then she followed him as he approached her bed and sat by her side again, where Vax bit his lower lip bashfully, avoiding eye contact with her. “Yes?” Keyleth asked. Vax hemmed and hawed, but finally, with his gaze still firmly set on her blanket, he asked, “Do you want to… can we–” He hesitated.

“You can ask me anything,” Keyleth said, laying a reassuring hand on his knee. Vax nodded and mustered the courage to look at her between his eyelids. His cheeks were flushed red, and his voice wavered as he asked, “Can we cuddle?” 

Oh. Keyleth smiled. Please, that’s all I want. “Sure,” She said. Vax scooted closer to the middle of the bed and opened his arms to let Keyleth in. She sat sideways on his lap, legs curled up, and Vax wrapped one arm around her back and brought the other between them, where he intertwined his fingers with Keyleth’s. She finally let her head rest on his shoulder, right on the stupid wet spot of her tears, and Vax lowered his head to hers. 

“Do you… do you want to hear the rest?” He asked.

“Of course, if you’re okay with sharing.” 

“It might make you hate me,” Vax tensed. Keyleth shook her head as much as she could without bothering Vax and replied, “I doubt it. Nothing would make me hate you, Vax.” Nothing would make me stop loving you, is what she didn’t say.

Vax squeezed her tighter, as if he was trying to hold on to that hope, and continued his story. “I tried, for a while, but nothing I did seemed to be good enough for my father, and then he married. She is a good woman, kind and caring. She was always good to me and my sister, always made sure we were well-fed and cleaned. She wasn’t a mother figure, though, but neither of us was interested in replacing our mom with someone else. After the marriage, my father became worse, even stricter in his rules and assessments of our behavior and learnings. I stopped trying, then. I realized that no matter how many hours I put into studying or how many diction classes I had, I would never be good enough for him because he didn’t expect me to ever reach his unrealistic standards.

“So I started skipping classes, and I refused to change my accent and wear the clothes he wanted me to wear. As a punishment, my father ordered all of our clothes to be burned, so Vex and I were forced to wear what he wanted. I was barely older than eleven the first time he hit me when I refused to use his posh accent at an important dinner with his snob friends. He dragged me by the collar of my shirt to his office in front of everyone and slapped me across the face. He threatened that if I didn’t right myself, he would kick me and my sister out.” Keyleth shuddered hearing how badly Vax’s father treated him. Vax only squeezed her tighter, more for her comfort than his, and he kept talking, “I started sneaking out of the house when I was twelve. If Vex knew, she never said anything… at least not at first. I started hanging out with some shitty people back then and did things I’m not proud of. Vex found out when I came home one night with a black eye from a brawl. She scolded me until my ears bled and made me promise her I wouldn’t return to that place. I kept my promise but I still sneaked out at night, and I never told Vex where I went, in case my father found out. We have a sister, you know?” Vax paused.

Keyleth looked up at him, warmth immediately rising to her cheeks from the proximity of their mouths. It would be so easy to kiss him, but that was not the right moment. “You do?”

“Her name is Velora. She was barely a year old when we left.” Vax’s expression was filled with sorrow and guilt. 

“Is that when…” Keyleth asked, remembering what Vax had said earlier, He almost killed Vex’ahlia. Vax nodded.

“It was one of the nights I sneaked out. He went looking for me, surely to punish me for whatever I did that day but found my room empty. He thought Vex knew where I was and was lying to cover my ass, so he–” Vax curled himself, burying his face in Keyleth’s neck. He was shaking so hard that Keyleth wrapped her arms around him and caressed his back affectionately.

“It’s okay. We can stop whenever you want.”

Keyleth’s shoulder became wet through her t-shirt. She kissed the top of Vax’s head with her eyes closed, taking in his scent and the warmth of his wet breath against her skin. She had never been a violent person, had never felt hatred, but at that moment, she knew she could kill the man for all he put his children through if she ever laid eyes on him. She allowed Vax to gather his thoughts, switching from rubbing his back to caressing his head, placing soft kisses to his crown and temple in between. 

The weight on Keyleth’s stomach lifted as Vax’s shakes subsided. He took two long breaths, and once he finally calmed enough, Vax uncoiled from her embrace, wiped his tears, and said in a shaky, wet voice, “He called me into his office the next morning. He said a bunch of shit to me that I still repeat in my head today. I decided I was done and wanted out, so I planned our escape while my sister healed, and when she was good to move, we ran away during the night. Vex wanted to bring Velora, but I told her we couldn’t. It was the hardest decision I ever made, to leave my baby sister behind, but she was safe. She was planned and wanted. She’s safe,” Vax repeated as if he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

“So we were two fifteen-year-olds, lost in the woods with nowhere to go. We eventually made it to a town in the middle of nowhere where we worked odd jobs here and there, helping in the farms or whatever we could do to earn money to buy a bus ticket north. We found our way to Emon after a while, but again, we had nowhere to stay and were running out of money, so we lived out in the streets. It was harder to find jobs here. No one trusted a pair of dirty children like us, so we resorted to finding other ways to feed ourselves. Vex used her charming gifts to get us day-old bread and food from the stores, I would sneak in whatever I could. Only whatever was enough to feed us and then him.” Vax nodded at Trinket, who was sleeping peacefully like he had no worries in the world. 

“We got robbed one night and lost all our money. I couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening. I failed my sister the night my father—I failed Velora by leaving her behind. And I failed us both the night we got robbed. I made a vow to never fail Vex again, so I started stealing money from passersby until we had enough to get us going again. I only stole small amounts, only whatever I could muster that they wouldn’t realize they had been pickpocketed.” Vax lowered his head in shame, “I’m not proud of it.”

Keyleth cradled Vax’s face in her hands, “Is that why you think I would hate you?” He nodded, but before he could say anything else, Keyleth said, “You did it to ensure your sister’s safety, not for greed, Vax. I would never, ever hate you for taking care of her, of yourself… You did what you had to do to survive.”

“What if I told you I killed someone?”

Keyleth shuddered. Her hands fell from Vax’s face and scrunched up the blanket on her lap. Her voice shook when she spoke, “What?”

“I failed Vex’ahlia a third time, when… when that motherfucker took her. I didn’t see her for almost a year, even though she still called and texted me. She managed to convince him to let me see her one day, and I—What my father did to her… what that man also did to her—I was so angry, so desperate, I wanted to kill him right there and then, but Vex stopped me. And good thing she did. I convinced her to leave him. It took a while, but she did it. Then, one night, he found us and tried to take her again, but I didn’t allow it. I had failed her enough times. So he attacked me, and in the middle of the fight, I stabbed him with my knife and… I killed him.”

“Vax,” Keyleth’s voice wavered. He refused to meet her eyes in fear of what he would see, but she lifted his chin with a strong grip. “That was self-defense, Vax. You—” “I killed someone, Keyleth.” Vax’s shoulders started shaking. Keyleth pulled him into a hug, “No, you saved your sister.” The only response was Vax’s sobs on her shoulder, wetness spreading to match the other side. “You were protecting her. I don’t hate you, Vax. I could never hate you. You know that, right?” 

Vax shook his head just enough to say, “Why would someone even want to be with a useless failure like me?”

“You are not a failure, Vax. You had so many hardships in your life, and look where you are now. The top university in the continent, in the most coveted degree. Do you know how hard it is to get into Emon University, not to mention into Medicine? You’re top three in your class, Vax. You work so hard, and you’re such a nice, kind and caring person. You are not a failure. You are not useless.” Keyleth stopped, pushed him away enough to look into his eyes, and said assertively, “Do you really think no one wants you? I’ve seen the way Gilmore looks at you, Vax.” Vax chuckled a smile, “Besides… I’m sure there’s someone else out there who would want you,” Like me. 

“You think so?” Vax asked tentatively.

“I know so.” Keyleth wiped his tears away with her thumbs, remaining the hold of his face in her grasp.

“Keeks,” Vax looked bashfully.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to go out with me?” Vax asked, biting his lip nervously. Keyleth was taken aback by the abruptness of the question.

“As in–a date?” Her heart was beating so fast in her chest that Keyleth thought it was going to jump out of her throat. Vax nodded. Keyleth swallowed a nervous squeal. 

After everything that had happened that night, Vax still wanted to go out on a date with her, and even more, the fact that he asked her out after he was so vulnerable with her… Keyleth thought she was going to throw up the cookies and tea right on Vax’s lap from how hard her stomach leaped. She wanted this, right? A date… with Vax? She wanted him, and it was obvious he wanted her, for some gods damned reason. Even though she still shuddered at the idea of being in a romantic relationship with someone–of being loved by someone–the image of Vax’s arms around her, the feel of his breath on her lips, and the way he cared for her weren’t dreadful in the slightest. She could do it with him, right? Maybe? One step at a time, Keyleth reminded herself. First, a date, and then… then we’ll see.

“Of course,” Keyleth answered, leaning to kiss Vax’s cheek. He slumped against her, releasing a breath Keyleth hadn’t noticed he was holding, and laughed. 

“I thought you were going to say no for a second there, Kiki.”

“Sorry. You caught me off guard,” She apologized. Vax shook his head and squeezed her.

“Thank you for telling me,” Keyleth brushed a hand on Vax’s hair, and when he looked at her confused, Keyleth clarified, “About your life. Everything that happened with your mom and your father.”

“Oh. I–There’s still more, but I’m drained.” Keyleth nodded in understanding. She lowered her hands to her lap and her head to avoid Vax’s gaze and mumbled, “Will you stay tonight?”

