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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Day 28, Post #1 by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: The Argument Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Gen Prompt: “Siblings: The only enemy you can’t live without” -Anonymous Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Mild language

When he was a child, Ron had sometimes sat secretly on the stairs, feet in slippers too big for him, teddy tucked under his arm, listening to the goings on in the kitchen. Often his sister or a brother or two would be with him. This was especially the case when there was an argument, because they were a nosy bunch of kids, and they would grin gleefully at one another as they heard their mother roar over some issue, like when Bill came home with his first tattoo, or Charlie had done something dangerous like climb on the roof, or the many, many, many things that Fred and George had done. They would gather on the stairs and snigger and delight in their siblings being in trouble - that it wasn't them, and usually it was over something hilarious too.

Today was quite different. The stairs were narrow, so Ginny was pressed right up against him, but she was gripping hold of his arm too. Behind them, Fred and George sat in grim, stony silence, their knees occasionally knocking the back of Ron's head, but, remarkably, none of them were squabbling.

'Is it so hard to just be happy for me?' Percy was bellowing, and that in itself was unusual, because it was never Percy in trouble.

'It's not about that,' Dad was bellowing back, 'are you so naive? Are you really so foolish-?' This was unusual too, because it wasn't usually Dad bellowing.

'Percy... Percy, we're just worried, we're just concerned...' Mum was sobbing. This was unusual, because she usually had a bit more fight in her, not this desperate pleading.

'You're so cynical, the pair of you-'

'We're realistic! You've been promoted well above your grade before the dust has settled on the inquiry-'

'STOP BRINGING UP THE INQUIRY!' Percy sounded quite deranged; the ferocity of his voice made Ginny jump slightly, and grip Ron's arm harder. 'That - wasn't - my - fault! That was the point of it! That PROVED I wasn't to blame, I was acquitted-'

'Yes, and we were delighted,' said Dad, and to Ron's astonishment, his words sounded bitingly sarcastic, 'but even so, you have to see that mass scandal is not usually a precursor to promotion!'

'He SAW something in me!'

'Yes, he did! He saw a potential spy! On our family - on Dumbledore-'

Percy let out a maniacal laugh, forced and sneering and sanctimonious, it made Ron wince as he heard it. 'And you say I'm arrogant?'

'We've never said you were arrogant-' Mum tried to chip in desperately, but Percy continued talking over her.

'You think you're important enough to warrant the Minister for Magic spying on you? You think he considers you in the same circle as Dumbledore? More to the point, you think Dumbledore truly respects the likes of you?'

'Fudge has been going round making it more than clear that anyone who supports Dumbledore can clear out their desks-'

'Utter rot-'

'-He knows I'm friendly with him, he knows I have advised the school on muggleborn inte-'

'No one cares!' Percy screamed. 'No one cares about that stuff! You're ludicrous!'

'Ludicrous?' Dad echoed, with an uncharacteristic scoff to his voice.

'Ludicrous! Not everything is a conspiracy, not everything has an anti-muggle agenda - I know what this is really about, you're embarrassed that your own son is rising above you, is succeeding where you haven't-'

'Percy!' Mum's gasp was so clear that Ron could easily imagine her hand leaping to her chest.

'I've had to struggle against your lousy reputation ever since I started! Do you know how embarrassing it is? Do you know what it's like having people ask if I'm related to the muggle-mad Weasley on Level Two-'

'That's enough,' said Dad coldly.

'I lie to them, d'you know that? I tell them we're only distantly related.'

'What the fuck?' Ron heard one of the twins whisper behind them. 'Is he serious?'

'I never imagined I had raised you to be so small-minded-' Dad was spitting back.

'It's baffling that you raised me at all! You, who has no ambition, no sense, no idea of how ridiculous you come across with your obsession with muggles - is it any wonder you've always been passed over for promotion-'

'-Because of bigotry!'

'-Any wonder you've left your children to grow up in poverty? To be humiliated by the failures of their father?'

'Stop it! Percy, stop it!' Mum was wailing, and whether it was Fred or George directly behind him Ron didn't know, but their knee was trembling against the back of his head.

'It's not failure, it's a matter of principle and integrity!' Dad roared back. 'There are more important things than gold, that's what we've always-'

'You are deluded! You are so blinded by your persecution complex, by your victimhood, that you cannot be happy for your son!' Percy’s voice was hoarse and raw, whether from tears or overexertion, Ron wasn’t sure. 'You can't bear to see him succeed where you failed! To see him make something of himself!'

