#to be fair he would be in a better state than most corpses considering where he died

[bi-panic-at-the-disco]

he would be so smelly

[in-tua-deep]

idk if you still do au ideas but what if delores was a real person in the apocalypse? how it woul dbe done i have no idea but i love all your aus and thought it would be cool

okay okay I don't tend to go for real!Dolores aus admittedly because I find her much more compelling as what she is: a reflection of five himself and a symptom of his crushing loneliness

but i started thinking about it and you know what?? i think five deserves a little socialization, as a treat

so say like, 0.5% of the population is resistant to abilities. Allison would really struggle to rumor them, Five wouldn't be able to jump with them, and, most importantly, whatever the fuck Vanya's ability does has like, reduced damage or something

and the og apocalypse isn't the moon apocalypse, so let's say that it was pure waves of Vanya's powers that fucked over the earth

so 0.5% of the population survives the apocalypse. though, let's be honestly, the real number is a lot smaller than that. People who might have survived Vanya's initial power wave (miraculously) did not survive buildings crushing them or survive the car/plane/bus/train/other transportation crashes or survive being left alone when they are too young to reliably look after themselves, or the variety of other problems that come with 99.5% of the population dying at once

So, Five arrives in the apocalypse and is met with ruin and fire and a whole lot of dead people. He finds his siblings, but it doesn't matter. They're dead. He doesn't even recognize them at first, these strange grown-ups who he identifies not by their faces but by the umbrellas on their wrists that match his own

As he realizes the full impact of his situation, he hears a voice that says, very succinctly, "holy shit!"

It's a girl a few years older than Five himself, maybe 15 or 16, and she is very excited to see another survivor.

And here's where I u-turn this au around bc i'm not all that interested in real!Dolores, but I would be down to talk about Five meeting survivors in the apocalypse, because if Dolores is real I don't buy no one else survived.

So Dolores shows up and see a Literal Child crying over the corpses of his family and assumes that Five is a fellow survivor, and she immediately grabs him up. Five is incoherent with grief at this point anyway, so he doesn't even protest when she basically hauls him away from the bodies. She's babbling at him, but he doesn't really hear anything she's saying

And then she takes him to her dad

(Why not, let's have the 1% potentially be a heritable thing)

and her dad, let's call him just some dad name. like Rick. it has been a fucking WEEK for him, okay. he had his daughter with him, his ex-wife is on the other coast for her work, and by some miracle he survived the apocalypse and so did his child, and he's been wracking his brains trying to figure out what the fuck to do next

and then his daughter shows up with a traumatized thirteen-year-old in tow

now rick is a good dude. he's a dad. they get out of five that his name is five ("what the fuck" dolores mouths to him over five's shoulder and rick can't help but agree) and the bodies he found were his siblings ("Dad and Ben and Vanya weren't there though," this child cries desperately and rick feels his own heart clench in response, "They might still be alive!")

"We can look for them." Rick assures his new adopted child, because he is an adult in a fresh apocalypse and this kid has presumably lost everything he's ever known (more than rick even knows at the time)

and they do. They each get wagons and they go out and find supplies and look for other survivors. Five is... surprisingly helpful and also surprisingly docile as he is able to rely on Someone Else to give orders while he attempts to (dissociate) process what the fuck has happened

and here's the thing: Five prides himself on being independent, sort of. He's independent for a child soldier, but he's used to taking orders from a male authority figure and Rick happens to be just that

The first time that Five does something dangerous and Rick yells is a revelation

(Rick isn't sure if he hopes that Five's dad is alive or not, because if they find that man alive then Rick might just kill the jackass himself. Also like, Five is bizarrely knowledgeable out survival skills, like way too knowledgeable about it, which is helpful for them but also very concerning)

they find a newspaper and Five finds the article that mentions his father's recent death ("Huh. Heart attack." Five says, and there is no emotion in his voice)

(Years later, years later, Five and Rick talk. "I don't think I wanted to find him, either." Five admits, softly because Dolores is asleep, "I think I was more scared of finding him alive than I was of finding his body. He would've been so mad at me, I think.")

this newspaper is how Rick and Dolores find out about Five being Number Five, Umbrella Academy Missing Person

"Dude, what the fuck." Dolores says, wide eyes, "You're like, thirty?"

"I'm thirteen." Five says, and then checks the date on the newspaper again, "Also I think I would technically be 29 if I lived through all of it, 'cause it's April and my birthday is in October."

"You... time travelled?" Rick asks, which is honestly the more relevant question, "Can you go back?"

And Five just,,, crumples on himself. Because he tried, he tried really hard. It didn't work. "I'm gonna figure it out. I'm gonna go back, I'm going to save them."

That, Rick thinks, is a lot of weight to put on one person's shoulders, but especially the shoulders of a child.

"Alright." Rick says, because what else can he say after finding out his new child has superpowers and is from like, 2004? "What do you need?"

("Oh my god I have so many memes to teach you." Dolores says later, reverently. Five blinks in confusion and Rick mentally prepares himself for the recitation of so many vines)

And it's easier, somehow. Five sometimes feels like it's a betrayal, but he settles into apocalypse life with an ease that surprises him.

He lets Rick fuss over him and help tie his scarf securely around his head every morning before he sets off on supply runs with Dolores. And they're kids! Five has never had a friend before, and Dolores is funny and smart and she's struggling just as much as he is.

"I don't know if my mom's alive." She says to him, in solidarity when he checks the face of every corpse to see if they're Vanya.

Five is practical in the way only a child soldier can be. He's economical with the room in their wagons, carefully examining what might and what might not be useful.

Dolores, on the other hand, constantly takes up space with what Five sees as useless shit.

"Excuse you," Dolores says, shoving a game of monopoly, the entire discworld series, and a pack of glitter gel pens into her wagon, "These are absolutely vital apocalypse supplies."

She challenges him, plays with him in a way no one ever has. "I bet you I can find more batteries today than you can," She grins at him, "Winner gets to pick dinner first?"

"You're on." Five says, directly before Dolores pulls two packs of 24 AA batteries from behind her back, like a cheat.

Dolores makes him take a ten minute break when they find a playground that has been mostly not-destroyed. They rummage around kids backpacks and mother's handbags for some good loot, too numb to corpses to even be bothered all that badly about the corpses they belong to.

"I'm getting on the swings." Dolores says when Five starts making noises about moving on, "I haven't been on a swingset in ages."

"What's the point?" Five grumps.

"Don't be sour because you can't swing as high as I can!" Dolores laughs, getting higher and higher as the swings creak ominously.

Five grumpily gets into the other swing and grudgingly kicks himself back and forth until Dolores takes pity on him and teaches him how to properly move his legs and body to get higher and higher.

Dolores jumps from the swing seat and lands with a flourish and smile. Five jumps out of his seat and then jumps, warping right in front of Dolores and making her yell and hit at him in outrage. Five smiles the widest he has all week.

This is how Five grows up in the apocalypse, with Dolores teasing him into taking breaks and leaning over his shoulder to look at his math and scandalizing him by stating that she'd only just started on matrices in her own high school math class.

Every night they huddle around Rick while he picks up whatever book Dolores picked out that day because it is a travesty that Five has never read hunger games or whatever, and then they read together because it would be a genuine blood bath if they all took turns. The first time Five accidentally mentioned a spoiler and Dolores genuinely considered murder was the birthday of this tradition

Some days the air is too smoky or there are dust storms or it's just plain too dangerous to go out, and they all stay in. Dolores regales Five with stories about public school, and Five tells them about his siblings.

Then they all cry

"I shouldn't be crying." Five sobs.

"Shut the fuck up," Dolores sobs back, "You literally watched me lose my shit over remembering my shitty eighth grade dance and listened to me sob-sing toxic for like four hours."

"In fairness I also wished you would shut up then."

"Let me hug you or I will start singing songs that I only remember the chorus for again you absolute fucker."

"I could always sing some -"

"No, Rick/Dad."

And Five grows up. Rick shows him how to shave very carefully in front of cracked mirrors. Dolores teases him every time his voice cracks. Rick tells Five in no uncertain terms that he loves and cares for him, and that Reginald was a little bitch. There are a lot of heartfelt conversations around that, honestly. Rick telling Five that he and the siblings deserved better, that they were children and deserved to have a childhood.

And that he has faith in Five. Rick and Dolores both do, they bring him back paper and pens and pencils and chalk and anything Five can use to write equations. They poke around any libraries for books on theoretical mathematics and quantum physics. Rick and Dolores go out scouting for food while Five stays home and can work longer.

They also make him take breaks, make sure that he's looking after himself.

They're a little better off than OG!Five when it comes to food, because some animals survive. Enough that Rick figures out how to hunt. Five is the first one to each bugs, and even though Dolores makes faces they all start eating bugs as well.

"Pretty sure there's loads of cultures that eat bugs." Rick says grudgingly, wondering if he should try stirfry the cockroaches and if that would improve the taste. "There's even, uh, cricket flour or whatever, right?"

"Plus you eat like, five spiders a year when you're asleep." Dolores says cheerfully, just to watch her dad's face scrunch up in displeasure.

"That doesn't sound true, but I don't know enough about spiders to dispute it." Five mutters, and Dolores gives him such a proud look that it makes him roll his eyes.

They're in their thirties when Rick dies. He's out foraging and hunting, and the rubble he's standing on gives way and he ends up with a gash in his leg. He manages to stop the bleeding, but the world is filthy and they don't have any antibiotics.

He gets an infection.

"It's okay." He tells both of his kids, "It's okay. I'm just so glad that you guys have each other, y'hear? I'm so glad."

"It's not okay." Five says, voice thick and choked, "It's not."

"Yeah, well, you're going to figure out how to go back, right? Go back in time and save everyone. Then I'll have never died, right?" Rick smiles, "And even if you don't, I'll be waiting for you on the other side and we'll see each other again anyway."

"I'm going to fix it."

"I know. I have faith in you, Five." Ricks says honestly, and that's more than Reginald ever said.

They sit quietly together while Dolores is out scavenging. They've been taking turns sitting with Rick.

"I won't remember you, in the past, will I?" Rick says rhetorically, but Five answers anyway.

"I don't think so."

Rick hums, "Well, doesn't matter. If you need help in the past, you come to me, y'hear?"

"You won't remember me."

"Doesn't matter. You come find me, and you tell me your crazy story until I believe you, and then I'll help you." Rick says firmly, "You're family. You're my son. Timelines? Don't matter. If you need help, with anything, even if it's just with - with filling out a bowling team or something -"

"I have never been bowling in my life and you know it." Five interrupts, but it makes him laugh just a little bit which was clearly Rick's intention.

"Well who knows what you'll get up to in the past! You'll be able to go bowling, you know. Get to wear those uncomfortable shoes. Hey, you go far enough back maybe you can go to Dolores's tenth birthday party and put me out of my misery."

"Was she bad at bowling?"

"Oh, she was wiping the floor with me. No contest."

"Honestly, that sounds absolutely accurate."

"Shut up, bowling just wasn't my sport. Regardless, the point was that I'm giving you a free pass to come and get me. Because I know you, I know how you think." Rick brings up his hand to tap his finger against Five's forehead, "You get it into your head that you need to go it alone, take it all on your shoulders. I'm telling you that if you do that I'll somehow manifest my memories and come smack you over the head for being stupid, you hear?"

"I'm not dragging you into anything." Five says firmly, "I'll have my siblings."

"Who were also children." Rick points out. "And dragging? Dragging is such a strong word for a volunteer."

"A volunteer who won't remember volunteering." Five shoots back.

Rick just shrugs, and then winces when the movement jolts his bad leg. "Five, I'm going to be honest with you here. And sappy. Can you handle a bit of sappiness for a minute?"

"No."

"Well too bad. Can't leave a dying man, you'd feel too bad. So you're stuck with me. But you listen good, okay? Because you aren't dragging me into anything. Whatever life you have, I want to have a part of that. Because you're my son. Wherever you are, whatever you do, I want to help because you're family. What you'd be doing by leaving me out of it is depriving me of someone I love, depriving me of knowing one of the best kids I've ever known."

"Shut up." Five says, choked.

"Nope, it's sappy time." Rick states, "Maybe asking you to come find me is selfish, but I don't care. No matter what version of me exists, I want to be in your life."

"My life is a walking joke, why would you want any part of that?"

"It has been my privilege to watch you grow up. To help you. To be here for you. Of course I'd want to be there to watch you grow up the rest of the way."

"But -"

"Shut up, just let me tell you that I am so proud of you. You never give up, and your heart is so big. You love so much and so loudly, and it's been the highest honor of my life to be included in your family."

Five pauses for a moment to collect himself before simply saying - "You're the best dad I've ever had."

Rick snorts, "Considering my competition, I'd sure hope so. That bar was so low old Reggie was practically limbo dancing with the devil. Now get over here and give an old man a hug."

They don't bury Rick, when he dies. They don't have time and the ground is too hard and they don't have the heart to move him. Instead the pack everything up and seal him in the shelter they'd lived in.

Dolores pulls out a bottle of ancient nail polish and painstakingly writes Rick's name on the wall with his birth year and an approximate current year. They aren't 100% sure though, since time blends together out in the apocalypse, but it's something.

They continue by themselves. They get older.

Dolores jokingly calls him her husband because the way his face scrunches up makes her cackle. They see other people very occasionally, usually passing through. Usually groups. Dolores and Five get to flex their hosting skills, though more than one group declines their cockroach stirfry.

("It's a family recipe." Five says with amusement in his eyes that usually manages to drown out old grief.)

"Jeeze, that kid couldn't have been older'n twenty-three." Dolores complains, "Makes me feels positively ancient."

"They wouldn't have known any world 'cept for the apocalypse." Five muses, pouring some boiled water into wine glasses because they might be living in the apocalypse but they can be fancy.

"Do you ever think about that?" Dolores asks, turning to him with no judgement, just curiosity. "When you go back, you'll be like, erasing them from existence."

Five shrugs, "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe this place will just split off into an alternate timeline."

"Maybe none of this is real." Dolores says, amusement coloring her voice. "Maybe you aren't talking to a real person at all. Maybe this is just a symbol of your insanity and cracked mind."

"Dolores, I literally have a scar where you stabbed me. Did I somehow manage to stab myself in the back?"

"Scraped you, I scraped you. By accident."

"So you maintain." Five says haughtily, swirling his water in his wine glass like a pretentious prick.

"I could totally be fake. You don't know my life."

"I know way too much about you, Dolores. Like, way way too much." Five scoffs, because Dolores and him have literally no secrets from one another at this point. Five even knows the truth behind what happened at Janet Scranton's thirteenth birthday party. Like, he said, way too much.

"Maybe you made it up. Maybe that's why you know so much."

"Dolores, I'm going to be honest with you right now." Five presses the tips of his fingers to his chin, "If you were a figment of my imagination, you would be so much better at math."

"Hey!" Dolores squawks indignantly, "I didn't even get to finish high school you pretentious prick!"

"Neither did I!"

"You didn't even go to high school, you brat."

"I'm fifty-two I think I've outgrown 'brat.'"

"Tell that to your attitude." Dolores says haughtily, "You're still younger than me."

"Won't be when I go back in time." Five says cheerfully, completely ignoring Dolores's venomous look.

"That's cheating."

"Sucks to suck." Five says loftily, taking another sip of his water.

Sometimes they talk about The Plan, with capital letters. What Five is going to do when he goes back in time, depending on when he pops out. Is he going to adopt his siblings? What about Reginald?

"You don't think I could kill Reginald?" Five says, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense.

"I think you should let me do it. I'll even give you control of tonight's music if you do."

"What are you doing to do? Bite his ankles? What if you're like, seven or something?"

"All the better to get away with it since I'll be too young to convict or whatever."

"Pretty sure that's not how the law works."

"How would you know? Just for that I'm playing Istanbul on repeat again."

"I don't know why you think that's a threat. That song slaps."

It takes a few more years before Five is close enough that the Commission comes to interfere. Because that's what I think happened - Five was getting too close and they stepped in because they might as well distract the man as much as they can with missions, right?

So the Handler shows up. And she offers Five a job, telling him that they have the ability to travel through time. And Five - hesitates.

"Give me some time?" Five asks, and the Handler graciously gives him 24 hours.

And he and Dolores talk it over, because now that his goal is more in sight than it has ever been and Five is scared.

"What are you waiting for? You have the chance to see your siblings again." Dolores says patiently.

"Yeah," Five says, and what he doesn't say is clear. But I won't see you.

"Five." Dolores says, and she cradles his face between her palms like he is something precious, "I have had so much time with you already. More than I would have ever. We have been so lucky, to have this time. How can I demand more than what we have already been given?"

"When have you ever not demanded the world, Dolores?" Five asks, his own hand coming up to cover Dolores's own.

"We've had decades together, Five. We're getting old. I was always going to lose you, one way or another. Nothing lasts forever."

"I don't want to lose you."

"I know. But if I had to choose a way, if I could decide where our story ends, this would be it. Letting you go, because this way you get to live. You get to see your family again. You get to save the world. I could ask for nothing more than for you to get your happy ending."

Five removes Dolores's hand from his cheek so that he can cradle it between them, "I'm happy here with you. I've never been happier. Isn't that silly? That I was happier in the apocalypse?"

"I bet killing Reggie would make you happy." Dolores laughs rustily.

"One day you're going to see the mysterious disappearance of a famous billionaire in the paper and feel a twinge of satisfaction and now have a clue why." Five laughs as well, shaking his head.

Dolores pats Five's hands, "Five, look at me. We've had our time. And you're going to give me even more of it. More time with my father. More time with my mother. I'll never know it, but you'll have saved me."

"What if this is - what if this is an alternate reality? What if I leave you here alone?"

"Then you'll be saving a 15-year-old girl from the same fate as me. Because as much as I love you, as much as I have loved this time we have had together, this is still an apocalypse. This should never have happened, and if you have a chance to go back and prevent it, then I want you to take that chance with both hands."

"Even if it means leaving you alone?"

Dolores smiles at him, "I'm not going to be alone. Far too many creepy crawlies in the apocalypse for that."

"Shut up, I'm being serious."

"Hmm." Dolores hums consideringly, "Maybe I'll head North, to that new settlement that last group said they'd heard word of. Sure they'd find some use for an old woman who's survived this long in the wilderness."

"You can have my half of the record collection." Five says, pulling her against him into a hug that she easily returns.

"As if I wouldn't have stolen them as soon as you left." She scoffs, but it's a little wet, and Five pretends his own eyes aren't leaking tears.

When The Handler comes back, Dolores gives him another hug. She also slips something into his pocket - some photos. They'd taken it a year into the apocalypse, when Dolores had found an ancient looking polaroid camera and towed it home despite Five's protests about practicality. The photos are worn and faded at the edges, but the smiles on Five's little apocalypse family's faces are undeniable.

"You'll have to see if they magically fade when you change the timeline." Dolores whispers to him with a grin, "Like in the movies."

"Okay." Five whispers back.

"You have the list of movies to watch, right?" Dolores says. Five rolls his eyes and nods because he wrote the list last night into his Vanya-book while Dolores hovered over his shoulder and critiqued his handwriting.

"And you promise to try a proper non-expired twinkie at some point?"

"That I do not promise. I think even looking at one would make me lose my lunch. I have twinkie-trauma."

"Shut up and get going." Dolores says, because the Handler is starting to tap her foot impatiently.

And off Five goes to become an assassin. Though - he's much more gentle this time. He's careful, he doesn't kill children and he usually takes jobs that don't require killing at all. He distracts and manipulates events as much as he can without killing.

He's actually much more well socialized, thanks to Rick and Dolores. Less feral child and more determined man on a mission.

Which is why he's so frustrated when he finally, finally manages to get the equations to work and falls through and falls - directly back into his stupid thirteen-year-old body.

"Shit." Five says, loudly, and revels in the surprised look on his siblings faces.

He strides into the kitchen, and they all follow him like ducklings. They look exactly the way they did when they died.

"Wow this is actually way harder than I thought it would be." Five muses, looking at their dead faces. But as Dolores would say, life is hard but you have to keep on trucking sometimes. "Whatever, what's the date?"

"Five, where have you been?" Diego demands, looking irritated. It makes Five snort in amusement.

"The future. The past. If you want like, an exact list of dates you'll have to hold your horses. I spent like, two weeks in Peru once. No souvenirs though, unfortunately."

They look taken aback, like they didn't expect Five to have quite this much sass. Oops. That is definitely Dolores's influence. Or maybe he was always a little asshole. In fairness, what teenagers aren't tiny assholes? He has an excuse.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Diego's eyebrows are furrowed in anger. It kind of takes Five aback for a second, because he remembers a Diego who stutters when he argued.

"When did you learn the fuck-word?" Five asks, raising an eyebrow before her can help it, "Grace ought to wash your mouth out with soap."

Diego immediately goes red, "Shut up!"

"Wow you're so easy to rile up. Aren't you like, twenty-something? Actually, I could figure out for myself how old you are if you gave me the date."

"I'm twenty-nine." Diego growls, like that was the point.

"Haunting!" Five says cheerfully, because that means there is way less time than he would like, narrowing his time down to a six month window.

It's extremely funny how his cheer makes all of them make faces.

It's Klaus who leans forward, "Why do you need to know?"

Klaus's face is open and curious and - (looks exactly like he did when Five found him all those years ago) - and Five can't help but answer him. "The world end on April 1st, 2019. No it isn't an April Fools joke, yes I have heard that joke like a million different times. I just want to know how close I landed so I can, you know, start working on how to fix that."

"Woah woah woah, roll it back." Allison says, holding a hand up, "What?"

"The apocalypse occurs on April 1st, 2019." Five says, slowly. "I have traveled from afar to prevent this from happening, because like, everyone dies."

"Everyone?" Vanya says weakly from the side.

She's clearly expecting to be ignored, so Five turns his head to address her directly by wiggling his hand back and forth a little. "Sort of. Like, not too many people survive at all. A handful of the human population, you know."

"But you survived?" Diego recovers admirably, if bitingly.

"Well, no." Five says rolling his eyes, "Wouldn't you just know it, Klaus here has managed to figure out a new ability!"

Everyone turns to look at Klaus, who immediately holds up his hands like he's being arrested or something, "I did not!"

"Wonderful! Now that we've established that I'm alive -"

"Why should we trust a word you say?" Luther says for the first time, looking pensive.

Five blinks, genuinely taken aback. "Because... I'm your brother? Because I can clearly and obviously time travel? Like, yeah, it would have been more convenient if I'd arrived in like, my old-body for proof-purposes, but like. I mean. Thirteen is still a pretty convincing age to be to prove time travel considering if I hadn't, I would be like, almost thirty."

"Roll it back again." Allison says firmly, "What do you mean by 'old body'?"

"Great question!" Five says pointing at Allison and smiling. Everyone looks at him weird again, and Five takes a moment to wonder if they've ever experienced positive reinforcement. Knowing Reginald, probably not. "Wait! Is Reggie alive? Wait, no, answer that in a second. Uh. When I time traveled I fucked up my body I guess, I was like, old. White hair and wrinkles-type old from spending decades in the apocalypse. But I fucked up the calculations and got booted back to my thirteen-year-old body, I guess. How, I have no idea."

"What?" Vanya says, still equally weakly.

"You have no idea how fucked up time travel is." Five whispers conspiratorially to Vanya, loud enough for the whole table to hear, "There are so many ways to die. Or permanently tear a hold in space time. But like, with life as we know if ending soon-ish, I figured I couldn't possibly fuck it up worse than it already was, y'know? Speaking of, anyone have the date again?"

"Wait, what was that about dad?" Luther asks, very focused.

"Oh, you still call him dad? Big oof." Five says automatically, because apparently his verbal filter is shot to hell after living with Dolores. It does make Klaus bark out a too-loud laugh.

"What does that mean?" Luther asks aggressively.

"It means Reginald sucks and doesn't deserve the title of 'dad,' what did you think I meant?" Five asks, and now both Diego and Vanya and both cracking smiles, though Vanya is covering hers with a hand.

"Have some respect for the dead." Luther growls, standing up and looking very large and threatening.

Five sways back, craning his head up, "Woah there big buy, sit down before I injure my poor growing spine looking up at you. Jeeze, did Reggie force feed you steroids or something? I wouldn't put it past him but like, I just want to know he at least went over the side effects of the drug with you. Also like, thanks for narrowing it down. Also terrifying! Seriously though, exact date please because if I have less than 24 hours I am going to break down crying and that is a threat."

"I love this Five." Klaus says reverently.

"March 21st." Vanya offers, finally.

"Wow! Terrifying!" Five says, clapping his hands together, "Hate that. Ten days, huh? Well, who wants to get on board the save-the-world express?"

Klaus immediately flings his hand in the air, Five points at his brother appreciatively. "Yes, excellent! I'll take the volunteer in the lovely skirt as my first team member. Any other volunteers?"

"Danke!" Klaus simpers, grinning widely like this is the vest entertainment he's had in weeks.

"I'm not just going to stand here and listen to you badmouth dad and boss us around." Luther slams his hands on the table.

"Well not with that attitude." Five snarks.

Diego raises his hand, "I would like to join team fuck dad as well."

"We can certainly debate team names later." Five says, nodding wisely as Luther gives some sort of scandalized gasp.

"Honestly, I just want to see where this is going." Klaus confesses.

Five shrugs, because he doesn't really care about the reason. "Don't you want to prove me wrong them? Prove what a well-adjusted young man Reginald Hargreeves raised?"

"Shut up." Luther grinds out, looking a moment away from throwing a punch.

"If this is all true, I have to get home." Allison cuts in, looking concerned, "I have - I have a daughter."

"I mean, if you want to give Claire a world to live in then I'd stick around, but that's just me." Five shrugs.

"You know her name?" Allison asks, obviously taken aback.

Five is almost offended, "Uh, yeah. I have her photo as well. Y'all get on like, a bizarre number of gossip magazine covers did you know that?"

Allison manages to outdo herself in terms of being taken aback once more.

There's a beat of silence, and then Five turns, "Vanya? You in?"

"Me?" Vanya blinks, looking shocked. "What can I do?"

"Yeah, what can she do?" Diego asks, crossing his arms and suddenly looking grumpy.

It baffles Five, who scrunches his nose, "Uh, like, a lot? I assume? I mean. I'm going to be honest here, just looking at y'all right now is a lot. In more ways than one! Hashtag trauma and all that, but like, name a single one of you that wouldn't be the most obvious person in the room as soon as you walked into it. Except Vanya, who somehow manages to look like a well adjusted adult, by some miracle."

"Did you just verbally say the word hashtag?" Allison asks, looking so deeply confused.

"More concerned about the trauma he tacked onto there, but y'know, to each their own." Klaus immediately cuts in.

"You think I'm well-adjusted?" Vanya asks, looking oddly touched.

"I would like to direct your attention to Diego's leather pants-scowl combo and Luther's general aura of daddy-issues." Five says pointedly, "I can practically smell the tragic comic book backstory in this room. If I'd jumped back a decade earlier this would have been Batman's wet dream of orphan selection."

"Alright! Game plan!" Five says, waving Diego's knife in his hand.

Diego's hands immediately go to his weird harness looking thing, "Hey!"

"Give me just one moment to get the tracker out." Five rolls his eyes, "Then I'll give it back, I promise. Also if someone could ask Grace for like, some antibiotics that would be good."

"What?" Allison asks, directly before Five stabs himself and there is suddenly panic at the table.

"Relax!" Five says, allowing Diego to remove the knife from his hands. He doesn't need it anyway and his hand immediately drops down to root in the wound.

"Five what the fuck!" Diego yells, but Five just pulls up bloody fingers and waves the tracker into Diego's stupefied face.

"What the fuck is that, Five?" Allison demands, looking very shaken.

"I literally just said it was a tracker." Five points out, "Now, I think our first team activity should be voting on whether we destroy it or take it out to bumfuck nowhere and ditch it to confuse the Commission."

"What the fuck is the Commission?" Diego barks.

"Man. Maybe I should just hit up Rick." Five muses, "This is going to take so much explaining."

"Who is Rick."

"So much explaining."

[amayawolfe]

Teacups (Illumi x Fem.Reader)

(A/N:  mild fluff, pregnancy, angst, nudity, cross dressing (sorta?), bathing together, emotional struggle)

Word Count: 5755

Name Key: (o/d) = older daughter (name)   (y/d) = younger daughter (name)

(Summary: You come from a small, yet formidable clan of shinobi assassins and have been married to Illum Zoldyck as a way to create a bond with one of the most powerful assassin families in the world. Even though it had been an arranged marriage, you have come to love and care for your husband deeply.

Seven years have passed since your vows were spoken and you are now five months pregnant with yours and Illumi's third and forth child. You've grown concerned with the lack of bonding between Illumi and your two daughters and suggest a "father daughters' day" while you visit family. Shortly after your return home, you are surprised in how far Illumi has taken your suggestion.)

Taglist: @to-move-on-means-to-grow

   "So tell me, (y/n), how have the girls been doing?" your mother asked you over her cup of tea.

   The two of you where sitting at a table just outside your favorite little café in the city nearest Kukuroo mountain. With the sun shinning down on you brightly, warming your skin and clothes, you should have felt relaxed and stress free for a change. However, your mother had a bad tendency to get under your skin.

   You took a sip from your own teacup and leaned back into your chair, rubbing your round pregnant belly as you did so.

   "They're doing well. (o/d) has started her training and is fairing far better than I hoped she would have," you said with a proud smile. "(y/d) has been watching (o/d) and is getting excited for her own training to start."

   Your mother smiled, happy and proud that her granddaughters were showing such keen interest and progress in the family art.

   "I'm so glad to hear that," she said, lightly clapping their hands together in excitement. "They will make wonderfully talented shinobi." She took another sip from her tea before she continued. "And what are the little darlings doing today since you are taking the day off from teaching? I had hoped you would have brought them with you. I haven't seen them in such a long time."

   "Oh, they're having a 'father daughters' day' day with Illumi," you replied nonchalantly.

   Your mother's smile fell away from her lips. She had not been happy with your father when he had made the arrangement with one of the world's mostly deadly and powerful families of assassins.  The youngest of eight children, you were her only daughter. She nearly killed your father when she found out that you were to be married off to the eldest Zoldyck child, Illumi. But by that point the deal was made and there was nothing that she could do.

   Despite being nervous, if not a little scared, you were more than willing to do the deed. Your clan was suffering from lack of work due to over competition. Having ties with the Zoldycks held promise of a more steady stream of jobs. Your clan was highly skilled in their ways and made formidable allies. It was a win win situation.

   The first meeting with your future husband had been an awkward one, to say the least. He was quiet for the most part, and shown less emotion than a corpse. At one point you had giggled at the thought that if he were anymore tense, and just held his breath, he could pass for one.

   Your mother had always said you were a strange child.

   "You mean, they are spending the day with those butlers?" she asked in a condescending tone.

   Mother didn't like the idea of the butlers either. She was one of those that believed you should take care of your own home. To be honest, you secretly believed she was jealous. Having a butler when you had eight children would have been welcomed help, surely.

   "Mother, please be nice," you chided. "You know I consider the butlers to be friends and family as well."

   Out of the corner of your eye you could see the dark skinned young woman, Canary, smile a little as she pretended to read the paper. While she may have looked like she was laid back and inattentive sitting there, you knew that every one of those sharp senses of hers were alert and on the look out for any potential threat to you.

   In truth, you were perfectly capable of defending yourself; pregnant or not. Having been one of the top shinobi warriors in your clan, you were skilled enough to put many of the experienced clans men face down into the dirt. Allowing Canary to come along was to help put Illumi's concerns at ease more than anything else. That, and you enjoyed the young lady's company. She wasn't quite as uptight as most of the other butlers.

   "And I really wish you would give Illumi a chance," you sighed as you refreshed your cup from the decorated cast iron pot that was sitting on the table. "He's been working really hard to improve himself and isn't the same person you first met."

   Your mind flashed back to when Illumi had arrived for yours and his first meet. Mother had tagged along to make sure you would not be killed right on the spot, something you still rolled your eyes at to this day. He had been extremely formal in a robotic and monotone way.

   In the most deadpan manner you had ever seen, he had held up his hand and said, "Hello (y/n)'s mother, I am here to take meet with your daughter to make sure we are compatible before we are married." It was kind of cute, in an odd psychopathic kind of way.

   You were pretty sure your mother had spied on the two of you through out the rest of that day.