“Do you want me to stay?” Keyleth gave a short nod, still not looking at him. “I’ll stay. I hope Pike and Vex don’t kill me.”

“They won’t,” Keyleth said, moving out of Vax’s lap. “I’ll be right back,” She said as she got up and headed into the bathroom. When Keyleth returned, Trinket was back on Vex’s bed, curled against the pillows, and Vax was lying on her bed, under her comforter, with a hand behind his head on her pillow. Keyleth stumbled at the sight, at the smirk on Vax’s face as he opened the covers to let her in—she would have to climb over him to reach the other side—and patted the bed next to him invitingly. Keyleth looked him up and down, from his head to his bare feet, back to his head. She didn’t realize she was biting her lip until she felt the coppery taste of blood from her wound, which she immediately wiped with a tissue from her nightstand.

“Are you okay?” Vax asked, concerned, seeing her dab at her lip. Keyleth nodded and threw the slightly bloodied tissue into the trashcan by her nightstand. She then climbed over Vax’s feet and lay down facing him. Vax covered them and turned to his side, setting one arm on the mattress between him and Keyleth. She looked at it, her eyes drifting from his tanned, strong hands—how she would love to feel them on her skin—to where the tattoo of a raven peeked from the inside of his forearm, to his relaxed bicep. Keyleth’s gaze drifted up to Vax’s shoulder, which tensed as he followed her gaze, to the vein popping on his neck—that Keyleth wished to kiss and bite and feel the rushed beating of his heart there against her lips—to Vax’s jawline, his chiseled cheeks, his uncovered, pierced ears. Keyleth let her eyes linger on every beautiful feature of Vax’s face as if she needed to commit every single detail to memory so she could draw his portrait afterward—never mind the fact she couldn’t draw people even if her life depended on it. She smiled as she finally found his chapped lips that looked so inviting, even more so when Vax, too, smiled as Keyleth’s gaze lingered and as she mindlessly licked her lips.

Keyleth didn’t speak, and neither did Vax. Eventually, their gazes met, drifting ever so slowly to each other. The air turned far too warm under the covers, and they both held their breaths as they saw their own need reflected in the other’s eyes. It wasn’t a physical need as much as an emotional connection, at least to Keyleth. She wouldn’t deny the different desire she had felt the past weeks, but that wasn’t the foremost need that she wanted Vax to fill—that she knew only Vax could fill. Keyleth released her breath slowly as if she was afraid to scare him, like Vax was a skittish cat, and let her hand slide to the bed, a mere hairline from touching Vax’s hand where it still lay on the mattress. To Keyleth’s shock, who hadn’t heard him release the breath from before, Vax inhaled deeply, and even though his eyes never left hers, Keyleth knew he was aware of the distance that separated them and how easy it would be to transcend it. 

Keyleth’s body buzzed in anticipation at what the touch would feel like. Would it be warm or cold? Soft or rough from Vax’s calloused hands? Would it be sturdy or shaky from nerves? Would Vax intertwine their fingers, or would he pull away? Would it make his heart skip a beat like hers did in that moment? 

There’s only one way to find out, Vax’s eyes all but said. If someone told Keyleth that Vax had read her mind, she would have believed them because it was either that or that the desperation she felt for his touch was plainly written in her eyes, and that would be embarrassing. It was true, nonetheless. There was only one way to find out. So Keyleth moved by lacing her fingers with Vax’s and took in the layers of his reaction: a slight twitch of his fingers as she wrapped her hand around his; the release of tension on Vax’s shoulders; a shuddering breath; the drooping in his eyes as the man finally relaxed. Keyleth smiled lovingly, knowing he couldn’t see her with his eyes closed. She contemplated letting her own eyes shut, but Vax looked so calm and relaxed that Keyleth felt compelled to remain awake, to observe him and drink in all his features.

“You’re staring at me,” Vax spoke, opening one eye. 

“Sorry,” Keyleth apologized bashfully. Vax brought their hands to his lips and kissed each one of Keyleth’s knuckles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t return their hands to where they had been between them. Vax merely looked at Keyleth for a while, until she finally returned his words, “You’re staring at me.”

“Because you’re beautiful,” Vax let go of their hands and opened his arms. “Come here,” He called. Like a sailor, Keyleth obeyed his call, shimmying her body until her head was on the crook of Vax’s neck and their arms around each other’s torsos. Vax kissed her forehead softly and nuzzled against her hair.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Keyleth felt, more than heard Vax say. She nodded against his skin and replied, “I had singing lessons when I was young. I didn’t know you could play guitar.”

“The only good thing my father did besides siring me and my sister was force us to have music lessons. I refused the piano, and since Vex was already taking classes, my father didn’t care what other instrument I picked.”

“I’ve never seen a guitar in your bedroom,” Keyleth pointed out. Vax’s sigh against the top of her head tickled her. 

“When we were robbed, even after I started stealing money, it wasn’t enough, so we had to sell a few things, mostly jewels we still had from our father, but even then… Vex’ahlia wanted to sell her bow, and it would have gotten us decent money for a while, but I couldn’t do that to her. She loves archery more than words can describe. So I sold my guitar to buy a knife.”

“The one in your nightstand?” Keyleth asked softly. Vax nodded. She let it sink in, the sacrifice he had made—all the sacrifices Vax had made—to protect his sister. She knew that even though it benefitted both, Vax had done it for his twin more than for himself. His stupid, selfless heart that he still didn’t see.

“I’m sorry you had to sell your guitar. You’re a great brother, Vax.”

“Hmm,” Was all Vax said as he nuzzled further against Keyleth’s hair. Her heart warmed at the feeling of him this close to her, even though it wasn’t the first time they shared a bed. 

“It feels different,” Keyleth whispered, voicing out her thoughts. 

“Hm?”

“Us. It feels different. Has been for a while.”

“It is different,” Vax mumbled and kissed the top of her head. “I like it.”

“Me too,” was all Keyleth said as she nuzzled against Vax’s neck.

The slow and steady beating of Vax’s heart worked like a metronome setting the cadence for her own heart. The rise and fall of Vax’s chest underneath her hand lulled Keyleth into such a deep sense of relaxation that she didn’t even realize the heavy weight of her eyelids had finally won the battle against wanting to keep observing Vax’s beauty. Keyleth drifted off to sleep with the scent of Vax wrapping around her, calming her. Maybe for the first time in months, Keyleth slept through the entire night, waking up the next morning to the sounds of voices in the house and the smell of cooking creeping from underneath her bedroom door. Maybe for the first time in a while, Keyleth didn’t wake up scared in the middle of the night from a haunting nightmare, but even if she had, Vax would have been there to hold her through it, to kiss her head and whisper sweet, reassuring words in her ear. And perhaps, it was with the knowledge of that being true that Keyleth allowed herself a moment of restfulness and happiness.

[nectardaddy]

sneak hehe it should be out today

[jojosgaylittleadventure]

This is the fourth fic in my Josuyaus series that takes place while they're still in high school You can find my series here I also have a master post of all my Josuyasu writing here

Summary: After a study session gone wrong, Josuke finds himself needing somewhere he can feel safe and at home and that some where turns out to be Okuyasu. Tags: Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, the following tags are not from/between the ship (just an fyi), Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Side Character/Main Character Attempted Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Victim Blaming

[marc--chilton]

chapter 2

now with 5k more words!!!!

[swanmaids]

Hello! For the kiss prompts, russingon and 19 if that catches your fancy? Thank you ❤️

19. for luck

Fingon looked out over the lake. The glimmer of the morning Sun against the mere was not the same as the light of the Trees reflecting off the waters of Aman in Fingon's memory, but there was a beauty to it all the same. A new day, he thought, a new day in this strange Middle Earth.

By his side, Maedhros looked forward too, ahead to his brothers' encampment on the northern shore. The two of them sat in pleasant silence, with only the wind in the reeds and the splashes of the waterfowl for company. It was early enough that they were the only two elves about. If Fingon were to close his eyes and listen to his lover’s breathing, he might pretend that they were the only two in the world.

But he was grown now, and the time for playing pretend was over.

"Are you really going to do it?" he asked Maedhros instead.

His cousin smiled vaugely. "Yes. Today, I think. Sooner is better than later."

"You know -" Fingon said, because it suddenly felt very important, "that was not why I set out to find you -"

"Finno," Maedhros cut him off, "I know. This is something that I want to do. Your father will make a good king."

Fingon nodded, and they watched the ducks together for a moment.

"Does it have to be today?" he asked eventually.

"I think so. I have sent some of father's retainers out to find suitable land to raise up keeps to live in, all of which are near to completion. Once we have crowned your father, I will be able to take my brothers out from under his feet to lands of their own almost right away."

Fingon decided not to comment on that we. "And they will go quietly, do you think?"

Maedhros snorted a laugh - not quite the same as his laugh before Thangorodrim, but close. "Have you ever known Caranthir to go quietly, in his life? Celegorm won't be happy either - if what Maglor says is true, he was close to ripping the crown off Maglor's head when his back was turned, without me. And Curufin is in for a nasty shock, once he realises I've dispossessed his child. But I'm not worried, if that's what you're asking. I can still wrangle them all well enough, even with one hand."

"Curufin's child? Have I missed something?"

Maedhros laughed again. Evidently, his coming dispossession had him in good spirits. "I'm the eldest of seven. You think I can't tell when a man's wife is bearing? It won't be long before she's showing. Better to have them moved to their own lands before it's born."

The thought of a child born in these lands was strange. Fingon was not sure if it was a good omen, or the worst idea he had ever heard. "You'll be an uncle," he said instead, and then, pointlessly, "my niece hates me."