'Why would I be happy watching my son be manipulated and used? Make no mistake, Percy - this is no achievement, this is Fudge playing you as a puppet - if you're ashamed of your background, that's your prerogative, but there's no denying this family is known to be close to Dumbledore and Harry, and Fudge is waging a vendetta against-'

‘You’re an idiot to run around with Dumbledore!’ snapped Percy. ‘He’s heading for trouble - gone completely power mad the last few years - you know full well his glory days are over. You’ll end up going down with him-’

‘Fudge is fighting a campaign against Dumbledore when he should be-’

‘I know where my loyalties lie, and it is not with my old teacher! It is with my employer, the leader of my government, with people who look at the facts!’

‘The facts are that Harry-’

'Yes - Harry - here we go,' snapped Percy. 'You rank the word of a child above the expert testimonies and mountains of evidence brought up by the inquiry, above your own boss - no wonder he thinks you're cracked. You’re determined to see conspiracy everywhere-’

‘How can you say that? You saw the aftermath of what happened, you saw him-’

‘I saw the actual dead boy, I saw Diggory!’ snapped Percy. ‘Think what his family is going through, their child’s death being used as a political quaffle-’

‘That is Fudge’s doing! That is his choice! He has chosen to make a mockery of Diggory, to disregard Harry-'

‘To question the story of a teenager,’ corrected Percy. His tone was cold and quiet, the kind of sanctimonious "I'm being the grown up here, actually" patience that Ron found unbearably aggravating. ‘The only evidence is his word, it’s not unreasonable to question a witness. In fact, it’s a perfectly standard part of due process.’

Ron’s growing anger was now twisted with a kind of lurching dread. The snide little comments in the Daily Prophet, which they had all blustered and raged and gasped in revolted disdain at over breakfasts for the past week, suddenly felt sinister. As he thought about it, Percy had never joined in… had always been silent…

‘Percy…’ said Mum, so faintly that, as one, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George all leaned forward to listen. ‘Percy, surely you… surely you believe him? Surely you can’t believe he deserves what they’re saying about him? He’s just a child - it’s like the whole world’s forgotten that he’s just a child.’

'Yes, he's just a child - so why should he be the centre of everything?' Percy demanded. 'Why should he shape our family? Impact our careers?'

'Percy… if you had seen him in the hospital wing, if you had looked into his eyes…'

'Mr Fudge was not convinced,' said Percy, as though that settled the matter.

‘Has he asked you about Harry?’ Dad asked abruptly. Beside Ron, Ginny was shaking. ‘Casually?’

‘I - no more than is to be expected when you have someone famous living under your roof-’

‘What did he ask? What did you say?’

They heard a brief, thick silence, and a sharp exhale of air. ‘He… he’s not relevant to this discussion. This is beyond - this isn’t the issue - the only evidence is his word, as I said-’

‘You don’t believe him.’ Dad’s voice was blank, stunned, quiet. ‘You… you know that boy, Percy.’

‘You don’t believe in me,’ said Percy, and Ron could hear his tears now, the slight thickness to his voice, the sniffs between words. ‘You’d rather believe in some ludicrous conspiracy theory from a teenager who thinks he sees You-Know-Who around every corner than believe that your own son might have worked hard, might be talented, might deserve his career. You’d really think so little of me.’

‘That’s not it. That’s not it at all,’ Dad said quietly, and Mum was crying loudly. ‘We just-’

‘I don’t care!’ said Percy harshly. ‘I don’t care what you think! Not any more! Years I’ve put up with it, years! I’m going - I’m gone - I don’t want to see either of you again - you’ve made it clear that you don’t have my interests at heart, this was your choice-’

‘What do you mean?’ Mum shrieked, and they could hear the scraping of chairs being moved aside, thundering footsteps, Mum begging-

The door was thrust open, and Percy stood for a moment in the hallway, looking up at the four of them sitting on the stairs. His expression was unreadable. Tear tracks shone from beneath his horn-rimmed glasses, and his mouth was a thin, grim line.

‘Move,’ he told them.

‘You’re being a right bellend,’ said Fred at once.

‘MOVE!’

They did not, and Mum had come running after Percy, hanging desperately onto his arm though he tried to shake her off. ‘Come on, Perce,’ she pleaded. ‘Come and sit down, let’s all cool off and talk about this-’

‘Get out of my way,’ Percy told his siblings once more, and now Ron stood.

‘Harry’s part of our family,’ he blurted out furiously.

‘He’s not, Ron,’ Percy growled. ‘He’s your friend, that doesn’t mean everything he says is right - move out my way.’