   "And no," you continued the conversation with a small shake of your head, "I meant what I said.  I've pointed out to him that he needs to bond with the girls more and made the suggestion for him, and him alone, to spend the day with them."

   "Is that man even capable of 'bonding'?"

   There was a loud "tink" and the sudden sensation of burning washed over your fingers. You had broken your teacup. Your building frustration and anger towards your mother's comments had caused you to squeeze it too hard. The delicate little cup had no chance in the powerful grip you had placed around it.

   Canary stood instantly and began cleaning up the hot liquid before you even had a chance to blink or fully register what had happened.

   "Are you alright, mam?" she asked, honestly concerned. You let out a frustrated sigh and shook the remaining liquid from your scalded fingers.

   "Yes, dear, I'm fine." Your gaze locked with your mother's, "If you can't speak kindly about my husband, mother, then I'm afraid that we are going to have to call it a day." A cold, deadly tone harbored within your voice.

   Your mother sternly held your glare for a few seconds before she closed her eyes and sighed, her body posture crumpled a bit.

   "I'm sorry, (y/n)," she said, slightly shaking her head, "I guess I still feel bitter that your choice on whom to marry was taken away from you. And, I still wo-"

   "Worry about me and the girls?" you interrupted. Canary had finished cleaning the mess and brought you a fresh cup. She gracefully filled it from the same pot you had just used then turned and bowed to you ever so slightly. You thanked her and asked her to return to what she had been doing.

   "Mother, that always seems to be your excuse for your rudeness," your tone was accusatory; your face, stern. "It's been over seven years since Illumi and I were married and I honestly can't think of a time I've been happier."

   Your mother grimaced.

   "Even though our marriage was arranged, he treats me as his equal. Together we have worked on slowly undoing the countless years of damage his parents did to him since he was a child. He's made huge progress, but he will never be what you and I would consider 'normal'. Emotions will always be something difficult for him to understand. Not to mention feel or show. But believe me when I say he does love and care for me, as well as his children."

   Upon saying your last sentence your mother had begun to open her mouth to make a retort, but you already knew what she was going to say and help up a single finger to silence her.

   "Before you even say 'a man who loves his children shouldn't have to be told when he needs to bond with them', keep in mind that his parents never bonded with him. Or at least not in a healthy, loving manner. The fact that he was willing to listen to me, understand what I was telling him, and put in the effort for today speaks volumes."

   You had to stop and take a deep, calming breath. The rising volume of your voice, along with your rising blood pressure and heart rate, was starting to upset the twins within your belly. You could feel them kicking frantically and moving about as you angrily defended their father from your mother. Taking another deep breath, your forced yourself to relax the best you could and began to rub your belly again.

   "I know your weren't entirely happy with your arranged marriage with father," you continued in a calmer state, "but I am. I love Illumi, mother, so very much. I'm sorry that you and father couldn't find a way to love each other the way Illumi and I do. But please, do not try to insert your bitter, negative emotions into our lives. If you can't be happy for me and respect my family as a whole, then I am afraid we will simply have to go back to writing letters to one another until you can learn to do so."

 A glowering expression was now etched upon your mothers face, your own had become deadpan. The two of you stared at one another in silence for a few minutes as the town's normal hustle and bustle of people continued to flow passed you.

   Your mother's lips scowled as she took a deep breath through her nose.

   "Well, in that case, I do believe I will be heading back home," she flatly announced. Your mother removed her napkin from her lap and tossed it onto the table as she rose from her seat. With hands shaking from her own anger, she quickly gathered herself together and started to turn to walk away.

   "Farewell, my daughter," she called back over her shoulder, "do contact me when my grandsons are born, will you? I think you will find that I am right by that point."

   You watched the back of her head as she walked away until she disappeared into the crowd. You continued to glare at the spot you had last seen her, the edges of your vision began to turn red and your body began to tremble with seething rage.

   The sudden feeling of your teacup being plucked out of your hands snapped you out of your downward spiral. Looking over, Canary was standing beside now holding your cup.

   "I'm sorry, mam, but I did not want you to burn yourself again," she informed softly. You looked down at your hands just in time to see the last of the white fading from your knuckles and fingers. You must have been squeezing it without realizing it again.

   With a sigh your shoulders drooped and you leaned all the way back into your chair, allowing your head to fall back. You watched the clouds lazily drift across the sky above you as your mind turned.

   I'm sorry father... I tried to mend things with her, but, she's just so damn stubborn and bitter!

   "Shall we call it a day, mam?" Canary asked.

   "No," you lifted your head to look into her gentle grey eyes, "I'm not expected home for another few hours. And to be honest, I do not wish to return home while in such a foul mood."

   "Understandable," Canary set the teacup back down in front of you. "What do you propose?"

   Taking a sip from your still hot tea, you mulled things over in your head a little. Looking at the scenery around you, you hummed in thought and lightly tapped a finger nail on your cup.

   "Ah!" you exclaimed. "How about we have a girls day and do a bit of shopping together before we get something to eat. It should be about time to go home by the time we're done. Maybe we could even get something for your lady friend, Amane" A sly, knowing grin graced your lips and you winked at her.

   "Eh!" she started and looked down, her cheeks darkened a little. "You.. You really don't have to do that, mam."

   "Oh, come on," you laughed lightly, "you know you're the closest person I have to a friend besides Illumi. And shopping with him isn't the same as shopping with you!"

   "I have got to admit," Canary added softly, "Master Illumi does have some interesting tastes when it comes to his choice in outfits."

   You laughed a little louder.

   "That he does, my dear. I suspect he may be getting some influence from that clown friend of his."

   You paid for the drinks and the two of you were off.

   Since this was the first time you were having boys, you wanted to get some new things for the nursery. Most of what you needed or wanted was going to be ordered online, but you still enjoyed going from store to store looking at what each one had to offer.

   After a few hours and many a shopping bag later, you and Canary eventually stop to have dinner. You were more than ready to get off your feet for a little while. The first two times you were pregnant you didn't tire so easily and your feet were not as quick to swell or become sore. Carrying twice as much baby, the case was a little different this time round.

   While waiting for your food, you decided to text Illumi.

You: We're stopping for dinner before we head home, should I bring anything for you and the girls?

   You nibbled on an appetizer while awaiting your husbands response. It didn't take him long as he sent a picture with a blurred portion of his face in the shot and the girls making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with chips in the background. It seemed they were both making a bit of a mess, and was that peanut butter on Illumi's cheek?

Illumi: No, we're good, thank you. See you soon.

   You laughed and showed the picture to Canary who smiled and chuckled lightly. Peanut butter and jelly with chips most definitely would not have been your first choice for dinner. But seeing as Illumi had very limited experience with cooking, it was probably the safest route to go. Most importantly, it looked like they were having a good time.

   Idle chit chat was pleasantly shared between you and Canary as the two of you enjoyed your food. Once dinner was done and paid for, all the shopping bags were packed into the car and the two of you were on your way home.

   It didn't take long for you to start dozing off a little. The combination of a roller coaster of emotions, having been on your feat, being pregnant, and then having a nice large meal had really drained you. The gentle motion of the car was no help either.

   Before you knew it, Canary was calling out to you.

   "Lady (y/n), we're home."

   With a mild start you became fully alert. Blinking, you looked out your window and saw your family's home. Separate and a fair distance from the Zoldyck family mansion, the large house was built for you Illumi just before (o/d) was born.

   You got out of the car and stretched, then turned to Canary.

   "Could you please take those bags to the nursery? I'll go through them later."

   "As you please, mam," Canary replied with a slight bow.

   Thanking her, you turn and head up the stairs to the front door. Upon entering your home, you removed your shoes, set them aside and hung your purse on it's hook. Your ears were alert for the sounds of your daughters and husband. The house was quiet.

   "Illu? (o/d)? (y/o)?" you called.

   "They're in the girls' room, lady (y/n)," a familiar voice replied from the kitchen. Coming round the corner, you found Amane cleaning up the dinner mess your husband and children left behind.

   The mess wasn't terrible. Bread and chip crumbs, smeared jelly and peanut butter on the counters as well as some spilt milk. The sink was filling with soapy water for the dinner dishes to be washed, dried, and put away since their wasn't enough to run the dishwasher. The girls had most definitely made larger messes in the past, but you felt a little guilty none the less.

   "Ah, Amane, I'm sorry. Illumi should have known to clean up after they were done."

   Amane just shook her head.

   "It's alright, mam. There really isn't much to it."

   "I know, but still.." you smile and laugh lightly, "Thank you."

   You continue further into the house towards the girls' room. As you got closer, you could faintly hear your daughters' voices. Curiosity took hold of you and you brought your stealth training into play. Slowly creeping up to the open door, you carefully leaned in and peaked into your daughters' room.

   You blinked once. Twice. Several more times as your mouth slowly fell open in complete and utter shock.

   Your daughters were sitting in their small chairs at a low, round table made for children while you husband was sitting on his knees. There was also a large stuffed dog that looked a lot like Mike sitting in one of the children's chairs at the table. (o/d)'s pastel colored plastic tea set was set up about the table. Little plastic plates held evidence there had once been treats upon them as there were cookie crumbs left behind.

   The girls were dressed in pretty kimonos, gifts from grandmother Kikyo, and were wearing makeup. To much eye shadow and rouge, messy lipstick, you recognized (o/d) handy work. They were having a conversation with Illumi occasionally adding in a comment or answering a question when one was directed to him. Every so often, one of them, including Illumi, would take a sip from their plastic cup.

   But, it wasn't just the sight of your fearsome assassin husband playing tea party with his two beautiful little girls that had caught you so off guard. No, it was how he looked.

   Illumi was wearing one of your fancy kimonos over his clothes. The size of his chest and shoulders prevented the front from closing properly, but the three of them didn't seem to mind. His long, luxurious hair was tied into several messy braids of which varied in size. Each long braid ended with a pastel colored ribbon tied into a bow.

   Copious amounts of makeup in the same manner as the girls was proof that Illumi's face had also been a canvas for (o/d)'s application practice. Jade green eyeshadow nearly reached his high sitting eyebrows and went as far down as tops of his cheekbone. The eyeshadow nearly blended into the large amount of rose pink rogue that practically covered the entirety of his cheeks. Dark plum colored lipstick was messily applied to his thin lips in a manner that reminded you of a comic book villain from your childhood. Illumi honestly looked more clown-like than his friend.

   Once your initial shock had faded, you found yourself smiling from ear to ear. Quietly, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and brought up the camera. You made sure to keep your movements slow as you carefully aimed your phone lens towards your family.

   Just as you were about to take the picture, (y/d) caught sight of you.

   "Mama!!" she happily cheered.

   Her actions caused both (o/d) and Illumi to glance at (y/d) then look in the same direction she was. That's when you took the picture. It was perfect.

   "Oh, hello dear, did you just get home?" Illumi inquired.

   "I did," you replied. You came into the room and smiled at each one of them in turn. "I'm sorry if I interrupted your tea party my darlings."

   "It's okay mama," (o/d) said, "we can move Mike Jr. and you can join us!"

   Before you could respond, (o/d) started to get up to move the stuffed animal. But then Illumi held up a hand, causing her to stop.

   "Actually, I do believe it is close to yours and your sisters bedtime. The two of you should get ready for bed."

   "Awwww," both the girls cried out in disappointment, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

   They really must have been having fun if they don't want to stop. I'm glad.

   "But, we wanna keep playing, papa," (y/d) whined. She was starting to get tears in eyes. It was a sign that she actually was starting to get sleepy, even though she didn't really show it. (y/d) only really ever cried anymore when she was starting to get tired.

   "Now, now," Illumi reached over and patted (y/d) on the head. "We can play more tomorrow after lunch when (o/d) is done with her training. I don't have to leave for my mission for another couple of days, so we have plenty of time to play."

   "You promise?" (y/d) sniffled.

   "I promise," he assured his littler girl in his usual expressionless tone.  

   "Alright then, girls, I'll help you wash up for bed. Illumi? Would please take the dirty dishes to Amane? She's in the kitchen cleaning up right now."

   "Yes, I can do that." Illumi stood and started to collect the dishes when (y/d) suddenly grabbed one of his arms.

   "Papa, please read our bedtime story!"

   Illumi's eyebrows rose a little. He had never been asked to read their bedtime story before. This prospect excited (o/d) as her little face lit up and she eagerly grabbed her father's free arm.

   "Yeah, papa! Please? Could you read us a story tonight? Please?"

   You laughed at your daughters' enthusiasm. The sight of them begging their father like this was just too cute. Illumi looked over at you and you wave your hand palm up and gestured to the girls as if to say, "well?"

  He looked back down at his daughters and gave a single nod. "Very well then. Go with mama and I will read you two a story when you are all cleaned up."

   "Yeeaaahhh!!" the girls cheered together and bolted out of the room for the bathroom. Illumi watched as they ran out, a small, barely noticeable smile was on his colored lips. His dark, wide eyed gaze then turned to you as you wrapped your arms around one of his now vacant ones.

   "I take it you three had fun today?"

   "Yes, I do believe the mission was a success."

   You suppressed a laugh which caused you to make a noise akin to a snort.

   "Bonding with your daughters is not a mission, my love, but it is a worthy goal. And it seems that today was a good step towards that goal."

   "I do not see much of a difference, but I will take your word for it."

   You rolled your eyes and went to kiss him on the cheek, but quickly stopped yourself when you remembered the thick layer of makeup and kissed his nose instead.

   Upon hearing the girls starting to make a ruckus in the bathroom you released your husband and turned in their direction. Illumi took this as his cue to continue collecting the dishes for Amane to clean.

   A few minutes into helping the girls clean up their faces a startled cry from the kitchen nearly made you jump out of your skin. You became alert and listened carefully for any signs of a fight starting. There where none. However, you could hear the voices of Illumi, Canary and Amane talking in a light hearted manner.

   "I think papa scared Amane," (o/d) giggled. You blinked at her and quickly pieced together what she was thinking.

   With the way Illumi looked at the moment, his face and hair done up and wearing clothes in an odd fashion, Amane may have not recognized him right away. You couldn't help but chuckle a little at this realization.

   "I think you're right, (o/d)."

   Once the girls were cleaned up and in their night clothes they both jumped into (o/d)'s bed just as Illumi was returning. (y/d) had already chosen the book for the night and was excitedly waving it in the air. It was "The Big Book of Bedtime Stories".

   Illumi settled down between the girls who snuggled up to him and got comfortable as he turned to the right page.

   "Alright then," Illumi cleared his throat to begin the story, "Once upon a time, in a forest thick with trees and dancing with life, there was a small family that lived in a cottage by the river."

   Illumi continued reading in his steady, monotone voice. It was soothing, if not somewhat hypnotic. You even caught yourself dozing off while seated at the foot of the bed. Looking over at your family, you found yourself smiling once again. It had not even been ten minutes and they were both sound asleep.

   Normally, it would take around 15-20 minutes before the girls would even start to fall asleep. But with the constant activities of the day with their father and his steady hypnotic tone in his story telling, it was almost like Illumi had cast the perfect sleeping spell.

   Your husband had not yet realized the girls so you took out your phone and snuck another picture without him realizing it. You then reached out and gentle squeezed his foot in your hand. He paused and glanced up to see you pointing at your daughters in which he followed your direction. Looking down at the sleeping figures, Illumi's usual deadpan expression softened ever so slightly and the corners of his mouth turned up into a tiny smile.

   Looking back up at you, you gave him a thumbs up and stood up from the bed. He carefully scoot down between the girls to reach where you had been sitting. Once there, he too stood up from the bed then turned and carefully scooped up (y/d) in to his strong arms. Without producing even the slightest of sounds he strode across the room and tucked (y/d) into her bed as you tucked in (o/d).

   You followed Illumi out of the room, turning off the light as you went. Once a little ways from the room, you spoke.

   "I didn't expect them to fall asleep so quickly. Maybe I should have you read to them more often."

   "Hmmm, perhaps," he said thoughtfully. "Although I am sure having a long day had something to do with their tired state."

   "Oh, I'm sure you're right. But still, I think you did a really good job." Illumi actually smiled at your praise. "Now, lets head to our bathroom, I'll help you get cleaned up."

   The two of you headed into the bathroom where you went straight to your vanity to retrieve your makeup removal products.

   "Oh," you heard Illumi exclaim causing you to look up at him. He was leaning across the vanity and looking at himself closely in the mirror. After a few moments he turned towards you with his usual expression and pointed to his face.

   "(o/d) really did a number on me, didn't she. I can see how I startled Amane. I'm hideous."

   You blinked, then burst out laughing. Illumi was somewhat startled by your reaction and he turned to look at himself in the mirror again while still pointing to his face.

   "I honestly don't see what's so funny."

   "I'm sorry, dear," you gasped between bouts of laughter, tears in your eyes," I- It's just- Are you just now seeing your face?!"

   "Well, sort of. (o/d) put this on just before the tea party. She showed me with one of their toy mirrors, but I figured since it was a toy it didn't show very well. It appears I was wrong."

   Your laughter died down and you carefully wiped your tears from your eyes.

   "My love, I think your wonderful." You smiled at him. "You're an amazing man that made his daughters the happiest children in the world today. And for that, you are absolutely beautiful."

   Without moving Illumi simply closed his eyes and a smile of accomplishment and joy spread across his lips. You let him bask in the praise for a few more moments before you reached out and turned him face you. You sat him down on the vanity stool then set to work wiping off the frighteningly large amounts of makeup away with a removal wipe.

   "How did things go with your mother today?" Illumi asked. You paused in what you were doing a little to long, causing him to open his eyes. His large, obsidian orbs gazed into your smaller (e/c) ones. "That bad?"

   You sighed and continued what you were doing, "Yes, she refused to be nice once again. I probably won't even bother to contact her again until the babies are born."

   "That's right," Illumi remembered, a slight sound of excitement in his voice, "you had an appointment this morning before you were to meet your mother. How did that go? What did you find out?"

   Your mother's voice echoed through your mind. Her response to the news you gave her when you had first met for tea that afternoon.

   "Once he finds out those babies are males he's going to insist on training them the same way he was trained. Brutally, and without love or compassion. The traditional Zoldyck family way."

   She's wrong! you thought bitterly. But a shadow of worry made your stomach twist into a small knot.

 "(y/n)?"

   You blinked, you had stopped cleaning his face again while in thought. You weren't sure what expression you had on your own face at that moment, but you could see it was causing your husband to worry.

   Taking his hands into yours you brought them up and placed them on your round belly. A warm, loving smile graced your lips as you peered into his eyes.

   "My love, you will soon be the proud father of two sons."

   You nearly cried when you saw actual joy show on Illumi's face. He leaned forward and brought his head down, touching his forehead to your belly. You cupped the side of his face with one hand and gently began to stroke his head with the other.

   He was silent for a few minutes, living in the moment. Then Illumi shuddered a little as a multitude of feelings surged through him. Joy, fear, excitement, concern, love, anger. It was overwhelming to him.

   "My sons-" he choked on the emotional overload. "My sons, they will be the ones to break the cycle. They will not go through what I went through."

   A surge of relief washed through you causing tears of joy to form in your own eyes. You gently turned Illumi's head upwards to face you and was stunned to see there were actual tears in his eyes as well. Leaning down you planted a warm, loving kiss to his colored lips. Not giving a damn about the lipstick that was now smearing all over your own lips. You then touched your forehead to his and nuzzled your nose against his own.

   "I'm so proud of you, Illu," you spoke softly, "You've come so far. I love you so much, my husband."

 "My wife," he whisper back, his breath brushing your lips, "I couldn't have come this far without you. Thank you, (y/n), I love you, too.”

   You broke away slowly, peering down at your husband with so much love you didn't even know you could emit. His smile was still on his lips as he reached up and brushed his thumb across the smeared lipstick on your lips.

   "Yeah, you're still a mess," you laughed lightly. You grabbed a fresh wipe and set back to work. "Once I am done here you just need to give your face a quick wash. I'll start us a bath then help you take out all of the braids."

   "I would like that," Illumi replied, still smiling.

   By the time you have cleaned the majority of the makeup from his face most of his deadpan expression had returned. The only difference from the norm was that he still had a shine in his eyes and a small smile on his now clean lips.

   He quickly washed his face with special soaps then set to work untying the ribbons from his hair, carefully undoing the long braids. You started the bath. Holding your fingers under the running water from the bath faucet until it was the right temperature, then set the plug. You added yours and Illumi's favorite essential oils before going over to help him with the braids.

   You couldn't help but smile at how he was practically glowing. The two of you made quick work of the braids. You were amazed how not a single hair tangled even in the messiest of braids. Secretly, you believed your husband somehow used some of his nen to keep his hair from becoming tangled and knotted.

   Once Illumi's hair was free of braids and put up into a bun, the two of you stripped to nothing. Illumi climbed into the bath first and settled down without making even the slightest ripple in the water. He held out a hand for you to use for balance as you climbed in next. You settled between Illumi's legs and leaned back into him with a sigh of pure contentment.

   Leaning your head to the side and back onto his shoulder, you felt the warmth of the water seep into your muscles causing your body to relax completely against Illumi's body. Illumi moved his hands to rest on your belly and leaned his head against yours. The two of you relaxed in silence for a few minutes. Both lost in their own thoughts. For once, it was Illumi that broke the silence.

   "(y/n)?" You hummed a response. "Have you thought of names yet?"

   You chuckled, "Not yet, dear. Do you have some ideas?"

   Illumi went into a long list of names and the meanings behind each one. You would comment here and there but mostly just let him talk. It was so rare for him to talk this much voluntarily. And as he rambled on about names and what fun things he wanted to do with all his children, you couldn't help but smile.

   You were wrong, mother, you thought to yourself, My husband may be flawed to you, but he's absolutely perfect to me. And that's all that truly matters.

[redhoodieone]

It’s Cold in Here Part 12

Hi everyone! Here is Part 12 and I hope you all enjoy! Stay safe! 😘

WARNINGS: Language and violence.

Stone cold. Ice Queen. A beautiful dead corpse is all I see when I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The midnight blue off the shoulder long formal dress I’m wearing is worth more than my apartment. The diamond belt around my waist is something I’ve never dreamt of wearing. The two slits above my thighs is something I’ve absolutely never dreamed of showing before.

I didn’t pick out the dress. Alfred had delivered it to my apartment this morning.

A hairstylist and makeup artist that Bruce had hired had come by just three hours ago to do my hair and makeup. My long hair is pinned up in a beautifully bun, and two long strands of my hair are let down, and frame my face nicely.

My makeup is natural looking. I’m grateful the lovely woman had noticed my discomfort and decided against the heavy makeup, and instead had given me natural look.

After she had left, I remained in my bathroom in a frozen, unsure state. On the counter lies a large jewelry box from Dick, with a note I hadn’t exactly looked at.

I inhale sharply and gaze down at the note.

Wear this jewelry with the new dress. You’ll look stunning. Love, Dick.

I can feel my chest ache with nerves and uncertainty. Opening the jewelry box, I’m instantly shocked to see a gorgeous diamond choker, two large diamond stud earrings, and a simple diamond and sapphire bracelet.

I don’t want to wear any of it. I already feel guilty enough to have to go to Bruce’s gala tonight. And even worse...

Accepting Dick’s marriage proposal.

I slip on the jewelry and finally look into the mirror with my head up high. I notice that I look exactly like the girls Dick used to date back then. The kind of girls I would never become.

A gold digger.

Eye candy.

Fame seeker.

I’m aware that I’m starting to slowly lose myself to Dick. After that awful night of him forcing me to do sexual acts with him, I notice he’s become more distant than I was. We haven’t even spoke since; only text messaging and having Alfred be the messenger between us.

Poor Alfred...he has absolutely no clue of what’s happening between me and Dick. I know for a fact that Dick must have lied to him. Dick must have told Alfred he’s nervous about proposing to me or something.

The thought of Dick manipulating everyone makes me wonder how far and long he’s willing to go just to save his face and reputation. Would he even manipulate Bruce?

If Bruce truly believed our “engagement” was real, then he would surely be fooled like everyone else. And then that would be very humiliating and disappointing for the detective; the so called Dark Knight.

I slip on my black high heels and force myself to head to the living room to wait for Alfred to pick me up. I mentally scold myself to get my shit together just to get through the night. But it’s obviously hard to put on a brave face when all I want to do is lie in bed and ugly cry all day and night.

No one will ever understand what is going on between me and Dick.

My best friends Artemis and Zatanna.

The Batfamily.

Justice League.

All of Gotham.

Jason.

I can feel the tears burning behind my eyes just thinking about him. Jason Todd. He was my last hope. The night I tried calling him to come help me was a failure.

He was supposed to break free from whatever Mad Hatter did to him.

He was supposed to help me figure out how to end Deathstroke’d evil bullshit.

He was supposed to save me from Dick Grayson.

Jason was supposed to be my hero.

My doorbell rings, interrupting my thoughts as well as bringing me back to the harsh reality. I grab my black clutch that holds my cell phone and surprisingly hides my knife.

Just in case...

Alfred smiles at me the second I open the door. “I must say, you are an absolute beauty tonight. I’ll have to fight off men for you, Miss Y/N. Are you ready to leave?”

“Thank you Alfred. And yes, I’m ready please,” I say, stepping out and locking up the front door before Alfred escorts me to the elevators.

I’m grateful that Alfred keeps to himself most of the time. He keeps a space between us until we reach outside; the dark gloomy sky of Gotham sends a shiver down my bare back. I immediately regret not getting my white shawl to cover my shoulders. Alfred guides me to the limo and opens the back door for me to climb in.

“Master Dick is already at the gala. He said he’ll meet us out front for the red carpet pictures.”

I want to scoff. But instead I respond as nicely as I can. “Okay, thank you.”

My cell phone rings. I quickly open my clutch and tense up when I see the unknown number.

Deathstroke.

I look at the unread text message.

You better make sure you accept his proposal, Y/N. You’ll have to see it through if you and Dick want to live.

I can feel myself choking up from just the fear of this text message. Before I could even think or really do anything, the limo stops. We’re here.

Alfred opens my door and holds a hand out for me to grab onto. “Here we are, Miss Y/N,” he says with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Alfred,” I say, with a small smile.

Alfred helps me out of the limo and as soon as he releases me, the paparazzi surround me. I’m forced to shield my eyes with a hand from what feels like a hundred cameras flashing at me. A hand grabs my wrist and I’m pulled closely to a warm, tall body. I look up and see Dick Grayson.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Dick asks, kissing my forehead, smiling down at me, pretending to be my loving concerned boyfriend.

I’m frozen from the affection but it doesn’t last long as Dick leads me inside the humongous building that’s holding Bruce’s gala.

I’m completely dazed from the million lights shining down on us when we enter the room. The ballroom is like a dream; marble flooring and exquisite art and statues surround everywhere. Men and women are dressed to the nines.

I even spot some Justice League members in disguise. Clark, Diana, Oliver, and Dinah are here and dressed so good.

I even spot Artemis with Conner and Zatanna with Tim, and even Damian, who are clearly shocked to see me here and with Dick.

I don’t blame them for being surprised as hell considering I’ve been MIA since...the last time they saw me or even spoke to me.

I frown and try to pull away from Dick’s strong grip to go speak to my friends, but he only tightens his hold on me.

My gaze shifts over to where bachelor and striking Bruce is standing in front of a tall man and blonde woman. My heart suddenly stops when I see Jason, handsome and sexy as ever in an all black suit with Isabel on his arm. He turns around and notices I’m staring at him. I expect him to glare at me or even give me a weird look since he clearly doesn’t remember me because of Mad Hatter.

But Jason doesn’t. He actually looks...confused.

I notice his dark hair is gelled but the messy spikiness is there. Possibly from running a hand through it. I automatically want to run my hand through his hair. I even want to hug him. I want to kiss him.

I want him.

I want Jason.

Dick practically drags me to the stage where he lowers his head to look me straight in the eyes.

“It’s going to happen right now. I can’t wait any longer,” Dick admits.

I swallow hard. “Okay, but could we talk about this first? Please?”

Dick shakes his head. Is he really going to ignore and pretend that this is all real? “It’s happening. I’m...I’m going to ask you to marry me. You’re going to say yes. You’re going to kiss me. And-and we’re going to live happily after. Do you understand?” he snaps, barely quiet enough for others to not hear.

My eyes glance over at Jason, who blinks a few times and looks all around himself and appears to be more aware. He turns to Isabel and he becomes angry; startling her and Bruce, and even others around them.

I look back to Dick, but I suddenly gasp in shock when I see Wally entering the gala in a suit. He stops walking as soon as he sees me and Dick closely together.

This is wrong.

I can’t say yes to Dick.

I can’t do this to Jason and Wally. This isn’t fair to them.

Wally loves Dick.

And I love Jason.

And the thought of saying yes to Dick makes me feel guilty because I don’t want to marry him.

I can’t lie.

I can’t pretend anymore.

I can’t do this.

We’ll find a way to stop Deathstroke. We’ll find a way to help Dick.

Dick stares down at me. His blue eyes are burning into mine. He looks pissed at me. He looks like he hates every single part of me. He sees me as his enemy.

But he can’t or won’t see how this is killing me.

“I...can’t. I can’t say yes and I can’t marry you,” I confess quietly. “I’m sorry.”

I notice Dick’s hand is squeezing my wrist tighter. The pain he’s causing me makes me wince and whimper in pain. His other hand is digging into his pocket and he reveals a small black jewelry box.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Jason, Bruce, and Wally approaching us with concerned looks.

Dick lowers his face closer to whisper in my ear. “You’re going to say yes to me, you fucking selfish bitch. I don’t give a shit about what you want or don’t want. You better say yes, and you better be my wife before I make your life a living nightmare,” he threatens quietly before he chuckles darkly. “Just like your past nightmare with Daddy Dearest.”

My eyes widen in horror when Dick mentions my stepfather; the man who emotionally and physically hurt me with sexual abuse. I lower my eyes to the floor. I know this has to be the final straw. Dick has crossed a line that I don’t even think he could take back or make it right.

I force myself to look back up at Dick but my attention is taken away from him and is now on the sky roof. Across the way on another building stands Deathstroke, who has his gun aimed directly at Dick’s back.

Oh my fucking God. Deathstroke is going to shoot and kill Dick!

Deathstroke knows I said no. He knows I’m not going to accept Dick’s marriage proposal. He knows I’m not going to do what he wants me to do.

I have to do something. I realize I have a choice. I know what I have to do.

And if I die, at least I die knowing I did care and love for Dick Grayson.

Even if he doesn’t love me back.

I follow my instincts that I was trained to act on. Without a second thought, I jump in front of Dick; allowing the faster-than-fuck killing bullet to pierce through my flesh at my right shoulder.

It burns. It’s making me bleed. It hurts like fuck.

I fall back onto Dick. He catches me and we crash to the floor. I can feel him sit up and gasp loudly in panic when he sees I’ve been shot and am bleeding.

“No...no!” Dick cries out. He puts his hands on the seeping wound and puts pressure on it.

Through the stinging pain, I can see everyone around us is frozen and staring in fear at the window where the bullet came from. I follow their stares and notice what they’re looking at.

Deathstroke is on the roof across the way. Everyone sees his gun is aimed right at the building. He shot me.

He waves at me and shoots his grapple gun to come straight at us.

[ragrottend0ll]

School Crush (Vinira Fanfic)

(In december I posted this little idea and now I decided to started it, hope you enjoy and forgive the misspelling, english isn’t my first lenguage)

Chapter one:

‘‘I like girls’’. Emira started.

‘‘I like girls, too’’. Amity seconded after a few seconds of silence.

‘‘Ok...’‘. Alador responded a little shook. ‘‘I-- Wow, yeah, ok.’’

‘‘Is that all you are gonna say, dad? Really?’’. Asked Emira. She didn’t spend seven years in the closet for just to get an ok.

Alador shruged a little. ‘’Congratulations...?’’

‘‘Fine, that’s better’‘.

The Blight siblings and Alador were hanging out. This was something that have been happening some time ago. At first it started as a sisters’ night, just for Amity and Emira, but then Edric discovered this and was begging, crying and basically annoying his sisters for let him ‘’in’’. 

He finally achived it.

So, every friday night, while their parents were in important meetings or fancy restaurants, the three would reunited in Emiras’s room and just talk. Sometimes they watched a series or practice some makeup. Even tried on clothes from either Edric or Emira. Sometimes they would sing a karaoke or just talk about their day, their friends, Luz, and throw bullshit of their parents.

They didn’t need to worry about the mansion’s staff. They all like them and have never said something bad of them to their parents. Plus, some have sewn up mouths so... Anyway.