"I'm sorry," Maedhros said, "I think that might be my fault."

Fingon dug his palms into his eyes, frustrated. "It isn't your fault," he said, although in a sense it was. Idril, motherless and untethered, hated Maedhros, and all of his brothers, and anybody who still loved them. Fingon did not like to think that he loved his cousin more than his brother's only child, but he did, and he had proven it.

Maedhros said nothing. Fingon leaned his head into his shoulder. He breathed in his scent, imagined it filling up his lungs. Imagined that he could somehow keep a piece of Maedhros with him always.

"I don't want you to leave," he said, mumbling it into Maedhros' neck.

Thankfully, Maedhros did not patronise him by saying that he had not technically mentioned his own leaving. "It's not as though we'll never see one another again. And I'll miss you too, as it happens. It's entirely possible that I'll summon you to my side as soon as I'm moved in."

"I'll be the crown prince. Perhaps I'll be summoning you."

"Perhaps indeed!"

The Sun was almost fully risen in the sky. If Fingon strained his ears, he would be able to hear his father's host readying themselves for the day. Maedhros moved to stand.

"Wait."

He gently tugged Maedhros back down, and Maedhros allowed himself to be moved.

"I know you have it all in control. But all the same - for luck?"

He tilted his head and pressed his lips gently against his cousin's, and the shores of Mithrim faded around them as they kissed. Fingon sometimes imagined climbing inside of Maedhros in moments like this, or somehow tying their fea together so that they would never need to be parted again. When they finally pulled away, his lips were swollen and tingling.

"Thank you," Maedhros smiled softly, "now I feel very lucky indeed."

"Then you are welcome," Fingon responded, "now go and heal the Noldor, Maedhros Kingmaker."

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

Chapters: 17/17 Fandom: Barry (TV 2018) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Barry Berkman & NoHo Hank, Noho Hank/Cristobal Sifuentes Characters: Barry Berkman, NoHo Hank, Cristobal Sifuentes Additional Tags: Road Trips, Enemies to Friends, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, specifically canon diverges about a third of the way through S04E04, Episode: s04e04 It Takes a Psycho, canon compliant up until that point, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Dreams and Nightmares, Misplaced Guilt, (also appropriately-placed guilt), Suicidal Ideation, Autistic Barry Berkman, (if you squint), hank has an honest conversation with cristobal, (...eventually), Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary:

After thirty-seven solid minutes of Hank belting out pop song after pop song - so fucking loudly Barry can barely hear the original music and frankly he doesn’t even know which is worse - Barry finally closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and says through gritted teeth, "Hank. If you don't shut up in the next two seconds, I'm gonna fucking kill you."

Hank snorts. "Oh, Barry," he says, and Barry has never seen so much pure, unadulterated smugness on that face before, "I think we both know that is not true."

-

Shortly after Barry escapes from prison, he and Noho Hank are both given opportunities to kill each other. Like the losers they are, they fail, and the pair soon find themselves on a reluctant cross-country fugitive road trip that might just change the course of their entire lives.

[bhaalbabebardlock]

Chapter 21- Sweetness

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Summary: Ilara continues to dream, and remember. She pays penance for her friendship with Gortash, so he shows her a moment of tenderness. Durgetash fluff.

She stopped in the shadows of his office, the way she had been doing for the past few weeks now every time she came here. She observed him quietly, the way she always did. She hadn't been to see Raphael in some time, his call through her magic having remained silent. That was fine, she wasn't ready to talk to him and have him pry information out of her about her plan to steal the crown from his father. He would probably laugh, encourage her to see what fun could come out of it. She was grateful for the respite in what sometimes felt like never ending submission between him and her father.

Her father. She had come to Enver this time after having been punished for being here at all, and she took pleasure in the fact that this meeting would only increase Bhaal's annoyance with her. Maybe he would release her and end her miserable life so she didn't have to waste away bringing him corpses to decorate his altar. She flexed her fingers against the chafing, raw pain in them and clenched her teeth against the heat of dried blood on her back.

Scleritas had not been kind as her father made him count those lashes, and she had screamed her throat raw while dragging her knuckles across the bloody stones. She shook her head, trying to bring herself back to her body. Pain wasn't new. Pain she could handle. And she had certainly handled it, every night of the last two weeks as she pleaded, said she would bring others and that for now, they needed Bane and his servant and their plan. A begrudging acceptance from her father, but her punishment was swift nonetheless. Defiance would not stand, even if there was a better plan.

What she couldn't handle was him. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. She had spent so little time with anyone outside of devils, myconids, other worshippers at the temple, victims she kept at arms length until she needed them to warm the floor with their offering of blood. She was not used to the way he asked her probing questions. The way he was interested in watching her as she sat sketching. She had furrowed her brow at him in confusion when she had returned after that first day, him holding out the small book to her, along with a small leather wrapping of pens.

You said you liked to draw. I figured you could use this, when you're here. I won't look in it, it'll be safe for when you want it. She had taken the book and small pouch in her hands, stunned by the simple act of kindness. Nobody had ever given her a gift before, certainly not without a cost. When she incredulously asked him what he wanted from her and he said just your company it had only made the worms in her stomach squirm even more, her confusion grow brighter.

When he had suggested that they sit together and she draw while he works on some blueprints, she found herself agreeing, curious at what spending leisure time with someone else looked like. She found herself regularly peeking up from her sketches to see what he was doing, only to see him looking back at her, his eyes quickly going back down to his own work. Their banter had grown comfortable and light in those few weeks, the two of them falling into a natural rhythm to see who could have the upper hand. More than a few times he had reached forward, gently rubbing his thumb over ink she had gotten on her nose. She wondered what he was thinking in those moments, if like her, he felt that pull to find a connection amongst the chaos of their lives. She finally stepped forward, clearing her throat as he looked up at her.

She was so used to his normal mask of apathy that for a moment, she was caught off guard by the emotion she saw flicker across his face. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought it was concern.

"You're bruised." She felt a pleasurable warmth in her stomach at the sound of his voice, and she couldn't help but let out a small bitter chuckle.

"I am always bruised, Enver." She watched him closely as she spoke, the way his eyes softened slightly as she called him by his name, the way the muscles in his arms tensed as he pushed against his desk, standing and walking over to her. The familiar tang of the magic from his coat hit her tongue, the warmth of his own scent hitting her nose. He always smelled like warm soap, fresh water. Clean and sharp and dark. She flinched as he raised a hand to brush her face, his fingers only stopping inches from her skin before he dropped them, realizing what he was doing. This time, he cleared this throat.

"You've got dirt all over your face, your hair is a rats nest, and you are covered in what appears to be your blood as well as a spattering of bruises. What happened to you? I only saw you two days ago and you certainly were not this worse for wear." She found herself prickling at the insults, annoyed as ever by the fact that he was not afraid of her. That damn coat.

"Do you take the god of murder to be kind, Enver? I was supposed to kill you, and yet I come here every night and laugh with you while we sit by candlelight. That defiance comes with a price." There. There it was again, another flicker of emotion. She faltered as she stared back at him, noticing that this time he didn't smooth over his face. Guilt. He was looking at her with guilt. He reached his hand up again, letting his fingers whisper against her cheekbone as he brushed her hair out of her face.

"You were hurt because of me. Punished. Because of me." It wasn't a question, just a statement of facts. She said nothing in response, frozen in spot by the delicate touches. Nobody had ever touched her like that. It was always starved, hungry, desperate, wanting, hurting, bruising, taking. She wasn't sure if she preferred this, but it made warm prickles of heat curl inside her chest so she did not pull away. She closed her eyes, instead finding herself leaning into his touch, his palm warm against her cheek. They stood there like that for a moment before she realized what she was doing, and she snapped her eyes open, taking a step back from him and watching as his hand fell back to his side, as that careful mask of apathy slipped back over his features.

"I'll draw you a bath. And get you some clean clothes. And food." She opened her mouth and he must have seen the incoming objection because he lifted his hand, that voice he used when he didn't want an argument coming out.

"This isn't a discussion, Ilara. You'll be taken care of. It's my fault you're uncomfortable." That annoyed her too. It wasn't his fault, not really. She had a choice. She still has that same choice, should she want to. But she could endure the punishments. Those long nights spent laughing by candlelight and asking each other questions was too tempting to give up, at least for now. She was too starved of friendship to not put up with a few lashes.

"It isn't your fault," she heard the words come out of her mouth, stunned by them. She was not used to trying to comfort people, to assuage their guilt instead of her own. It was so foreign to her. He smiled at her, and the way his lips tilted up sent a small trickle of heat running through her stomach, her eyes drawn to them. Her mouth felt like cotton, her eyes snapping up to his as he spoke, heat spreading across her face at the thoughts she had been having about those lips.

"Gods, you are a matryr. Of course you'd say that. Bathroom, now." She didn't argue with him as he reached his hands out, placing them on her shoulders and lightly spinning her around, urging her towards the stairs where she knew his bathroom and bed were. They hadn't been back to his bed since that first night's tense conversation as they had sat across from each other, sizing each other up. She couldn't help but think that the hot bath would feel good on her aching muscles, on the raw skin striping her back. She felt him gently push her again when she didn't move, casting an irritated glance over her shoulder at him.

"I can walk, thank you." The words came out harsher than she intended despite her desire for the bath, and she saw that familiar flicker of amusement at her neverending sass dance in his eyes. Sometimes, she wished he were afraid of her. Sometimes, it was nice for the fear to not be there at all. She wondered if he would fear her without that coat.