‘How can you say that!’ Ginny demanded. ‘What’s wrong with you? How can you say all these horrible things?’

Percy started climbing the stairs, pushing Ron aside and stepping over Ginny, furiously struggling past Fred and George who immediately made their bodies as big and awkward and gangling as they could imagine, shouting colourful insults at him as he pushed past and thundered up to his room.

‘He just needs to calm down,’ Mum was squeaking. ‘Go - go to your rooms, let me and Dad talk to him-’

‘No chance!’

‘I haven’t said my piece yet!’

He returned just a few moments later, carrying a bulging bag with a jumper sleeve trailing out, a little line of abandoned socks and a pair of underwear left on the stairs. ‘I’m going to stay with friends,’ he said.

‘You haven't got any,’ goaded George.

‘Be quiet, George!’ Mum wailed. ‘Percy-’

‘Then I’m getting my own place, I’m not staying here anymore - I’m not letting you all drag me down with you. If you’re all going to be traitors to the Ministry I’m going to make sure everyone’s well aware that I don’t belong to this family any more-’

‘You do, Percy, you do - you’ll always be my son-’ Mum’s words were barely audible beneath her crying. Percy pushed past her, and stormed towards the door.

‘Percy!’ Ron shouted, and to his surprise, Percy turned and looked at him.

Ron could not find the words for his contempt, could not find an insult strong enough, could not decide what to do with the rage that was coursing through him. All he could hope was that Percy could feel it in his cold, hard stare. ‘How could you?’

Percy said nothing, simply looked back for a moment, and then turned his back and strode swiftly to the door. Mum was running after him, and though they heard the ear-splitting crack of disapparation, she stood in the doorway shouting his name.

Dad had not followed, and with a creak, Ginny rose beside Ron and descended the last few stairs. She peered through the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Dad?’

Ron heard a splutter, and then dry, heaving sobs. Ginny vanished into the kitchen. Behind him, Fred and George were muttering mutinously, swearing and cursing.

‘What’s he playing at?’

‘He’s an idiot. A big-headed, pompous, ridiculous idiot, we’ve always said it, we were right.’

‘Who does he think he is? Does he really think that promotion is normal? Does he honestly think he’s that extraordinary?’

‘Moron…’

Ron’s jaw was aching from gritting his teeth so hard, his heart was trying to break through his ribcage and go after Percy to beat him.

‘Do you really think he meant that stuff he said to Dad?’ George said. ‘It’s just…’

‘I bet he does, the git,’ said Fred. ‘I bet he really does pretend he’s not part of the family. He’s ashamed of us. Slimy, brown-nosing prick…’

‘All that stuff about poverty? So uncalled for.’

‘That’s it, really, isn’t it? He’s a greedy arsehole.’

‘Well, he’s certainly written himself out of the will now, hasn’t he?’

‘He won’t care, nothing for him to inherit anyway, apparently.’

That prickling, heated anger was back - his very ears were hot with it, he wouldn’t be surprised if steam had been bursting out of them. The memory of Harry, pale and shaken in the hospital wing, his hands gripping Mum’s robes as she hugged him, was lingering in his mind. ‘Did you hear all that crap about Harry? Did you hear what he was saying about him? Harry!’

‘Yeah,’ muttered George. ‘Pillock.’

‘Why would he say that? What the bloody hell is going on with him? He’s gone bonkers. When did he turn into such a - a -’ He still could not quite find a word strong enough.

‘Berk?’ suggested George.

‘Something along those lines…’

‘Easier than admitting he’s horrible, selfish, idiot snob, I suppose,’ said Fred.

‘Money’s always been an issue, but blaming Dad like that is just…’

‘Nasty,’ said Ron, simply.

‘You can make money without completely selling out and betraying your family,’ said Fred seriously. ‘You can do it and keep your integrity.’

‘He’s acting like we weren’t fed enough,’ said George spitefully. ‘Percy didn’t even get that many hand-me-downs, really - Mum and Dad were doing all right before they were hit with twins, and we all know Ginny was probably unexpected.’

‘Was she?’ said Ron distractedly.

‘Are you joking, you were only about eight months old, who picks then to decide to have another baby?’

‘Mum.’

‘Fair.’

‘Anyway,’ said Fred, ‘Percy’s not exactly been hard done by, not really. He’s just always been ashamed we’re not as well-heeled as his smarmy new colleagues at the Ministry.’