What they did not expected was that, one night, their father would return early. 

Alador was honestly tired. He have been awake for three days straight and needed some sleep. Even when his lovely wife, Odalia, told/demanded him to stay awake and attend another important meeting, he denied. Alador was sure that, if he stayed awake for another hour, his body will just collapse.

When he arrive to the mansion, the buttler (he never can remember his name, really) was there and took his coat. Alador didn’t wait more and went upstairs. The Bight manor was splendant, huge and, now that he was walking alone through the corridors full of old portraits in the middle of the night, he would consider it spooky.

The portraits gave him chills in his back. He felt like the eyes of his wife’s ancestors were following him in every step he took. 

‘‘I wouldn’t be surprise’‘, Alador tought. ‘‘They may be haunted for real’’.

‘‘I should probably ask Odalia about it’’.

Alador walked to his bedroom’s door, and when he was about to open it he heard something.

It was a scream. 

‘‘The kids’’. He tought.

Alador ran as fast as his tiredness allow him to the wast wing, where the children’s bedroom were. The screams kept going, ‘’Where is the staff?’’ Alador asked himself mentally. His kids could be diying and non of the guards he hired were even near.

The screams were coming from Emira’s room. But the shouting didn’t sounded like Emira.

He looked at Amity’s and Edric’s doors. They haven’t come out and their doors were closed. Alador was tempted to open the other two door, but decided not to. If his children were being kidnaped, he’ll deal with the kidnapper in Emira’s room first.

Alador took a deep breath and casted a spell, ready to attack if he needed to. He opened the door, fast and hard. What he saw let him speechless.

There was no kidnapper. There was no danger.

But, he really didn’t know what to think about the scene that was display infront of him.

Emira’s room was a disaster. There were snacks in the ground, Alador wonder if Odalia would be mad about it, he answered himself almost inmediatelly with a yes. The room was dark, except for the karaoke that, Alador supposed, one of the twins bought.

Edric was lying in the floor with a microphone in his left hand, while his right hand where finger-brushing his hair. Oh, and he was using Emira’s lastest grom dress and a twelve centimeters tall heels. 

Amity was sitting in the little sofa that Em buy two years ago. Her face had some very excentric makeup, specially her eyes. A wildly combination of pink, glitter and black. With red-sparkled lip gloss. Her triangular earings were replaced with a pair of Emira’s expensive earings that were only used for important meeting or fancy parties. She was wearing her regular pajamas, with the slight difference that, over her pants, she was wearing a puffy skirt. And that her feet were covered with long cowboy boots. 

 Emira was sitting in her bed, face was covered in some kind of skin care treatment. A phosphorescent green skin care treatment. Even with that, she was the most normal looking of the three. All her makeup was in the bed, (probably the responsable of Amity’s face) and her hand was grabbing her scroll, that was recording Edric’s  performance, before he opened the door, at least. The scroll was still recording, by the way. Em didn’t have time to stop it before his father abruptely came in the room.

The Blight siblings were looking at him like deers flashed by a light. Each of them praying in their heads that if they don’t move Alador wouldn’t be able to see them, like some of the animal in the isles.

‘‘You... uhm,... arrived early’‘. Edric stated the obvious, crearly nervous. But, can you blame him? Not everyday your dad found you wearing a dress and using heels . Actually that never really hapened to him. 

The music of the karaoke was still playing. Alador connected the dots and figured out that his son was the responsable of the screams.

‘‘Yes, I did’‘ Alador responded. He never had been a man of words, but in this moment he didn’t know what would be the correct way to react.

Should he scold them for being up at one in the morning making a fuss? Or He should just close the door and pretend that none of it happened?

He was definitely going to ask the servants if this was something that happened often and why they had not reported those... meetings that their children did.

‘‘Mom’s here, too?’‘ Amity asked. Her face now was now also covered with a strong blush of embarasment, that reached even her neck.

‘‘No, she is still in the meetong with the Hogson’s’‘ Alador answered.

‘‘Do you want to talk this now, or would you preffer to wait until the sun comes out?’‘ Alador asked. He wan’t sure if this was the right thing to do, but the words came out of his mouth even before he could think about it. That was something that didn’t happened to him since high school.

The kids glare at eachother and said a ‘’now’’ at the same time. If they waited for the sun, Odalia was probably going to arrive and they didn’t wanted to have that conversation with their mother. 

None conversation, actually.

‘‘Alright’‘ their father said ‘‘Clean your faces and put on presentable clothes’‘ 

And with that he leave the room.

‘‘That could have been worse, right?’’ Edric said. He finally stoped doing the pose with his hand trought his hair.

‘‘Yeah...’’ Emira answered him ‘‘Mom could have catch us’’

‘‘Titan forbid’’ Amity said.

Once they cleaned their faces and put on their pijamas, the three siblings made their way to Alador’s office, who has completely forgot how tired he was.

They were nervous, Edric, specially. And were honestly surprised when the scolding was more about how they broke the curfew than about all the mess they did. 

And after that, things evolved rapidly. The kids felt better in Alador’s pressence than ever before. They trusted their father even more because he didn’t said a thing to Odalia, and even gave the order to the servants to keep those meetings as a secret. 

 Two months later, Alador found himself spending the family-bonding-time, as Edric renamed it, with his children. The bonding-time had to be moved to saturday’s night, because Alador had the obligation to go to the meeting on friday. But the kids weren’t mad at all.

‘‘Dad?’’, Edric called for him. It has been five minutes since Emira and Amity’s comming out and Alador haven’t said anything esle since the congratulations. ‘‘Girls, I think you shouldn't have done it at the same time; now you’ve killed him’’.

‘‘We didn’t!’’ Amity shouted inmediately.

‘‘No, I think we actually did it, Mittens’’ Emira seconded.

‘‘I’m fine’’ Alador said some time later. The twins were disscussing if they should call an ambulance or just leave their dad there. Emira was drafting in her mind all the possible ways to hide Alador’s corpse in the manor, too. You have to be careful, right?

Alador sit up straight in the couch were she was lying. Before his both daughters come out to him some minutes ago, they were all watching a movie. If Alador had to be honest, he wasn’t really paying attention. He was falling asleep. This week has been rough, but for no reasom he would cancel the saturdaynight bonding time™. 

‘‘None of my kids are straight, huh?’’ Alador thought. 

Ok, to be fair, Edric haven’t come out to him (yet), but Alador prectically confirm his son’s orientation when he founded him performing when he discovered that friday sisters’ night. No straight, cis, man would use a dress and heels. Not even walk on them in the propper way Edric managed to do. 

‘‘So, uhm, are you... mad or...?’’ Amity began.

‘‘Oh, no. No!’’ Alador answered, with a little laught that lately the siblings were more used to hear ‘‘I’m actually kind of relive.’’

‘‘Relieve?’‘ Edric asked, genuinely curious.

‘‘Indeed. I don’t have to worry about any potencial boyfriend and the concecuences that would imply-’’

‘‘Shut!’’ Amity and Emira shouted at the same time. ‘‘The school already teach us that. No need to repeated.’’ Emira continued.

‘‘I was talking about a heartbroken, but yes, sexual education is very important too.’’ Alador said. And, tho he seemed serious, he was teasing his daughters.

‘‘So, you are ok with this?’’ 

‘‘Yes, Amity.’’ 

Actually, I’m kind of a pansexual, myself. Alador tought,  but keep shut.

The movie was paused. Probably since some time ago but Alador didn’t notice. He glare at Emira’s wall clock. 12:05, it marked.

It was early, Odalia wouldn’t be back until three in the morning. Anyway he open his scroll to verify that his wife haven’t texted him or something.

There was nothing, as expected. Only Odalia’s last message where she told him that she was going to leave the party at 1:45 and was expecting been home around 3:00 a.m.

‘‘So,’‘ Alador started ‘‘any particular reason to tell me your orientation?’’ 

Yes, it was sweet, but Alador did knew his daughter a little and can almost tell that, at least Emira had something else to say. 

‘‘No, no reason.’’ Amity answered. ‘‘Just to tell you with Em.’’

Alador look at his older daugher, waiting for her answer. 

Yes, they were closer than bever before, but the sad truth was that even if his children did trusted in him, he didn’t think that they trusted him that much. 

It was reasonable, not less hurting, but understandable.

‘‘Well...  You see, er. Ok, so. I actually wanted to tell you because, uhm....’’

Alright, now this was new. Alador never in his life had heard Emira stutter.

All his children were raise to be the embodinment of perfection, as Odalia describe it. The three took classes of everything. From music to etiquette, and diction was not left behind.

Now, Alador was sincerely curious.

‘‘There’s this girl in the school, and well-’’

‘‘Emira has a big crush on her.’’ Edric interrupted.

‘‘But Emira can be around her without being a red mess.’‘

‘‘You are one to talk, huh, Mittens.’’ Emira asked. Her cheeks were already a little blushy.

Amity looked away and Emira continue: ‘’My point is, that, her dad is kinda, a little... short budget. And-’’

‘‘Emira, I love you, but if that girl is using you for your money-’’

‘‘No! She isn’t! Sh doesn’t even know that I liked her’’

‘‘Well that’s debatable’’ Edric said ‘‘It’s really obvious and Viney it’s not as oblivious as Luz, plus-’’

‘‘Who’s Luz?’‘ Alador asked.

‘‘It doesn’t matter right now’’ Emira stated. ‘‘The point is, dad, that she didn’t even tell me his dad was in a little hurry. I was walking towards her and she was talking to her friends about it and I just heard a little. When I told her I could give her some snails she declined and actually was pretty mad about it, until last week, when I apologized. But I really want to do something about it.’’ Em talked fast, but Alador, as the good listener he had always been, didn’t missed anything.

‘‘And how can I help?’’ Alador asked.

‘‘Well, you can make him get a job? Maybe here in the manor or somewhere else. Her dad is in the construction coven, I think he is like, the right hand of the leader.’’ 

Alador hummed. Contruction coven right hand? He was a right hand once, before he was level up to coven leader. And he knew very well the salary of the seconds on board. It was a great amount of snails.

‘‘And before you say something like ‘she’s scamming you’, I want you to know that her family is really big. She has like, twelve siblings, not including her.’’

Alador sigh.

‘‘She really is a good person, dad. And if I can help her, I will.’’

‘‘She’s one of the noblest people we’ve met. There’s no danger’’ Edric said in favor of Emira’s propose. 

Alador looked to Amity, who haven’t said much, and asked her with his eyes for her opinion.

‘‘I don’t hang out with her a lot, but she’s indeed good.’’

‘‘Well, I guess I have no other option, do I?’’

‘‘Thank you, dad!’’ Emira shouted and jump to her dad’s lap to trap him in her arms in a tigh hug.

‘‘I don't promise anything, but I'm going to see what I can do.’‘ Alador responded and hug Emira back. 

He looked at Edric and Amity and with a head movement he invited both of them to join the hug. 

Edric took Amity’s hand and join to it.

Well, Alador thought, I guess I have some work to do now.

[firelxdykatara]

um not to start anything “zuko had everything handed to him by the end of the show even though it took him until nearly the very end to realize he’s wrong: a country, a crown, his girlfriend that HE left behind, the love of his uncle that zuko spent most of the show yelling at and being a dick to, and that’s why he just doesn’t deserve ANYWAY I’M JOKING but this is how y’all be talking about aang” who even talks about aang this why????

It sounds to me like some Aang stans grossly misunderstand criticisms surrounding the writing of Aang’s arc in book 3, in particular during the finale.

This is actually a pattern I’ve noticed with distressing frequency, particularly of late: any criticism of Aang at all--of his actions, the narrative scaffolding surrounding them (never having to apologize for kissing Katara without her consent, for example), or of the failings in the way his narrative was handled (in book 3 especially)--is written off as hate and derided by stans who I can only assume believe that the writing of his character arc was perfect and he never did anything wrong that deserves fair criticism ever in his life.

To this, I can only state my firm disagreement.

The thing is, they don’t really have any counter arguments to refute the points that actually get made (which isn’t to say there aren’t bad faith criticisms of his character just like everyone else, but unlike most of the cast, ppl seem far more inclined to act like there are no valid criticisms of his character or his writing), which is likely why they just write it all off as unfounded hatred of their precious bean fave and ignore it accordingly. But that doesn’t, like, make the issues with his writing, or with book 3 as a whole, go away, and the fact that they refuse to engage with good faith criticism (and, in fact, often refuse to engage with criticism at all by pretending there’s no foundation for any of it--I’ve actually seen people try to justify Aang’s actions in, for example, Bato of the Water Tribe by insisting that Sokka and Katara were actually worse and that Aang lying to them shouldn’t be held against him because they were Mean About It which.... yeah I could go off for days about that alone) says more about their lack of actual engagement with the text of the show than it does about the people who are criticizing his character.

The things that we say were handed to Aang--the deus ex lionturtle (which gave him energybending), the Rock of Destiny (aka the thing that gave him back the Avatar State without having to even attempt to do the work to unblock his chakras again himself), and Katara, presented to him as the prize he’d won at the very end of the show--are things that he did not do the work to actually earn.

Which will probably get some peoples’ backs up, so let me rephrase--the narrative did not put in the work to show how he actually earned these things, preferring to waste time with pointless filler in the front half of the season and then only bring up problems and then solve them within the four episode finale because they left no more room for these very plot critical points earlier in the show. Take Aang’s unwillingness to kill Ozai, for example--this is something that absolutely should have come up far earlier in the season (prior to the invasion at least), and the fact that it didn’t says two things: one, that because the writers knew Aang wasn’t actually going to face Ozai during the eclipse, they didn’t think it mattered to follow through on what Aang planned to do if the invasion had been successful; and two, his sudden clinging to his people’s pacifism seems directly at odds with where the entire narrative of the show had been headed to that point. Why is he suddenly insisting he’s the consummate pacifist when we’ve seen evidence in the show of not only Aang reacting in violence and vengeance (towards the sandbenders, and that wasp he killed), but also evidence that Air Nomads were not the sort of pacifists who would roll over and just let someone commit genocide (the fire nation corpses surrounding Monk Gyatso, clear evidence [which Aang never seems to so much as consider at any point during the series, despite the fact that it could have been a point of much-needed growth and maturation, or at least examining his own people’s beliefs and realizing that, at twelve, he had a flawed and incomplete understanding of his own culture] that even Aang’s mentor was willing to kill in order to protect his home and his people)? Why, if he’s so damn pacifistic, did he never seem to consider with guilt any of the lives he took while in the Avatar state and fused with the Ocean Spirit?

And no, by the way, I’m not saying he’s to blame for the deaths Koizilla caused, but I am saying that it doesn’t make sense that he feels no remorse over all of that blood. Particularly since we see that he considers actions taken while in the Avatar State to be his own--he feels guilty when he goes into the AS and scares his friends, and he very specifically removes himself from the AS to avoid killing Ozai, which tells me that he does consider the AS’ actions to be his own. And if all life is sacred to him to the point where he won’t even eat meat (although Air Nomad vegetarianism makes no sense, but that’s another rant entirely) why doesn’t he so much as mourn for the lives lost during the attack?

These are all questions which the narrative itself never considered, and it’s frustrating because many of them are questions which should have been asked--and answered, or at least attempted--in the course of the final act of Aang’s character arc. He had a great set up going into the third book, with Monk Gyatso’s teachings filling in some of the blanks in Aang’s (again, flawed and incomplete--I challenge anyone to try telling me that if they were completely removed from their culture at age twelve, and it was subsequently wiped completely from the face of the earth, that they’d have anything close to a deep and nuanced understanding of it; twelve-year-olds don’t have a deep and nuanced understanding of anything, nevermind an entire culture and worldview, which is why Aang kept parroting soundbytes from the monks without actually understanding them) understanding of Air Nomad beliefs, but this thread was completely dropped in favor of... I’m still not sure, honestly.

Was Aang running away from his problems and effectively lying to his friends (does he ever actually come clean about being completely unable to access the Avatar State of his own volition?) more important than going back to the Guru, or at least his teachings, and coming to understand his own culture? Where was his arc of regaining the Avatar State because he worked for it, because he tried to re-open his chakras and, for example, came to understand what letting go of his attachment to Katara really means? (That’s actually one of the most frustrating bits, because a) he gets to have his possessive and unhealthy attachment to Katara and get the Avatar State back, despite paying lipservice to letting her go at the end of book 2; and b) he never seems to get what ‘attachment’ the Guru was actually referring to--letting go of Katara doesn’t mean he had to stop caring about or even loving her, but it does mean he was supposed to give up his selfish and possessive attachment to her, which means no nodding when some actor in a play calls fake!Katara ‘the Avatar’s girl’ and no assuming they were supposed to be in a romantic relationship despite never actually asking about her feelings and no kissing her without her consent just because he wanted her to feel the same way about him and didn’t care whether or not she actually did [otherwise he would have asked, and he never once even tried].)

Instead, rather than having a season-long arc of re-navigating his chakras, opening them, and regaining the Avatar State under his own power, he gets thrown against a well-placed rock which does all the work for him at the very last second. Energybending, which wasn’t even thought of as a possibility earlier in the season, rather than being a concept he comes to discover on his own as he navigates his chakras for a second time and comes to understand the how the energy flows between each one, is likewise just given to him by a third party, with no work necessary on his part. And as for Katara, well, I’ve ranted at length about that in the past, but their last one-on-one interaction before the epilogue is when Aang kisses her without her consent, and she gets pissed off about it and storms off. There is nothing to bridge the gap between that and make-out city, nothing at any point indicating Katara’s feelings (because, as far as Kataang was concerned, her feelings never mattered) and how they were changing, no apology from Aang for violating her boundaries, no understanding of what he did wrong and why it was wrong. Nothing. Not a single conversation.

That is why we say that Katara was handed to him like a trophy. Because she was. Kataang was endgame not because it made any sense for Katara, but because Aang was the hero, and he saved the day, and he deserved to get his forever girl on top of it. There was never any real attempt to broach Katara’s feelings on the matter--she’s never shown reflecting on their pre-invasion kiss (in fact, by all appearances she completely forgot it even happened), and she is never once asked what her feelings are, not by Aang or the narrative--because, at the end of the day, they didn’t matter. Aang was getting the girl he wanted, and that was that.

We say that Aang was handed these things without working for them because the entire narrative of book three seemed particularly engineered to making sure he didn’t have to. Zuko, meanwhile, had to work for everything he achieved--the gaang’s trust, Katara’s in particular, his crown and his kingdom. (No, he didn’t particularly work to get Mai back, but that’s a whole other discussion, and he would’ve been much better off if she never showed up again after TBR.) He didn’t get to take any shortcuts. Aang’s arc is all shortcuts, at least in book 3, and that’s when they attempted to show how he got from point a to point b at all.

Anyway, the situations couldn’t possibly be any more different, and idk who said that but whomever it is clearly does not understand where the criticisms about Aang and his hamstringed book 3 arc are coming from.

[damatris]

There's Harshness In Your Voice And Softness In Your Hands

May I offer you a very soft and hopefully funny concussed!Jaskier geraskier fic in these trying times? Also tagging @jaskierswolf since you’re an awesome writer and I super appreciated your kind words and encouragement! <3 This was the third fic I wrote after a 8 year break in writing prose. :’D

Pre-Geraskier, concussed!Jaskier, protective!Geralt, Fluff, And Humor wc:  2,638 Also on AO3 with The Mud Wolf song!

....

"Are we there yet?" Jaskier asked with a grin, knowing perfectly well the town was only ten minute walk away. Exasperated sigh was his only response, just as he predicted.

"I do hope I have enough time to turn your newest valiant fight into an epic tale. Spinning a song out of a mud covered Witcher and his battle with an overgrown worm might be impossible for a lesser bard but I'm sure I can manage." he continued, taking maybe slightly too much joy out of having stayed spotless while Geralt looked like he had rolled on wet ground for a good while. Which wasn't too far from the truth.

For once the hunt had been more of an annoyance than life threatening. Geralt had been hired to take care of an unidentified monster wreaking havoc on the soft soil of nearby fields, threatening the crops.

Turned out the monster was a sizable worm like creature with thick ridged skin and countless teeth similar to sharp picks in a gaping maw. Which could have been deadly if its anatomy didn't require one to stick an arm inside the mouth to be bitten. But it had been strong, squirmy and eager to burrow away forcing Geralt to drag it out of the ground with both hands more than once. It ended up more of a wrestling match than a fight before he had been able to skewer the monster with his sword.

Jaskier had been happy to offer gleeful advice and encouragement from a safe distance where flying muck couldn't reach his silk doublet.

"Really, it would make for a good ditty, something to hum while working the fields" the bard continued, demonstrating a bright tune.

"Don't." Geralt said blankly, dragging the monster's corpse. Mud was starting to flake off his face and armor leaving dusty residue. He would have to give it a throughout cleaning later. Having caked mud in armor joints could only lead to discomfort and possibility of something jamming.

"We'll see." Jaskier said and kept humming until they reached their destination.

Calling it a town might be slightly generous but it was a lively place. During the day there had been a sizable crowd of customers and sellers in the town square, children playing and general bustle of people hurrying on their errands. Even now in the twilight hours there were people walking around giving them looks ranging from disgust to fear to bafflement. Which Jaskier thought was fair enough considering a bloody carcass was being dragged by an extremely filthy Witcher down their streets.

He too would have stopped to stare at such a spectacle once upon a time. Nowadays he just witnessed the hunting of the dangerous creatures instead.

Few minutes later they separated. Geralt was off to present the proof of the completed mission to the magistrate and collect his fee while Jaskier continued to the inn they were staying at. He had a promise to keep to the owner. Not that it was any sort of a hardship. He would have performed anyway but getting free meals for both of them was a very welcome bonus.

The inn's tavern with its warmth and amiable atmosphere was a welcome change from the cooling evening. Conversations and laughter, clinking of drinks being drank and dinners being eaten filled the space with familiar sounds. It had been far too long since the last time they had stayed somewhere nice Jaskier decided. Adjusting his lute he headed toward the bar to talk with the owner.

"Hello again!" Jaskier greeted placing a coin on the counter. "Could you draw a bath in about thirty minutes or so? Not for me, don't worry. I'm ready to sing until everyone here is full of good cheer and good ale!" he ended with a wink.

"That might take quite the while knowing these folks." Oscar, a tall broad man chuckled. Noticing the lack of a looming presence he asked "Bath's for the Witcher then?"

"Absolutely! You should and will see the state he landed himself. So easy to mistake for something that crawled out of a swamp and rolled in dirt for good measure. If you hadn't already seen him, you'd swear his hair is black and skin grey. Thankfully the same fate didn't befall me." Jaskier gestured to his clothes. "Now that would have been a tragedy."

"Plenty of water needed then." Oscar nodded to himself, moving toward a patron looking for a drink. "I'll have it ready for him."

Jaskier gave a small playful bow and twirled around to spot a good place to stash his lute case.

This evening had blessed him with an appreciative audience, Jaskier mused happily. He had begun with true crowd pleasers, jaunty songs that each and everyone knew, to draw the attention and set a jovial mood before moving to his original pieces bridging the change with Toss A Coin. It truly was a great trademark and transition song with addition of people usually complying with the lyrics and handing out money. Sure, there always were some grumblers who would prefer anything over having to hear about the White Wolf in a positive light but you never could please everyone. No matter how much he would like to.

Jaskier had started on the third song detailing a hunt he had witnessed when the Witcher of the tale entered the tavern drawing all eyes and causing murmur.

"Your bard really wasn't exaggerating much." Oscar noted behind the bar with a wry smile. "There's a warm bath waiting for you upstairs. I'd make haste if I were you."

Geralt nodded his acknowledgment while taking a sweeping look at the tavern. Spotting Jaskier near the stairs leading up to the second floor he locked eyes with him for a moment before starting in that direction. While Jaskier's performance hadn't faltered even for a second it was clear he was laughing internally at Geralt's appearance. His blue eyes were sparkling with mirth as he took stock of the stiff hair and dust falling with every step.

Walking past him to the stairs Geralt grunted something that was both a thank you and a warning. Jaskier felt quite proud of how well he had learned the meanings of the various hmms and wordless grunts Geralt seemed so overly fond of.

"Filthy fucking mutant!"

Jaskier was used to being pelted with various objects by dissatisfied audiences so he didn't think anything about stepping between something flying and the Witcher's retreating back.

Until blinding pain hit him.

On a reflex Jaskier threw his arms in front of himself trying to ensure the safety of his lute as he was knocked down on his back. Trying to draw air back into his deflated lungs and focus on anything outside of the ringing in his ears, he vaguely registered a dark shape jumping over him with a curse.

It might have been a year or it might have been a second before a large hand shook his shoulder.

"Damn it Jaskier, breath!"

Ah, yes. He knew that voice. He should probably answer.

"...G'r'lt..." not the most eloquent but passable. It was kind of hard to force words out when you had to think about breathing. Maybe he should go back to practicing basics if saying one word clearly took that much air. How had he ever sang possessing such a horrendous breathing technique?

"Look at me."

But he already was? Oh, wait. That darkness wasn't Geralt's black armor. He just had his eyes closed. But who was he to deny the chance of looking at Geralt's eyes? They were so beautiful after all. With herculean task he blinked and, behold, those molten yellow eyes were intensely staring at his. Such perfection surrounded by dancing stars.

"Can you sit up?"

Should be simple enough but he would need his hands. And they were...

"M' lute...?"

"Of fucking course you would worry about your lute. You're clutching it."

Ah. Good. Everything was fine in that case. Case. Where was his lute case? No, he had put it down before performing. Should be safe. Even if he couldn't recall where it was. Maybe he could ask Geralt. He could just-

"Sniff 'nd find" it with his strange strange Witcher senses. Seemed like a good plan. Geralt would know the scent.

"What the everlasting fuck Jaskier? How hard did that tankard hit your head?"

But tankards weren't for hitting? Why would he have…? Ah. Yes. He must have stepped in front of it now that he thought about it. Still, who would throw one? If you wanted to throw something at a person then-

"Coins ar' good, bre'd okay."

"That's it. I'm taking him to our room."

Jaskier had never realized he could levitate but suddenly he wasn't on the floor anymore. It felt much more safe and warm than he would have thought. And weirdly dusty. Also, Geralt's face was very close. Very, very close. So very close. It was distracting him from the experience. It was unfair how-

"Handsome." Geralt was. Robbing him the chance of experiencing flight. The bastard.

"If you mumble nonsense then you can just shut up."

Rude.

Shit, Jaskier thought. He wasn't levitating anymore. He had missed his chance of enjoying it. Suddenly also the warmth and Geralt's face were gone. No, there was Geralt again. But why wasn't his hair white? It was even in the name. The White Wolf. Not-

"The Mud Wolf."

"Really Jaskier? Not even coherent and you make insults?"

Geralt was an insult. With his pretty eyes and pretty lips and strong arms. Arms…? Maybe Jaskier didn't know how to levitate after all. Maybe Geralt-

"Carried me?" Huh. That would have been even better to register than levitating. If he asked would Geralt do it again while hiding his stupid good looking face? No, probably not.

"Yes."

He would? Wait, no. It was an affirmation for being carried, Jaskier realized with disappointment. He was prevented from brooding by something wet and stinging touching his forehead. He wanted it to-

"Stop. Hurts."

"Stay still. I need to clean this."

Geralt was the one who had wrestled a worm, not him. Heh, that's why he was The Mud Wolf! Didn't explain why his forehead needed cleaning though. Jaskier took a deep breath and tried to focus. Worm, tavern, performing, Geralt coming in. Then it got fuzzy. But hadn't there been a mention of a-

"Tankard. I got hit by a tankard?"

"Finally. Yes Jaskier, you were an absolute idiot and stepped in its path." a relieved sigh passed Geralt's lips.

"You were already in its path." Jaskier accused him wincing against a new stab of pain. Geralt should be thankful. Who knew that an overglorified cup could hurt this much?

"I was the target. It would have hit my back. While wearing an armor. If I hadn't caught it first."

"..." Jaskier blamed his lack of a comeback on concussion. Having one would explain everything. "Please don't say a child threw it and managed to knock me out."

There was an amused huff. "No, it was an adult. One that has a far worse headache."

"They managed this while concus-? You gave them one!" Jaskier crowed pleased with his returning mental skills. "Ooh, I wish I could have seen it. I hope they lost a lot of teeth! And have a broken nose."

"Probably, didn't check. I had more important things to do." Geralt answered prodding Jaskier's head. It didn't look too bad now that the blood was gone. An ugly bruise was quickly forming on a sizeable bump but the cut wasn't long or deep. Shouldn't even leave a scar. Head wounds just bled like a bitch as Geralt knew from personal experience.

"I'm important?" Jaskier breathed with wide eyes and hanging mouth.

Of course. That would be his take away, Geralt thought. Not that he was wrong but…

"Hmmm."

"Dear Melitele, am I hallucinating?" Jaskier whispered lifting his arm to cup Geralt's cheek. And would have promptly poked him in the eye if Geralt hadn't snatched his hand.

"Geralt of Rivia admitting to care about someone? This must be a first!" a familiar sparkle was returning to Jaskier's pinched eyes. He moved their interlocked hands to take a better look. It wasn't particularly romantic with Geralt holding his wrist but Jaskier would take it.

Just as the thought crossed his mind Geralt let go and his arm flopped bonelessly back on the bed. He didn't remember his hands weighting that much. Weird. Combined with his lute he must have far more strength than he had guessed to be able to play for whole nights with no problem.

"Geralt, where's my lute?" Jaskier suddenly panicked trying to get up to look for it. He was screwed if someone had stolen or, god forbid, broken it. All he got for his attempt was splitting pain.

"Your priorities are fucked up." Geralt stated picking a potion and bandage out of his bag. "It's in the corner. Oscar brought it with the case."

"Excuse me! It's my tool of trade, my life line and…" Jaskier trailed off frowning.

"I'll finish that after I've slept." he sniffed radiating offense.

"You do that. Now, stay still." Geralt drawled. Swiping the cut one last time he covered it with gauze.

It might not be strictly necessary but he was quite sure Jaskier would tear it open at least few times with his animated expressions. And, it made him feel slightly better if he was honest. Realizing the bard had purposefully stepped in front of him and crumpled down like a sack of potatoes had been shocking. Just thinking about it made him want to tear the culprit apart piece by piece.

What in the world had driven Jaskier to do it was a mystery. He should be perfectly aware a flying mug was no danger for a Witcher.

"Drink." Geralt ordered shoving the potion toward Jaskier.

Jaskier did make a valiant effort to take the potion but kept missing the mark until Geralt placed it in his hand with an exasperated sigh. Shakily he drank the concoction without hesitation until the bottle was empty, Geralt helping him lift his head enough not to choke.

"Wait. What was that? You always go on and on how your strange Witcher potions are not for us weak fragile humans. You wouldn't poison me after all this time, right? Geralt?" Jaskier suddenly worried.

"If I wanted you dead I'd have killed you long ago. And not with poison." Geralt answered blankly.

"It's just painkiller. You can sleep now. I'll keep waking you up to make sure last of your brain cells didn't rattle loose." he continued lifting the blanket for Jaskier to wrap it around himself.

"That's offensive. I'll let you know I have plenty of commonsense…" Jaskier protested weakly eyelids fluttering.

"Sure. As much as a toddler." Geralt granted. Softer, he prompted Jaskier to close his eyes. "Sleep. You'll feel better after."

"... Uh-huh…" came the eloquent answer. Just before he succumbed to his exhaustion, Jaskier could have sworn he felt gentle hand carding through his hair.

Also on AO3 with The Mud Wolf song!

[sserpente]

A/N: Requests from @bi-readytobakepie-cry-and-die, @walkinoxymoron,  @mysticalflowerroadprune, @thenocturnalsyren  and two anons. I have an order here, chips with extra fluff? Anyone? You asked for fluff, you’re getting fluff—and the chips, too. 🍟

Words: 2975 Warnings: pure fluff, sleep paralysis

You spun around when your attacker lunged, acting surprised. He had you cornered, with no way to run—or so he thought. It was a devilish smirk that curled your lips upwards when he aimed to stab the thin air surrounding your illusion as it disappeared right before his eyes. He screamed, anger and frustration getting the better of him. It was his last mistake before you pierced his head with an arrow. You used a small crossbow attached to your right wrist to shoot your enemies, usually refrained from fighting up close. You were simply not the type. Besides, you hated the feeling of blood that was not your own on your skin.