"Then by all means dearest, walk." Dearest. She wondered why he did things like that. The sketchbook. The soft names. He was such a puzzle to her. She shook the tension out of her muscles, turning back around towards the stairs and heading up them. She could hear his quiet footfalls behind her, watching him carefully as he went ahead of her and into the bathroom.

She stopped in the doorway, observing him with that same carefulness she always did. He had started the bathwater already, dropping small oils in it by the time she appeared to watch him. She wondered for a moment why he was doing this himself, he had plenty enough servants he could have asked to do it for him. She assumed it was some of that misplaced guilt, that he felt like he owed her something. Her sins were her own, she didn't know what to do with pity.

She could smell the warm scent of rain and flowers wafting up from the building steam, and it made her chest burn with longing for a life long gone. Not that he would have known that. She walked forwards, stopping at the edge of the tub next to him, watching the steam curl off the top of the water.

"There are towels over there, when you're finished. I'll be downstairs if you'd like to join me when you're done." She felt her hand snap out before she could think, her fingers ghosting against his arm as he turned to leave. They both froze in spot, equally surprised by her rare touch.

"Will you stay?" The question felt too intimate and she immediately felt herself blushing, the tips of her pointed ears burning with heat. She didn't know why she had asked him that, but for some reason, being alone felt worse. She had started to open her mouth again, to laugh and say nevermind she hadn't meant that, but his next words stopped her.

"Of course." They were almost too simple in their conviction, as if he hadn't been surprised she'd asked and was annoyed she would think he would have said anything else.

"Will you turn around, though? So I can get in?" Her face still felt warm, and it only got warmer at the burning look in his eyes as he traversed them up and down her body, stopping back to meet her gaze.

"If you wish." He turned, clasping his hands behind his back, waiting patiently for her to get into the water. She hesitated for only a moment, so unnerved by both her own request and his agreement that she thought it might be better if she left. Then she got another waft of that warm, flower scented water, the nostalgia for her old life, and she found herself quickly slipping out of her tunic and pants, stepping over the edge of the tub, and sinking into the water with a sigh. She pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them as she stared at his back.

"You can turn around now." She drank in his desire as his gaze slid back to hers, his eyes sliding down to where her knees rested in the water. She was almost tempted to lower her legs, to let him see her, but she felt oddly aware of herself in a way she usually didn't. He always made her feel that way. She watched him as he stepped forwards around the tub, her head tilting softly as he stopped, some decision crossing his features before he sighed. He turned back around, removing his coat and folding it neatly, setting it on the sink before turning back to look at her.

Well, that is certainly new. She hadn't expected that at all, as many times as she had poked and prodded to try and unravel the mystery of that coat, he had offered no explanation beyond he simply did not want to deal with the messiness of something as trivial as fear, and that no, he would not be removing it. She quirked an eyebrow as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing the smooth expanse of his strong, tanned arms.

"What are you doing?" She asked as he walked around the edge of the tub, stopping behind her. He picked a cup off the floor, gesturing down to the water.

"Can I wash you? Just where you're comfortable, you don't have to move. Your back and hair maybe." Of all the things she had wondered that he might ask, that was the farthest from her mind. She didn't know how to respond to his request. Even in all her years of that mockery of freedom, she had never had anyone offer to bathe her. Myconids weren't ones to need such things, and her victims she lured to the temple certainly had no time for hygeine or base comforts. Her baths in the boudoir at the house of hope hardly counted even if Haarlep was sometimes there, the healing waters necessary to erase the signs of Raphael's affections.

"How many times?" She froze further at this next question, casting a glance over her shoulder to look at him. He was staring at her back. She sighed.

"You don't want the answer to that."

"I do." She saw something flash across his face. If she wasn't so unnerved already, she would almost say it looked like fear. Interesting, she thought.

"It was only twice the first week, three times the second. Now it's three dozen every two days that you are not dead. I get one day between for reprieve and in that time I am to repent by bringing other lost souls to the temple to lay their lives down instead of yours." She tensed as she felt him reach out, tracing one of those callused fingers she had wondered about so many times down her spine.

"I'm sorry." The words hung there between them, and she wished that she could swallow them down, wipe away his shame at her pain. She wanted him to understand it was worth it, that he was worth it. That she was feeling raw in a way she had never been allowed to feel before. She couldn't say the words, too frozen by the aching fear of her own vulnerability.

She flinched as warm water spilled over her shoulders, relaxing as he lifted the cup again to gently pour it over her head. She tilted her head back, letting her eyes close softly as he continued to pour water through her dark curls, the water beneath them turning a murky red with the dried blood that seemed to always be hidden in them. A soft sigh left her mouth when she felt his fingers softly, almost tenderly massaging against her scalp, the scent of his fresh rainwater soap filling the air. Maybe being vulnerable wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be.

She couldn't help the way the tension seemed to melt out of her shoulders, the sharp sparks of pain uncoiling as he gently pressed a soapy washcloth over her back, washing clean the wounds from her punishment. She almost felt angry at the tenderness he was showing, undeserving of it as she was. He knew what she was, he knew what she did when she left Wyrm's Rock to crawl back to her chains, her doctrine, her duty. But the feeling of his hands brushing against her skin so softly, the glide of that warm water on her aching bruises- it was too sweet to say no to. She wanted to savor this moment, to remember it always. She hoped against hope that she would never forget this.

She almost felt bereft when his hands left her skin, as he stepped away towards the sink and grabbed a towel, turning to hand it to her before he averted his gaze. She reached out slowly and took it from him, intrigued by the color in his cheeks. She wasn't used to him not making direct eye contact with her, with anyone really. She stood, wrapping the towel around herself and continuing to look at him.

"Thank you," the words felt foreign on her tongue. She was used to thanking for many things between devils and Gods, but thanking the man before her for washing her was not something she had seen coming.

"Don't thank me." His voice was softer as he looked back at her, seeming entranced by the way the water dripped off her skin, his eyes traveling down to the top of the towel sitting just below the tops of her breasts. He cleared his throat loudly, turning back to the sink and grabbing his coat, sliding it on before waving a hand in the air, indicating she should follow.

She did so wordlessly, almost disappointed when he slipped it back on. He had seemed so much more raw in those few moments he could feel everything, and she found herself craving to see more of that softness. They stopped in his room, and he turned to her, pointing at the dresser behind them.

"You'll find clothes there. They might be too big on you but you'll be comfortable. You can sleep in my bed. Do not-" he continued, holding up his hand at her incoming protest- "argue with me. I will sleep down on the couch. Your father will live. I want you to get a good night's sleep, for once. I'm sure my bed will be more comfortable than whatever you have cobbled together at that temple." Her bed in the temple was not uncomfortable, but it was not comfortable either. Large and hard, relatively flat. She had sat on Gortash's bed only a few weeks ago, and had to admit that it was much more comfortable.

"Stay with me. Don't... Don't go sleep on the couch. Sleep with me." She didn't know why she wanted his vulnerability so bad, why she wanted to show him her own. She didn't want anything from him other than the comfort of his body laying next to hers while she slept. His eyes softened again, and he nodded slowly.

"If you wish." She did. She didn't know what exactly it was she wished for, but she wished very, very much. She nodded her head, and needing to feel not as embarrassed she turned and walked over to the dresser, pulling out one of his shirts. She turned back to him, purposefully letting the towel fall and carefully watching the look of desire cross his features as she slipped the shirt over her head.

"Are you not going to put on anything else?" She smirked softly, a game she was now familiar with playing.

"Nope." She thirstily took in the way his eyes raked down her thighs, stopping where the shirt did, lingering.

"Very well. Go. To the bed." His voice was lower, strained, and she could tell he was barely maintaining that careful control he tried so hard to keep in place. It made more heat curl in her stomach, but she obeyed, walking slowly over to the bed and sinking down amongst the sea of soft silk. She watched as he, for the second time that evening, removed and carefully folded his coat. Her hungry gaze watched as he removed his pants, rolling up his sleeves and standing before her in just his boxers and undershirt. He slid into the bed next to her, their bodies only inches apart under the blanket.

She didn't know why she did it, but she found herself closing that space, pressing her face against the crook of his neck. She was almost as surprised as he was at her rare burst of affection, a soft gasp leaving his mouth as he slowly, hesitantly wrapped his arms around her. She felt safe. She never felt safe.

"Goodnight, Enver," she said quietly.

"Goodnight, Ilara," he whispered back.

***

[solitaireships]

How about 🍬 for whoever you feel like writing for?

~ heart-of-aspiration 📖

Emoji prompts: 🍬 - something sweet

So this one ended up taking longer than I thought it would because I ended up getting carried away. It's about something sweet in multiple meanings of the word- both literally with Bruce doing some baking and emotionally with some cute domestic things

Rating: G

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1380 words

Divider by straywords

“Are you sure this was a good idea?” Alex asks from where she perches on one of the wooden stools in Wayne Manor’s kitchen. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Bruce asks, closing the oven door. 

“Bruce, you are the love of my life and incredibly talented at so many things. But cooking has never been your strong suit,” she points out. 

There’s a reason that Alfred used to do most of the cooking. With him gone, Bruce and Alex have both stepped up to do more, and for once in her life Alex is pretty sure that she’s a better cook than someone. Bruce can handle the simple stuff just fine, but somehow even with a recipe his meals always seem just the slightest bit off. And that’s assuming he doesn’t end up accidentally burning or undercooking anything. 

“It’s not cooking, it’s baking,” Bruce corrects. 