‘It’s childish,’ said Ron, who was feeling another lurch of guilt as he thought back on the previous year. ‘It’s really petty…’

‘We’ve all wished the family was better off now and then,’ said George fairly. ‘Who wouldn’t? But that was a seriously low blow. God, poor Dad,' he added, his voice lowering further. 'I'm glad Ginny's gone in to comfort him, I don't even know where to begin.'

‘Do you think he’s really gone for good?’ asked Ron.

‘Hope so,’ said Fred viciously. ‘Hey - one less mouth to feed now, maybe the family’ll be better off.’

'You know what else,' Ron said sharply, his brain whirring, 'did you hear him dodging Dad's question about what he's said about Harry? Good thing he's buggered off before we go to the Order Headquarters, isn't it? Who knows what he would have blabbered about?'

Fred was looking at him as though in a new light. 'You know what, Ronniekins, that is a really excellent and disturbing point. You're a bit of a bright spark at times, aren't you?'

'Brighter than Percy,' Ron muttered.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #submission #tw: mild language

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bedtimebrain · 3 years

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EXO Baekhyun: Speedpost!

(while i've been having fun with all these drawings in my past few posts, i must admit i almost puked when i looked at this one as i was uploading today. for the sake of our eyes will nicely put a stop to this soon :,D)

Char: baek x u Genre: military baek, fluff!, needy (?) reader Description: you thought you could do just fine with baek in the military, but it seems like you actually need him a little more than you think Word Count: 1.3k Track for feels: Avril Lavigne, Wish you were here

You honestly thought you were the kind of strong and independent girlfriend. The kind that would do absolutely fine when your boyfriend enlists.

But truth be told, you barely scrape past this week, and it has only been a week since baek enlisted. Doubts, doubts. Could you even hold it together for another 2 more weeks? You remember just the day before baekhyun's enlistment, he deliberately teased you with fake sobbings,

'babe, will you cry if i'm not around? you might miss me so much it's too much for you to bear right? if you..'

you simply scoffed and cut him off

'ya, byun baekhyun, i'm afraid i would have to disappoint you. i am very much a busy and independent woman. i will do just fine with you enlisting. plus we will probably get to call once in a while, i can live with that'

you smugly folded your arms, sending an attack to his ego

In hindsight, the attack went out like a boomerang and came right back at you. You can already imagine baekhyun playfully gloating

'Strong independent woman, jagiya?'

Perhaps it might all be better if a wreck package hadn't self-invited itself to your life this week.

First of all, your boss decided it was a good idea to throw your proposal back in your face. Next, your very considerate across-the-globe client planned a conference call close to sleeping time in korea. As if it all couldn’t be worse, you overheard a juicy conversation your colleagues were having about you in the washroom.

All these just made you want to run right to baekhyun. To lie on his lap, throw punches at him and hear him flame your life perpetrators with the most nonsensical phrases.

During the day, all you looked forward to was your phonecalls with baek. But who knew even a phonecall date would be as hard to fulfil as climbing mount Everest.

Apart from the first day, every other day the past week was met full of hiccups. Either you were caught up with conference calls and work, or baek was cutting too close to lights out for a long call.

You call it baek crumbs, yes you were surviving on baek crumbs.

There was still sometime left before your phonecall date tonight. You yanked open your refrigerator in search of your alternative destress mechanism -- chocolates. You sighed at your depleting chocolate stash, physically indicating how badly you needed baek.

Back on the sofa, you swallowed down Freddo and you plugged in your earphones like an emo teen, randomly choosing a song radio to play.

As if Siri heard your inner thoughts, the radio chose to play Avril Lavinge's Wish You Were Here. Before you know it, you were a crying mess.

It's not even like you guys were breaking up, but the lyrics were literally stabbing into your heart But right now i wish you were here.... Damn, what i'd do to have you here ...

You were pathetically brawling away when baekhyun's call came in. Suppressing your heavy sobbing, you picked up the phone after a couple of rings at this untimely moment.

'Jagiya, i've 15minutes today! How have you been? You wouldn't believe what happen today! Jagi? Are you there?' His animated voice died down and he held a pause.

'Are you crying? y/n why are you crying? what happened?' you hear a hint of panic in his voice

Baekhyun was fast at catching on things, your quietness, shakey breathes and suppressed hitches were more than enough to indicate a red flag to him.

You had intended for tonight's call to be a fun and not your emotional health hotline help. Taking a deep breath, you tried to put up a front, and with your most stable voice, replied him

'ya, what crying? so what happened with you today?'

'ya, stop bullshitting me. you're crying, what's up with you?' turning all serious, he wasn't going to let you dodge this

you bit down hard on your lip, you couldn't get a syllable out of your throat, afraid the moment you did so you would break down completely.