You had been hunting these people all the way to New York now. Cleopatra would be truly proud of you. But those artefacts were not only of personal value for you and your heritage but also extremely dangerous which in the wrong hands could cause a lot of damage—and the most selfish part of you, so you knew, wanted to keep them all to yourself.

There was only one of them left now and quite apparently, you had received some unknown help. You were not the only one hunting the man who was quite likely aiming to have Assassin’s Creed come to life as he climbed over every rock and piece of debris he could find to get away. Although you were grateful for their aid, you couldn’t help but wonder what it was they wanted from him.

Stopping dead in your tracks when he came to a sudden halt, you moved behind a metal barrel and observed how a woman with ginger hair and a black suit fired three shots. Not a single one missed its target. Dead. The spook was finally over. Now all you still needed was that contract hidden in one of his pockets.

“Hey, there’s another one!” The mechanical voice was coming from above you when you emerged from your hiding spot and attempted to approach the corpse. Looking up to find a man wearing a red and gold suit, you barely had the time to spin back around when another man on their team—short hair, with a bow and arrow as his weapon of choice—unceremoniously aimed at you.

“No, stop!” Your eyes widened, reflexes kicking in. You felt the familiar tingling in your body whenever you teleported, leaving an illusion behind and letting the archer’s arrow hurtling through the empty spot you had stood in less than a second ago. Rude… “I believe we are on the same side.” They jumped when you reappeared behind them.

-

You struggled to remember their names, purpose and story. The woman with the red hair was called Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow for short. Former assassin, she now worked with this secret organisation called SHIELD. There was Tony Stark—billionaire and Iron Man and Steve Rogers aka Captain America who spent seventy years frozen in the sea. The man who had almost killed you had you not been supernaturally gifted was called Clint Barton and sometimes Hawkeye. You were familiar with Thor of course. How could you not be? You had grown up reading about gods and goddesses… being one yourself.

“The question is… who are you?” Tony Stark had removed his suit by now and revealed an average-sized man.

“My name is (Y/N)—not a fancy superhero name, I know.”

“And you practice magic,” Thor tossed in with crossed arms.

“Magic? No. I cast illusions. My father was human, like most of you. My mother on the other end… are you familiar with the tale of Persephone and Hades?”

Tony Stark raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you’re a Greek goddess?”

“Half-goddess. I prefer the term hybrid.” You usually wore contacts to hide your true eye colour. It was much more saturated than others.

Alarmed, you turned when someone else entered the room. They had taken your crossbow from you just to be sure but to be fair, you could bring it back into your possession in the twinkling of an eye.

“Where have you been, Reindeer Games? We could have needed you out there.”

“Urgent matters.” A smooth, mysterious and dark voice stated simply—mockingly almost. While you sincerely doubted that his name really was Reindeer Games, for some peculiar reason you were dying to learn who he was. Raven hair, blue eyes and those sharp cheekbones… his clothing looked Asgardian, too. He was definitely not human. Neither were you, depending on how you looked at it.

Electricity rippled through you when your eyes met. The strange Asgardian made no move, whatsoever though, to introduce himself.

“You will be…?” You asked with a polite smile.

Natasha frowned suspiciously. “He is…”

“Loki,” he interrupted her hurriedly, dashing you a smile as he did. “Thor’s brother, I am afraid to say.” You laughed when the God of Thunder shot him a playfully hurt glance.

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Loki.”

“She lived on the moon, didn’t she?” Clint murmured.

Tony pursed his lips. “Where did you come from?”

“Egypt. I spent the last six years in Egypt.”

“Right… and what is a Greek goddess doing in Egypt?”

“Half-goddess—and I told I don’t like being called that. I was working with archaeologists and securing sacred artefacts. You know… objects like the box of Pandora.” You winked at him.

The Avengers, so they called themselves, exchanged puzzled looks—almost as if they were in on a secret you were yet to learn about.

“I see. You best stay away from… well. (Y/N), Loki is…” Clint started.

“…determined to show you around.” The God of Mischief interrupted him sharply, directing all of his attention to you. “What is it you can do then?”

“I cast illusions.”

You smirked when his eyebrows rose in an impressed manner and he offered you his arm to make you decide in that moment that you liked him.

-

By now, around three months had passed since you more or less joined the Avengers. They had helped you return the artefacts to Egypt and Loki… Loki and you had found yourselves spending a lot of time together and getting to know one another. He was wonderful. Intelligent, witty, mischievous and thoughtful and even quite introverted when it came to talking about his inner thoughts and feelings. There was something he was not telling you though—something that Thor too was making the Avengers keep silent about.

Whatever it was… perhaps one day, he would be ready to tell you. You were not going to pressure him into anything. You had your own skeletons in your closet—which was why you were beginning to fall in love with him—and the reason your heart almost leaped out of your chest when Steve and Thor returned without him from one of their latest missions which had entailed the words venom, dwarves and drinking water.

You had been against them wandering off on their own and without any backup, especially if something otherworldly was involved. Thor was quite megalomaniac, so you had figured. His ‘that’s what heroes do’ attitude made you want to slap him every now and then. Loki never considered himself as a hero and for some peculiar reason the Avengers never bothered to treat him as such either.

“Where is Loki?!”

They were bruised, injured and covered in blood. You did not even want to imagine what they must have dealt with. The book you had been reading flew over the sofa as you hurried to confront them.

Thor shook his head. He was still out of breath.

“We don’t know,” Steve answered you instead. “He disappeared shortly before the explosion. He might still have been in the building.”

“The explosion?!” You shrieked. “Well, why didn’t you look for him?”

“The dwarves were still there.” Dwarves. If only they were harmless. They certainly looked the part—right until they tried to scratch your eyes out with their tiny and venomous claws.

“Okay, you two, into my lab. Bruce just got back from England concerning the venom, (Y/N), you calm down. Loki goes to ground all the time.”

“Why are you all acting like he does not matter? What is wrong with you, Stark?”

“What’s wrong? He is a fucking crim—“

“Stark!” Thor roared. Indignantly, you shook your head as they hurried out of the room. “Don’t worry too much about him, (Y/N)!” You heard him yell to you. “You don’t know Loki like I do!”

This was starting to get ridiculous. But you had no time to ponder over this—you were way too worried for him, right until something crashed into the living room and broke the glass table in front of the sofa. No, not something. Someone.

“Loki!” Thank the stars. He must have teleported himself out of there. He was covered in dirt and dust, a laceration on his forehead. His blue eyes met yours for only a brief second before the adrenaline in his body died down and he fell unconscious.

The venom. Loki was an Asgardian god. If the dwarves’ venom affected him so strongly… he was sweating, too. With all your strength, you heaved him on the sofa and slid a cushion under his head. None of the other Avengers would be back anytime soon anyway.

You left for only a brief moment, returning with a wet cloth to cool his skin and clean his wound. There was nothing else you could do for him except for watching over him to make sure he healed.

“Loki… get well soon, my king.” He had told you about his desire to claim the throne, to be the first choice for once. He certainly was your king. “Get well soon so I can kiss you.”

Smiling, you gripped his hand tighter, leaning against the sofa. You had always slept like this back in Egypt. You had worked with a young archaeologist only a few years younger than yourself. Your sleep paralysis—something you had not even told Loki about just yet made it hard to restfully slumber at night. She on the other hand had had nyctophobia—fear of the dark. It had been hard to leave her behind, knowing she had become something like a sister. Since then, sleep had rarely come to you… until you had met Loki and now knew you could always spend the entire night talking to him instead.

Holding his hand now and feeling his warmth and his presence filled you with joy. Before you even knew it, you had fallen asleep next to him, kneeling on the ground. Unbeknownst to you, however, the God of Mischief had still been awake the entire time and heard every single word you had said. Kiss me? He thought—the last one before he slid back into unconsciousness.

When he woke again, you were still there, holding his hand. He smiled. It was nice, knowing that somebody cared for him. It made the pain the venom caused as it cursed through his veins a lot more bearable. Tomorrow, he figured, he would be over the worst. And then his smile suddenly disappeared. She only cares for you because she doesn’t know what you’ve done, a scornful voice in his mind whispered.

Loki clenched his fists. He rolled his eyes when he discovered Thor sneakily peeking into the room.

“What happened?” He croaked. It was an unnecessary question, really. He knew what had happened. He was just too weak to nag ‘What do you want’.

“She fell asleep over three hours ago, Loki. I tried to wake her but she refuses to leave your side.”

Loki looked him directly in the eye, his heart skipping a beat. She refuses to leave your side. “Why have you been so keen on keeping a secret from her what I did in New York?” He asked, taking his chance now that they were alone. For once, there was honest curiosity in his voice.

Thor hesitated. Then, he shrugged. “Because you were.” It was all he replied. He understood then. Just this one time, his brainless brother understood why it was so important to him to keep from you what had made him, in the Avengers’ eyes, a villain. He just wondered for how much longer he could keep up the act.

With a gentle smile, Thor turned to leave the room. “I knew you would make it out.” He added before he disappeared. Loki rolled his eyes yet again, albeit amused.

Perhaps it was wrong. He would never find peace living in constant fear that you would find out on your own and hate him like all the other Avengers did. He took a deep breath when you opened your eyes—and for the first time in a long while, he was at loss for words. What should he first say to you? Should he thank you? Ask if you had had pleasant dreams?

“Good morning, my dear.” He eventually opted; to his utter shock, however, your eyes widened. You did not move, not a single inch and yet, your eyes proved you were awake. Did you already know? Had he scared you somehow, or done something in his half-unconscious state?

-

Anytime now they would appear—those pitch black monsters with the long claws and the terrifying red glowing eyes. You had seen them in a film as a child and ever since then, they had become the personification of your fear. Rejection, repulsion, hatred, loneliness… they all meant to grab you. Falling asleep, you had been holding Loki’s hand, so why had your sleep paralysis returned?

The sorrow, you answered yourself. You were worrying for Loki when you fell asleep. Was he still here with you, on the sofa? You could not see him. Instead, over the backrest, crawled the first monster. It stared at you darkly, making your eyes widen in fear and then, out of the blue, another one reached for you from behind, beginning to shake you. Shake you? That was new. They usually never managed to actually touch you, you always brought yourself to wake up in time.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), are you alright?” Loki. Blinking frantically, you fought hard to move your limbs, to tense and relax your muscles repeatedly to fully wake up. When you finally did, you were met with a very concerned Loki. “What is happening to you? You started screaming at me.”

“I did? I’m sorry…” One deep breath, then two, then three. “I was… nightmare. Never mind. Are you feeling better?”

“A nightmare? That did not look like a simple nightmare.” Loki knew what nightmares looked like. He had them all the time, after all.

“Maybe not. But I don’t want to burden you with that. You seem to be having your own problems.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He spat, sitting up and putting his feet on the ground fast.

“Loki, there is obviously something you are trying to keep a secret from me.”

“So you mistrust me?” He responded with a quiet voice.

“I don’t mistrust you,” you insisted, cupping his cheek. “I just feel like there is something you are not ready to tell me about yet and until then… it would be unfair to rant about my problems instead.”

Loki looked up. Regret was sparkling in his blue eyes—regret along with remorse. You do not even deserve her, the voice whispered.

“I am a criminal.” He suddenly said, the word murderer not quite leaving his lips.

“What? What are you saying?”

“A little over five years ago, I invaded this planet in an attempt to rule it. I was blinded by a promise which could never be held and betrayed not only Thor but also myself.”

“You did… what?” Your lips parted. I invaded this planet.

“It matters not. Thanos is dead now.”

“Thanos? Thanos made you do this?”

“No,” he snapped. “The sceptre, it… I killed many innocent people, (Y/N). It was only a small price to pay for the recognition I sought.” He looked you dead in the eye. “I regret making these sacrifices but at the same time… I do not.” He was torn. You could feel it burning in his stunning eyes.

“Why did you never tell me that?”

Loki scoffed scornfully. “I assumed you would despise me like everyone else if you knew. I took lives, (Y/N). I took lives for my own gain. I am not a hero, I never will be.” And he did not want to be, so you figured. You did not despise him. Quite on the contrary… you were only falling for him more and more. The pain that Thanos had inflicted on him still sat deep. He blamed himself, assuming it was no one else but him who deserved to be called evil and a villain.

Actions might comfort him more than your words could now. So you leaned in, placing your palms on his thighs for balance and tenderly pressed your lips against his. If anything, the God of Mischief was taken aback, still, the moment you joined for a hesitant kiss, his eyes fell shut. With a sigh, he cupped your face and pulled you closer, his tongue asking for entrance almost timidly. For now, explaining to him what sleep paralysis was and how it tormented you at night could wait.

“I don’t hate you,” you breathed out once you parted again, desperate for oxygen. Your lips were swollen—his were too, a little. “I think I am falling for you, Loki Odinson.”

His expression was hopeful, vulnerable even—so unlike his usual cool and confident demeanour. His smile, honest and raw, was contagious.

“I heard you,” he admitted. “I heard you promising to kiss me once I woke up.”

Biting back a joyful laugh, you kissed him once more.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[venusofthehardsells]

No Rest for the Wicked [Dea ex Machina part one]

John ConstantinexAngel!Reader Summary: You travel to a remote island to put a murderous spirit to rest, but things get complicated when you run into one John Constantine. Warnings: swearing, mentions of mental illness, blood, smoking, ghosts, pining, is slowburn a warning? A/N: My first Constantine fic on tumblr, yay! This was originally written for a challenge aaages ago, but it got away from me and I couldn’t meet the deadline. I had so much fun with this though, Constantine is a great character to write for! There will definitely be more stories about him and this particular angelic reader in the future ♥

I’ve mixed elements from both the Vertigo comics and the NBC TV series, as well as from the general DC Universe, so don’t expect accuracy when it comes to canon. A special thanks to @nellblazer​​ for support and linguistic aid, you’re the best! ♥ Let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged ~

Contrary to common belief, there had never actually been any ravens on Raven’s Rock. The tiny, windswept fleck of land in the North Sea had been named a few hundred years ago by a fool of a sailor, who hadn’t been able to tell a raven from a severely lost and consequently very confused Scandinavian pigeon. Said sailor had regrettably also been of some importance in his homeland at the time, meaning no one had bothered to correct the unfortunate mistake for fear of losing a head. Even though everyone who since came upon the island only ever managed to find gulls and puffins and various other seabirds, it had still kept its misleading English name.

The Celts, who by rights had been on the island long before the British, had chosen to play it safe and completely forego the bird names (although it had been suggested several times in later centuries to change it to the Gaelic word for seagull, or even pigeon, as a taunt). Instead, they had most likely looked to the ancient ruins that specked the island, jutting up from the rocks like broken teeth and, all things considered, had endured well beyond memory and history and legend. Or perhaps they had still been reeling from the mad determination that had brought them and their wooden ships so far from home. Whichever the case, they had called the stubborn, little rock Innis Seasmhach, “the steadfast island”.

That was its official name to this day, though most people, especially those who didn’t speak Gaelic (which in all fairness are not very many), still referred to it as Raven’s Rock.

The locals shrugged and simply called it “the island”.

There was only one village on the entire island, whose population on a good day might reach a hundred and thirty people. That usually only happened a few times during summer when the ferries from Stavanger and Aberdeen docked at the same time. The tourists came to see the ruins, buy a souvenir fridge magnet of a raven or a puffin, complain about the frightfully bleak weather and leave again on one of the ferries that departed before evenfall, secretly happy they didn’t have to spend any more time on the island.

On the day you arrived, the population on the isle of Raven’s Rock, was an astounding one hundred and forty four, which was quite unheard of in the middle of October.

What was even more unheard of, however, was the reason for all these untimely appearances.

A night ago, a pair of fishermen had discovered the body of a man in a small, secluded cove on the north side of the island. The body was placed so that it could only be seen from sea, unless one were to venture down a rocky and extremely narrow trail into the cove itself. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone slipping and ending up on the stony beach below. That kind of unfortunate death was of course tragic, but it hardly warranted the wide array of policemen and journalists the death had attracted. No, the reason for the sudden interest was the gruesome way the body had been displayed.

The dead man had been stripped bare and splayed out on the rocks like a cross with his arms stretched away from his torso. His skin was almost completely covered in symbols and writing no one could make sense of, though one expert, when consulted by the mystified and slightly desperate police, vaguely suggested it was possibly a rare pre-Arthurian dialect.

The more macabre specifics had so far been kept out of the press.

One was that the writings on the body had been done in blood, the corpse’s own, and another was that it came from where the head had been crudely severed from the rest of the flesh and spiked close by on a piece of driftwood.

Even hypnotised, the young sergeant who had told you, had looked slightly green when he related the information. You had padded him sympathetically on the shoulder before moving on. He wouldn’t remember revealing the details to you, but the information itself was seared into his mind forever.

His, along with the rest of the islanders’, you mused as you continued from the harbour and on into the village.

The locals called it “town”, but in truth it wasn’t really big enough to warrant that title.

It had one store that sold a little bit of everything depending on the weather, a church, a pub, a repair shop (it wasn’t specified what exactly you could get repaired there) and a public building, functioning as city hall, police station, post office, library and school in one. All the police reinforcements from Aberdeen had been moved into the city hall, seeing as the only two policemen permanently stationed on the island had never handled a murder case before. Meanwhile, the reporters and TV crews covering the case were taking up the pub’s five tiny bedrooms, both B&Bs and every single rental cottage Raven’s Rock could boast (nine in total if you counted the back room in the garage of the repair shop). Because you had left for the airport in a hurry and jumped onto the first plane to Norway, you hadn’t had time to secure a place to sleep on the island. You had pondered it on the ferry, but when it came down to it, you didn’t want to stick around longer than a day. If you worked fast, you could probably be on your way back to the mainland in the morning and wouldn’t need to worry about finding a bed. You had spotted a bench down by the harbour; it would have to do.

Besides, you didn’t have any time to waste as long as the murder case was unsolved. You could still hear Madame Xanadu’s words in your head like some annoying ominous echo.

A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks. The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Fate was a menace when you had to deal with it like this, grounded and fumbling through the world with nothing but scraps to guide you. Not like in the old days when you had all of Heaven at your disposal… Being a proper angel had really had its advantages. You scoffed and walked faster. At least this prophecy had been pretty straightforward, which was far from what you were usually given to work with, you thought sourly, folding your arms around yourself against the wind.

A malevolent spirit that should have passed on, but hadn’t was easy enough to figure out; it happened all the time and you could deal with that. The location of the spirit had also been a walk in the park with so many hints to go on.

What really worried you was the second part of Madame Xanadu’s little mystic insight.

The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Blood drinking was never a good omen in prophecies. It hardly ever meant vampires, usually just death. And the laughing magician, well, that one was always the same. The reason Madame Xanadu had called upon you to restore the balance in this place.

John Constantine.

Whenever one of her foresights indicated that the blonde warlock was walking into something he couldn’t handle himself, she sent you after him or, in this case, ahead to clear his path for him. Most times, he didn’t even know you had been there and you preferred it that way.

Like now.

The last you had heard of John was that he was in the States. Sufficiently far away, you thought. Even if someone had alerted him to the murder on Raven’s Rock, it would be at least another day before he could reach the windswept little island and by then you hoped to be long gone. It was best if you two didn’t meet at all.

You chewed on your lip as you thought of him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, it was just… easier if you didn’t. The things you did, the jobs you took were simply too dangerous if your focus wasn’t a hundred per cent on the task in front of you. And with John around, your newly mortal heart had a tendency to make your better judgement evaporate.

You passed a phonebox on the main (and only) street that looked as though it had seen better days and a small tourist information office/part time bakery with its doors and windows shut for the night, before you reached the seemingly only building in town with light and, admittedly subdued, noise streaming out of it: the pub. Apart from the city hall, you reckoned it must be the oldest building around, but also by far the one in best repair. The wooden sign above the heavy green door was, unsurprisingly, in the shape of a very sinister looking gull and it swayed in the wind with an ominous creak that made a shiver run down your spine, as if trying to dissuade you from entering.

Well, it wasn’t very likely that you would get any information elsewhere. With determination in your steps, you walked the last few cobbled steps to the door and went inside.

Your eyes quickly scanned the room, the patrons, the energies... and you froze on the threshold.

On a stool by the bar sat the very man you had hoped to avoid. He had taken off his signature trench coat and his back was towards you, but it didn't matter; you would recognise him blindfolded. He was so thoroughly cloaked and shrouded in magical protections of all sorts that the space he occupied was practically a vacuum. It was damn near impossible to locate him by magic, you knew. If one weren't looking directly at him, like you were now, no sixth sense or intricate spell would reveal his whereabouts. But his was a vacuum you had come to know very well. So well in fact, that by now you could pin him down by his apparent lack of magic, rather than by his well-hidden magical signature, and yet, there he was, sitting only half a room away from you with a drink in one hand and one of his ghastly Silk Cuts resting between the fingers of the other. And you hadn't noticed. You hadn't even done a quick scan to see if there were other magical presences on the island when you arrived. Worse, you hadn't cloaked yourself as thoroughly as you normally would have done and your own signature reached him before you could even think to try and prevent it.

From the way he straightened his back and immediately snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray as if someone had shouted at him to show some care, you could tell he knew you were there. He shifted ever so slightly as if making room for you and you sighed. There was no getting out of this one.

Getting rid of your raincoat, you went over and crawled onto the empty stool next to him.

You were met with that wicked smirk of his that made your heart stutter and stumble in your chest.

"Now, there's a pleasant surprise to brighten this hellhole," he greeted, raising his glass at you. "Must confess, I never guessed I'd be running into you on this godforsaken rock, luv."

"Hello John." You did with a nod, trying to keep your voice even. "Can't say I expected this to be your sort of retreat either."

The warm light in the pub shone in John Constantine's dark eyes and his smirk grew into a grin.

"It's good to see you, luv. I've missed that disapproving pout o' yours. The fact that I never know when I'll see it again makes it so much sweeter."

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't attempt to hide your burning cheeks. The bastard couldn’t possibly know exactly how brightly your torch for him was burning, but he always acted accordingly.

"So, what are you doing here then? Odd place for playing tourist, innit?"

He leaned on the counter, his hand moving closer to where yours was resting and there was that little, dark gleam of hope in his eyes that always appeared when he looked at you. As if there was somehow some other reasonable purpose you could have to be in a place like this, at a time like this.

You shrugged, biting down a smile.

"I find the climate rather agreeable."

John threw his head back and laughed at that. Even the barkeep, who had overheard your words, snorted. You caught his gaze before he turned back around and ordered a sparkling water.

"Right. And I just happened by to see the sights, eh?"

"Well, what do you think of them then?"

You raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of the fizzy water the barkeep placed in front of you. John grinned and gave you an obvious once-over. Your dirty boots and high-neck jumper didn't seem to put him off.

"Much improved since this morning. At this rate, I can't wait to see how they'll look in the night."

"Oh, I ought to slap that smirk off your smug face, wizard," you sighed, feeling how your stomach was practically fluttering at his suggestive tone.

"Is that a promise, luv?"

"You're insufferable."

"Aye, that I am, luv, but you keep coming back for more. Must be doing something right, eh?"

You bit your lip and looked down; he suddenly felt too close. And the general level of noise inside the pub from people chattering wasn't as high as you had hoped. It would be easy for others to overhear anything you said. Given the island-wide unrest over the murder, you were sure ears were perked more than usual and you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, or John. You would have to gather more information some other way.

"I missed you, too," you confessed, staring at the bottles lining the wall behind the bar as if they were all of a sudden exceedingly interesting. "But I... I thought you were helping out a certain green vigilante overseas these days."

John visibly tensed up.

"Who told you that?"

You shrugged, still not looking directly at him. The truth was that he couldn't really hide from you, not even in your current state. If he found out though, you didn't doubt for a second that his heated flirting would be switched for a literal knife in the back before you could even think the word "portal". Well, perhaps not literal, but you had no doubt the outcome would be fatal for you anyway.

"Who told you to come here?," you countered, raising an eyebrow and John scoffed.

"If you must know, I got a call from an old friend. Looks like she's been scrying on her own and this little spit of land kept drawing all her energy. Didn't seem like something I could ignore."

"You should've," you mumbled, taking a large slurp of your water and doing your best to ignore the persistent little spark of envy starting to gnaw away at you at his choice of words. What old friend? It had to be someone he had slept with, it always was with him. Why couldn't you just not care? "Take my advice, John, leave. Go home and lay low. I'll handle this island."

"Is that concern for old Johnny I hear, luv?," he asked with mock-surprise.

"Maybe. Don't let it get to your head, your ego won't be able to fit into that coat of yours."

He chuckled, but the tension was still there and you didn't know how to break it without giving him the truth, or at least something close.

"Your turn, pretty bird. I don't believe in coincidences like this, so tell me. How'd you know to come here?"

Lying to John Constantine was out of the question. As was being honest with him.

You chewed on your lip a bit, weighing your options. It wasn't like him to accept any kind of help unless he was downright desperate and that was still a long way off. If you challenged him though, he was most likely to flee, that much you knew. But you didn't want to get on his bad side unless you had absolutely no other choice.

"Leave," you repeated. "This one's out of your league, John. Let me take care of it, please."

The way your eyes were pleading with him made him frown and you realised you might have shown too much of your hand.

"I'm not going anywhere, luv." His hand was on top of yours on the bar before you could move it. To anyone looking, it seemed like an affectionate gesture, but he was effectively pinning you in place. "Not until you give me a bloody good reason not to give you the same treatment as whatever beast it is we're dealing with on this island."

"Let go of me."

Your voice wasn't very loud, but you knew he could hear you. He answered by pressing down harder on your hand and you winced.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe I just want to keep you safe?," you all but hissed at him, emptying your drink with a sour expression.

"Oh, I trust you just about as far as I can throw you, luv. Every time I see your pretty little face it means there's trouble brewing just around the corner."

"I saved your life in Tennessee. And in Derry," you tried, but his hold didn't loosen. If anything, John was now gripping your hand so hard no blood could possibly flow to your fingers. "I am trying to do your stubborn Scouse arse a bloody favour, why can't you just for once in your damn life listen to me?"

"Tell me your name then and maybe I will."

Fuck. Somehow it always came down to that.

"Xanadu," you snapped through gritted teeth, eyeing John with what you hoped was an appropriate amount of ire. "Xanadu contacted me and told me about this place. Happy? Obviously, she wasn't going to tell you now, was she?"

John withdrew his hand from you as though you'd burned him. It felt about as pleasant as a punch to the teeth, but you tried not to let it show on your face.

"I suppose you're right...," he admitted. "What did she tell you then? Her usual cryptic nonsense I reckon?"

"For someone in your line of work, you're not at all keen on prophecy reading, are you?," you sighed, forcing a bit of humour into your words.

There was no love lost between John Constantine and Madame Xanadu, that much had been clear to you from the beginning. But even though she couldn't stand the sight of him, she believed John was instrumental in keeping the world safe and had begrudgingly agreed to help you protect him when she could.

"Not really my style. I prefer things more tangible, to the point. Besides, I don't need to worry about divination when I have you."

"You rarely do."

"Not by my choice, luv."

Your eyes flickered back to the empty glass in front of you and you had to take a very slow breath to try and steady yourself. His effect on you was too strong for you to be safe around him. Your job required a clear head - for both your sakes.

"A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks," you recited, steeling your voice as you averted his unspoken question the way you always did. "It wasn't that cryptic at all for once."

He didn't need to hear the other part. You could feel his eyes roaming your face, trying to figure you out, looking for something without fully knowing what. It was at times like these you missed your wings. Keeping secrets in a human body full of emotions and urges and reactions beyond your immediate control was frustrating at best. It was another reason you were better off keeping your distance.

After a while of searching your features, John sighed and gave up.

"Alright. So it's probably some kind of malevolent spirit then, wreaking havoc. Don't see why you're so worried luv, sounds like any other Tuesday to me."

The barkeep was close enough for you to signal for a refill to you both. He grunted something unintelligible, obviously not too keen on all the Brits suddenly hanging out in his pub. You made sure to send him a grateful smile as he filled your glasses, yours with sparkling water, John's with whisky.

"My weeks are all Mondays," you said and raised the glass to your lips; just as you had hoped, John did the same. "Did you get here in time to see the body?"

"Only after they moved it. Wasn't pretty..." He took another swig while staring at the wall with a distant glaze clouding his eyes that told you he wasn't seeing the wall at all. "Pathologist told me the man had been alive when 'is head was severed. The, er... the inscriptions..." John looked just as sickly green as the constable had done and very gently you put your hand on his shoulder. A small gesture of reassurance. "I'm tired," he whispered suddenly. He turned his head to look at you and your heart ached when you realised how glassy his eyes had become. "I am just so bloody tired. Demons, vampires, curses, spirits, the lot. No matter where I go, there're always more and people die, it never stops. Innocent people, good people... I just want a fucking break, but if I don't stop the darkness from spreading, who will?"

His voice was thin and on the verge of breaking entirely. You wanted nothing more than to lean forwards on the stool and put your arms around him, somehow make him know he wasn't alone, but the risk was too great. You were in too deep already.

"Sometimes I wonder whether it's all worth it..."

"Of course it's worth it, John," you said quietly, clenching his shoulder. "We do what we have to so they...," you gestured discreetly towards the patrons, ”they can go on living their lives and not... not know and see the things we do..."

"I know, luv, I know. I just... I want..." The gloom that was always lurking just below the surface of his existence was spilling into his eyes. He was weary to the bone, deep into his very soul. For a moment, you thought he was going to let the tears burst. "I risk my life every day and it's never bloody enough, is it? A man got his head carved off by some wretched spirit who should have been resting in peace. Fuckin’ Hell..."

He rubbed his eyes hard and you decided then what to do. You didn't like it one bit, but seeing John this worn down, well, you liked that even less. It meant you had been sleeping on the job.

As subtly as you could, you put your hand in your pocket and found the tiny zip-bag with a pinch of purple powder in it. It wasn't something you used often and it had never been meant for John, but you couldn't in good conscience let him go after a rogue spirit in his current state. While he emptied his glass again, you drizzled the powder into your hand and braced yourself.

"John, look at me. It's going to be alright. You are John Constantine and without you this world would have ended twelve times in the last decade, maybe more. And right now you are going to save this island, because that is what you do. So get off your sulking arse and stop feeling sorry for yourself. We have a job here. You're going to find that spirit and put it out of its misery before it hurts someone else, got it?"

He huffed, but even so raised his head and managed a small grateful smile at the reprimand.

"Yes. You're right. Thank you, luv. You always know what to say..." His eyes darted to your lips and for half a heartbeat, you did nothing, just sat there and waited for him to lean in the rest of the way and kiss you. It was far from the first time it had happened, but you still felt at war with yourself. There wasn't a single atom left in you anymore that didn't crave his affection. He was drunk and emotional and between the way he looked at you and the way there suddenly seemed to be less and less space separating your bodies, there was no doubt about his intention. It would be so easy just to finally give in and let it happen.

"Don't thank me."

Before he could lean back or ask you what you meant, you blew the purple powder straight into his face.

His eyes widened in shock, but his body immediately began to turn relaxed and pliant.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me...," he mumbled, but his gaze was already unfocused.

"I'm so sorry, John," you whispered, gently guiding his torso onto the bar.

He tried to say something more, but his words were slurred and within a few seconds, he was gone.

You had gotten the sleeping powder from a dealer in New Orleans, who had told you the effects would last at least four hours. They always oversold their stuff, but hopefully John would be out long enough for you to deal with the entire affair if you hurried up and took a few shortcuts. It was a messy solution, but then again, you hadn't planned on him being here. Desperate times and all that.

"He gonna be lying there all night?," the barkeep grumbled with a raised eyebrow at John when you hopped down from your stool. You put on the best smile you could manage under the circumstances and slid 50 quid across the counter.

"He'll come ‘round soon enough. If not, I'll be back for him in a few."

You practically fled the pub before he could ask you any more questions.

The road outside was deserted and you hoped no one was watching as you marched to the lonely phone box you had spotted earlier. It didn't look like anyone had used it in several years, but when you picked up the receiver the dial tone was there alright.

You took out a stained, battered playing card from the depths of one of your pockets (the seven of diamonds) and slid it into the credit card slot. You didn't own a mobile phone and neither did most of your acquaintances, but still you had memorised the few numbers you occasionally needed.

"Hey Chas, it's me," you said when the answering machine finally picked up. "I'm at the island with John and I haven't got much time. I don’t want to get John involved in this so I need to work fast. There's no need to worry, really, I've got it under control, but... just in case something unforeseen happens, uhm... if I don't call back in let's say ten hours, will you let John know where to find my body? He can't track me in his usual ways, so he'll need your help."