“Right. Two completely different things that you surely won’t have similar problems with,” Alex says. 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “I have this handled, love, this isn’t the first time I’ve made cookies. And when they’re good, you can tell me about how sorry you are for underestimating me.”

“Alright,” Alex relents. 

If nothing else, watching Bruce mix the cookie dough has been fun. Alex always thinks that he’s handsome, but there’s something about how he looks with the sleeves of his button up shirt rolled up to his elbows. There’s a little bit of flour spattered against the black material of his shirt, an accident from him mixing the ingredients together a little too quickly. 

It’s a good look for him. Maybe if these cookies come out well he should start baking more. 

Though Alex still isn’t sure why Bruce decided to bake cookies today. He told her he was going to like it was something normal— like they’re a regular couple who does things like this. 

It’s nice. But it’s also weird.

Alex knows that she’s not forgetting their anniversary or any other relationship milestones. It’s not anyone’s birthday. But there has to be a reason why Bruce is doing this. It's so peacefully mundane that it feels like there has to be some kind of meaning behind it.

The oven’s alarm rings before Alex can figure out why Bruce was in the mood to bake. He’s quick to retrieve them from the oven, and the smell of freshly baked cookies washes over them.

“Mmm. They smell good,” Alex comments, getting up from her seat. 

“They should taste even better,” Bruce replies. “Once they cool down, you get first choice from them.”

Alex comes up behind Bruce, wrapping her arms around his middle. She kisses the side of his neck. “Thank you, bat.”

“You’re welcome.” Bruce leans back a little against her. “Are we going to stay like this until the cookies cool?”

“I think so. Unless you have any objections?”

“Hrn.” 

Alex doesn’t need to see to know that Bruce is rolling his eyes. He pretends to be annoyed when she makes jokes around her being a defense attorney— though this one wasn’t intentional. 

The cookies do look good from here at least. They're chocolate chip ones, and the chunks of semi-sweet chocolate dotted through them look like they’d melt in her mouth. Alex is tempted to reach past Bruce and grab one, but she knows to wait. She’s sure they’ll still warm in a couple of minutes, and there's no point in touching something too hot to handle right now.

What’s warm right now is Bruce in her arms. He always seems relaxed when Alex holds him like this. It’s nice to think that he finds her presence comforting, especially because she feels the same way about him. 

“I think they’re ready,” Bruce says after a moment, turning his head so that his nose brushes against her temple. “Take your pick.”

Alex unlatches from behind him and grabs a cookie from the right side of the baking sheet. It’s warm to the touch, and she’s admittedly excited to try it. As much as she still doubts Bruce’s cooking skills, he seems convinced this will be good and she's inclined to trust him. 

Alex takes a bite of the cookie, and Bruce’s attention is sharp on her. 

She was right to trust him. This is a good cookie. The edges are a little crispy, but the middle is soft and the chocolate chips dotted through it melt in her mouth. It’s sweet but not overpoweringly so. 

Bruce picks up a cookie of his own. “Do you like it?”

“It’s really good,” Alex says.

“I think you owe me a apology for doubting my baking skills earlier,” he teases.

“I was doubting your cooking skills. Like you said, those are two different things.”

Bruce takes a bite from his cookie, a wry expression on his face. He’s both cute and annoying when he knows he caught someone in something. “Ah, so you agree now?”

“You’re very lucky you’re pretty because you can be a pain to deal with sometimes,” Alex states.

“I know,” he replies. “But I think you’d like me no matter what.”

Alex would. It’s hard to imagine ever not adoring Bruce. And as she finishes her cookie and reaches over for another, she thinks that she’s lucky he loves her too. 

“You know,” Bruce says after a moment, “I used to make these cookies with my mother.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he repeats. He nudges Alex’s arm with his elbow. “Which is why I was saying that I could handle baking these. Though I’ll admit that I’m out of practice.”

“Well, you did a very good job,” Alex compliments. "And I'm sorry about before."

“Thank you. But you don't need to apologize. You had reason to be cautious.”

They stand in silence for a couple seconds, Bruce reaching for another cookie. 

“Is there any reason you decided to make them again now? Since it sounds like you haven’t made them in a while,” Alex says.

“Not really.” Bruce takes a bite, catching a couple of falling crumbs in his other hand. “I thought you’d enjoy them.”

“I do.”

Alex is pretty sure there’s more to it than that. But she doesn’t push. She knows Bruce well. Neither of them like talking about their feelings. It always feels awkward and too vulnerable. It’s easier to talk now— especially with the two of them having been married for years. But putting feelings into words is hard, and she isn’t going to force him to keep talking. That would only make him close off more. 

So Alex waits. If he wants to say anything else he will. 

Bruce doesn’t say anything else until he’s finished the cookie, going over to the sink to rinse any spare crumbs off of his hands. “Making these was something that we did as a family, even if my father didn’t usually help us make them. So I wanted to share this with you.”

For a moment, Alex isn’t sure how to respond. She’s never been good at emotional displays. That’s part of why she and Bruce work so well. They’re both awkward and have trouble with putting their feelings into words, but they can understand when the other is trying to show them they care in their own way. 

But this is something special. She already knew that it was when Bruce said he made these with his mother, but this is even more than that.

They’ve been married for years now. Alex knows that Bruce loves her and that they’re a family. This, though, feels normal. Like something a family that wasn’t a pair of workaholic vigilantes would do. It’s soft, and it’s sweeter than the cookies themselves are. 

“Thank you so much. I love you,” is all that Alex can think to say. She’s not sure that it’s enough to show just how important this is to her, but this should do the job well enough.

“I love you too,” Bruce says. 

“Maybe next time we can make them together,” Alex suggests. 

He gives a dry laugh in response. “You hate cooking with people.”

“It’s baking, remember?” She moves to give Bruce a quick kiss. The taste of chocolate lingers on his lips. “And if it’s a family tradition, I’m willing to give things a shot if you are.”

[helianskies]

bitter teeth ⠀• ⠀chapter 12 ⠀🛩

A stranger would not understand the delicateness of their mission. A stranger would not understand Henrique’s state, or their determination, or the hole that they carried with them. And a stranger, frankly, would never be able to fill it.

Abel unclenched his jaw and eased his grip on the letter. He took a slow breath, counting four seconds in, and eight seconds out. He set the paper down on the kitchen counter.

Rome. They were going to Rome. At long last, they were going to Rome.

That was all that surely mattered.

[ read the update here! ]

[canibalistic-brownie]

I have to keep reminding myself that none of y'all know me in real life and even if you think what I'm writing is cringe, its not for you, its for me. But h-h-h-h-holy shit is it hard to get out of that mindset of anxiously wondering what other people will think of your writing the entire time.

[the-rarest-sexiest-coinkydink]

Extra Credit (Frank Iero x reader)

Kinktober day 7: Sir kink (teacher x student AU) 

Summary: (y/n) is one of Frank’s favourite students, but recently their grades have been dropping, and he’s worried that something is going on. When he calls them in to have a chat about how things are going, a few revelations come to light... 

Word count: 3074 (ahahahahaha the brainrot is so obvious with this one) 

Warnings: questionable power imbalance with the whole teacher-student thing, reader is afab!non binary so mention of chest binding (there’s no way I couldn’t slightly model this reader around myself, okay? fight me) 

AN: this is like, university type setting, so (y/n) as a student is definitely over the age of eighteen. No illegal underage grooming shit going on here folks. However, it’s still pretty dodgy for a teacher to be that involved with a student. I just choose to ignore that in this scenario because the idea of calling Frank ‘sir’ does things to my brain. Sue me. Stories are for rule breaking. 

“Okay, that’s everything for today. And remember, I want those essays in next Monday. That doesn’t mean do it all drunk Sunday night or hungover Monday morning, got it? I want it to be written in legible English, if you guys are capable of that.” 

His students laughed as they packed up, chatting as they filed out of his classroom until there were only a few people remaining. One of them was (y/n), and Frank was glad about that - he’d been wanting to speak to them for a few days now. Teaching history at university level over the past four years had given him the chance to meet thousands of incredible students. And of all of the students he’d ever taught, (y/n) was his all time favourite. 

Every day, they arrived to his classes with a smile and a cheerful ‘hi sir’. They turned up in either a band shirt and smart trousers or a button up and jeans; style and colour combinations that probably wouldn’t have worked on anybody else, but looked like they were made for them. The essays they handed in were fantastically written, well constructed and intricately detailed. It genuinely brightened his day whenever they walked into the room. 

But the last couple of assignments they’d handed in hadn’t been quite so good - certainly not bad enough to earn them a failing grade, but it still concerned him a little. So now that they were one of the last remaining people in the room, he strolled over to their desk, hands in pockets. 

“Hi, (y/n). Can I have a word with you?” 

A little startled, (y/n) flushed. “H-hi Mr Iero. Yeah, what’s going on?” They silently cursed the way their voice shook. It was bad enough that they couldn’t take their eyes off him whenever his attention was elsewhere; they really didn’t need him to notice the raging crush they had whilst they were trying to have a one on one conversation. 

Thankfully, he seemed to brush their little stuttering moment off as surprise - they hadn’t seen him coming, no wonder they were a little caught off guard. “I just wanted to talk about the last couple of pieces of work you’ve handed in. They’re not quite up to your usual standard.” The way their face fell made his heart sink, and he rushed to clarify, resting a hand on their arm. “You haven’t failed anything, don’t worry about that. I’m just a little... concerned about you. I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything bothering you.” 