'damn it, i would totally break the law just to bring a camera phone in so you cannot hide your face from me. tell me please?' he sounded urgent and frustrated, but gentle in asking you to tell him

'baekhyun ah, i can't do this anymore. i thought i could, but why is it so difficult' your voice cracked and you burst into hot tears

'i haa-d such a bad week and i just want..want.. to tell you about it every night. but our time together is always so short that by the time it got to my turn to tell you about my day.........the call ends. and.. and.. i don't know..... what to do about all these on my own..with--without you' you were wailing and possibly incomprehensible by now

'ya..y/n-ie, mi an hae. jeongmal mi an. i just realised i hadn't even heard about how your day went this entire week. i always got so carried away telling you about me, i wasn’t considerate enough.'

Almost running out of tears, you regain your composure quickly

‘Jagi, I’m not blaming you. Please don’t take it that way, it’s just.. I really wish you were around.’

The call suddenly went silent on the other sides, then you heard some low shouts in the background

‘Baekhyunie?’ You guess it was probably an early roll call again

A few moments later, baekhyun was back on the call.

‘Jagi, I’m sorry, I’ll probably have to go soon, the sergeant’s checking my barracks next.

Anyway, I actually had something I wanted to give you the night before I enlisted, but you insisted you were an independent and busy woman....’

His sentence was left broken with a sudden series of clattering like his phone had dropped. You heard louder shouts this time round, then a hurried whisper from Baekhyun

‘Jagi, check the right drawer under your table alright. I got to go now, mi an.’

‘Ah, okay.. saranghae’ and the call was dropped.

You know it was beyond Baekhyun’s control when he had to end the call. But it still didn’t stop you from feeling down at the abrupt goodbye.

Forcing a smile on your face for the sake of your own, you went to your table as baekhyun had told you.

Right drawer under the table?

Pulling open the drawer to find a floral patterned metallic box.

Was baek referring to this?

Popping open the metal box you gasp at the contents scattered within. With a hand over your mouth, you could feel your eyes welling up with tears again.

Chocolates. Lots of chocolates. Fanciful chocolates. Notes... byun baekhyun actually wrote notes for you?

He never once made you cards no matter how hard you ‘jaebal’ for him to. He would just say

‘Too difficult’

‘Too bothersome’

‘Suck at handicraft’

You pulled out the longest note in the entire box and couldn’t help but chuckle when you saw his scrawls

Annyeong Jagi! I bet you would choose this to read first cause it’s the longest. Did I guess it right?ㅋㅋ i wrote a letter to my beloved EXO-Ls, and I thought, how could I not leave you with one? Y/N, you see the chocolates in this box? I went to the candy store that day and picked them individually for you. Because I’m not around, I thought you might need them more. If you have a hard time when I’m away, take a chocolate and a note, enjoy them and think about me. Thank you for waiting, nae sarang, very soon I’ll be with you again. ^^

On the table, your phone vibrated and your screen lit up.

A msg from baekhyun:

Found my speedpost? Saranghae, wool ji ma(dont cry). Let’s call again tmr, goodnight!

You were smiling and crying like a fool by now. With a vision blurred by your tears, you typed a reply

Ya byun Baekhyun. Gumawo.... saranghae

Surely, you must have saved a nation your past life for you to meet byun baekhyun.

———

I was watching EXO arcade and this super random thought came to mind, do yall think their new album concept actually came from EXO arcade?

Like maybe they had been planning a season 2 all along and a new album. But they couldn’t think of a concept, so tada! Arcade, games! For their album concept~ Is there any talk like this circulating, hahah, hope I’m not late to the party then.

#baekhyun #exowritersnet #exo #bbh #exo comeback #exo scenarios #exo baekhyun #exo fanfic #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun fan fiction #byun baekhyun #super m

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mega-bastard · 4 years

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i was kidnapped by shiratorizawa ?!?!?!?!

this was painful to write, but like a masochist I did it anyway. this is my part of the the first Whorehouse Collab, located here. Finally getting back into writing fanfics since like 2015, this was oddly therapeutic.

I wrote this under the influence of magic grass after binging several wattpad fics, enjoy at your own risk-- by which I mean laugh alongside me LMAO

The ending is sososo rushed, in true wattpad fashion <3 this was 1.3K words of nonsense

When I woke up today, I didn’t think I’d end up in such a bind— bindings to be more specific. I’m just your average little miss no one, another everyday student easily lost in the in the crowd. Wearing glasses and being like super shy does that to u, yknow?