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What you were about to do was risky, maybe even reckless.

"I'm going to the beach where they found the dead man and work my way from there. If... if I don't succeed..." It was as if your throat was suddenly full of gravel. "Chas, please, just make sure John isn't the one to take on that spirit. He is not ready for that." Too late, you held the receiver away from your face while you tried to suppress a sniffle. So much for convincing Chas Chandler that you had things under control. Forcing your voice to even out, you continued. "I have to go. Just help him if I can’t, okay? And don’t worry too much. I’ll probably see you in a couple of days.”

Before you could say anything even more stupid, you hung up and slid your helpful seven of diamonds back into your coat. Handy little thing to have on you.

You left the phone box in the last light of day and made your way down to the beach. It took you twenty minutes to reach the cove and less than one to sneak under the police tape unseen. There were just two constables standing guard at the scene and they only looked when you wanted them to. For an active crime scene, the site was unusually quiet, but you attributed your luck to the dusk that made searching for clues almost impossible.

Of course, that went for you as well, you thought sourly as you carefully stepped around the little plastic numbers the police forensics had put up all over the little stretch of beach. You could make out the bloody piece of driftwood and the large dark spatter running down the stones where the corpse had lain, but nothing smaller than those. Even if the place was rather secluded, you didn’t dare light a torch with the uniforms standing idly guard so close by.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and concentrated.

The place was tingling with dark energy and it became clearer the more you felt around, using your own magic.

A spirit, just like you had anticipated. A lost soul preying on the living for… revenge? Yes, the bloody traces sang with the mad desire for vengeance that so often kept the dead from their rest. 

Bloodshed, the thirst temporarily quenched. Then what?

The movements of the spirit became blurry after that no matter how hard you tried to focus. The leftover energy had been disturbed and mixed with the signatures of all the people who had been to the crime scene since the discovery of the body and it was impossible to make out without assistance, even for someone as experienced as you.

If you couldn’t locate the soul, you couldn’t send it packing. 

Luring it via séance required more people and it was too risky for everyone involved anyway. Without its name, summoning it was out of the question as well.

You groaned when you realised what you had to do.

Making sure for the last time you couldn’t be seen from the line of police tape above you, you took off your backpack and dark raincoat and shoved both of them under the nearest rock. Next, you loosened your boots and sat them next to the backpack, then your thick scarf and woollen jumper. With short, angry movements, you rolled your trousers down and folded them hastily, ripped off your socks and wriggled out of your top.

“You’re so bloody lucky I love you, John,” you mumbled through clenched teeth that were starting to rattle in your skull. With fingers already numb from the cold, you unclasped your bra and slid down your underwear before you could change your mind, and with a deep breath, you stepped into the waves.

Even before you went into the sea, your body had been covered in goosebumps from the chilly October air, but the surfs rising around your legs now made you heave for breath with every step forward. The rocks under your feet were dull compared to the sharpness of the water. When it reached you mid-thigh you had to stop and wait for the pain to subside enough so that you could get further out. You were too close to the beach and the water was still too shallow for your purpose.

A tangle of seaweed drifted past your ankle, or at least you hoped it was just seaweed. It was hard to tell for sure in the dark.

Your submerged muscles were screaming as you forced yourself out until the water reached your ribs. If only that wretched spirit hadn’t chosen the middle of the bleeding autumn to throw its tantrum.

“Sacred Nanuet, your humble servant speaks to you,” you intoned through gritted teeth and held out your hands on either side of you so the gentle waves touched the palms of your hands. “She beseeches you; allow her the honour of sharing in your wisdom. Blessed goddess, lend her your sight and expand her understanding, your humble servant begs of you, great Nanuet…”

The ancient language you muttered your request in felt strange on your tongue as always, but your flattery worked. You could feel the magic start to sing under your hands and so you took a deep breath and lowered yourself completely into the sea.

The stranglehold of the freezing water somehow got pushed into the background of your conscience and within a beat of your heart your mind was alight with images. Through the water, you could see most of the world, but you focused on Raven’s Rock and the little beach behind you. The water had seen it all. From the depths of the ocean, it rolled onto the sand and sneaked its way under the island’s rocks, seeped into the soil and was drunk by the hungry roots of The Green, stretching into the light above ground…

It wasn’t long before you managed to zero in on the exact event you needed. The Sight of Nanuet allowed your mind to access the memory of the watery abyss, which included as good as all water on Earth and not a lot of people mastered navigating it anymore. You had been forced to use a lot of wordly magic since you lost your wings and so had learned to find what you needed relatively easy.

Through the Sight, you saw the murder of the man on the beach, how the spirit severed his head and lapped at the blood before turning away from the scene. It lost some of its shape then, but through the dewy grass above the cove and the moist air, you managed to follow it away from the beach and across the land.

The spirit held its physical form, or at least the overall contours of it, and it made it easier to trail. From what you could tell, it definitely had been human when it had been alive. Poor thing. If only it hadn’t gone and murdered someone, maybe you could have sent it to rest. 

But would you even be there if it hadn’t?

When the spirit finally settled, you had followed it to an old, abandoned stone house with no windows and a door rotting away on the hinges. The place must have been a farm. There were several small outhouses scattered around the main building and indents in the earth marking former animal pens. The roof had been a thatched one, but now it was more moss than straw and what still remained beneath the heavy green patches had long since turned mouldy and dark. A few shards of glass jutted from some of the window frames like crude, predatory teeth waiting to chew up whoever was unfortunate or foolish enough to get close.

You went after the spirit through the remnants of the front door.

A voice in the back of your head told you it was enough, you should get out of the house and the Sight and the water. You had what you needed for now.

But the way the spirit slumped through the dark rooms and up a ramshackle staircase, as if it had done it a hundred times before, as if it belonged there in that house, intrigued you. It didn't match your original theory, the reason you didn't want John involved.

Curiosity piqued, you followed the lonely ghost up the stairs, where it turned left and went into a room with what had been two alcoves in the wall but were now mostly caved in. The room didn't have any windows and it was hard to make out the details, but the flimsy shape of the spirit trudged towards one of the beds and with motions as if the bedding had still been intact, it lay down and pulled the memory of a blanket over itself.

You slowly got closer, unsure of what to do. The visible shape of the ghost was gone now that it was no longer in motion and the general gloom of the empty house made it near impossible for you to see anything clearly. But the person the ghost had been once seemed so at home here. You couldn't feel any hostility from it at all, not even a trace. Only peace, comfort. Quiet.

This had been its home once when it had lived, you were almost certain of it.

But the desolate little stone house, out of the way even for the island's standard, must have stood abandoned for several decades, maybe even a century or two. If the ghost had lived here it was much older than you had initially thought.

Which meant you might have knocked John out for nothing.

Fuck.

You had to find out more and fast, but it was unlikely the memory of the house before your closed eyes would yield anything further. Even if it was dark and late in the evening, you would have to go there physically. The chances of finding something would be higher, and besides, you couldn't stay in the water forever. You were almost human, after all.

The thought had barely crossed your mind before the reflex to breathe kicked in and you could feel the freezing seawater rush down your throat. One inhale was all it took for your lungs to feel heavy as a pair of burning bricks. A fleeting realisation, that drowning was one of the most unpleasant sensations you’d had the misfortune of experiencing since losing your wings, faintly made it to the front of your perception before the back of your head hit the sand on the ocean floor. Then the only thing you could focus on was the pressure of the water and the way your body grew ever more numb…

The room still flickered before your eyes, slowly losing definition as you lost consciousness. Strange, you mused with your last bit of coherence, that an angel from Heaven should die looking up at it from so far below, in the cold embrace of the sea. It wasn't even painful anymore, the water, but oddly comforting, lulling you to rest, holding you tight.

The only regret you had was leaving John…

The last thing you saw before your eyes fell shut was his face above yours and a faint smile moved your lips. How very considerate of your mind to conjure up his image as the last thing you would ever see.

You could feel his arms around you even, fingers digging into your skin, his body pressed down against your own…

“Bloody fucking Hell, let her go!” The words didn’t make sense to you and they sounded so awfully far away. “She isn’t yours, you stupid paegan relic, let go of her! Let go!”

But you were, you were letting go, there was nothing more you could do.

“Christ, luv, which heathen tosspot did you enlist to drown you?! Yam, Ægir? Tiamat? Nanuet? Nanuet, isn’t it?” At the invocation of her name, you could feel the ancient goddess slacken her hold on you, as if in surprise, and you vaguely realised that the embrace you felt didn’t belong to her or the water, but to John. “Oh, you always were a fickle tart. Let go of this servant or so help me God, I, John Constantine, will destroy you and every last shrine still bearing your blasted name! Let her go!”

With a cry you weren’t sure was even coming from you, your face broke the surface of the waves. You violently coughed up seawater and if it weren’t for John’s arms, you would have fallen right back down into the deep. Your head was spinning. The numbness gave way to a cold so freezing you might as well have been rolling in needles. Everything hurt. Your legs felt unsteady, no, your entire body felt as if someone had replaced your bones with straw and your muscles with jelly.

“J-John…,” you coughed, but he shushed you, keeping you close to him in the water.

“I know, luv, it’s a bloody miracle you aren’t dead, you’re welcome for that. Now let’s get you out of the water, yeah?”

He was really there, drenched in the North Sea in the middle of October at what might as well have been the edge of the Earth, just to save you from drowning. His white shirt and black trousers clung to his frame like film and from what you could make out in the light from the moon, he was shuddering from the cold, too. You had never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

“I c-can’t m-m-move,” you got out through teeth rattling painfully in your skull, suddenly all too aware of your proximity and your own state of undress. As much as you wanted to cling to him for warmth, for closeness, the logical part of your muddled brain was screaming at you to keep your distance. That was what you did, wasn’t it?

“‘Course you can’t. How long were you under for, anyway? Completely off your rocker summoning a paegan goddess alone at night in the middle of the bloody ocean! What were you thinking?”

“I-I saw the g-ghost,” you weakly tried stammering through your clattering teeth. “Saw h-how it killed-ungh!”

You let out a groan as John swiftly picked you up and started carrying you towards shore. Your severely tested heart felt as though it might give out entirely. Never had you been reckless enough to let him touch you like this before, to let him hold you, as if you were a lover who would readily indulge in such intimacy. If it weren’t for the fact that you were very likely about to freeze to death, your cheeks would have been on fire. Every inch of your skin would have been scorching.

As it were, you were too cold and too exhausted for your body to produce that kind of heat. Surrendering to the fatigue in your bones, you allowed your head to rest against him and closed your eyes. He could carry you to shore or to Hell on his hands. You weren’t going to argue. For the first time in all your human life, you completely let your guard down.

[angelinasway]

Regaining Hope

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers

Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut

Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever.

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Authors Notes: Thank you all for your amazing reviews. You guys have been inspiring. I'm gonna add one more warning to this story because I got a review on FFN that makes me feel I need too. Even though It's a warning that I never knew I would need to put considering who we're talking about here. So here it is, there is Angelus bashing in this. I'm trying to keep my biased about Angel to a minimum, but I wasn't aware that Angelus needed a disclaimer too, so there it is. As for this chapter, there will be a lot to unpack here. I'm also going with the idea that one of Clark's weaknesses is magic, so keep that in mind as you read this. Thank you guys again so much, your kind words have really helped me keep focused on the story, I truly do appreciate each and everyone who took the time to review. Thanks for giving this a chance I hope you all enjoy reading. Also thank you to my wonderful beta Hipkarma for giving this chapter a look for me. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Two

 It took Buffy less than a minute to find the recently constructed tunnel. It wasn’t snowing and she easily found a set of large footprints heading along a rocky ledge. The glacial ice was still steaming from whatever had been used to cut through it when she found the opening. The edges were smoothed as if a giant heated drill had ground and melted the ice into nothing. There were hardly any puddles to speak of, and it was quite clear that whatever did this, wasn't done by any machine that she knew of on Earth. In fact, if she had been dealing with anything else she would have immediately thought this was some sort of magic. Though to be fair, she still wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t.

  "Why do I have a feeling I'm going to regret this?" She grumbled quietly, as she stepped inside and slowly made her way through the frozen tunnel.

  Her breath came out in large puffs of fog, adrenaline masking the cold she should be feeling. Luckily, there was just enough light to make out where she was going with her enhanced vision. It was a slow journey, but when she finally reached the opening, she gasped in awe. ‘Oh yeah, this thing is definitely out of this world. It’s absolutely massive, still partially covered in thousands of years of hard ice.’

  She noticed a ramp leading onto the ship dripping with recently melted ice and cautiously followed it up. She stepped onto the glass-like metal flooring of the hull and noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned in time to see a strange looking floating creature moving into her periphery.

  She froze. It looked way too much like a facesucker for her comfort zone. She took a step back, tossed her pack and dropped into a defensive stance before reaching behind her to unsheathe her scythe. The mouth, or body, or whatever the hell it was, started to open and she stepped back even further.

  "Dammit, I hate it when I'm right." She muttered.

  So focused on its head, she wasn’t paying attention when the next second its spike like tail whipped out slicing deeply into the side of her abdomen. Buffy cried out in surprised pain, feeling the unmistakable sensation of hot and sticky blood soaking through her shirt and down the leg of her jeans. She stumbled backward, but was able to keep her footing even as the thing tried to swipe at her again.

  Her eyes narrowed at the thing. “All right, now you’ve really pissed me off,” she growled. The pain of her injury taking a back seat to her need to survive.

  It screeched at her, attempting to swipe at her again. She dodged its attack, rolling right underneath of it and coming up with a full powered swing of her scythe, only with the wrong side. The flat end made contact, the thing slamming hard into the inner wall of the ship. It screeched again, as sparks flew from it and her eyes widened in realization.

  “It’s a robot,” she murmured in surprise.

  It came at her again, this time shooting some sort of blue ball of energy at her. She dodged, flipping away from it to create enough distance so she could charge the thing. Maybe take it by surprise. She never got the chance however, because by the time she had turned back around, her mystery man was already there and had the droid between his large hands. He struggled with it for a minute and Buffy stepped forward ready to help him when the metal suddenly gave under his assault. His hands crushed the droid like a soda can and he threw what was left aside, it crashing into the wall of the ship with a loud bang.

  They stared at each other a long time. Man, she really hoped he wasn’t evil because right now with the injury she was sporting there was absolutely no way she could fight him. Especially, with the show of strength he just performed. The reminder of said injury brought back the pain in full and she shakily slid to her knees, scythe falling from her hand.

  "Thanks," she breathed gratefully, her eyes falling shut as she used her hand to stem off the blood flow as best she could.

  "You're welcome." He said, the deep baritone of his voice making her shiver. She felt him move closer, before he added, "You're hemorrhaging, the droid nicked your abdominal artery."

  Buffy nodded, wincing as she used one hand to undo her belt and slide it through the loops in her jeans. "I know." She said shakily. "Not exactly my first rodeo."

  She felt him move closer still, crouching down in front of her. Her trembling hands trying to clumsily wrap her belt around her torso so she could stop the bleeding.

  "I could cauterize the wound for you, if you'd like." He said quietly, worry lacing his voice.

  Buffy finally managed to put the end through the loop in that moment, and yanked the belt tight. She fell backwards, her back hitting the cold metal wall. She whimpered as tears of pain filled her eyes, breathing slowly through her nose until the pain began to ebb away. When she finally could speak again, she met his eyes, a small smile gracing her lips at the concern she saw in them. "Thank you,” she said sincerely, “but it’s not necessary, I heal fast." She must have lost more blood than she thought however, because her next words surprised even herself. "Just need to slowdown the bleeding so my Slayer healing kicks in. Don't want to end up a corpse on your floor for the next nine hours."

  He immediately frowned in confusion, "I don't understand?"

  Buffy chuckled humorlessly, "Yeah..." She coughed, grimacing at the taste of blood in her mouth. “Neither do I.” She sighed, and changed the subject, not really wanting to go there at the moment. “Gotta name, or do I just need to keep referring to you as handsome stranger in my head.” ‘Okay, yep, I definitely lost too much blood.’

  He looked away at her words, partially because he seemed to be genuinely shy and partially because he seemed torn on answering her. She could relate to that. She understood what it was like to need to hide who you were from people. She was never very good at it, but she remembered very clearly the fear of what people would think of her if they knew she was a superhuman freak.

  “Hey,” She said, reaching a hand out to place on his arm. Thinking better of it when she noticed the blood coating it. “It’s okay, I get it.” He looked up, meeting her eyes and she shrugged. “I was never very good at the secret identity gig, but I certainly remember what it was like to need to hide who I was.” She chuckled, “Believe it or not, the U.S Government thought the Slayer was a myth until I caught them playing in my backyard.”

  “I still don’t know what that is.” He said quietly, “A Slayer, I mean. I tried finding out from Jed, but all he said was that you work for an organization that hunts and kills monsters.” He paused, taking a deep breath, before asking. “Am I the type of…Do you kill people like me?”

  He was being serious. She knew. But she couldn’t help messing with him a little. The truth of the matter was, she had no intention of going head-to-head with him even if she was at her best. If he was truly evil he would have acted already, especially with her weakened state. She also doubted he would have offered to help her heal or look quite as worried for her safety as he did.

  She put her most serious face on and pretended to contemplate it for a minute. “Hmm, well you’ll probably need to pass my required oral exam to be sure.” Her eyes suddenly widened at what that must have sounded like, especially after the handsome comment. ‘Okay, this is the last time I’m losing this much blood in front of a hot guy and not just letting myself bleed out. Apparently, I really don’t know how to shut up when I’m this anemic.

  She noticed his cheeks reddening and the look of shock on his face, so she blurted out the first question that came to mind. “Do you eat babies?”

  A horrified look of disgust quickly replaced the shocked look, “What? No!”

  “Do you like to bathe in the blood of the innocent?” She could tell by the suddenly offended look on his face that he still hadn’t caught on that she was messing with him.

  “No!” he said, an irritated frown marring his face.

  “Do you worship any deities that require you to make a human sacrifice yearly, biyearly, monthly, bimonthly, weekly, or biweekly?” Now he just looked annoyed, and it was getting harder for Buffy to keep a straight face.

  “Are these questions actually necessary?” He asked, the annoyance clear in his voice.

  An amused smile broke across her face, “Are you asking if these things actually exist, or if I actually think you do any of them?”

  His look of annoyance quickly melted into one of amusement, the corner of his mouth turning up and a soft look coming into his blue eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before,” He admitted. His eyes roaming over her face. He seemed to come to a decision in that moment, because his next words were, “My name…my real one, it’s Clark.”

  “Clark,” Buffy repeated, testing the name on her tongue. A small smile playing at her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Clark before.” Her eyes studied his face. “It suits you. I would tell you my name, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you already know it." She gestured with her chin. "And judging by the way your eyes keep seemingly monitoring my injury and heart rate, I'm guessing you have some kind of enhanced vision." She grinned at his stunned look, and shrugged. "So, let's see," she held up her hand counting off what his superpowers were, "Enhanced vision," she held up a finger. "Super strength," she held up another. "Those are two of the five senses." A third finger came up, "Enhanced hearing is probably the third." She frowned in thought for a moment, before saying, "Though you don’t strike me as someone who needs to stalk his prey, I’m betting you have that annoying ability to smell everything even if you don’t need to use it. So that’s four.”

  Clark slipped down to where he was fully seated, blinking in surprise. "How…?” He swallowed, shaking his head an impressed look coming over his face. “Did anyone ever tell you, you're incredibly observant?"

  "Kinda have to be in my line of work.” She shrugged, adding, “Though you did set off my spidey senses like a roman candle. A girl can’t really help but take notice when you register in the beyond-godlike-powerful status.” At his confused and worried look, she elaborated. “It’s part of the whole Slayer package, basically a long time ago a bunch of shamans used the essence of a demon to create a warrior. They chained a young girl to the earth and imbued her with it so she would have the strength and skill to fight all the wonderful things that go bump in the night.” She sighed, “For a long time there was only one girl at a time. One dies, another is called. That’s how it worked.” She gave him a small smile and nodded, “Until about ten years ago that is, me and some friends changed the rules.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a moment. “So, there you have it, Clark. I’m the longest living One girl in all the world with the gift and skill to fight the vampires, the demons, and forces of darkness. Except, I’m not the only one anymore.”

  He blinked in surprise, studying her face more closely. “How old are you?”

  Buffy bit her lip, not quite sure how to answer that without bringing up her resurrection. She sighed meeting his eyes, there wasn’t much she could do about it now, “Thirty-two.”

  Clark sucked in a breath of surprise, “How is it that you—”

  “Haven’t aged since I was twenty-one,” Buffy finished for him. When he nodded, she avoided his eyes while saying, “That’s kinda what happens when your friends resurrect you with a powerful spell and screw up the balance between good and evil.” She shrugged looking anywhere but at his face, that old familiar longing for heaven playing at her soul. She loved Willow. She really did, and after the whole Angelus incident they had grown much closer than they’d been in years. The resurrection and the price that Buffy was still paying however, was far too great to ever fully forgive. “Long story short, I can’t age anymore and if I die, I can’t stay dead.”

  She coughed, the pain of the act making her vision narrow a bit. She could feel that her body was well on its way to mending itself but she had lost way too much blood. The familiar fogginess of a healing sleep was prickling her eyes and she widened them shaking her head to try and clear it. Cold dread filling her at the very thought of falling into a coma like sleep and having to relive all the crap she’s been through. It was one of the most horrifying feelings ever, to be trapped in her worst nightmares with no means of escape until her body fully healed. In a desperate attempt to keep herself awake she reached out and grasped Clark’s hand.

  ****<S>**<S>****

  Clark watched her eyes widen in fear, before she reached out with a bloody hand to grasp his. “Please,” She pleaded. “Please don’t let me fall asleep.” He could see the beginning of tears of desperation prickling her eyes, “I know I need to, but…but sometimes it’s worse than dying.” She sighed and leaned her head back against the ship hull. "It’s...it’s okay if you can't. Just...just try."

  He squeezed her hand, his heart filling with so much sympathy for this brave young woman. She hadn’t shown any true fear until this moment. Not when she had fought the drone, not when she watched him destroy it, not even when she was binding her own wound and already figured out a few of his abilities. She had even made a few jokes at his expense, but she had done them in such a way that he couldn't really take offense. She was an enigma to him; out of all the humans he'd ever met—besides his own parents, she had to be the least judgmental of them all. The only thing that seemed to truly scare her was her own memories, and that truly did break his heart. No one should be that afraid of their own past.

  “How do you want me to help?” He whispered, as he watched her eyes begin to droop before flying open again.

   “Tell me about yourself.” She whispered, her words coming out a bit slurred. “W-where are you from? How long have you been on Earth?”

  He shifted, getting more comfortable before saying. “I grew up in Kansas, in a little town called Smallville. Beyond that, I don’t actually know. My ship landed on my parent’s farm when I was just a baby. They took me in and raised me as their own.” He told her a little bit more, about the farm, about some of the life lessons his dad tried to instill in him, why he was afraid of anyone finding out what he was, why he was on this ship in the first place.

  Buffy smiled dreamily and hummed, “Sometimes I forget there’s still good people in the world. Sounds to me like you got really lucky with who found you.” She yawned, her words becoming more slurred. “Once I’m healed, I can help you look for answers.”

  He blinked in surprise, a grateful smile coming on his lips “Thank you.” He said sincerely, adding, “And I did, my dad could be pretty hard on me at times, but—”

  “He was scared of anyone finding out what you are.” She finished, her voice growing softer and more distant. He squeezed her hand lightly and her eyes flew open as she shook her head again trying to force the sleep away. She continued, as if she hadn’t almost just lost consciousness. “Must have been pretty lonely, not having anyone to confide in.”

  “It was.” He agreed quietly, his eyes scanned her brain activity and seeing she was quickly losing her battle against sleep, he added, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep you awake much longer.”

  She smiled sadly, her eyes drooping to mere slits. “I know, worth a try though.” She sighed through her teeth. “Just do me a favor, don’t…don’t let me wake up alone. It’s worse w-when I–”

  She never finished, as her body and mind finally succumbed to a much-needed rest. Her heartrate dropped to what would be considered dangerous for a normal human. The blood slowing in her veins and allowing for the natural healing process that came with her abilities.

  He watched her for a long time. Too afraid to move for fear that if he left her side her heart would suddenly stop. Oh, he knew what she told him was the truth. It was just difficult for someone like him to believe. Spending most of your life being different and watching people die. Knowing you could do something but unable to for fear of the world finding out what you really are. It made him feel helpless more times than not. 

  Clark had spent a long time picking his battles. Deciding who to save based off of his ability to get away with it. He hated not being able to help everyone, and he hated even more that humans as a whole were so easily guided by their fears of the unknown.  It was more than that though, there was so much pain and suffering. He could hear it even now if he focused. Screams, cries for help that nobody heeded, laughing cruelty and hysterical sobbing. It was all there, the sounds of the world were filled with so much hate, anger, and sadness it was deafening.

  Maybe that’s why he was so taken with this beautiful girl in front of him. She didn't seem to possess the fears that so many of the people of this world did. The fact that she knew what he was and hadn't so much as blinked in surprise completely threw him. He knew it most likely was due to the life she lived and what she was, but it was such a refreshing moment. He reached out with his free hand and brushed a loose blonde strand away from her cheek. She was also incredibly sad and lonely. It was as plain as day in her eyes and on her face. She was worn down by whatever she had been through to the point that he imagined she tried not to sleep. The dark circles he could see under her eyes attested to that much.

  He scanned her injury again, relieved to see the artery had healed almost completely. He sighed and let his eyes wander for the first time since he noticed she was hurt, spotting a discarded backpack near the entrance of the ship. He frowned, scanning its contents before rolling his eyes in annoyance. There was a first aid kit inside. ‘Why didn’t she tell him?’

  Clark retrieved the pack and proceeded to dress her wound as best he could, disinfecting then using gauze and medical tape to secure a makeshift bandage. He undid the belt across her torso, no longer worried about her bleeding out.

  He noticed her discarded weapon next. The strange looking axe he had seen in her travel bags. A child like curiosity he didn’t even know he still possessed came over him and he picked it up. It was surprisingly light and well balanced, the end of the handle itself was cleverly carved into a stake. He swung it a few times, smiling to himself at the way it easily sliced through air. He ran his finger gently along the blade and hissed in surprise, dropping the axe and taking several steps back, staring at the blade in a mixture of horrified disbelief. Blood welled up in the cut in his finger and he couldn’t help but study the red substance in fascination. He looked from the small cut to the axe several times, not quite processing what just happened.

  “There is an energy source unknown to the Kryptonian Archives imbedded into the elements of the weapon.” A new voice spoke from behind Clark.

  He quickly turned, coming face to face with an older man wearing robes. “Who…who are you?”

  “There will be time for that later Kal El. First, we must get you and your friend away from human meddling. We’ve much to discuss.”

  The man disappeared the next instant and Clark heard the engines fire on. He reached for the pack, throwing it over his shoulder. He picked Buffy up next hoisting her into his arms and grabbing her weapon at the same time. He didn’t really like the idea of it being near him considering what it was capable of, but he didn’t think she would like to wake without it nearby.

    ****<S>**<S>****

  She was on the tower again. 

  "Dawnie listen, listen to me. I love you. I will always love you, but this is the work that I have to do. Tell Giles... tell him I figured it out and...and that I'm okay. Give my love to my friends. You have to take care of them now. You have to take care of each other. You have to be strong." Buffy reached out her hand cupping her sister cheek, tears welling in her eyes. "Dawn the hardest thing in this world...is to live in it. Be brave. Live...for me" 

  She turned running, not giving her sister another chance to object, and as she dove off the platform another voice penetrates her mind.

  "I am your father Kal. Or at least a shadow of him. His consciousness."

  Another voice, this one more familiar to her. "And Kal? That's my name?"

  *FLASH*

  She couldn’t breathe, everything smelt of decay and earth. She cried out in fear, paper thin skin breaking on hands as they assaulted her tomb. Satin tore as ragged nails snagged, wood splintered as her hands scrabbled for an escape, any escape. Dirt and soil rained down on her and she cried out again, choking and gagging as her mouth filled with the substance. She had to get out, had to push through. If she didn’t, she would never get out. She climbed, pushing through packed earth with strength. Strength, she remembered, she had strength. Always meant to be strong. Not allowed to break, because breaking means death.

  The voice was back, the one from before, or was it after. She didn't know. She listened; it was easier to listen than to think of where she was. To remember the truth. She broke the surface, vomiting on the ground and squeezed her eyes shut forcing herself to listen to the voices, both of them soothing and quiet.

  “You came from Krypton. A world with a much harsher environment than Earth’s. Long ago, in an era of expansion, our race spread out through the stars, seeking new worlds to settle upon. This scout ship was one of thousands launched into the void. We built outposts on other planets, using great machines to reshape environments to our needs. For one hundred thousand years our civilization flourished, accomplishing wonders”.

  “What happened?

  “Artificial population control was established. The outposts and space exploration were abandoned. We exhausted our natural resources, as a result our planet’s core became unstable. Eventually our military leader, General Zod, attempted a coup. But by then it was too late. Your mother and I foresaw the coming calamity, and we took certain steps to ensure your survival.”

  Mommy, she had a mommy once. Her eyes opened focusing on her headstone and she screamed.

  *FLASH*

  She walked into the living room and froze. Her mom was on the couch unmoving, eyes opened. She remembered this. Her legs carried her over to the couch, but she didn’t panic, not like before. She fell to her knees grasping her mother’s cold hand. Tears welled in her eyes as she studied the lifeless face. “I’m so sorry mommy.” She whispered. “I should have been here. I’m so sorry.”

  “Why don’t you put her in one of the resting chambers.” A voice said, causing Buffy to turn away from her mother’s body. Her eyes searching for the source.

  “She asked me not to leave her alone.” A familiar voice replied. Why did she know that voice?

  “Very well.”

  *FLASH*

   There was a leaky pipe somewhere in the factory. She could hear the drip…drip…drip as she stared in shock at what her own hands had done. The mutilated vampire on the table was barely alive. She had made sure that she had taken everything from him but his heart. She wanted to save that for last.

   Her hands began to tremble in fear of herself, the blade she’d been using to carve him up slipping from her grasp. She stumbled over to the table on weak legs, reaching behind her and pulling out her stake.

  “I guess you won after all.” She whispered, before driving it deep into his heart.

  When the dust settled, she fell to her knees and vomited, unable to move. The voices were back and she closed her eyes trying to focus on the words.

  “This is a Genesis Chamber. All Kryptonians were conceived in chambers such as this. Every child was designed to fulfill a predetermined role in our society; as a worker, a warrior, a leader and so on. Your mother and I believed Krypton lost something precious, the element of choice, of chance. What if a child dreamed of becoming something other than what society had intended for him or her? What if a child aspired to something greater? You were the embodiment of that belief, Kal, Krypton’s first natural birth in centuries. That’s why we risked so much to save you.”

  “Why didn’t you come with me?”

  “We couldn’t, Kal. No matter how much we wanted to, no matter how much we loved you. Your mother Lara and I were a product of the failures of our world as much as Zod was. We were tied to its fate.”

  “So, I’m alone.”

  Alone, just like her.

  *FLASH*

  She couldn’t move. All she could do was stare. Her Watcher was dead, his neck bent at an odd angle. Her legs went out on her and she fell to the ground as the sounds of battle played out around her.

  “Buffy!” A familiar voice called; one she hadn’t heard in a long time. “Buffy, love, we gotta go.”

  “But…but Giles?” She whispered weakly.

  “I know Slayer, I know.” He sighed sadly, as he reached down and hauled her to her feet. “But he’s already gone. We can’t help him anymore. We need to get out of here, Red set the whole place ablaze.”

  She looked up meeting bright blue eyes, “Spike?” She asked in confusion, before an arrow pierced her back.

  *FLASH*

  They were trapped. The wards broken enough to smoke them out, but not enough for them to leave.

  “I’m not leaving you!” She argued.

  “Bloody hell, why do you have to be the most difficult chit in the bloody universe! We don’t know if you can even survive fire and I’m sure as hell not risking it!” Spike yelled.

  “Well, I know you can’t survive fire so I sure as hell am not leaving you to die alone!” She snarled. “We did this already, remember!”

  He roared in frustration, kicking a nearby chair into the wall and it shattered into kindling. “I won’t let you die!”