Relaxing a little, (y/n) shook their head with a smile. “Oh, I’m okay sir. I just found the last few assignments a bit harder than the others, that’s all.” 

He nodded, satisfied with that - very much trying to ignore the jolt of arousal that had run through him with the word ‘sir’. “You wanna swing by my office later today? I can go over some of the things you missed, see if that helps you understand it all a little better.” 

They chewed at their lip, disappointment in their eyes. “I would, but... I’ve got another assignment to finish for a different class.” 

“Okay, uh... what about tomorrow? I really wanna make sure you’re not struggling too much with my class. You’re my best student.” 

“Yeah, I’m free from four thirty, if that’s okay with you.” 

“Perfect, I’ll see you then.” His smile made them weak at the knees, and they just about managed to smile back before he returned to his desk. Naturally, they stared at his ass the whole way there before making a big show of packing their stuff into their bag, bright red. 

As they left, the cogs were turning in Frank’s head. Of course he’d noticed the way they looked at him - it would have been pretty difficult not to, given that he also spent a lot of time staring at them out of the corner of his eye. At least he knew he was a little more subtle. If he was right (and he was pretty sure that he was) then the two of them had been thinking about each other the same way for the last few months. He knew it technically wasn’t right; teachers and students were absolutely not meant to have any kind of relationship other than a professional one. But all of his students were adults, all over the age of eighteen. So in his mind, it really wasn’t that wrong to find (y/n) attractive. To think about their sweet smile and the way they blushed when he complimented their writing. To imagine them pinned under him in his bed, moaning his name... He shook the thoughts from his head before his body could betray him in front of his next class. 

He would indulge his imagination when he was home. 

Returning to their apartment, (y/n) threw their bag under their desk and flopped onto the bed, burying their head in the pillow. This was getting ridiculous. They were almost completely incapable of having a conversation with Mr Iero without turning into a tomato, and they were pretty sure that he’d noticed the way they stared at his arms when he was teaching. And now, they’d agreed to spend a chunk of their afternoon alone with him. At this rate, there was no way they’d be able to concentrate on what he was actually saying while being in such close proximity. 

How the hell were they going to get through this extra tuition session without being a total embarrassment? 

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

Four thirty the next afternoon rolled around, and (y/n) was bouncing anxiously on their heels as they waited outside Frank’s office, trying to pluck up the courage to knock on the door. Finally they decided to just get on with it and tapped on the door three times, feeling their heart race a little as he called out. 

“Come in.” He smiled as they appeared around the door. “Hey, (y/n), come sit down. You can close the door behind you.” 

They did so, taking a moment to look around his office. The building they were in was pretty old: all the rooms had high ceilings and wood panelled walls, giving everywhere a cosy feel. But Frank had definitely made his office his own space. The books on the shelves were a haphazard mix of textbooks and old horror stories, with random music magazines filling the little crevices. Two of his cardigans were hanging from the back of his chair, and a third was hanging near the door. His desk was littered with papers, but there seemed to be some kind of organisation system going on that only he could understand. It was a small room, but definitely comfortable. 

They sat down in the chair on the opposite side of his desk, smiling shyly.  He was effortlessly handsome with his shirtsleeves rolled up, and they found it difficult to meet his eyes. “Thanks for seeing me, Mr Iero.” 

“You can call me Frank while it’s just us, I don’t mind.” He made a mental note of the way they caught their lip between their teeth as he continued. “So look, your essays. They aren’t bad. Really, if anybody else handed essays like these in I’d be delighted. They just aren’t the same quality as I’ve come to expect from you.” 

“I’m sorry Mr, uh, Frank. The last couple weeks of classes have been a bit tough for me.” 

He frowned. “If you’ve been finding things hard, why didn’t you say something? You know I’m always happy to help people if I can.”

“I just... I’m not very good at asking for help, that’s all. And the work itself isn’t too difficult, I’m just not able to stay focused. Really been struggling with my mindset lately.” Their cheeks darkened a little, and he saw the perfect opportunity. He’d decided overnight that the best thing to do was try and discuss the way they clearly felt about each other, and they had just given him the perfect in. 

“I think I have a theory that might explain why you’re not working so well lately.” 

“Y-you do?” 

Frank nodded and got up from his chair, rounding the desk to lean against it and look down at them. “I think you find me attractive. And I think that you can’t stay focused on the work because you’re too busy staring at me. Thinking about me… about doing certain things with me.” They were quiet for a moment, and he sighed. “Look. If I’m wrong, tell me. And I’ll apologise for bringing that up, and we’ll finish this conversation. I’ll give you some tips on those essays, and we’ll move on like it never happened. Okay?” 

Their eyes were wide now, their breathing unsteady. They’d pictured this moment countless times. “Okay. But what if... hypothetically… you’re right?” 

“Then you might be able to do something for a little, uh... extra credit.” He reached out to cup their jaw, running his thumb over their lower lip and smirking as they kissed it reverently. “How does that sound?” 

“I like the sound of that... sir.”

“Oh so that’s how this is gonna go?” He led them around to his side of the desk, guiding them gently to their knees before sitting back down in his chair. “I can think of a few things you can do for me to gain yourself a few extra points.”

“Good, cause I can think of plenty I want to do.” Their confidence surprised both of them, and he moved to tuck their hair behind their ear. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” 

“Yeah, I promise.” And they shuffled a little closer, trailing a hand along the zip of his trousers. “May I?” 

“Go ahead.” 

He watched as they untucked his shirt from his waistband and undid his trousers, taking a moment to admire the myriad tattoos crossing his stomach and hips before dipping their head to kiss the bulge in his boxers. He stroked the back of their head as they took his cock in their hand, eyes widening a little as they realised just how big he was. 

“Holy shit, sir.” 

“I’m sure you can handle it, kitten.” 

Heart melting at the term of endearment, (y/n) nodded eagerly and took the tip into their mouth, running their tongue across it as he gasped. They bobbed their head, a hand stroking what they couldn’t fit in their mouth as the other squeezed his thigh. 

“Oh, you were made to do this little one. You look so wonderful like this.”  

They pulled off him for a moment, staring up at him with a doe-eyed smile. “I’ve been thinking about doing this for a long time.” 

“I’ve thought about you doing this more than I’d care to admit.” He laughed, groaning softly as their mouth returned to him, taking even more of his dick than before. “Good, just like that.” 

Before he got too close to the edge - he didn’t want to risk missing out on burying himself in their sweet hole - he tugged them to their feet, standing and unbuttoning their shirt, tossing it under the desk. 

“Just look at you. You are... so divine.” 

They blushed as his hands skimmed their waist, tensing a little as his fingers met the edge of their binder. Noticing this Frank stopped, dropping the professional façade for a moment. “Hey. Look at me. (y/n). You okay? If you wanna keep it on, that’s fine. I promise.” 

The relief was visible in their eyes. “Can I?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Sir.”

Satisfied that they were still alright, he ran a hand upwards over the fabric to settle at the base of their neck and kissed them fiercely, pinning them against the edge of the desk. His other hand wandered downwards, undoing their trousers. He broke the kiss and gave them a moment to breathe, pulling their underwear down too until the fabric pooled at their ankles, leaving their lower half bare. Biting gently at their neck and relishing in the way they whined, he let two tattooed fingers dance against their clit. The effect was instantaneous: (y/n) gasped, hands coming up to cling at his head. 

“Oh, fuck!” 

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He teased them for a moment longer, fingers just dipping past their entrance enough to make them shudder before pulling away completely. “Good. Because I plan on ruining you, sweetheart. Once you’ve had me, nobody else will be good enough. My mouth, my fingers, my cock. Your sweet little pussy will never want anything else ever again.” 

Clearing a space in the middle of the desk he turned them around and bent them over, teasing their clit with the head of his cock for a moment before slipping the first few inches into them. They moaned, head thudding lightly against the desk, and he stroked their ass soothingly. “You have to be quiet for me, little one. If anyone hears, we’re in big trouble.” 

When they nodded he inserted himself fully, having to suppress a groan of his own as their walls clung to him. “Oh kitten, your cunt feels like heaven.” He kept a tight hold on their hips, fucking into them slowly at first to allow them to adjust to his size before picking up the pace a little. His hips met theirs with an almost bruising pressure - and oh, it felt so, so good. Listening closely to the noises they made, he changed the angle of his thrusts ever so slightly and grinned as an especially loud whine escaped them. 

“There, sir, oh s-shit.”

His smile widened further as they buried their face in their arm to muffle the sounds. 

“Oh that’s it, so good for me.” He kept his hips moving, slapping their ass hard enough to leave hand-shaped marks as he pounded into them, balls slapping against their clit. However, their previous teasing had brought him closer than he thought, and all too soon he felt ready to blow his load. “I- fuck, I’m almost there.” Knowing he really should, Frank pulled out with a groan, leaving (y/n) feeling desperately empty and confused. 

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Admiring the view.”

They turned to see him sat back in his chair, cock in hand. There was an incredible amount of restraint in his eyes, and they were pretty sure they knew the reason. Kicking their trousers away from their ankles, (y/n) straddled his lap, whining as they pouted. “You said you were close, sir. Why did you stop?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I really have to explain how babies are made? I’m not a biology teacher. I was just gonna-” A groan left his lips as they leant in to suck at the scorpion tattoo on his neck, feeling their wetness pressed against his thigh. “...mmm, finish things off and then use my mouth on you, find out if you taste as pretty as you look. Oh, little one, you’re killing me here.”

Their tone dripped with seduction as they kissed the spot under his ear. “See, I’m on the pill. Fully protected. So you can cum wherever you want… sir.”