Now, blindfolded and tied up, I can’t help but wonder just how someone so unnoticeable had gotten snatched up so suddenly— perhaps that was had why you were taken (insert Liam neeson voice: I will find you, and I will kill you hehe >:3). Now, with the full throb in my head beginning to subside— I started to recount what had bringed me into such s predicament

~ rewind to earlier in the day ~

I’d only just waked up when I received a text from my best friend mina (bnha wink wonk) gushing about or schools volleyball match— to say she was crazy in love aoba Joshuas volleyball team would be selling it crazily underwhelmed. Especially their captain, oikawa tooru ! Most of our school did, but I was really observant of the people around me— he gives me weird vibes, like he puts on an act or something. But still, I keep that thoght to myself so no one comes for me. Seriously, he’s got fans like a Kpop star (a/n haha stan bts for clear skin uwu)

Either way, her dragging me to a volleyball game is nothing new— and as she’s blowing my messages up like the world is ending I know what to expect this coming afternoon. What a pain, I had planned on watching naruto when I got home today :(

There was no telling Mina no, so when we enviably met to walk to school I was well aware I’d be attending the volleyball match today. Boring, but I’d manage— I don’t care much for sports but sweaty and muscley men are finer than fine, I’d at least have spank bank material hehe (a/n not to whore on main buuuuuut ;3).

The day flew by and suddenly I found my self seated on the stands, waiting for the game to begin. Mina was chatting away, so when the urge to go to the bathroom came I simply got up and left— I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise, everyone always runs at the mouth and I can never get a word in as a result.

Not paying attention on my way to the bathroom, I suddenly shivered— feeling watched. I looked up from staring at the floor and was brought face to face with...the Shiratorizawa Volleyball Team ?!?! At the head was the tank of a captain, japans number one ace Ushijima Wakayoshi (a/n a whole snack yumyum) was indomitable and a scary man to be faced with. Ushijima was still as fierce as ever; I say that because we’d gone to middle school together— we never spoke or anything like that but we’d been in the same classes. He scrutinized my small form with impassive olive eyes, I felt rooted in place at such a state.

I shook myself from my little reverie and quickly scurried off, heart beating a mile a minute. “ just find the bathroom and head back to Mina “ I murmured to myself, finally finding the bathroom after rounding a corner. The feeling of being watched finally lifting.

After using the bathroom and began to head back, I could hear someone...singing something? I began to head towards it out of curiosity, peeking around a corner to see a tall red haired guy and a grey haired guy— they were wearing the same uniform so they must also be a part of the team as well! Lost in my thoughts, I was only briefly able to dick away before the red haired guy turned around to where I was peeking.

Ok seriously, let’s head back ‘ I thought before scurrying back to Mina— who grilled me on my absence before becoming entranced in the starting game. I stayed on my phone for the most part, reading one direction fanfic— with the phone screen down waaay low (a/n who else has done this before ???). Id peek every now and again to watch, at one point catching the eye of the tall red head— a chill ran down my spin at his impish smile that I looked away immediately.

He was...cute. In a scary way.

A sudden hush flew across the crowd and I looked up in time to see oikawas serve hit clean across the net, received by some guy with brown hair before being set by some twat with shitty hair (a/n shirabus a twat, their I said it >:/) before the ball was spiked back with a force unmatched.

That was Match point. Shiratorizawa wins.

The air is oppressive, oikawas fan girls— mina included, are wailing. That’s my cue to exit, bidding a mina goodbye I began my way down the hail, the rush of the court fading into background.

Then suddenly, rushing feet and the crack of something hard against my skull.

Darkness consumed me.

~ back to the present ~

Now back to the hear and now, I hear murmerings-- voices I don’t recognize. I try to listen, try to focus in on their voices but I can’t as the throbbing in my skull takes my focus away. A whimper escapes me, and a silence sweeps across wherever I am like a breeze-- it’s scary.

“haha, is she awake?” it’s the sing=songy voice from before-- the red head probably then? I know I needed to say something, anything, but I was still to disoriented. The sound of shoes nearing me immeadiatly set me off, beginning to wiggle and move before I was held still vision suddenly assaulted with brightness as my blindfold is redmoved.

Standing before, me in all their glory, is the Shiratorizawa volleyball team??

It looks like I’m being held in...an empty dorm room? I’m trying to gather my bearings and cannot figure what to possibly ay before being yanked up harshly from a laying position. It’s the red head holding me up, wicked smile and everything as he crouches in front of me before opening his mouth.