  “You don’t have a choice!” She fired back.

  He stared at her in disbelief, before his expression melted into passionate rage. “The hell I don’t!” And then he grabbed her by the shoulders and smashed his lips against hers.

   It only took a few seconds for her to respond and she melted into him. Her mouth opening, tongues caressing. She moaned, bringing him closer to her, remembering their dance, missing it.

  He pulled away with a gasp, both of them panting for breath. “Now you listen to me! I love you; do you hear. I never stopped and never will. I will not watch you die. So, if today is my day to die, I’ll be damned if he gets to choose how.” And then he was kissing her again.

  Unbeknownst to her he activated her emergency portal. The one that only allowed Slayers to travel through. He walked her backwards, without breaking contact and before she realized it, they were both inside. She pulled back in shock as she realized where they were. The familiar feeling of being sucked into nothing filling her. She screamed as she felt him dust.

  *FLASH*

  The abandoned home smelt like old urine and vomit, but she was much too tired and weak to care. She didn’t remember the last time she ate or drink anything, not that it really mattered. She was starting to become convinced she couldn’t die this way. It didn’t matter though, nothing did. She was a monster, just like her prey. Make a monster to fight a monster, that’s what the shaman did.

  She was filthy, her hair greasy and limp, her eyes dull and lost, dirt coated her face and hands. What was the point of life if all it ever caused you was pain? She just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up, or maybe just melt into the disgusting mattress she was laying on and forget that life existed. She had lost all hope, in fact she didn’t remember the last time she felt it. Had she ever? She heard the voices again, focusing in, trying to pull herself out of this pit of despair.

  “No. You are as much a child of earth now as you are of Krypton. You can embody the best of both worlds. A dream your mother and I dedicated our lives to preserve. The people of earth are different than us, it’s true. But ultimately, I believe that’s a good thing. They won’t necessarily make the same mistakes we did. Not if you guide them, Kal. Not if you give them hope. That’s what this symbol means. The symbol of the house of El means hope. Embodied within that hope is the fundamental belief in the potential of every person to be a force for good. That’s what you can bring them. You will give the people of earth an ideal to strive towards. They will race behind you, they will stumble, they will fall. But in time, they will join you in the sun, Kal. In time, you will help them accomplish wonders.”

  Buffy clung on to the words, trying to pull herself free from the dream. A man of hope, a symbol of goodness. She needed that, she desperately needed goodness and hope. She was close to breaking through the surface.

  She heard Clark–now she remembered his voice, “Why am I so different from them?”

  “Earth’s sun is younger and brighter than Krypton’s was. Your cells have drunk in its radiation, strengthening your muscles, your skin, your senses. Earth’s gravity is weaker, yet its atmosphere is more nourishing. You’ve grown stronger here than I ever could imagine. The only way to know how strong is to keep testing your limits.”

  ****<S>**<S>****

  Buffy awoke with a gasp, her hands scrambling against the chest she was nestled against. The memories of her past still playing out in technicolor and surround sound.

  "Hey, hey," A soothing voice said, gently lowering her to her feet. "It's okay, you're okay."

  She stumbled away. Her eyes still not able to focus. The trembling in her limbs causing her to fall on all fours. She dry-heaved as a broken sob tore from her lips. She felt a warm hand gently rub her back, and she closed her eyes enjoying the comforting feeling.

  "Will she be alright?” A new voice asked, the one from her dream.

  “I don’t know.” She heard Clark answer, panic clear in his voice. “Buffy are you okay?”

  "No," She answered, swallowing back another sob, breathing slowly through her nose. "But I will be, just…just give me a minute."

  Just then a swirling portal opened up and an incredibly pissed off Witch in straight up Eskimo attire stepped out. She took one look at the blood covering Buffy and the distressed look on her face and came to a completely wrong conclusion. Her eyes went black and she snarled, “What the hell did you do to my friend, you son of a bitch!”

  “No!” Buffy shouted as purple tendrils of magic shot from her friend’s fingers, hitting Clark square in the chest and knocking him on his back. He groaned in pain rolling onto his side in a fetal position. Buffy was up the next instant, charging Willow and breaking the spell.

  “No Wills,” She panted grabbing ahold of her friend. “He’s a friendly.”

  Her friend’s angry eyes faded back to green and she turned on Buffy, breaking her hold. “A friendly,” She said lowly, her eyes narrowing. “A friendly! So, what, you meet tall dark and powerful over there and think, ‘Oh, wouldn’t it be a great idea to fly away with him in a spaceship to the North Pole?’ Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

  Buffy frowned in confusion, “The North Pole? Fly?” She turned and looked at Clark in bewilderment. “You flew the ship?”

  He shook his head, slowly getting back to his feet. “No,” He said, his voice coming out strained.

  “I’m afraid, that was my idea.” A fatherly gentleman in robes said. “I didn’t want the people of Earth to commandeer the ship. I did not realize you had other methods of finding us.”

  “Most humans don’t.” Buffy agreed, moving to check and see how hurt Clark was. “Willow’s special.”

  She ran her hands down Clark’s chest looking for any serious damage. Thankful when she could find none. “You okay?” She asked him quietly, at his nod, she sighed. “Sorry about that. I have over protective friends.”

  His lips quirked, “I noticed.” His eyes sparkled a bit. “It’s kind of funny actually. I’ve gone my whole life thinking nothing could hurt me physically and after just a few hours of meeting you, I find two things. That crazy looking axe of yours and as it turns out, your friend.”

  Buffy’s eyes widened in disbelief at his words. “Wait, go back. Like nothing?”

  He shrugged, “I had an oil rig fall on me once while I was rescuing some people. It managed to knock me out.”

  Okay, so not just superstrength, more like godlike strength. She suspected as much with the vibes she got off of him, but it was still almost too much to believe. “Define what an oil rig falling on you means?” She said a bit light headed from the thought of just how strong that could be.

  He cleared his throat, looking at the ground bashfully. “Well, it was on fire and the workers were trapped. Fire doesn’t hurt me, so I was able to get to them and get through the steel door they had locked themselves behind. I got them out and onto the helicopter, when the tower started to collapse. I was able to hold it up long enough for them to get away before the steel melted and the whole thing came down on top of me.”

  Buffy looked at him in absolute wonder. “That’s…Holy shit!”

  “Wait,” Willow swallowed, her face losing color. “Did this happen last year?”

  “Yeah,” Clark said, eyeing Willow suspiciously.

  “Oh Gods, I think I may have just attacked the Power’s new Champion.” Willow breathed, looking like she might actually faint.

  Buffy frowned in confusion, “Wills, what are you talking about?”

  Willow swallowed, looking suspiciously guilty. “About a year and a half ago me and Wes were digging through the old archives. We…we stumbled on a prophecy, a…a prophecy about a Champion. It said he will have the powers of a god with the soul of a man, but he will be neither.” Her eyes met Clark’s. “We came looking for you after we heard about the oil rig, we umm…Well, we were going to offer you a job, see if you were the real deal.” She shook her head, “But you had already disappeared.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Buffy asked, her eyes moving between Clark’s stunned expression and Willow’s nervous one. ‘How could they keep something like that from me?’

  If anything, Willow looked even more guilty now. A sure sign that Buffy was not going to be pleased with her next words. “We umm,” Willow fidgeted with the sleeves of her coat, not meeting Buffy’s eyes. “We decided not to tell you because you…well, umm…you’re kinda in it too.”

  “What the hell, Willow!” Buffy reeled as if slapped. “And you didn’t think telling me was a good idea?”

  “W-we wanted to be sure. A-and there’s some other stuff in there. Stuff we thought might seriously wig you.” Willow said nervously.

  Buffy raised an eyebrow, not at all impressed with the explanation. “Such as?”

  At that moment a look of relief crossed Willow’s face, and she clicked on her headset. “Wesley, yeah, no she’s fine. Look–” But she never finished what she was going to say because Buffy marched over and ripped the earpiece out of her ear none to gently. “What are you…ow!”

  Buffy turned and stared at Clark. The poor guy looked all sorts of confused. “Wesley,” She began sweetly. “Mind telling me what this lovely prophecy is about, and why you felt the need to keep it from me?”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the line, before an irritated sigh reached her ears. “I’m not sure this the appropriate time–”

  “The hell it’s not!” She barked. “That guy you and Willow were secretly looking for last year is standing right in front of me.”

  There was another long silence, before he sighed again. “So, it’s happened then.”

  “What’s happened? What the hell is going on?” She ground out, getting really fed up with the cryptic.

  “Look Buffy, I promise to explain when you get here.” He paused, “But in the meantime I have both the U.S Government and Canadian Parliament threatening to go to war with us if they don’t find out what the hell happened to you and that spaceship.”

  She groaned in frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Shit!”

  “My sentiments exactly.” He replied sarcastically.

  “Okay,” She started pacing back and forth. “Okay, this is what were gonna do. Get Willow some coords in between here and the camp, preferably closer to the camp. Make it rural enough that any search and rescue they sent out could have easily missed it. Willow will port me there and we’ll leave evidence that I was dumped there.” She looked at Willow, who nodded in agreement. “I’m covered in enough DNA to make it plausible anyway–”

  “Are you alright?” Wesley cut in; the brotherly worry strong in his voice.

  “I’m fine Wes,” She sighed. “There was a security droid on the ship that wasn’t too happy with me boarding armed. Besides losing a lot of blood and a bout of crappy memories, I’m peachy with a side of keen.” She immediately noticed Willow’s kicked puppy look and rolled her eyes. Oh, that ever present black mark on their friendship. Always there but never talked about.

  Wesley cleared his throat changing the subject, because that’s how the modern day Scoobies dealt with her immortality. Not that she blamed him. He’d been an outsider when she had been brought back. He hadn’t understood the extent of the damage Willow had caused until much later and even then, he didn’t understand. None of them could know what she’d lost. “It’s a sound plan, Buffy.” He paused, before asking, “And this mystery man of yours, do you think you can get him to come with you?”

  Buffy met Clark’s wary eyes and shook her head. “I’ll talk to him, but I’m not forcing him into anything.”

  “Of course,” Wesley agreed.

  Buffy handed the earpiece back to Willow and approached Clark. “So, umm…I guess this is goodbye.” She looked at her feet fidgeting nervously, before adding, “I wanted to tell you…well…that I heard what your dad said while I was asleep, about why you were sent here.” She swallowed, meeting his curious gaze. “I don’t know if you’re this Prophesized Champion or not, but even if you’re not I…I think you could make a difference. I know humans are, well we’re stupid really. We’re selfish and prejudiced. We make mistakes and screw up. We hurt each other, even the ones we love, but we’re capable of much more than that. We love, we laugh, we learn and we grow. We are capable of change and acceptance; it just takes some of us time.”

  She swallowed looking down, “But I also think this world desperately needs hope.” She felt the prickling of tears as she remembered how the thought of hope had been what finally pulled her out of the nightmare.

  “I know I do.” She whispered, voice cracking as a tear slipped down her cheek. She felt a finger hook under her chin, gently lifting it so she was suddenly staring into warm blue eyes.

  “Okay,” He said simply.

  She blinked in surprise. “Okay?”

  His lips quirked into a half smile. “Okay,” He repeated, before his eyes became serious again. “But I need you to promise me something. I need you to promise me that I’ll never be used to hurt people. I don’t think I could handle that,” He shook his head.

  Buffy agreed immediately, “Of course, we’re not in the habit of killing humans. Demons and vamps sure, but humans we try to keep off the table.”

  Clark nodded, “I assumed as much when you refused to give Hardy the program you guys use to monitor military chatter. You said you were here to protect humanity and not get involved with petty wars.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “I feel the same, I just want to help people.”

  Buffy nodded in understanding, reaching in her back pocket for her wallet and hoping not all her business cards were ruined. “It’s hard to refuse the call, when you know you can help, isn’t it?”

  “Very,” He agreed as she found a card that hadn’t been soaked through with blood and handed it to him. Clark took it and put it in his pocket. “There’s one more thing,” He added. “I would like to keep my anonymity for the time being. I don’t think I’m ready for the world to know who I am yet.”

  She smiled softly. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

  He smiled then, a real genuine smile that seemed to light up his whole face. “Okay,” He agreed again.

  “Buffy,” Willow interrupted. “Wes has a place.”

  She sighed, part of her reluctant to leave. “That’s my cue. Call me when you get back to civilization okay?”

  “I will.” He said with a nod as he watched her grab her axe, before she and her friend stepped through the portal and disappeared.

[Chapter One]

[witchiswriting]

A Not So Merry Christmas Chapter 3

Summary: Negan has some ugly revelations on his path

Warnings: Angst ( Lots of it), Mentions of Infidelity, Swearing, Mentions of death

Author’s Note: This chapter was pretty hard for me to write. I tried to explain everything about his past at once. And, you don’t know what it’s coming for you guys. Please don’t kill me after this chapter lmao

‘’What?’’ Negan slurred. That was the only thing that could come out from his mouth at the moment.

Shock surrounded his whole body. He literally had no idea where he was, or what fucking was The Sanctuary. The room was definitely his style, except for mounted animals. He’d never been a fan of dead animals on the walls. However, Lilith would fucking despise this room and that was the reason why he hadn’t furnished theirs with dark furniture.

He blinked several times before taking a full glance at the man who was standing before him. Funny enough, Negan knew the man very well. He was his childhood best friend Simon, they grew up together and Simon was a bartender in the same small town. Long story short, he died in a terrible car accident three years ago and naturally, Negan hasn’t seen the man since then, but at the very moment Simon was standing in front of him, very much alive and a stressful expression on his face.

''That’s odd'' Negan mused.

It was evident that Simon was tired and, maybe, little bit scared… It was strange, though, cause no matter how intimidating Negan was Simon was one of the few people who was never afraid of him. The others were Rick and Lilith but Negan quickly pushed the thought of them off his mind.

Simon cleared his throat, waiting for to find the right words. Negan hasn’t been himself since that horrific day but he did never forget where he was before. It was new and very much worrying for Simon.

‘’Negan, I know that you don’t wanna fucking remember or acknowledge what had happened a month ago, but you need to find a way to get yourself together. This place needs you.’’ Simon spoke with a soft, caring tone. He knows that his boss, best friend is hurting nevertheless, but, also he is very much needed. There's no way Simon could run The Sanctuary without Negan and, to be honest, he is worried for his friend’s mental health too. It isn’t like they could afford a psychologist these days.

Negan slowly got up from the bed without saying another word to Simon. He was wearing the grey sweatpants and white t-shirt he wore last night just before going to the bed in his own room.

He slowly moved the curtains aside and took a quick glance from window. The view had him shocked. There were lifeless, rotten corpses chained to the fence of the building and a few men with prisoner suits triying to tie them down.

Where the fuck was he? If this was a nightmare then it was, for sure the most horrific and unpleasant one.

‘’What the fuck are they doing?’’ Negan said with a loud voice. It wasn’t his intention to sound angry towards his friend but he couldn’t help it.

Simon was watching the same scenery from window. Though, unlike his friend, it was a pretty usual scene for him.

‘’You ordered for the remained Alexandrians to deal with the biters as a first thing in the morning, boss.’’ Simon shrugged his shoulders and explained like there was nothing wrong with it.

Negan furrowed his brows. His face was frowned. ‘’Biters?’’ He asked with a genuine confused voice.

Simon took a deep breath before his next words. He slowly put his hand on Negan’s shoulder as a supporting manner. ‘’Look, Negan. I know you’re suffering and I wish we could go back in time and make things right but, as you can fucking see, that’s not the case. Locking yourself in that mind of yours and trying to forget everything might have seemed a better choice but it’s not. You have to move on.’’ He was watching Negan with almost pitying eyes.

‘’Plus, Rick the Prick has started to be a pain in the ass. You need to take care of him, too.’’ Simon stated.

Rick? If he’s in this shit hole then, maybe he knows what the actual fuck is going on too.

Negan nodded towards his best friend, licking his lips. ‘’Okay. Fucking wait outside while I put on decent fucking clothes then.’’

Simon turned and left the room just like an obedient dog.

An inanimate object caught his eye. A barbed wired baseball bat is just standing beside his wardrobe. It had a few scratches on it, but other than that the bat looked fine and, well, deadly. Probably it’s a fucking weapon for dealing with the moving corpses.

As Negan went through the drawers he couldn’t help but think about the one person he needed at the moment.

Lilith… Maybe it was all her doing, since she was always talking about witchy stuff he hadn’t believed nor given a second thought. What if it was his punishment for breaking her heart?

‘’Bull-fucking-shit.’’ He muttered under his breath. Negan wasn’t an illogical person. Of course, he believed in things like religion, and he considered himself a believer. He wasn’t religious or something but he understood the religion, at least the logical parts of it.

I’m trying to rationalize this fucking hell hole with irrational things. He told himself.

But when he opened the drawer he met his very own clothes. Bunch of white shirts he loved so much and his one and only leather jacket, and lots of black shirts.

‘’You fucking kidding me?!’’ He roared with an uncontrollable anger. He was rubbing his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He dressed hastily and got out of the room with heavy, rushed steps. His heart was pounding in his stomach.

Simon watched him with a concerned glance. Thinking about if he should inform him about the absence of his precious bat, probably he forgot to take it and considering his commitment to the object, he decided to tell Negan.

‘’Boss, I see you’re pretty preoccupied today. You left Lucille in the room.’’ Simon said in a humoristic way. Trying to hide his worries with a reassuring smile.

WHAT THE FUCK FUCKING FUCKITY FUCK?

Negan’s face fell instantly. He felt the blood in his veins going cold. His already pale and tired face became paler in seconds. He could feel the wave of nausea  washing him.

‘’What the fuck did you just say?’’ He tried to sound firm but failed miserably. He could barely speak and his voice was shaky.

Simon was shocked. His friend had never spent a day without Lucille by his side, but, apparently the latest events had Negan shook more than Simon had cared to admit. So, he took a deep breath and decided to drop asking about the famous bat. ‘’Let’s get you something to eat first, then we’ll take care of everything else.’’ He put his hand on Negan’s shoulder with a soothing manner.

As they started to walk in long, dim hallway Negan tried to convince himself that this wasn’t happening for real, it was just a dream, a fucking trick of his drunk mind, but, unfortunately he couldn’t bring himself to believe that the place wasn’t real.

He meant to ask Simon what was going on and what he fucking exactly meant by ‘’Lucille’’, but he was already feeling so goddamn tired, and he shouldn't scare Simon if he wants to get out of this place.

‘’You’re quiet, boss. Care to share your thoughts?’’ Simon interrupted in an attempt to collect the attention of Negan.

Negan closed his eyes for a second and tried to sound normal to his death but somehow alive friend. If he wanted to know about where he fucking was then he had to play by the rules.

‘’So many things but I’m just feeling fucking tired and goddamn hungry, y’know.’’ He dropped the words with an uninterested tone.

As two men walked towards the stairs they passed by a grand wooden doored room. The door was open, so, Negan forced himself to look the other way. He didn’t want to come face to face with anybody else, especially if the person was someone he knew. He didn’t know if he could take it. What if Lilith was in there? But, he caught glimpse of an enormous crystal chandelier and shiny shelves filled with alcohol.

Despite his efforts to avoid the parlor a petite, feminine form slightly moved and caught his attention.

‘’Negan?’’ A soft, almost afraid feminine voice was heard in the empty hallway.

When Negan turned around he couldn’t recognize the blonde immediately but felt a strange familiarity.

I’M IN FUCKING HELL.

The blonde was twirling with her long hair. She had a concerned expression on her pretty face. Her baby blue eyes were wide with curiosity and hesitation.

Negan tried to remember the blonde’s name. It had to be something like Amanda or Amber.

Amber… She was one of the women Negan had cheated on Lucille with. He met her during one of his team’s matches. She was the sister of one of his students, and he fucked her in that particular evening on the benches. They had fooled around for a few times but she had become clingy over time and made herself believe in stuff like he was going to left Lucille for her. So, he had put her away like the trinkot she was and looked ahead for his fair share of women.

Negan’s throat was closing up. He could feel his stomach dropping and cold sweat was running down from his back. If hell is real then it is this exact place.

‘You’ve been avoiding us for a month… I wanted to know if you’re okay, y’know, if we can help.’’ She said with the same calm and hopeful tone Negan had known back then.

We? What the fuck is we?

Without thinking Negan walked towards to the parlor and felt a delicious horror with what he has just seen.

Four women, clad in black dress and high heels, looking pretty with their makeup on. And, unfortunately, Negan knew every one of them very well. He had forgotten their names in time but couldn’t forget their faces. He hated them with every cell in his body and they made him hate himself even more. They were the cruel evidence what he had done to the two women he had loved so dearly.

Sherry,

She was the first woman he had cheated on Lucille with. They were neighbors. Sherry lived in the house across from Negan’s, and she was married but, of course, it didn’t stop him. They had an affair going on for at least two or three months.

She had always find Negan attractive and when she came to him he couldn’t find the strength to say no to her. They ended the affair when her husband, Dwight found out.

Tanya, she was a simple lay. Negan met her in a restaurant. She was working as a waitress there and looking forward for a one night stand. He was supposed to book that restaurant for Lucille’s birthday but when he saw the deep V neck blouse Tanya was wearing he immediately forgot about his wife, as always, and took her to the first motel he could find.

They fucked roughly that night and Negan went back to home, to find out that his Lucille had cancer.

And, the redhead, Frankie. He didn’t have to force his mind to remember the details with her cause what had happened with her was recent. She was the first and last woman he cheated on Lilith with.

When he asked Lilith to move in with him she didn’t say yes immediately, like he had imagined. So, they got into a meaningless stupid fight because of his insecurities and he hit the bar that night. Determined to get drunk like an ass but, what he hadn’t planned was fucking the redhead who was giving him come and fuck me eyes for whole night.

He ended up fucking her there and then in the small bar toilet and couldn’t shake the fact that he wasn’t fully drunk while he was fucking her against the wall, making her scream his name over and over. He got mad at Lilith and tried to get revenge on her…

When he came to his senses he was already at his own home, looking at the caller ID of Lilith. Thinking about calling her and telling what he'd done that night but he couldn’t bring himself to do it because he knew that Lilith would never forgive him. She’d leave him in the blink of an eye and never look back.

He wasn’t strong enough to live without her, at least that was what he thought, he had no idea what guilt was gonna make him do back then and he passed out on his couch. Tears on the corners of his eyes and vomit on his lips.

Negan was looking at them but wasn’t able to understand what they were saying to him. All the four women’s mouths were moving but he couldn’t hear them. His ears were pounding so hard that for a moment, he thought he was going to black out. Oh, how that was the only thing he wanted at the moment.

What did him bring back to reality was Sherry’s sickening touch. She was shaking his shoulders gently, trying to tell him something.

‘’Negan, we’re your wives. You can’t neglect us like that.’’ Sherry stated with an unpleasant tone.

‘’GET. THE. FUCK. OUT!’’ Negan roared. His throat was one fire. He was pretty sure that he damaged his vocal cords.

‘’I’m fucking done with you. Get the fuck out. I don’t wanna see any fucking of you ever a-fucking-gain. Get out of my fucking sight before I fucking kill you!’’ He yelled like an animal. His saliva was on the corners of his mouth.

‘’D-do you want me to give you a m-massage? Don’t mind Sherry. I-if you’d like, of course.’’ Frankie asked with a scared voice from the place she was sitting. She was fumbling with her fingers, afraid.

‘’You! Especially you! If you say one fucking more word I’m going to fucking chain you to the fence. Get the fuck out before I come fucking back.’’ Negan yelled the last time and got out of the room, never looking back.

Simon was sweating while trying to catch up with Negan. He hadn’t seen his friend that angry since the day he had slaughtered all of the other communities.

‘’Simon!’’ Negan barked. His hazel colored eyes were almost dark with danger. He was fuming like an animal.

‘’Yes, boss.’’ Simon tried to sound obedient , finally catching up with Negan’s faster than lightning steps.

‘’I want them fucking gone by the end of the day. Do you fucking understand me? I don’t wanna fucking see any of them. If they wouldn’t be gone until tonight, then you’ll be the one to take their punishments. Am I fucking clear?’’ Negan hinted with a dangerous voice.

‘’Yes, sir, boss. Don’t worry.’’ That was the exact thing Simon was afraid of. Having to deal with his wives. They were all bitchy and spoiled. He didn’t know how to remove them from The Sanctuary, but he had to find a way if he wants to live.

Finally, they got to the first floor and Negan found himself in a pool of people. They were clothed badly and he couldn’t say they were living under hygienic circumstances either.

When people realized Negan was there they got on their knees immediately. However, Negan wasn’t in a state to understand why they were kneeling so he began to wander around in hopes to get something to eat and maybe find another familiar face, though, he wasn’t sure if seeing one more person from his prior life is gonna make him feel good.

Simon cleared his throat as an attempt to warn Negan. ‘’Ugh, boss, you need to…’’ He showed the still kneeling people.

He furrowed his brows. He had to tell them to stand up? ‘’Alright, okay. Stand the fuck up. I don’t have whole fucking day.’’

As people stood up the whispers started immediately. All of them were shocked with Negan’s attitude. Sure, he hasn’t been himself lately but he’d never forgotten to tell them ‘’As you were.’’

‘’Umm, boss.’’ Simon nudged Negan’s arm with his elbow. ‘’You always say as you were when you’re ordering people to stand up, but I guess, you’re pretty tired today.’’ Simon said as if people kneeling before Negan wasn’t something important.

Am I a fucking cult leader? Lilith, if it’s your doing then you’re fucking right. I deserve all of this shit.

His hunger and the abominable morning he was having made Negan’s whole body ache. Sure, he also wanted to cry and crash every fucking thing he could find but he, also, wasn’t sure if his mental state and body could take it.

Suddenly, his eyes caught a glimpse of brownish red locks. The woman’s back was turned and she was wearing a pastel pink flannel. For a moment, he thought about the woman who was occupying his mind, his heart and his whole being but he quickly realized that the woman wasn’t the one he was looking for.

Jane… Lilith’s mother. She was having a chit chat with an older lady. She sounded nice but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she wasn’t happy. Instead, her sadness was dripping on her face. Her bright blue eyes were absent from their usual joy. They were full with a grey melancholy.

Jane was quick to realize that someone was watching her, and that someone was the only person she hated with every fiber in her body.

She abruptly stopped her chit chat with the older lady and turned to Negan. If looks could kill Negan would have been dead by now. Jane was practically throwing daggers at him with her intense glare.

‘’How dare you? How dare you are standing there, living your life after what you’ve done?! Have you no fucking shame? How could you continue to fuck your wives after… a-after.’’ She let out a sob, couldn’t finish her sentence.

The whispers had stopped. All of the people were in silence and shock. They stood there, watching the scene unfold before them.

Negan was stunned. He couldn’t keep himself from thinking that what he had done to Lilith this time… How badly did he hurt her? And wives? He couldn’t touch any other women after that disgusting night full of regret and guilt.

Jane took a deep breath and let the words out from her trembling lips. Her face was shiny from the tears she couldn’t stop. ‘’I fucking hate you. You’d better watch out, Negan.’’ She said his name like it’s a disease.

‘’When I have the chance, and I swear to god, I will. I’m going to fucking kill you. I’m going to fucking bleed you ‘till you go fucking numb and then I’ll kill you. You fucking monster.’’ Jane spit on the ground before turning back and going back to her work.

Negan could feel his heart is squeezing so badly. He immediately left the building and found himself in the yard of The Sanctuary.

He was sweaty and feeling dizzy. Bending, he couldn’t keep it together anymore and threw up his empty stomach, only bile coming out from his mouth.

When he straightened up he found Simon beside him.

He was standing there, unsure of what to do. Negan was being hard on himself and according to Simon’s experiences the day has triggered a panic attack for his boss.

Negan finally caught his breath. His face was dreading colour but he forced himself to be strong. At least, he had to know about Lilith. He had to find her and make this right.

What if he cheated on her with those five women and she saw it, or she was pregnant and she lost it because of him being such a dickhead. Maybe, she was with someone else, trying to be happy and forget him.

To be honest, Negan would be miserable and sad for the rest of his life if Lilith is moved on and happy with someone else, but that was the only thing she had deserved from the beginning. A healthy relationship with a person who loves her and makes her feel loved.

So, Negan took a deep breath and braced himself for what was coming, and asked the inevitable question.

‘’Simon, where is Lilith?’’ His voice was filled with exhaustion, fear and a little bit hope.

Simon didn’t know how to answer this question. He could mince the words and gain some time or left his question unanswered but this would be the cruelest thing for Negan.

In Simon’s mind Negan already knew the answer but apparently didn’t want to face it, so his mind had deleted the truth or hided in somewhere.

Therefore, he decided not to sugar coat his answer or delay the unbearable ugly truth. So, he let the words out without giving a second thought about it.

‘’Negan, Lilith is dead.’’

Tag List:

@buttercandy16​ 

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Prompt: Can I get a first wizarding war fic where one of them is captured by death eaters and the other stops at nothing to find them/get them back safely. Thank you!

((A/N: Fair warning, this is very Regulus-centric. Also, happy Halloween. No one dies, although there are mentions of torture.)) 

James froze in place. He hadn't been moving very much to begin with, but now it was like he'd been petrified. His ears were ringing. It felt like he couldn't breathe. "What?" he managed to say. That couldn't be right-- but then, what else could have Peter in such a state? 

"They captured Sirius," Peter repeated, lips quivering and tears still streaming down his face. It didn't make any more sense the second time than it had the first. 

Getting captured by Death Eaters was as good as a death sentence. Order members didn't make it out from that. They'd get captured, and a week or so later, their mangled corpse would be found. It had happened enough times that they knew the pattern. "No," James pushed past numb lips. No, that couldn't happen Sirius. It just- it couldn't happen. James would die before he let that happen to Sirius. 

"I saw it happen," Peter insisted, even though it was obvious he wasn't in a good enough space to be convincing anyone of anything-- especially convincing James that he should give Sirius up for dead. 

"Then why didn't you stop them?" James yelled, not aware that he was stepping closer to Peter until Lily put a hand on his arm and held him back. 

"They were waiting for us," Peter said, trembling. The more he talked about it, the more nervous he got. It was like it got more real for him the more they talked about it. "There were so many of them- as soon as we got there, they- they-" 

"James," Lily said quietly, and Peter covered his mouth with one hand, eyes wide and horrified; it was hitting him that he was never going to see Sirius again. "I'm sure Peter did the best he could. It's a miracle he was able to make it back here. Sirius was his friend too." 

"He's not dead," James snarled, ripping his arm away and disapparating back to their flat with a loud crack. How could they give up on him so easily? This was Sirius. The Death Eaters had a vested interest in keeping him alive for a pretty long time. They'd torture him, yes, but they'd want him lucid for most of that. When the time came-- if the time came-- they'd kill him slowly, but that would give James more time to find him. He'd need as much time as he could get, especially since he was doing this alone. Peter and Lily wouldn't help him; it was clear that they already thought James should start grieving. Remus couldn't help because he was busy with something else-- and hell if James knew what that something else was-- so he couldn't ask him for help either. 

He could find Sirius. He knew he could, but at the moment, he was so stressed out that his mind was barely working. 

*

He felt so sodding stupid when he finally thought of it that he wanted to bash his head against the wall. Him and Sirius were bonded. They hadn't told anyone about it because it was illegal, and a dark ritual besides. But they'd tied their souls together. It had fallen out of practice when arranged marriages were no longer the norm, but they'd gone through the Black Family library when they were fourteen and found the ritual. 

It had probably been stupid for them to go through with it, but he'd never regretted it and he knew that it was the same for Sirius. They'd done it before they actually got together, which made it more stupid of an idea than it had already been. It made it all that better when they did start dating though, because once they started, they both knew that they weren't going to stop. They'd taken their friendship and moved it to the next level before they'd so much as kissed. Being bonded had slid into their lives so seamlessly that he'd forgotten about it. 

Now that he was remembering they'd done it, he was ridiculously happy that they'd gone through with it before Sirius ran away. He could tap into that bond and find out exactly where Sirius was. He was pretty sure the original application of the ritual was to make sure that neither partner would murder their spouse because there were pretty severe consequences for that, and the book had warned that the other person dying would feel like someone was carving out your heart even if it wasn't by your hand that they perished. 

Point was, James now had a way to find him. There was some spell he'd have to cast to activate it, and the only problem was that he didn't remember it. The book was still in Grimmauld Place, so he'd have to go there to find it. He had better chances of getting inside Grimmauld Place than he did finding Sirius some other way. If it were easy to find captured Order members, they would've been doing it long before Sirius had gotten taken. 