As soon as he processed their words his hands were on their hips again, and he smirked at the way their bravado vanished as he buried his dick inside them again, pulling a sound that was almost a sob from them as the head pressed against their cervix. They whimpered against his neck as his hips bucked upwards, shuddering as he shifted so one arm was around their waist and the other hand gripped the back of their head. In this position, the friction against their clit was almost unbearable.

“Fuck, sir, I- oh, please!”

Frank grinned, ghosting his lips against their ear. “Oh, sweet (y/n). Are you asking for my permission?”

“Yes sir!”

He pulled them back to look into his eyes, loving how absolutely wrecked they looked as he brought his fingers to their clit again, this time using far more pressure. “Cum for me, kitten.” And he kissed them hard, swallowing their cries as they finally hit the peak. Their tight warmth around him was enough to bring him to his own release, groaning as his cum filled them and dripped out across their thighs.

The room smelled of pure sex as they clung to each other, breathing heavily and murmuring sweet nothings into each other’s ears. After a couple of minutes, Frank remembered something vital. 

“Shit, (y/n) you’re gonna have to get off me.” 

“I don’t wanna.” 

He sighed, kissing the side of their head. “I know sweetheart. But neither of us locked the door.” 

At that they practically leapt off him, the pair of them laughing as he stumbled across the room on unsteady legs and turned the lock. 

“You know, it’s probably a bit late for that.” 

“Yeah, but it’s the thought that counts.” He came back, kissing them sweetly. “I hope it’s okay that I really don’t want this to be a one time thing.” 

Their cheeks went pink as they put their clothes back on, pulling a slight face as his cum soaked their underwear. “Me neither. I mean, what you said about ruining me? I think it’s gonna take more than once for that to happen.” 

He raised an eyebrow as he straightened his own clothes back to vague normality. “See, I think I’ve done a pretty good job of wrecking you already.” 

“And I think it’s worth a few more attempts, just to be sure.” 

Smirking, he helped them re-fasten their shirt buttons. “You know what? That sounds like a smart plan. Think you’ll be able to concentrate in my classes a little better now we’ve... worked this problem out?” 

They nuzzled softly against his shoulder as he tucked his shirt back in. “Yeah.”

“Good. Still, we should probably go over some of those essay details.” 

“I guess so.” They couldn’t help but sound a little disappointed, and jumped a little as he reached down to squeeze their ass.

“You’ll have to come round to my place to use the right books, though.” 

And they caught on to what he was suggesting. “Oh. Oh. Yeah, actually, that sounds like a good idea.” 

“Fancy heading there now?” 

“Definitely, Frank... Uh, sir.” 

“Good. Because by the time I’ve finished teaching you everything that I think you need to learn, I don’t think you’ll be able to walk.” 

They helped him return his desk to it’s usual state before heading for the door. “Well, what if I can?” 

“Then I’ll just have to repeat the lesson. As many times as necessary.” 

[delxenofic]

watching cardinal west's latest video on furry literature sent me down a rabbit hole, and i've gone and found probably one of the earlier examples of an animal story in the perspective of a fly: stephen jones's "the life and adventures of a fly: supposed to have been written by himself." yes that is the actual subtitle. and from the good 'ol year 1797!

i had to go through my university to find an online copy of it and the quality of the scans along with the very odd stylistic choice of replacing a lot of s's with f's made it difficult to read, but i was so excited that i got it and read it through in one sitting. strap in, i am going to yap about this a lot.

overall it was... ok. :) i can definitely see the influence from a similar popular work from that time (dorothy kilner's "the life and perambulations of a mouse") because the narrative is framed basically the same: some guy writes the story told to them by a little animal. this fly is spontaneously able to write and literally says, "i'm not sure how i can do this but don't worry about it!" and leaves his story to be found about its various adventures traveling from home to home.

our fly is mostly a witness to what the humans are up to, traveling around in pursuit of knowledge (kind of like my fly oc melody! wow!). and also much like melody, it gets into danger a lot—stuck in a honeypot, caught by a web, snatched up by humans, captured in a box. and in all those situations, the compelling thing is that it gets rescued by various human characters. every time there's a character who extends an act of empathy to the fly, for a number of different reasons, from "what if this fly has a family or a sick child it wants to go home to?" to "this fly feels pain just like we do." and this is all coming from children too! it's really heartwarming.

then there's an instance when the kindness is too strong, and this girl kisses the fly who worries that it could die from it because her breath has the same intensity to it as a "great kitchen fire." love that.

i will say i found it a little strange why the fly only pursues children to hang around and watch, but i would like to see it as the fly recognizing that children are in a pivotal learning stage of their lives, so it's better to stick around them and learn the same things they do. also, since this is a book intended for younger readers to teach morals about empathy and being good for God or whatever, it may be targeting that audience by focusing on both good kids and bad ones.

what disappointed me most is that there really isn't an ending. the fly's narrative has no conclusion, and we get pulled back to the guy who gets the fly's story published who then shares the dream he has about encountering some of the children grown up. good for the message of the overall book, and bad for someone like me who only cares for the life of the fly. we'll never know what happened to it!

the fly doesn't have much of a character itself too; it's like the living framing device who leads the story wherever it needs to go more than anything, and the only real trait it has (wanting to learn all that it can) serves that same purpose. and it acts in a way that it has human morals, which i understand for the purpose of this being a moral tale but realistically would not be the case, like when it notices a maid not doing her work and buzzes and tickles her nose to be like, "stop slacking!" little buddy, why do you care? it's not your house!

despite everything, this book was a great find for me! maybe sometime i'll need to go my university library and seek out the physical copy. then i could hopefully take better scans lol.

[incorrect-jojolands-quotes]

So, I wrote a fic about Barbara Ann.

[tlatia-the-radiant]

In the engine room, he would one day be found.

His body, twitching. Convulsing with every surge of volts that trailed through one part of him and out the other. He was a cog in a machine, a mere conduit for energy. Stumps of what had been arms and legs were connected to wires and cords and tubes, all sorts of bits and baubles keeping him stabilized. The techpriest, a Magos Biologis, nervously tended to him and attempted to wipe the sweat from the Primarch's neck.

As if in an endless daze, the Second Son whispered things in High Gothic-- prayers to his own father, pleas to his long-dead mother, eulogies to his lost children.

Nirisch wringed his metal hands nervously as he glanced to the many cameras on all sorts of cogitators before him. Originally, they would have been used to check power supply adn anything wrong with the engines, but Nirisch had to awkwardly rig them into connecting to the security systems in order to keep watch on the visitors. He couldn't believe that they would be able to actually meet those from the other excommunicated legion! Nirisch cleared his throat as he spoke up,

" F-Forgive me, um, My Lady-- he is attempting to recuperate after the vox-transmission... I-I am one of the techpriests that would assist one of his sons of the First Company with his Penance Armor. I-I am Techpriest Nirisch! Or... well, I would be Magos now, having ten thousand years of studying the human body! Ha-ha!... haaa... "

The techpriest's voice could be heard over the vox comms, echoing through the large docking area that they entered within, bearing witness to ancient history. Giant marble columns that went up to the tall ceiling, statues of the 2nd Primarch and the Emperor, holding their weapons with pride. Tiles along the floor were made of similar material, with gold running along the cracks like streams of fate. Old, empty supply boxes were scattered about, as were old papers. Old signs of flora seemed to be seen along the walls, as well-- most likely from old gardens scattered throughout the large Phalanx-class ship. Once a bustling place of life meant to be a paradise for those oppressed by the Imperium and a place for diplomacy... now abandoned.

" You-- you should be able to easily go through the old Registry gates past the Administratum booths to reach the main gates and enter the great hall! I will do my best to guide you!... um. The lights will flicker. I cannot reach you. I will need to tend to Lord Aurelius. "

// @forgottnseccnd

Twenty minutes earlier...

"Confirming realspace translation... cross-referencing star charts with expected locations... 99.9% likelihood of successful arrival at Polaris."

"Raise the blinders," Tlatia, Eleventh Daughter of the Emperor, ordered with her arms folded and her weight resting mostly on her left foot. The metal shutters groaned slightly as they were raised to reveal the stars beyond.

Polaris had, once upon a time, been a trinary star system. That had not lasted. One star had disappeared long before Humanity ever reached the North Star; the second one had been kidnapped by the Drukhari some time in late M29. Now, only one star remained. It burnt a brilliant, cerulean blue.

Not even a hundred kilometres above Polaris sat a city-sized fortress. Perhaps it wasn't quite as big as the Phalanx, perhaps it was—either way, the difference was measured in metres instead of kilometres—but you could never mistake the two. The Phalanx was bright yellow, tall and proud; Ursa Major, flagship of the Second Legion, was silver and sapphire with an air of mystery.

"That's his ship," Tlatia murmured. "No mistaking it. Prepare my Stormbird."

"One step ahead of you, ma'am," First Captain Laura reported. "The Angel of Mercy is fueled, armed, and prepared to depart. I've ordered four of the Tecuani to prepare for combat, too."

"Thank you, Laura." Tlatia nodded to her officers. "Vox-officer Kell, ensure that we have constant communication within my brother's fortress. Fleetmaster Celaya, you have the conn and the fleet. Auspex, attempt to map the interior of the Star Fortress. I want heat maps, signs of live, psychic energy, topography, everything."

With her orders issued, she turned on her heel and left. She reached the hangar not even ten minutes later.

"Status?" she demanded, stepping into the cargo hold of her personal Stormbird. The pilot gave a thumbs-up.