“ You belong to us now, got it~” his voice is too cheery given the words he’s just said to me (a/n tendou owns my heart and soul <3333 ), and only now does my voice find me. “ B-but w-why m-m-me ? You c-can’t j-just do t-that, please just let me g-g-g-g-g-g-go !” by the time I finish blubbering, theres tears streaming down my cheeks like rushing rivers. Through my lashes, I look pitifully around at everyone-- landing on an umcomfortble looking kid with a bowl cut, but he looks away as soon as i stare up at him.

no, no ,no nononono no ones going to help me. the tears fall puddle on the floor, only growing in speed when ushijima speaks. “ You’ll be transfering here, become our manager, and be staying in this dorm room-- it’s already been settled” (a/n idk I’d be p happy to be shiratorizawa’s manager uwu) his voice is deep and leaves no room for any back talk, but my stomach drops at his next sentence “Semi, put it on her’ my head whips up, starring doe eyed at the grey haired guy from before as he approaches with...IS THAT A COLLAR AND LEASH??? (a/n insert debby ryan face)

my face heats up, embarrassed and ashamed at the idea of being collared like an animal. I try to wiggle away, annoying Semi, “Tendou hold her still damnit!” at that Tendou-- the red head, grips my face with one hand to keep me still, gripping it hard enough that hes smushing my cheeks (a/n tendou, t e n d o u, loml, how I cherish thee) . He mutters a quiet cute, so faint I think I’m hearing things, before the tightening of the collar breaks me from that train of thought. With that done, I’m released, falling to my hands and knees staring up at the entire team now gathered before me.

A tug on the leash tugs me forward without much effort, and the tears spring up once more at the humiliation.

“This is gonna be fun~”

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

ok so I hoped you guys loved it <3 I’ll try my best to get out weekly updates, next chap I’m thinking I either focus on how ushijima and reader-chan actually do know eachother, shirabu and semi fiighting of reader-chans attention, or maybe tendou and reader-chan getting into trouble while draggin goshiki into it! SOund off in the comments and let me know what you think ?? anyway love you guys sm <33333

#SHBNIOKSM?S #I feel ill after this #but in the best way <3 #I feel so wrong writing them this way LOL #Is ok #crackfic #kidnapped by haikyuu #miki mouse whorehouse collab #shiratorizawa x reader

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thecreaturecodex · 4 years

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Kyton, Precentor

Image © Paizo Publishing, accessed at aonprd.com here

[Commissioned by @coldbloodassassin. The precentor is the one new kyton/velstrac in PF2e so far, and I quite like the concept. Unfortunately, the mechanics are even more complicated than the usual PF2e mold, inflicting multiple stacking status effects and making use of the “doomed” mechanic, which is possibly the most pointless status condition in the game. My version of the precentor still is complicated compared to, say, a 5e monster, but simplifies things immensely. The torturous touch mechanics are drawn from the howling agony spell.]

Kyton, Precentor CR 16 LE Outsider (extraplanar) This humanoid creature is partially flayed, with its skin hanging off of it in sheets. Some places have been cut down to the naked bone. They have leather thongs strapped to their body in a variety of areas, which wriggle and writhe as if they were themselves alive.

Precentor kytons are the historians and storytellers of the kyton courts. They keep in their memory lengthy sagas of misery and woe, the best ways to torture a creature based on their cultural experiences, and of especially memorable fates. If a kyton threatens a foe with the epithet “your suffering will be legendary,” it is the precentors that keep that legend alive.

A precentor is a showy combatant, dancing through the battlefield in order to inflict its torturous touch on as many creatures as possible. Those that succumb to this pain may think that screaming will provide some relief, but this puts them at risk of becoming locked into a choir of screams, providing what to the kytons is soothing background music for their battle. The gaze of a precentor causes other creatures to feel as if their own skin is tearing away, sending them into fits of temporary violent madness.

A precentor stands as tall as a human, but weigh somewhat less due to their missing skin and muscle in places. The first tendrils of leather that lash from their bodies are made from their own skin, removed during their conversion into a kyton. Most precentors add more as they accumulate victims.