He thought about sneaking into Grimmuald Place-- seriously considered it, because who the hell wanted to risk talking to Walburga voluntarily?-- but it he got caught before he could find the spell, his chances of finding Sirius tanked. He couldn't risk that. So he walked right up to the door and knocked. 

He knew that he looked a touch mad. His hair was more of a mess than usual, and his eyes were probably blood shot and hovering over dark circles since he hadn't gotten much in the way of sleep. He was pretty sure that he was wearing the same clothes that he had been when he got the news. 

Regulus was the one to open the door. He was more grown than the last time James had seen him, but he still looked like a kid. It was good that it was him; he was more of a pushover than either of his parents. "Potter?" he asked, frowning. "What are you doing here?" 

"Sirius is missing." 

"He's not here." 

"No shit. I need a book from your library." 

"We don't have any books on tracking," Regulus said. His eyes flitted down James's body, taking in his appearance. "How long has it been?" 

"Two days." Two days was more than enough time for irreversible damage to be done, but James was really hoping that the Death Eaters thought they had all the time in the world. If they rushed, he wouldn't be able to do anything, but if they were slow about it, he'd make it in time. A week, he reminded himself. The average time for finding Order members after they were captured was a week. Sirius had at least three more days before James needed to worry. Well, worry more. 

Regulus swallowed. He glanced behind himself, then opened the door a little wider. Not much. An inch. James took it as an invitation and pushed it wider, stepping inside. He closed the door behind him and started heading to the library. Any time James had visited here, they'd spent almost all of their time in the library. It had books that couldn't be found anywhere else, and it didn't help that James couldn't remember the name of the book. He knew what it looked like. Him and Sirius had spent enough time staring at it and talking about the possibilities that the particular binding was seared into his brain. 

He heard Regulus follow him, but it was in the background for him. It looked like no one else was in the house, which was probably the only reason that Regulus had let him in. "Do you-" Regulus asked, then paused to swallow again. "Do you think he's dead?" 

"He's not." James would've felt it if he was. He was definitely still alive. 

"Then how's he missing?" 

"You might still be at Hogwarts, but I'm sure you've heard of Death Eaters there." He pushed open the library door. Merlin, he'd forgotten how massive this place was. Assuming that the books hadn't been rearranged though, he should still be good. He remembered which section it was in since every time they'd picked it up, they'd had to put it back where it was so no one knew what they were looking at. He headed over, but try as he might, he couldn't remember which shelf. He started scanning the spines. Faded crimson. Green lettering. 

"He was taken by Death Eaters?" Regulus asked, the barest tremble in his voice. "But- why would they do that?" 

James shrugged, then pulled his wand out and lit the tip. The lighting in this room was truly abhorrent. "Information. Maybe just to make him suffer." 

There was a long pause. James didn't know it was a pause while it was happening though. He thought that Regulus didn't have a good response to that and was going to watch him search in silence. "Take me with you." 

"What?" James asked, startled enough that he looked away from the books. 

"Take me with you," he repeated. 

"Yeah, I heard you the first time. No way." 

"Why not?" Regulus asked desperately, taking a step closer. 

James straightened from where he'd been hunched over to get a better look at the books. "For starters, I don't trust you. Last I heard, you were basically a baby Death Eater, and I don't have the time to waste watching my back while I'm trying to get him out of wherever the hell it is they're keeping him." 

Regulus looked at him evenly. Or as even as he could get when he was clearly nervous. "Is there a second point?" 

"You're underage. I'm not kidnapping you. And third of all, you wouldn't be able to get back to your normal life afterwards if I did let you come. You do something like that, and they'd kill you the next time they saw you. I can't imagine they're very kind to traitors considering how they treat the rest of us." 

"I don't want to join them," Regulus said, gripping his arm desperately. "but I can't- they won't let me say no. Take me with you. I don't care if I never come back." 

James could honestly say that he hadn't expected this when they'd started talking. "What?" 

"Please," Regulus said, and there was no way to pretend like he wasn't begging now. "I know things. I'll tell you everything I know. Just take me with you." 

"You don't know anything important," James said, which wasn't really what he'd meant to say, but he was living off of a two hour nap and about twenty cups of coffee. The filter between his brain and his mouth was extremely thin right now. 

The look on Regulus's face said that he knew that. "Maybe not, but I know something that the Dark Lord doesn't want anyone to know." 

James had a few choices here, and the one that was the fastest was to agree so that he could get back to looking for the book. Besides, he didn't actually want to leave Regulus out to dry. Regulus had done him a favour by letting him come in this easily, and for that alone, James owed him. Even without that though, he'd help anyone get away from the Death Eaters if they asked. And Regulus wasn't just asking, he was begging. "Fine, you can stay at our flat until this is all sorted." They'd have an extra room after Sirius got back anyways, since James had no intention of leaving him alone for eight hours at a time while he was healing. "I'll bring you there before I go get Sirius." 

"I want to help you rescue Sirius." 

"Do you even know how to duel?" 

"I'm alright," Regulus said, but 'alright' by Black Family standards meant wicked good compared to everyone else. He probably wouldn't be able to take on any of the real threats, but James could handle them. Besides, the point of this was to get in and out as quick as they could, not start a fire fight; Sirius wouldn't be in any sort of condition to fight, and with James carrying him, he wouldn't be either. 

"Fine, you're in. But you listen to me. None of that snark you're all so fond of." 

"All?" Regulus asked, dropping his hand from James's arm and frowning at him. 

James turned back to the bookshelf. Faded crimson, green lettering. "Every member of the Black Family that I've met acted like the conversation was a competition. You don't get to do that. I say shut it, and you listen. I say run, and you run. Got it?" 

"Got it." 

"Can you apparate?" 

"I'm too young for a license." 

"That's not what I asked." 

"I can, but the Ministry can track that, and the Dark Lord is basically running that place. You know that, right?" 

James nodded, then moved to the next shelf. "If things go sideways while we're there, you apparate away, and I'll come back for you." 

"If you have Sirius, you won't remember me," Regulus accused. 

"Right, because that's what I want to tell him. That his brother helped me find him, but I left him for dead. Like it or not, Reggie, you're part of the group now." 

"Don't call me Reggie," he snapped. "I've been part of this for thirty seconds; it's not really long enough for you to give a shite." 

"Actually, you were a part of this from the moment you let me in without a fight. I won't forget about you, I swear. In an emergency, you go to Hog's Head in Hogsmeade. I'll come get you." 

There was a moment where he didn't answer, grinding his teeth together. "Fine. If I die because of you, I'm coming back as a ghost specifically to make your life miserable." 

"Wouldn't that make you a poltergeist?" 

"Poltergeists are artificially created, dumb arse." 

"Oh yeah. Glad to see you're comfortable enough to call me names." He moved to the next section. He was close. He felt like it he reached out his hand, he'd be able to touch it. "That reminds me, I hear the 'm' word come out of your mouth, and I'm going to be pissed. We clear? I want to help you, but I'm not going to let you do whatever the buggering hell you want." 

"Relax, Potter, I know how to edit my language." 

"If we're going to be committing questionable acts together, you might as well call me James." 

"Fine, James. What are you looking for?" 

"If I knew the name, this would be a lot faster." 

"I told you that we don't have any books on tracking." Regulus glanced towards the library doors. "You need to hurry up." 

"I could be faster without someone chattering in my ear," James said with a scowl. 

"My parents could be back any minute, and if they find us in here, we're dead." 

"I haven't come this far just to be killed by your sodding mother. They show up and you prepare yourself for sidealong apparation. Got it?" 

"Got it," Regulus said, swallowing nervously. 

James's eyes glanced over the book, then shot back. He yanked it off the shelf to take a look at the cover, excitement growing. 

"Is that it?" 

He nodded, dropping to the ground so he could look through it faster-- holding a wand in one hand wasn't going to help his speed. There wasn't a table of contents because that would be too easy. Merlin, what had it said? This book was separated by the different rituals it contained, so he just needed to find the chapter with the one that they'd done. He started flipping the pages quickly, eyes scanning the words for anything that looked familiar. 

James was strung out. He could admit that. He was having some pretty hard mood swings, which meant that he felt like he was flying when he found the right entry. "This is it!" He started to scan the page eagerly, but his eyes were glancing over the words without comprehending any of them. "Bugger it, I'm stealing this," he said, slamming the book closed and tucking it under his arm. He wasn't going to waste anymore time in this house than he needed to, especially with the threat of Orion and Walburga coming back. His head would be clearer when he was in his own flat, feeling safe-- and not feeling like someone was going to curse him in the back at any moment. "Let's go." 

"I need to grab something from my room," Regulus said. 

"We don't have time for you to pack," James said as they hurried from the library. Would he love to be more sympathetic? Yes. Did he have the emotional space for that right now? No. He didn't have the room to give a shite about anything but Sirius. 

"It's one bad, and I already have it packed." 

"Fine," James said and left it at that even though in the back of his mind, he was wondering how bad it must've been for Regulus if he already had a bag packed and ready to go. He'd think about that once Sirius was back with him, safe. 

Regulus ran up the stairs, and James followed him out of habit. Sure enough, Regulus went straight to his wardrobe, plunged a hand into the back, and pulled out a knapsack. It probably had an expansion charm on the inside, otherwise it would be too small to get him through more than a couple days. They made it outside without any incident. Regulus gave a half-wistful glance to Grimmauld Place before he left, and James apparated them out on the front stoop. 

Back in James and Sirius's flat, James pointed Regulus towards the spare room-- officially, it was Sirius's room, but they'd been sharing a bed since before they ever moved in here-- with the vague direction of, "You can stay in there while he's getting better." 

Regulus gave him a loaded look before walking towards the room. James knew that he meant something by it, but he didn't know what. James opened the book back up, and Regulus tossed his bag in the room. Rather, he set it very gently by the inside of the door like he was afraid the offer was going to be rescinded at a moment's notice. He took a moment to stand in the doorway and really think about the enormity of what he'd just done. He'd left; he'd really done it. He'd never thought that he'd actually do it. 

Now that he'd found the entry once, it was easy to find again. All of the information about the ritual and what could be done with a couple once they were bonded was right at his fingertips. It didn't even take a full minute of reading for him to find the location spell. A map, blood, and an incantation. His own blood was readily available, and the incantation was simple enough. The initial ritual had been rather complicated, but all the spells they had access to afterwards were pretty easy. 

The part of the spell that took the longest was finding a map. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen, but he had to run down to the muggle store at the corner to get a map. By the time he got back, Regulus was sitting on the couch, looking awfully uncomfortable in the flat that he'd never once been in before. 

It was only once James had the map spread out in front of him, wand on the floor and knife in one hand that Regulus leaned forward like he was truly paying attention. "This is blood magic." 

"Well spotted," James said sarcastically. 

"I thought you lot didn't believe in using dark magic." 

"Speak for yourself," James muttered, because he didn't want to admit that him and Sirius hadn't told anyone about what they'd done. He made a cut on his arm and held his arm over the map so his blood started to drip onto the paper. "The whole ritual was dark; we didn't let that stop us." 

Regulus went quiet, leaning back again to watch. It was clear that he had something else he wanted to say, but he bit it back. James was grateful for that; he didn't want to put off finding Sirius even longer than he'd already done. 

*

After everything else he'd done to find Sirius, the act of grabbing him was pretty easy. Regulus got seen, and that was a bit dicey when it happened, but they managed to get out of there before anyone else could show up. James got Sirius back, and neither of them got hurt in the process. James was going to call it a roaring success. 

As much as James wanted to stick Sirius in their flat and hold onto him until they both felt better, he had to bring him to St. Mungo's. There had been so much blood when he found him, more than he'd thought a person could lose and still live... 

He shook his head to get rid of the thought. He brought Regulus to their flat first, because he knew that was safe and it's not like he could bring a newly branded traitor of the Death Eaters to a public space. Hell, he wasn't even leaving Sirius there, and Sirius was the one that could really use the constant care. 

He brought him in, they did an initial sweep to take care of him, and then James brought him home. They told him not to-- requested, technically, but it was obvious that if they could force him to stay, they would. James knew enough to keep him alive after that, but he'd needed to make sure that there wasn't any internal bleeding or summat. 

*

"'m I home?" Sirius mumbled once he woke up. He had one eye open blearily-- the other was sort of swollen shut. He had a thick cut along one side of his face, near his hair line; it would leave a scar when it healed. Right now, it was covered with a bandage, so there wasn't space between Sirius's swollen eye and the edge of the bandage. James knew that eventually, Sirius would be well enough to complain about it, but it would be far enough in the future that it wouldn't be a problem. They'd both be safe. James would be able to kiss him and tell him that everything was okay, and it would be true. 

"Yeah. How do you feel?"

Sirius's throat worked as he tried to wake himself up a bit more. "Alive." He blinked gingerly, his focus roving over to James once he had the presence of mind to do it. "You came for me." 

"Of course I did," James said, smiling softly at him. "And before you freak out when you see him, Regulus is here." 

It took a minute for that statement to make it through Sirius's addled brain, but when it did, he frowned in confusion. "Why's he here?" 

"It's sort of a long story. I just wanted you to know in case you see him." James leaned down and pressed a featherlight kiss to Sirius's head. He knew that most of Sirius's body was bruised in some way, but hopefully that hadn't hurt him. "Go back to sleep; you need to heal." 

"And sleeping's the way to do that?" 

"Pretty sure," James said. 

Sirius hummed tiredly, eyes already sliding shut. 

"I love you," James said, and Sirius made a small noise to show that he'd heard him. He probably tried to say it back, but with everything in his system right now, it was something of a miracle he'd managed to talk as much as he had. James kissed his head again, then left to go check on Regulus. Now that he'd gotten a little bit of sleep, he had to deal with that. 

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Sleepy Holloween, Part 2

A/N: Muse unexpectedly decided Ichabbie’s Halloween story needed to continue, so here we are with more floof and cutesyness. Part 1 found here.  Also on AO3.

Abbie poured the leftover candy into a Ziploc bag to take to the office in the morning, thinking over the day as her Captain rinsed out their wine glasses and left them to soak in the sink. Quite a few years had passed since she'd squeezed so much Halloween celebrating into one day. The jack-o-lantern carvings, the pumpkin seed and cookie baking, passing out candy while sipping a nice Merlot, showing Hocus Pocus to Ichabod for the first time. Which reminded her... "You know...I really thought you'd relate to the movie more," she mused aloud. Ichabod snatched the towel from the oven handle and faced her as he dried his hands. "Oh?" She nodded, then motioned for him to follow her. "Yeah, there are a lot of things I thought you might empathize with." She opened the front door and pointed to the fiery jack-o-lanterns adorning their porch steps. "We need to put these out," she explained. "By my recollection, you only allowed me three grievances," he recalled, pausing to follow her lead and blow out a candle inside of one of the pumpkins. "And no discussion with which to further detail my deeper sentiments about it and the many aspects that reminded me of myself." She put out another candle. "My apologies, Captain," she demurred. "I'd very much..." She extinguished the last candle with a puff of air. "…like to hear your thoughts on the ways you identified with Hocus Pocus." He held the front door open for her, and she went back inside, him following closely behind. He locked the deadbolt, then stood at military attention, a fine seamen specimen if she'd ever seen one.

"Are you referring to how I resemble Master Butcherson, who was called out of his grave by some witch's spell into a world that couldn't possibly comprehend what that experience is like?" Abbie heard the seriousness hidden in his self-deprecation but couldn't resist teasing him. "Aww, come on, babe, you look infinitely better than Billy Butcherson did. Your centuries sleeping did a body good." 

Her flirtatious gaze traveled from his sailor-capped head to his booted feet, and he watched her perusal of him, prepared to counter her move. "You get no points for that one," he scolded. "Even as a benevolent soul, the man was a walking, rotted corpse with moths festering in his mouth."

"My point exactly: I definitely wouldn't've kissed him! But you..." She reached for him, one hand curling around the back of his neck, drawing him down to kiss her briefly before she moved away. He stared longingly after her but continued the conversation. "Then perhaps you meant I'm like the Sanderson sisters." Noting the intent to tease him written on her face, he threw his finger up in the air. "Not in purpose or lack of intellect or gender," he rushed to indicate before she had a chance to cut in, "or—again—re-emergence because of a witch's spell, but in their struggle to understand the modern world, even with supernatural forces and a guidebook in their arsenal." Abbie hadn't considered that angle and smiled indulgently at him. "Fair. Though you've done considerably better than those three. Combined." He dipped his head once in thanks, then continued. "May I also present my resemblance to young Master Binx." "An old, mangy, black-for-bad-luck cat?" Her disgusted look morphed into something sultry. "Ohh, or the knowledgeable pussycat of a relic who wants nothing more than to protect the people he cares about from evil?" She slid her hand from his shoulder to his wrist as she strutted by him, heading towards the stairs. "Madam, I'll have you know—” "Mistress," she corrected him, throwing a flirty look over her shoulder. She wanted to play now, did she? His gaze turned predatory, and he slowly trailed her up the stairs, several steps behind. "Mistress..." he repeated dutifully. She'd reached the second floor landing and turned to face him. "Yes, Captain?" His foot froze mid-step as he drank in the sight of her regal air, fetching dress, petite frame, innocent smile. His beautifully stunning wife who'd procured a costume just for him that had taunted him all night. He promptly lost all train of thought. Abbie saw his eyes glaze over as he stood in awe of her. At least the feeling was mutual. She'd just had a lot more practice at open flirtation than he had and could still function while stunned by him. She waited a moment, indulging in his open attraction to her, before helping him out. "So far, you've compared yourself to a zombie, a trio of witches, and a cursed cat." His eyes narrowed at her as she amusedly reduced his comparisons to their most basic elements. "While you clearly don't think that highly of yourself, I, my dear one, do. Would you like me to tell you who I think you resemble, Captain?" "Most assuredly," he affirmed, holding himself in check a few moments longer. "Have you considered that you're most like Max, the hero of the tale? A gentleman who finds himself in the same country but a new place that doesn't quite feel like home? Interested in a woman who doesn't know what to make of him at first?" Her voice turned dramatic as she continued. "He's harassed by the locals as he tries to find his way in the world, gets wrapped up in something he didn't know could be true, then fights like hell to protect himself, his family, the world, and the woman he loves from evil—not to mention witches—bent on destroying them. And in the end, he saves them all. And gets the girl he's pined after and loves." She dramatically clasped her hands over her heart with a flourish. His eyes never leaving hers, he recovered only enough to move towards her, slowly stalking her again. "You think I'm the hero, do you?" A contented, sweet smile breaks over her face as she walks backwards at his same pace, the sight of him in his sailor's costume trailing after her making her heart beat fast. "Ummhmm."

"And the girl..." "A ravishing beauty," she stated cheekily, throwing the back of her hand up to her forehead in a fainting pose. "Never disputed." His eyes wantonly swept over her as she continued playfully leading him towards their bedroom, the colonial gown far less revealing than her normal wear and all the more tantalizing for it. "Strong and intelligent and wildly brave...a heroine in her own right." "Undoubtedly," she agreed as her back connected with the bedroom door. She absently reached for the doorknob and twisted it, flipping on the bedroom light as she continued backing away from him. "Deserving of some kind of reward, I'd say." "As much as her Captain deserves a warm hero's welcome." He turned off the hallway light as he entered the bedroom, the shadows and light playing deliciously over his devilishly handsome features, his eyes gleaming in anticipation. "If that's all he wants..." Abbie stopped in the middle of the room, waiting for him to reach her. "That's only the beginning," he promised with a low growl as he approached her. "I seem to recall..." He ran the backside of his finger along her cheek, soft and cool to the touch, dropping his hand to her collarbone and running his fingertips across her bare skin as he prowled around her. "Telling you..." His hand never leaving her, his touch trailed heat across the back of her neck. "How I couldn't wait to take this off of you." His whispered breath teased over the skin beneath her ear, the sensuality of it heightened because she couldn't see him, didn't know what to expect next. Still, he barely touched her, his fingers slowly grazing their way around her shoulder and back to her collarbone as he completed his rotation around her. She peered up at him heatedly, anticipating, yearning for his next move. 'Crane on the brain,' she'd called it once--and had had it ever since. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, satisfaction and desire written on his face, and he leaned down towards her. She tipped her head up, craving his kiss and everything that came after it, but he stopped a hair's-breath from touching his maddening lips to hers. "How does that sound?" he whispered, tantalizing her with his breath against her lips instead of his mouth. "Exquisite," she breathed on a sigh, willing herself to wait for him to ravish her. She was on the edge, as was he—she could feel it. She wouldn't have to wait long. "Enticing. Hot." He couldn't wait any longer, silencing her with his lips, gently at first, then more insistently as she drew his hat off his head, dropped it to the floor, and ran her fingers through his hair. She moaned, and the sound her passion vibrated through him, his hands roaming down her sides and hips to then splay across her back, drawing her into him. His hands set her ablaze, and she expected him to make light work of the dress since he'd wanted to divest her of it all night. Instead, he lingered, his kiss ardent and sensual, his touch exploratory and slow. He reached for the back of her dress where the stays were...should be. His fingers found a zipper instead. "Mm, how very modern," he murmured appreciatively as he withdrew from her, again moving behind her. Abbie waited, senses alert, body tingling, wondering what his clever mind and hands had in store for her.

His finger traced her skin along the back neckline of her dress, sending gooseflesh racing up and down her spine. He kissed her neck, and her head fell to the side, allowing him more access.

“Tell me,” he whispered near her ear. “What does a hero’s welcome look like?”

She eased away from him only far enough to turn around. “Like this.” She collided with him, pressing against him, drawing him down to kiss her as together they moved towards the bed. She felt the corded muscles of his arms and shoulders, his back, his leanness belying his strength.

As they reached the bed, Abbie laid her hand flat against his chest, and he let her push him lightly, falling to his seat He reached for her, his hands gripping her waist as he peered up at her and the satisfied look on her face.

“Do all captains receive this treatment?” he queried.

“Not from me. But you’re lucky.” She winked at him, threading her hands through his hair, mesmerized by her forever-military man.

“Well…not yet,” he smirked at her with a lifted eyebrow.

"If the boat's a'rockin..."

He gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head. “Nevermind, Captain. Just kiss me.”

“As you wish, Mistress.” And he did.

[annhellsing]

Your Shape.

notes: never in my life thought i’d write an original thing again, but i had a lot of fun!!! i was feeling super overwhelmed and decided to put my maladaptive daydream about a meet-cute with a mysterious entity in a forest into words. rating: teen, we stay tame in these woods pairing: mysterious entity boyfriend idk / reader word count: 3,286

The shape in the forest wants to know if you are warm enough. Moonlight falls over the crown of your head, so yellow and full as to be a parody of sunshine. This late in September, with the harvest coming soon, it is easy to confuse the two.

But the shape does not ask, he does not want to scare you. Your shoulders are slouched, cheeks pressed to your palms to hide tears and sobs. He wants to know if you are unhappy, too. He imagines you have already given him a fair answer, despite not having spoken at all.

A dirt-caked hand curls around the trunk of a tree. The shape leans out of the dark, eyes aglow and horns in danger of bumping on a branch overhead. He ducks a bit, takes a careful step forward. If he were anyone else, the twig under his foot might have snapped and made a sound. But there is an understanding between them, an old promise. The only noise in the night is of your crying.

“It’s too much,” you whisper, half-wailing around the air being pushed from your lungs. You press a hand over your mouth and for a moment, all is quiet. 

The shape decides he does not like that at all. You are unhappy, he’s sure of it, so why not express it?

“What is?” he asks, compelled to speak when before he had stayed silent. You were not crying before, he rations. You did not need help then as you do now.

You turn at the sound of his voice, it is as cold and as full as the moon in the sky. It belongs there, that voice, between the trees. You peer into the dark, not afraid of what might be speaking, but why. Creatures are not uncommon, it is their motivations you have been taught to fear.

A breeze picks up, pushing cool air at your hot cheeks. The feeling is almost pleasant, it’s accompanied by the sound of rustling leaves. Or perhaps of footsteps from your newfound companion. 

He does not walk as a human might, though he is shaped like one. With the grass, too, he has an understanding and his gait is as noiseless and natural as the way that he speaks. You stare up, up, up at him, craning your neck until you find his face.

It is a handsome face, which does not immediately set you at ease. You see the outline of his head and shoulders, framed by two horns extending back against the starlit sky. But the rest of him is a mystery. It disappears into the shadows that knit in a circle around the glade.

“Everything,” you answer with honesty, for it is the best policy.

“I can understand, then, why you are upset,” he replies. 

Your sweater scratches your cheeks as you wipe away tears. But you are very careful to keep one eye open and fixed on the shape, the visitor. It is not very smart to do more than blink in their company.

Still, you make noise. Soft sounds of life, of breath as you try to stifle sobs. Crying gets you nowhere, you remember, especially not with an audience.

“How long have you been watching me?” you ask, careful not to sound accusatory. You are not accusing him of anything, you are only curious.

“I did not mean to infringe on your privacy,” he returns.

“This forest is your home,” you reason. The shape gives a slow shake of his horned head.

“It is home to everyone,” he says, “especially to those who need somewhere safe to cry.”

“Thank you,” you nod, “but have not answered me.”

“Longer than you would be comfortable with,” he replies, “I am sorry.”

“That’s a little vague,” you say.

“Not to me,” he says, “I have seen you here before. Not often, but I have.”

“Oh,” you pass your sleeve over your left eye once more, “I meant tonight, but I appreciate the truth.”

It’s becoming easier to control the way your chest moves. The compulsive need to breathe quickly slows with your heart rate. You are not calm, but you are managing.

“You looked happy before,” he says, “the last time you were here.”

“The last time I was here, things were---” you sigh, dropping your hand and your head. Though you remember very suddenly the dangers of doing so. But when your eyes return quickly to the shape’s again, you notice no change in his appearance. “They were different.”

“They were better?” he asks. Defeated, you nod.

“I am so tired,” you let out a slow breath.

“If you slept here,” he begins, “no one else would bother you. That is a promise.”

“And you keep your promises,” you state, knowing better than to insult him by phrasing that as a question.

“I do,” he says, “the grass is comfortable, the trees keep out most of the rain. Every night I have known life, I have spent it on the floor of a forest.”

“That sounds nice,” you admit. But you are not so foolish as to blindly trust visitors. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Is it very difficult to be there?” he cocks his head to the side, the moonlight falling on a sharp cheekbone. A shadow pools there, you stare with more curiosity than perhaps you ought. The shape doesn’t seem to mind.

“It is,” you reply, “it’s quite lonely, too. Even when I’m spoken to, I feel alone.”

The visitor hums, the sound like the wind against tree boughs. Could he understand?

“I am here,” he says, “for what it is worth.”

You pause, considering his eyes that have not left yours once. Not even to blink. They are a strange colour, glassy but focused very intently on the curve of your face. They look, you consider, like the yellow moon that hangs so close to the edge of the forest.

Round and wide and curious, he stares at you. Not as one might stare at an insect, but as an interesting person.

“So am I,” you reply. And a hesitant smile of your own joins his.

“You have family,” he says, “friends who love you?” and the question at the end cuts like a knife.

“I have nobody,” you say, “though a few would likely search for me. It would be out of habit.”

“Habit?” he asks.

“Because I would do the same for them,” you explain, “my friends and I look after each other. But we’re not very close.”

“You need not be afraid of me,” he says. And that otherworldly smile returns, but it does little to dissuade the butterflies in your stomach.

The shape moves a bit closer, until only his horns are silhouetted against the inky sky. You can see him a bit better, though his lower body still remains a mystery.

You find yourself looking closely at his hands, searching the dirt and grass stains for signs of blood or cruelty. You find neither.

“I am not afraid,” you say, following a shiver.

“Yes, you are,” he says, “I am sorry. I frighten people, I know. But you need not reassure me that you shall be looked for.”

“Force of habit,” you say, “I’ve been told stories all my life, advised to be careful about what I say to visitors.”

“I understand. It is wise for you to follow that advice, but I will not hurt you,” he says.

“And you keep your promises,” you repeat, the smile once again curling on the corners of your mouth.

He surprises you with a laugh, the sound fills your chest even by proxy. As full and soft as his voice, the shape’s laugh makes you feel whole. It isn’t cold any more, you realize. A familiarity blooms in the way he speaks to you already. Perhaps he truly does understand the need for companionship.

You shift a little on the log, deciding to believe him. Not trust, not yet, but to believe.

“I am afraid, but I’m not scared of you,” you say, “would you sit?”

“Can you be both at the same time?” he asks, though he starts forward towards where you are. You’ve straightened up, your cheeks have dried. That pleases him. 

“I am afraid of what would hurt me, of the stories I’ve been told. But you are not like the stories, are you?” you ask. The shape slowly shakes his head. He sinks down beside you, with not a creak from the wood beneath.

“I try not to be,” he admits.

“The woods are lovely,” you say, “I cannot blame visitors for wishing to protect them. It should be protected.”

“But not from you,” he replies, “remember, this is also your home.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you confess.

“Perhaps not, but you do choose to come here every so often. Why?” he cocks his head to the side again, a strand of dark hair falls over his shoulder, having come loose from where it was gathered into a low plait at the back of his neck.

“No one knows me here,” you say, “except for you. And don’t apologize, I don’t dislike that.”

“You do not?” he straightens his neck again. His eyes widen a fraction, as does your smile.

“I forgive you for watching me. I know you meant no harm,” and the visitor nods. “I come here because I am unknown, I can be myself. I have no obligations here. The sounds and sights are never too much, the moonlight is never too bright.”

“Elsewhere you feel overwhelmed,” the shape summarizes. You nod.

“Precisely. And I sit on that feeling until I have no choice but to cry,” it is harder to admit out loud than you like. But in his bright, yellow eyes you find some form of agreement.

He really is quite handsome, you note the longer you’re allowed to look. And though you are less worried about when to blink around him, you find no evidence to suggest he is changing his shape. You suppose that a visitor with ill intent, looking to ensnare a foolish human would choose a less challenging mask.

The visitor is not quite right, unearthly as his beauty may be. His unbroken stare is a colour no mortal thing could ever have. His hair is braided, yes, but this close you can tell a brush has never touched it. What you can see of his ears is sharply triangular at the ends, rather than rounded. Dirt and dust are caked under his fingernails, you wonder if he might be a gravedigger.

But no blood, nor memory of blood pools at the corners of his thin mouth. His lips are not tinged with pale blue the way corpses are. While he is wan and waxy, he does not carry the chill that wraps around you. He may not be fully separate from the night, but he does not seem to belong to it.

“Who are you?” you ask. You’ve spoken at length about your sadness, but it has never felt so far away as it does now. The shape’s smile falters for just a moment.

“I am not certain,” he replies.

“You and me both,” you try to find his grin again, giving him your own so that he will not worry. “I only ask because---”

“Because there is something sinister about me,” he finishes. And he nods, as if he has heard it before. His head dips a fraction, turning from you. All the better see the horns that sprout from it.

They are long and black as his hair, arching back from his brow. They curve, just once and end in a delicate point. And yet he moves as if they are barely a hindrance, with grace that would accompany experience.

“Quite the opposite,” you reply, “I have never heard of anyone like you.”

“I am not a gravedigger,” he replies, “and I am not a monster.”

“No,” you agree, “you don’t eat people, living or dead?”

He curls his lip in disgust rather than answering, it makes you choke on a small giggle. The shape turns back to you, as confused by the sound as you were when he laughed. There is similar awe in his face.

“Then you could be a forest spirit,” you try, “that would make sense.”

“It is possible,” he concedes, “but I do not know. I have been alone for as long as I can remember.”

“That’s so sad,” you speak without thinking, usually a dangerous game. But the shape is unoffended by the obvious pity in your voice. You’ve given him plenty to pity you for, after all. “Do you speak to other people in the forest very often?”

“I have, but never frequently,” he replies. You still do not trust him, but his slight anxiety appears to match your own. As much as he belongs here, it appears he is not sure if he belongs here with you.

He stays a safe distance from you on the log, you shift a little closer. Though your cheeks still sting and the whites of your eyes are still red, you feel less lost in your misery. Less alone.

“I wish I never had to leave,” you sigh, “I could sit in this glade and watch the sky move forever and ever.”

“I have done so,” he says, “it is a very good way to spend one’s time. I enjoy it.”