"Green lights across the board, fuel and ammo full. Ready to rock and roll, ma'am."

"Excellent," Tlatia replied, as the chosen members of her honor guard took their seats in the Angel of Mercy's hold.

"Are you ready, ma'am?" Laura asked from beneath her jaguar helmet. Tlatia nodded.

"Let's get going."

(continued under the cut)

Tlatia drummed her fingers on her thigh-plates as the Angel of Mercy hummed through space. Her personal guard checked their weapons for the sixth time.

There was a chorus of clacks as bolts slammed back shut. The Tecuani returned to silence. An anxious, tense silence.

Tlatia shifted and folded her arms. The ceramite of her gauntlets clicked like bricks of rockcrete being tapped on one another as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

"Worried, my Lady?" Laura asked, tilting her helmet just slightly. Tlatia paused, then nodded.

"I haven't spoken to Aurelius in... stars... eleven thousand years? Maybe more?" She shifted again. "Then, one day while on deployment, I receive a vox-transmission from him on one of our encrypted channels. I reply and he's using his old callsign. It's his voice, it's his choice of words—everything fits."

"But you're worried," Nau asked.

"Yes," Tlatia replied. "Why reach out now? Why wait all this time? He was reported as dead centuries ago—why didn't he contradict that?"

"He could ask the same of us," Cotaya pointed out, ever-astute. "We were in the solar wind for longer than him."

"But we didn't reach out to the dead," Tlatia countered. "The dead reached out to us. It's impossible."

"Nothing's ever impossible," Xenhuan replied. "Improbable? Usually. Never impossible. You taught me that yourself, mother."

"I know it's not technically impossible, but at the very least it's more likely by orders of magnitude that this is a trap."

"We're entering a fortress most if not all of the Imperium and Chaos has no recollection of in order to speak with a man that by all means should not be alive." Laura shook her head. "This is far too strange to be a trap."

"Thirty seconds," the pilot reported. "Atmospheric conditions onboard are stable at 73% of Terra's atmospheric pressure."

"Red light!" Laura shouted. The Dawn Legionaries on-board stood and flicked the fire selector switches on their boltors from Safe to Fully Automatic.

The Angel of Mercy shuddered almost imperceptibly as it slipped through the atmospheric shield keeping the hangar from depressurizing and whined as it set down on the floor. The pilot kept the engines running.

The ramp dropped and the Dawn Legionaries peered out into total darkness.

"Sacred stars..." Xenhuan murmured.

"Let's move," Tlatia ordered, raising her pistol. "Lights on."

The five Tecuani turned on their underbarrel flashlights, cutting rays of white through the black. Tlatia let her self-control slip just a little bit and began to glow a few lumens brighter. She didn't dare risk more—not with a wounded super-Psyker somewhere onboard.

The lights flickered on, just strong enough that you could see the tops of looming statues and just dim enough that the Dawn Legion kept their flashlights on.

"F-Forgive me, um, my Lady..."

By all rights, the voice should have been deafeningly loud, booming through the hangar. Instead it was barely louder than a conversational tone.

"I-I am one of the Techpriests that would assist one of his sons of the First Company with the Penance Armor. I-I am Techpriest Nirisch! Or, well, I would be Magos now, after having ten thousand years to study the human body..."

"Door, fifty metres, two o'clock," Cotaya reported. The team reoriented; their steps gained a sense of urgency alongside the sense of direction.

"You—you should be able to easily go through the old Registry gates past the Administratum booths to reach the main gates and easily enter the Great Hall!" Nirisch continued, as the six-soldier team passed through the gate that Cotaya had sighted. The writing on top was too decayed to read, but beyond a series of turnstiles and booths pointed to evidence of a sort of Customs checkpoint typical of the Administratum. The team simply vaulted over the closed checkpoints.

"I will do my best to guide you!... um. The lights will flicker. I cannot reach you. I will need to tend to Lord Aurelius."

"This Nirisch sounds like a nervous wreck," Xenhuan observed.

"They've been tending to a dying Primarch for ten thousand years," Tlatia replied. "I would be, too. Main gate ahead."

The main gate was a towering affair; taller than any door aboard the Dawnbringer. Embossed, heavily-stylized stars formed constellations reaching from the bottom to the top of the door, with flowing silvered edges depicting the Second Legion, less commonly known as the Stars Repentant, in various states; supplication, combat, even death. In the centre of the door Aurelius himself stood, hands open and over his chest, palms facing towards him like a martyred saint. His face was hidden by a mask.

"That's a big guy," Xenhuan observed. Laura nodded.

"That's Aurelius, the Second Primarch," she replied. Aside from Tlatia, she was the only one on the team to have met the diviner before.

"Get the door open," Tlatia ordered. The fifth member of the team, Citlalicue, moved to comply. Laura moved in behind her to cover while the rest of the team kept their guns covering behind.

The door groaned as Citlalicue shoved it open. Dust rained down.

"Nobody's used this door for a long, long time," Laura observed. Citlalicue made a small hum of agreement.

"Yeah... and I think..."

She shoved the door the rest of the way open.

"...there's a reason for that."

The team turned to look upon the Great Hall—and found a long-quiet battlefield.

"By the sun..."

Bodies were scattered all across the hall, hidden behind makeshift fighting positions or caught in the open, all bearing the iconography of the Stars Repentant. Empty bolt-casings were scattered across the ground, covered in a thick layer of dust. Empty magazines sat beside sandbags; boltors missing their magazines lay by their warriors, sometimes discarded, sometimes still being clutched, even in death.

"Hel on Terra," Cotaya murmured, flashlight sweeping over a body slumped behind an emplaced heavy boltor that was only twenty rounds away from running out of ammunition. Three box magazines beside the gun were completely empty. The gunner's armor was rough, uneven; chunks had been taken out of the shoulderplate, and the helmet was cracked.

"What happened?" Laura wondered aloud. Her flashlight came to rest on a body lying facedown, a chainsword still grasped in its right hand. The left arm was severed just below the elbow with the left forearm nowhere to be seen.

"Looks like they were attacked," Xenhuan murmured, kneeling to run a hand over a body that was missing anything below the waistline. Not a single shred of flesh remained below the armor; it was just dried bone. "And, they lost. Really, really badly."

"Or whoever attacked shuttled their dead," Cotaya countered, sweeping their flashlight over the cracked walls. Little chunks had been removed at irregular intervals; she guessed they were missed shots.

The team continued to advance. Their footfalls echoed throughout the hall off of empty walls.

"Torn carpet," Cotaya noted. "Looks... burnt, almost."

"Whoever stormed this place really had it in for these guys," Laura observed, stepping over a body with a sword still driven through the abdomen. "Were the Wolves ever this brutal?"

"Not that I know of," Tlatia murmured. "And never since."

[vigilant-cleric]

@ownward

_____

The letter was succinct, as ever. A date, a time, a meeting place and a discreet wax seal depicting the insignia of the officer corps of the Flaming Fist. To anyone else, this would have been an exciting prospect, perhaps a secret message, an invite to the creation of a conspiracy. To Ashen, it was far less interesting. A routine meeting, no more, where the Fist's leadership would discuss upcoming decisions, new arrivals, economy matters, and expect their chaplain to bestow Helm's blessing upon their plans.

What could he do but serve, anyway? Like Helm, he was the unsleeping eyes of the Fist, a mouth remaining shut but a guardian of guardians, one of the only reliable members of the mercenary corps who valued his god's blessing above trading files for gold. Newest recruits like high commanders alike spoke to him and him alone on the same foot of equality. He valued their trust, and they valued his.

The location was no surprise to him. The Elfsong Tavern, a place which, since its creation, always remained soldiers' favourite place to gather. It might as well become the Fist's headquarters, and for the span of a meeting, it was about to be.

Or was it? Upon entering the intended meeting place, the creaking door reverberated in a way that was already telling of an empty room. Incredulous, the cleric pulled the folded letter out of his cuirass to double-check. This was the right place, he was even a little late. But there was no sign that anyone had been there at all; dust still settled on the centre table, the chairs were still neatly stored on the sides.

Cancellation without notice, Ashen thought. It was a rare event, but he had already told his higher-ups about his displeasure of such lack of courtesy. He inhaled sharply, grimacing at the prospect of walking back to Wyrm's Crossing. Upon closing the door behind him once again, a better idea seized his mind, a tinge of remembrance from a Baldurian holiday with fellow Hellriders.

As he retraced the steps of his departed companions through the empty rooms of the tavern, he was reminded of the ages-old quarrel between Elturel and Baldur's Gate, and his memories recreated, for a moment, the voices of the young soldiers, suspended in time. "Come on, lads. If they're going to pout at us like that, we might as well bill them our own service fee."

But now the cleric was alone again. The bottles of wine he was stuffing under his arm would not be shared. Upon realising this, he stopped his gesture of reaching out for another mid-way. He sighed, contenting himself with his two ill-gotten goods. Such a small theft would go unnoticed.

What did not go unnoticed, however, was an irregularity in the shelf on which he stored the unwanted bottle. Ashen frowned, probing the anomaly with the tip of his gauntlet.

With a grating noise, an empty barrel to his right opened, revealing an entryway. That was not expected. It looked like his Hellrider friends could have gotten better wine than the one they had gotten away with, after all.

"Who thought the Great Guard would reward me with his vigilance for something he would disapprove of," he muttered under his breath, not entirely unamused.

But perhaps the Great Guard knew something he did not. The thought did not cross his mind, and the chaplain stepped into the newly opened room.