You trust that to be right, at least. Still, for all his flawless strangeness and otherworldly beauty, he seems very lonely. He’s unhappy.

“I wish---” you start, but cut yourself off. 

“I could steal you,” he says, so suddenly that you wonder how long he’s been holding it back.

“Steal me?” you ask, turing to the shape with an arched brow. But you do not, in fact, sound repulsed.

“You would not have to return home if I did. You could stay here,” he reasons. Taken aback, you smile for the confusion.

“Have you stolen many people?” you ask.

“No,” he says with a firm shake of his head.

“Is it a great honour?” a teasing tone creeps into your voice, your smile turning impish. The visitor smiles too, as if your joy gives him joy by proxy.

“I think it would be my honour, as you would be my guest,” he explains. 

“But why take me?” you ask, resisting the urge to dismiss this completely as some sort of joke.

“So that you will not cry,” he says. And the faraway solemness in his voice stuns you to silence for a moment. 

“Lots of people cry, lots of people are afraid,” you try. He shakes his head.

“But you are here, I am here. Your home is here,” he says. You make a sound, like a sob but softer and more amused. Bewildered.

“Is it allowed?” you know the rules in part, never to accept food from visitors or stay too long. But he isn’t like the creatures in your grandmother’s stories. And if he is, you might be willing to take the risk. Going home with this exchange behind you feels wrong.

“I do not know, I have never offered before,” he admits. You give a slow sigh.

“Are you afraid? There may be consequences,” you try to rationalize why it could never be, and the way his face falls is heartbreaking.

“I am lonely,” he confirms, “nothing else.”

“I was worried you were,” you say. You look at him, horns and all in the moonlight. You dip your head and try to catch his big, yellow eyes. He looks back with no hesitation, like he was hoping for you.

“So, will you stay with me?” your visitor asks. His face softens, more vulnerable now than you’ve seen before. And you thought you had known it all. If this is a lie, you might like to be lied to.

“Right here?” you say, foolishly. His reedy laugh fills your chest again.

“Perhaps not only here, not all the time,” he replies, still looking happy. “I could take you to the places that I like best.”

“I wouldn’t mind staying in the forest,” you consider, pulling your eyes away. The circle of woods around you feels far bigger than before, more free and ready to explore. There is excitement under your tongue. 

Your visitor hears it, he leans in just a bit with your back turned. He couldn’t help it if he wanted to, his mind is already pushing against the confines of his skull. It’s such an old mind, such an old skull. And it has been too long since another voice occupied it the way that yours does.

When you look back to him, you are not afraid. He watches your face very intently, ready to see fear or watery sadness return. He dreads both,  he cannot stop himself from saying,

“And I would not mind your staying, say that you will,” your visitor does not know if he has breath the way humans do, but you have taken his. It will be so hard to part with if you decline. 

To his immortal joy, you lean in a little closer as well. Your shoulders slouch, you relax.

“Where is your most favourite place?” you ask, distracting him from the clutter of his desperation for a moment. 

“Along the bank of the mirror pond, it is not far due east from here,” he replies. It is hard not to smile when thinking of it. The perfect circle of still water, flanked by willow trees and daisy clusters. You might like it there.

“I haven’t been swimming since I was a little girl,” you admit. It’s almost sheepish, embarrassed that such a mundane joy has evaded you.

“You could again,” he suggests, brightening further. Until your visitor’s enthusiasm is dulled by his own hand, worried at reminding you of whatever dreadful situation you’ve come from. “But I would not make you.”

“Do you promise?” you cock your head to the side this time, tilting your head back a fraction to appreciate the full length of his horns.

“I do,” he insists. He would like to have an understanding with you, to understand you. The grass can keep his promises, but it never speaks back.

Your visitor looks so hopeful, you’re shocked by the realization that it may be mirrored on your own face. You are just as desperate, searching for a reason you could say yes. It’s right there, hiding just at the back of your throat. Another word from him and it will come.

He is made of smoke, you’re sure. Of dirt and red clay. Of pine needles and the daisies that you saw when you tried to get thoroughly lost in the woods. And of a kind thought or ten. He is so very sweet, it seems right.

“If you offer and I accept, is that still stealing?” you state your question, the final one before you answer. You’ve decided on that.

You reach into his lap, over thin knees that appear under heavy fabric. You did not see it before for the shadows, but he wears a cloak of green canvas--- so dark as to be almost mistaken for black. His dirt-caked hand, boney and cold from the night air rests against his thigh until you pick it up.

He fits his palm to yours as best he can, it is good enough. 

He smiles, showing his small fangs. You give his hand a squeeze, hoping to warm him. But, you remember, you will have a while to do so. Slowly, you stand and he follows.

“I have no idea,” your shape says.

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Reunion - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - The Journey (Previous Chapter)

Rated: T

Fandom: Final Fantasy 7 Remake

Pairing: Zack Fair x Aerith Gainsborough (Zerith)

Summary: Zack (and Cloud's) journey back to Aerith after the change of fate fight in the Midgar Wastes...

WARNING: Strong language, brutal violence and references to torture.

...

Fanfiction.net

A03

...

Zack Fair had no fucking clue how he was still alive.

There were literally thousands of Shin-Ra troopers ready and willing to end his life and Zack, doing the only thing he could to protect Cloud, fought them all until he was miraculously the last one standing. The ex-SOLDIER First-Class running on absolutely nothing but pure rage and adrenaline that was quickly depleting; if there had only been a few more troopers with decent aim, Zack doubted he'd still be breathing right now, let alone standing.

Heart hammering with leftover adrenaline, head throbbing, arms and hands shaking from where they'd held the Buster Sword in a white-knuckled grip (it was the only thing still keeping him vertical), Zack stood in shock while staring at the wasteland filled with bodies.

"Wait…was that all of them?"

One thing was for damn sure, Zack had never remembered being more exhausted in his entire life.

Living on the run while dragging around a comatose man for - hell, was it already over a year now? Caring for all of Cloud's many needs, the constant movement, lousy diet of whatever the fuck he could forage, catch and cook (burn) with a Fire Materia, bathing in treacherous icy rivers, no actual decent sleep when Shin-Ra is breathing down your neck and using everything in their disposal to try and catch your ass, and not to mention that sick fuck Hojo's twisted experiments and pickling in a tank of Mako for four years didn't help anyone either. Especially poor Cloud who was still suffering from Mako addiction, withdrawal and still stuck in a damn comatose-like state…

But this fight…

Zack was certain, as he ruffled Cloud's hair one last time before walking away, that this would be his last stand.

His final sacrifice in this damned world and it was all to protect Cloud.

Even if he had died, it would have been worth it. If he'd only saved Cloud, that was more heroic than anything he'd done in his entire life. He would have accepted death and gone to the Lifestream with a smile on his face as long as his buddy was safe ('we're friends, right?'). And if Cloud had run into Aerith later on to tell her "hi" for him, that would be good too...

Yet somehow, Zack was here still standing and drawing breath (albeit it, not very well which was probably quite worrying but Zack was trying not to think about that right now) considering he should have been nothing more than a bullet-ridden corpse.

How?

Why?

He couldn't tell you.

After he noticed that all of the seemingly endless troops were nothing more than bloodied bodies dotting the landscape and he was dragging his half-dead ass over to Cloud to make sure his buddy was okay, he was suddenly thrown to the ground.

So certain it was the final troopers or some goons in a helicopter coming to finish him off, Zack lifted his head. If he was to die, he'd go down facing his murderers but instead of more barrels of guns, he saw the strange clouds over Midgar disappear with a thundering boom and a flash of light. Upon realizing that he wasn't going to die, he somehow drug himself back to his feet and was even able to put the Buster Sword away. Face toward the sky, he watched the blinding light clear and what looked like flickering stars surrounding Midgar before disappearing into the bright blue above.

...The fuck was that?

Something had happened - what it was, he didn't know and really didn't care to find out until him and Cloud were safe under Midgar's steel-plated sky.

Regroup.

What Zack needed to do immediately was grab Cloud and leave.

Even if he'd managed to annihilate a fair bit of Shin-Ra's army, they definitely wouldn't give up that easily and Zack had gone too damn far to quit now. Shaking arms, wobbling knees, sore aching - well, fucking everything - and a headache that had him seeing spots in the edges of his vision was sure as hell not enough to keep him from stopping now.

Oh.

And Aerith.

Zack needed to get to Aerith if it was the last damn thing he ever did and almost dying didn't change that. With that destination in mind, the ex-SOLDIER continued towards where he'd stashed Cloud before he'd confronted the troopers.

"Hey Cloud, you see that?" Zack chuckled a bit breathlessly as he turned the corner to where the blonde was safely nestled in the cliff's dusty crevice. "That was pretty damn cool, right? Fuck yeah. I still got it."

Cloud of course didn't reply other than the slightest grunt as Zack heaved Cloud up to his feet - right before falling straight back onto his ass.

Ow! Fucking hell!

"Oops. Sorry Spike... Alright, let's try that again." Zack took a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth before he finally got Cloud and himself back to his feet.

A few more false starts trying to walk in a coordinated pattern later, Zack finally recovered some of his breath. As much as he despised the Mako in his body (SOLDIER is nothing but a den of monsters) and Hojo (damn that fucker to the deepest, darkest pits of hell after he has the most painful, prolonged death imaginable, preferably at his own hands), at least his recovery time was much better than it ever was even as a First-Class SOLDIER.

Before long, Zack had gotten Cloud's arm over his shoulders while steadily making it through the last leg of their journey toward Midgar, the outline of the city getting closer and closer by the minute. As they neared the city with the steel sky, the sun disappeared behind the clouds.

It started to rain and Zack smiled.

Sure, the ground may now be slippery as fuck but with the soothing, cooling droplets steadily washing away the death, blood and sweat that clung to him for too damn long, he couldn't find it in him to care.

"Almost there, Cloud. We're almost there..."

<><><><><>

After hours of nonstop walking, they sneaked into the city when the sun was nearly kissing the horizon line.

Zack never imagined it was possible, but seeing the broken down slums and filthy streets was a fucking damned beautiful sight for sore eyes.

"Wow. Who'da thunk I'd actually miss this hellhole? Damn, it's good to be back." Zack chuckled at Cloud's sudden grunt as they walked steadily through Sector 8 - only 3 more sectors to go til Aerith - when a voice rang out from behind them.

"Hey! You there! SOLDIER!"

Zack froze and turned to glance over his shoulder.

The sight of a familiar uniform, a single guard - an infantry man approaching - had Zack react instantly. The ex-SOLDIER First-Class was running on nothing but pure protective instinct as the man stopped a mere foot away and abruptly reached for Cloud's limp form and the world was silent other than the blood rushing in his ears.

"Whoa...Is he okay?" was the question that went unheard by the raven-haired SOLDIER.

Zack didn't even think.

Just struck with brutal precision.

No mercy - they weren't shown any - so why should he?

Mako-enhanced muscles reacted instantaneously, pulling the Buster Sword off his back and plunging the blade straight through the man's entire chest cavity and out of his back in the blink of an eye. The sound of fabric, flesh, organs and bone ripping apart around the massive sword was drowned out by the pounding of his pulse thumping in his ears and his desperate need to protect Cloud at any cost.

...But then reality hit.

Zack's eye twitched, adrenaline faded immediately and he was suddenly frozen as he watched the man standing on his own for only a split second once the sword was removed. There wasn't even a grunt or cry exiting his bloody lips before the only-moments-before-living-breathing-man was nothing more than a crumpled corpse lying in a pool of his own blood, viscera and organs spilling onto the dirty street. He didn't mean to disembowel him…

"...O-Oh, fuck…no, I-I didn't…I…" Zack whispered when he realized what he'd done and his veins filled with ice.

What had he DONE?

If they were discovered and re-captured because of his recklessness…

No…

"FUCK!" he growled before using his Materia to cremate the man's body before flinging the limp Cloud and the Buster Sword over his back and ran like the fires of hell were licking at his heels and tears he wasn't even aware he was crying trickled like rain down his face.

'I'm so sorry…' <><><><><>

Zack kept running and running and running until he collapsed in an alleyway in Sector 6. So close to Aerith… but what Zack had just done had ice pooling in his stomach and he was sprawled on his hands and knees completely paralyzed with nausea and anxiety.

For what reason, he really didn't know.

Zack had been killing since he entered SOLDIER at the ripe age of 15 - it was kill or be killed and while Zack didn't enjoy ending lives whatsoever, it was sometimes necessary (if killing could ever be justified).

Hell, Zack had literally killed thousands mere hours ago.

Blood spilled and bodies cooling before grotesquely bloating underneath the unrelenting sun in the Midgar wastes and he barely blinked an eye as he fled the violent scene with Cloud. Among those bodies may have been friends at some point, colleagues, and someone he shared lunch with in the cafeteria could have been among the troopers he'd just ruthlessly slaughtered. So fucking many parents, wives, sons and daughters getting the news their loved one wasn't coming home all because of him…

Zack knew they would have killed him too given the chance but self-defense seemed a shaky alibi. It didn't sit right at all so he had to keep reminding himself that he did it for Cloud - because he'd rather kill a thousand more than ever allow that insane Hojo to get his grimy hands on his best friend again.

Turning away from Cloud's murky eyes that had been staring at him (...was that concern?), Zack crawled away from the blonde, hunched over behind a pile of trash and retched. The burn of bile coating his tongue and throat on the way out (he couldn't even remember the last truly edible meal he'd had) until he was left gasping for air and spatting any remnant stomach acid onto the concrete below.

Heart hammering painfully and tears burning his eyes, Zack suddenly stood to unsteady legs and began frantically pacing in the alley.

The abrupt ache in his heaving chest as he was forcefully reminded of Cloud's unrelenting screams and heartbreaking cries in that damn lab as Zack was strapped down to a cold gurney and could do fucking nothing to help him. All his First-Class SOLDIER enhancements and strength meant absolutely fucking nothing as he was forced to witness Cloud's unbearable torture. Zack mindlessly grabbed at his wrists where the leather and metal burned, blistered and electrified his skin as he tried over and over and over to escape - to get Cloud OUT - there may not even be scars left behind on his wrists but Zack could still feel everything done to him.

Hojo gleefully torturing both of them day after day, month after month and year after fucking year... They were both dissected - autopsied like soulless bodies - except they were both alive and conscious without a dose of anesthesia during it. Zack brutally shuddered; the sensations of that sick fuck Hojo's bare hands moving around, digging, touching, prodding his trembling and pulsating organs as he laid there with his chest splayed open still had his entire body shake with nearly unbearable tremors. All the injections, the mind-numbing pain, but nothing compared to the helplessness he felt the entire time as Cloud deteriorated.

Specimen C and Specimen Z.

No real names - they weren't even human to Hojo and his team of demented fucks. Him and Cloud were mere playthings to a madman all under the guise of twisted science, and Shin-Ra fucking funded it. So seeing all those troopers spread over the hills, knowing damn well, if given the chance, were going to take him and Cloud back to that lab…

Zack had no choice.

So he killed and killed and killed ("Come and get it!") under the flimsy guise of honor and dreams…heh. Director Lazard was right - becoming a hero truly was unobtainable…

And now he just murdered a uniformed man in cold blood who may have only been trying to see if Cloud was okay…how many more would die by his hands before Shin-Ra just left them the fuck alone?

…Maybe he was a monster…

"...Z... Z-Z-Zack…" Cloud's barely audible voice broke through the agony gripping his heart.

Cloud.

Oh fuck, Cloud!

Zack immediately ran over to where he'd left the blonde slumped over near a filthy trash can.

"I-I'm here, Spike. I'm here," Zack soothed, running his gloved fingers through Cloud's Chocobo looking tufts and he flinched at the few knots he found there.

Zack started to sob when Cloud leaned into his touch. He quickly ripped his gloves off of him - clean from rainwater but he still saw all the fresh and dried blood staining them regardless. He took a calming breath and wiped his face on his forearm before he ran his now bare fingers gently, always gently, through Cloud's hair - one of the few things in life that comforted him.

"Fuckin' hell, buddy, you need a bath - and yes, don't give me that look! I got a nose too! I know I stink!" Zack chuckled brokenly, he smiled but it fell flat as Cloud didn't reply…per usual. But hearing his name in Cloud's soft voice was such a relief after nothing but his own voice and the demonic cackles of Dr. Hojo in his head for so damn long.

It was hope in its purest form and that's what Zack needed now.

Cloud needed him and fuck his own existential crisis, Cloud came first!

…And Aerith of course but that would have to wait til they at least got some new threads…and a bath.

Definitely a bath.

Shaking his head of the lingering thoughts and nightmares that would haunt him to his grave, Zack pulled himself and Cloud to his feet and kept moving forward.

<><><><><>

Zack wasn't proud of it, but stealing clothes off a clothesline was the least of his sins in the past 24 hours.

They had plenty of gil but after he killed that guard (which he refused to think about too hard), Zack was weary of going anywhere where more people were around in the fear of being recognized and reported. He jacked some clothes that were relatively his and Cloud's size off a wire and was sure to leave plenty of gil attached with the remaining clothespin before disappearing back into the shadows.

Realistically, Zack knew to remain unseen, he should ditch his Buster Sword along with his First-Class SOLDIER uniform, but regardless of instincts telling him otherwise, Zack refused to let go of it. It was all he had left of his mentor, Angeal and he would keep it with him til he could pass it on to someone else or he died first.

Either way, he was never going to leave it behind.

After he gave himself a quick wash from a clean-ish rain barrel he'd found behind some (closed for the night) commercial businesses, he dressed in more formfitting black jeans than he was used to and a v-neck gray sweater but beggars couldn't be choosers. For the final touch, he ripped the pauldrons off his SOLDIER belt and suspenders before putting the leather straps back on over his newly acquired top and put the Buster Sword back in its rightful place.

Himself situated, Zack washed Cloud down mechanically with a damp extra shirt before dressing him. The blue jeans were a bit too big for his thin hips but one of Zack's two belts did the trick. The shirt was a button-up that annoyed him to no end but once he was fully dressed and back in his old boots, Zack sat back on his heels and smiled at his blonde friend. Cloud looked at him, a small bit of lucid-ness in those bright blue eyes was very promising.

"Looking good there, Cloudy, even if you are getting a little too skinny!" Zack said brightly as he pulled the blonde to his feet, "Ya know, you're gonna love Aerith, she is one of the best cooks I know! So don't worry, buddy, a few weeks of her food and you'll be back to a healthy weight in no time! Heh. Ooh! By the way, did I tell you how I met her?" Zack didn't even wait for any semblance of a response (not that there'd be any) before happily relayed the story as they continued walking.

Zack had already talked Cloud's ears clean off about Aerith and told this particular story over a dozen times by now, but talking about her made her more real and for now, that's what he needed.

Five years.

It'd been five years since he seen her - three years longer than they'd even known each other. And to know that the whole time he'd been gone - she'd waited for him…well, up until her last…and final letter.

'What do you mean, final!?'

"Please wait for me just a little longer, Aerith…" he whispered under his breath as they finally made it into Sector 5. <><><><><>

There was the church.

Zack painfully swallowed back the sudden lump that clogged his throat.

It was exactly as he remembered.

Perhaps a bit more worn in the passage of time (five whole damn years…), but the same nonetheless.

The atmosphere of warmth, safety, home, and Aerith still lingered like the intoxicating scent of the flowers she grew and it was like experiencing that first bit of sunshine on his face after being trapped in Hojo's lab for over four years all over again.

It was just the boost he needed to walk the last block.

As he got closer to the building, a part of him questioned if she would even be here at this late hour. Not to mention if she even wanted to see him after all this time had passed without a single word…no letter, no phone call, and no visit like he'd promised over five years ago. As doubtful as he was that she would still be waiting for him, something kept pulling him toward her church, up the steps and in front of those massive double doors.

Zack kept Aerith waiting long enough, he wouldn't do it anymore.

Even if she wanted nothing to do with him and had moved on with someone new, he'd respect her wishes. It would utterly shatter whatever was left of his heart inside his chest considering all he had done and went through to come back to her but he loved her (and always would) and would want whatever made her happy even if it meant to continue to have him out of her life…

Besides, Zack wouldn't blame her.

He wasn't the same man that left her - couldn't even pretend to be the same happy-go-lucky teenager with stars in his eyes wanting nothing more than to be a hero.

For who was he now?

A monster wanting the undeserved love of an angel?

Why would she even want him anymore?

Disheartened, Zack felt his throat tighten and almost pulled away from the door and ran the other way…but he had to see her… even if it was only one more time, perhaps just long enough to say goodbye...

Taking another few deep breaths to prepare himself mentally, Zack made sure Cloud was secure with one arm before reaching for the handle.

"Welp. Here goes nothing… Wish me luck, Cloud," he muttered under his breath before he grabbed the metal handle and pushed open the doors. Damn, the doors even had the same loud creaking noise, he remembered with a smile, before he slowly inched his way inside. Cloud's sudden stumble over a plank of wood had Zack turning his attention to the blonde for only a moment until he steadied himself - but then he turned toward where her flower garden had been and Zack finally lifted his head.

And… there she was…

Everything in his entire world stopped upon seeing her standing there and it was as if those five years trapped between them dissipated into dust... Zack's chest felt so damn tight (probably from forgetting to breathe) as he furiously took in every single feature he'd missed so damn much - and…

Wow...

Aerith was more beautiful than he remembered.

Doe-like emerald eyes, auburn ringlets framing her gorgeous face and the softest lips he'd ever kissed...even all those years ago, she had already been the most gorgeous woman he ever met, but now… Heh. She definitely wasn't the 18 year old teenage girl he'd foolishly left but a 23 year old woman now and he'd never felt more love for anyone in his entire life than at this very moment. More than her physical beauty, it was her passion, kindness, compassion, and genuine love she had for those she cared about - and he hoped with every fiber in his being that she would forgive him... All the intense feelings he'd had for her that he had to bury and treasure to keep him sane these past five years of hell came flooding back like a damn typhoon pooling through his entire body.

He wasn't even sure how he was still standing.

Zack just prayed he wasn't too late but his tongue refused to budge to even mutter so much as her name as he watched her eyes widen upon finally recognizing him. His heart throbbed in anticipation and anxiety of what she would say or do - but it only lasted a split second before he was forced to watch her drop her - wait, was that a staff infused with Materia?

...Aerith had a weapon?

But before he could follow that train of thought, Zack let out a strangled gasp when he realized that being occupied with Cloud, he couldn't catch Aerith as she suddenly crumbled to her knees.

[movedyoakkemae]

ignore me, i’m archiving this thread bc... i love it. DO NOT REBLOG.

kid ( @kaivoleur ) & conan.

kid: 

    “ Have we talked about the moral implications and-or ramifications of putting infants in consistent, casual proximity with criminals and corpses yet? ”

conan: 

     conan tilts his head, almost birdlike, to the side upon that remark, briefly uncertain whether or not kid is making a joke about his stature and the rate of which he sees homicide cases or if he’s talking about the shōnentantei-dan and their current propensity to witness murders even WITHOUT conan in the direct vicinity.

     deciding to take it as the latter, he remarks with much self-recrimination, ‘ the kids are pretty good at bouncing back now – better than they did even a few months ago, but, yeah, i do wish they weren’t quite getting so used to it. dad used to take me to crime scenes when i was their age, but i definitely didn’t see the variety and intensity of crimes at the same frequency they did at their age. ’

     a wry grin touches his lips as he states, ‘ – y’know, they’ve even taken to talking about murder cases they’ve witnessed over lunch now ? nothing’s quite like hearing those three talk about the best ways they’ve seen a body being dumped – either through hydrochloric acid, chopping the body to pieces, or even just dumping a body into a river – while the other kids and our teacher are hanging onto their every word. those kids are going to be scary once they’re our age. ’

     ( he’s also continuously widely surprised that their parents would still let them go onto trips with him and agasa-hakase. conan’s pretty sure most parents would have IMMEDIATELY told the kids never to talk to conan again. he’s glad they didn’t because as much as the kids annoy him, he does genuinely like them, but… still. it probably would have been better for them to have been cut off from conan earlier on when witnessing one crime would have been in a once in a blue moon experience instead of literally every time they went on one of their weekly outings. )

kid: 

    KID hadn’t expected a serious reply, but that isn’t to say he’s not prepared for it. He quirks a brow at ‘ our age ’ and debates the merits of correcting the detective — on one hand, quipping about Conan’s current state is never not funny, but on the other, he’d really prefer to try and complete the night without getting a soccer ball power-kicked to his face, so.

“ Detectiveness must be infectious, ” he says instead, because he’s not in a particularly dodgy mood. First officers, then teens, and now children; he’s never going to be free of them, huh? The thought brings a smile to his face — he wouldn’t have it any other way, of course. The chase is pointless if it doesn’t attract attention, and ( even worse ) boring if some do-gooder isn’t trying to get in his way. “ I’m not going to have to deal with them on a regular basis, am I? I think even one tiny detective is grating enough on Nakamori-keibu’s nerves. ”

The thief doesn’t even want to think of what a group of five infuriatingly sharp children would do to the old man. ( Wait. Five? He pauses for a split instant, turning the detective’s words over in his head — he’d definitely said three, and three-plus-one… is one short. Hm. A thought for later, then. )

“ Hopefully, by the time they reach my age, we’ll both have everything… figured out, ” KID muses, a hint of a grin reaching his eyes. “ Not that I don’t enjoy all you young detectives making valiant attempts to slow me down, of course, but you know how it is. ” Probably not, but KID makes no further effort to explain.

conan: 

    ‘ a “regular” basis ? probably not. your heists usually run too late at night, and their parents tend to be pretty good at setting a bedtime for them. ’ he’s pretty sure ran’s given up on setting him a bedtime considering all of the cases he takes and how some of them may last into the middle of the night. ‘ and i think nakamori-keibu is getting used to me. ’

    he hadn’t been at first – in fact, nakamori-keibu had been downright hostile to the occasional addition of conan to the ranks, but, well, one can’t deny constant results. he’s pretty sure nakamori-keibu likes conan better than shinichi, at any rate, but, to be fair, shinichi only appeared once and immediately assumed control of the officers. conan’s only just come the closest to catching kid and getting jewels back as quickly as possible.

    conan rolls his eyes at kid’s unsubtle emphasis of separating their ages ( and, as such, picking fun of conan’s current predicament. if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s pretty sure kid doesn’t know the full story, he’d get a lot more pissed than he does ). ‘ just for that, i’m making sure the others get new watches, belts, and shoes, ’ he threatens.

    but, after a pause and the amused look crossing his face, it’s clear that conan has realised what an interesting and entertaining idea it would probably make. after all, the shōnentantei-dan were getting better at traps all the time, and, well, their soccer skills have also gotten better too just by playing with conan all of the time. hm… he might owe haibara a purse or something, but it might be worth it just to see kid having to dodge five high speed soccer balls.

kid: 

    “ I’m surprised you haven’t taught them your curfew-eschewing ways yet, ” KID remarks blandly, tucking his hands into his pockets. He’s been tempted multiple times to push the heist back further into the night — mostly because a sleepy Task Force is an easier to handle Task Force — but he really needs the crowds of an accessible hour to pull off some of his best tricks. ( Besides, much as he declines to admit it, he does need sleep too. Sometimes. When he doesn’t have anything else to do. So never, basically. )

Maybe if he got more sleep, he wouldn’t be accidentally inspiring his critics with awful, no-good, very bad ideas. One tantei-kun is enough, thank you very much, he doesn’t need an entire entourage of children power-kicking soccer balls at him. KID manages to suppress a shudder at the thought, merely letting his grin ice over a mere degree.

“ Don’t even think about it, ” he says with just a hint of dourness, although it’s obviously a little too late for that. “ Holding heists at reasonable hours is not worth getting pelted by a hail of weaponized sports equipment. Don’t make me push heists back to 3 AM and cheerfully let Nakamori-keibu know it’s your fault he’s not getting his much-needed beauty sleep. Hakuba would probably actively attempt to murder me, too, ” he adds as an afterthought. Especially if he did it during finals week — ooh, but now that thought’s tempting. Kaito doesn’t particularly need to excel, he just needs to pass, and he could do that in his sleep; Hakuba, however… Well. He can’t imagine the detective settling for anything less than his own best work. “ Hey, if I ever get murdered at my own heist, would you still investigate it? ”

It’s a question he voices with the light-hearted tone of a joke, but something in his expression — shifts, his gaze sharpening. As though halfway through the question, he’d realized what had actually come out of his mouth, and for an instant it’s not Hakuba on mind but Snake and a sniper’s scope. But the words weigh too heavily for his liking, so he pushes on with somewhat less-than-natural joviality, “ Or does being a criminal excuse me from your jurisdiction or whatever? I don’t know how you detectives work. ” ( A lie, for the most part. )

conan: 

   conan waves a hand as if to wipe the idea from both of their brains. ‘ you already know about it, so it wouldn’t make for such a good trap anymore anyway, and you’d be careful to look out for new watches, belts, and shoes for the kids. ’ now, the task force, on the other hand… that was definitely an idea to save for later.

   ( he also notes the slight familiarity of kid calling him “hakuba”. nakamori-keibu gets, well, “nakamori-keibu”, and conan gets “tantei-kun” and, on occasion, “meitantei”, so why does hakuba get called by his last name ? it may be nothing, but he notes it either way. ).

   “hey, if i ever get murdered at my own heist, would you still investigate it?” the question seems light-hearted, coming from kid’s lips, a laugh at his own morality perhaps, but there’s something in his expression that shifts. conan’s eyes immediately narrow at the clue – it’s genuine, that shift of expression, judging from how kid tries to falsely lighten the air with, “or does being a criminal excuse me from your jurisdiction or whatever? i don’t know how you detectives work.”

   he had heard rumours of unidentified criminals moving around at kid heists, but he hadn’t personally seen any sign of them, so he had just dismissed them as rumours. now, conan wonders if he shouldn’t have. something to look into, definitely. if someone was trying to kill kid, in a way that he apparently thinks is possible given the question, conan needs to put a stop to it yesterday.

    ‘ idiot, ’ he deadpans, affecting an annoyed appearance, as if insulted by the question. ‘ if someone – however unlikely – managed to kill you, i’d hunt them down and make sure they’d get arrested. it doesn’t matter to me if you’re a thief or not – murder takes precedence over thieves any day, and criminals don’t deserve to die, no matter what th – anyone – might think. ’

    the slip comes from remembering asō seiji… they had murdered so many people, and still… conan had tried so hard ( and failed ) to save them.

    ( he has to close his eyes against the sudden memory of heat, and the same haunting tune playing in his ears. it’s a failure that still tastes bitter in his mouth, ash and smoke from the fire choking his lungs. shinichi thinks, for however long he’ll be alive, he’d never listen to moonlight sonata in the same way ever again ).

kid: 

    A laugh bubbles up to KID’s lips but doesn’t quite make it out of his mouth ( he could not say why, himself; relief? exasperation? he doesn’t know from where the laughter rises but he refuses to let it breach the surface ), and he wonders for a moment what the detective had been about to say before ‘ anyone ’ — but he lets him have his secrets, in the end. The thief lets only an amused breath escape, rocking his weight slightly, as though to leave, because this is already too much exposed in a single confrontation and he should leave before he lets himself slip too far. Or farther; maybe this is already too much.

But when the little detective closes his eyes, the thief holds himself still, because all of the sudden it is not the hilarity of his own possible doom that lingers over his thoughts. Rather, abject horror sours his amusement because if Conan goes after the crows at his heists, if he tips the balance so carefully maintained in the heists and manages to corner them…

Snake may be incompetent, but he’s still got BITE, and wild things are always most vicious with their backs to a wall.

    ( Meitantei is brilliant.               But so was Toichi, before he burned. )

“ Mm, good to know. But don’t hold your breath, ” KID says breezily, tearing his mind away from the old, old memory. “ I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. Try not to jump at shadows too much in the meantime, tantei-kun ~ ” He waits and makes sure to meet the detective’s gaze as he speaks, trying to convey the unspoken warning; just because he’d nudged a bit of confirmation about the… dangers associated with his moonlighting, doesn’t mean he wants Conan diving headfirst into it.

This is KID’s territory, and he’s got first dibs, so to speak. His way is a bit of a balancing act, trying to slowly key his critics in on what’s going on without alarming them or alarming Them, but maybe with this step, he can get a little closer to that end goal.

With a flick of the wrist, he reveals a grey marble in the palm of his hand. He lets it slip from his fingers, and when it hits the ground, it erupts in a cloud of smoke — and by the time that clears, KID’s gone.