Precentor CR 16 XP 76,800 LE Medium outsider (evil, extraplanar, kyton, lawful) Init +7; Senses deathwatch, darkvision 60 ft., Perception +27, true seeing Defense AC 32, touch 18, flat-footed 24 (+7 Dex, +1 dodge, +14 natural) hp 220 (21d10+105); regeneration 10 (good or silver) Fort +13, Ref +19, Will +18; +4 vs. bardic performance, sonic and language-dependent effects, +8 vs. mind-influencing effects DR 15/good or silver; Immune cold; SR 27 Defensive Abilities well-versed Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee 2 claws +27 (2d10+6 plus bleed), 2 touches +25 (torturous touch) Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with torturous touch) Special Attacks bleed (2d10), choir of screams, unnerving gaze Spell-like Abilities CL 16th, concentration +24 (+28 casting defensively) Constant—deathwatch, mind blank, true seeing At will—detect magic, mind thrust V (DC 23), plane shift (self only, Material or Shadow Plane only), synesthesia (DC 21) 3/day—quickened fly, greater shout (DC 26), mass inflict serious wounds (DC 25), mass synesthesia (DC 25) 1/day—wail of the banshee (DC 27) Statistics Str 22, Dex 25, Con 19, Int 22, Wis 23, Cha 26 Base Atk +21; CMB +27; CMD 35 Feats Combat Casting, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Great Fortitude, Improved Critical (claw), Mobility, Multiattack, Power Attack, Quicken SLA (fly), Spring Attack, Toughness Skills Acrobatics +28, Bluff +29, Climb +24, Diplomacy +26, Intimidate +29, Knowledge (arcana, history) +24, Knowledge (planes, religion) +27, Perception +27, Perform (any one) +29, Spellcraft +24, Stealth +28, Swim +24 Languages Common, Infernal, Shadowtongue Ecology Environment any land or underground (Shadow Plane) Organization solitary or concert (2-5) Treasure standard Special Abilities Choir of Screams (Su) Any creature within 100 feet of a precentor that chooses to scream in order to relieve the pain of a precentor’s tortuous touch must succeed a DC 26 Will save or be dazed, taking no action but screaming. A precentor can use any creature in its choir of screams as the origin point for any of its spell-like abilities. A creature in the choir of screams can attempt a new DC 26 Will save every turn to act normally. This effect can last indefinitely as long as the creature continues to fail Will saves, extending past the effects of the torturous touch. A creature that succeeds the initial save cannot be added to that precentor’s choir of screams for the next 24 hours. This is a mind-influencing, fear effect. The save DC is Charisma based. Torturous Touch (Su) A creature struck by a precentor’s touch attack must succeed a DC 24 Fortitude save or be wracked with incredible pain for 1 minute. Because of the pain, affected creatures take a –2 penalty to AC, attacks, melee damage rolls, and Reflex saving throws, and must succeed at a DC 24 concentration check to cast spells. However, if an affected creature spends a move action screaming as loudly as possible, it can act without any other penalties for the remainder of its turn. "Screaming," for the purposes of this effect includes any vocalization of pain or its telepathic equivalent; creatures that cannot scream (such as creatures without the natural ability to communicate or vocalize) suffer the full effect of the spell. This is a pain effect, and the save DC is Constitution based. Unnerving Gaze (Su) Range 30 ft.; save Will DC 26; effect confused 1 round. The save DC is Charisma based. Well Versed (Ex) A precentor gains a +4 bonus on all saving throws against bardic performance, language-dependent or sonic effects.

#precentor #kyton #body horror #pathfinder 1e #commissions #gore tw

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eury--dice · 4 years

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glitter and tree branches

happy (belated) holidehs, @singtomeinstead! thank you so much for your wonderful prompts and your even more wonderful dedication to this beautiful @sincerely-us gift exchange. hope your 2021 is off to a good start <3

(ao3 link in the notes!)

It all starts in Ellison Park.

Maybe that is the one thing, across any universe, that stays the same - that cannot change. No matter how you slice their story, it all starts in Ellison Park. Whether that beginning is a fall from a tree, a single form illuminated against the endless expanse of pink morning sky, or -

This.

It all starts in Ellison Park, 2006, when four families tangentially decide a trip to the park is the perfect spring activity, bundle up their five-year-olds and head off.

The Murphy’s arrive early. Larry guides the car over gravel until stopping, Connor and Zoe’s cheers from the backseat audible to everyone outside. Larry and Cynthia share a tight grin over their excitement, eyes pulled taut from lack of sleep.

“Ice cream!” Zoe shouts, eyes catching on the closed Dell’s lemonade cart just outside the gate. Connor is already chanting “le-mon-ade,” albeit much quieter than his sister. Cynthia raises a hand to massage over her eyes.

“It’s 11 am,” Larry points out. “No ice cream yet, sweetheart.”

“No!” They wail in perfect synchrony, only to promptly forget about sweets as soon as they’re unbuckled from the car and tearing off to the park. Cynthia sighs, gesturing for Larry to follow them while she gets what they need for the day.

Six-year-old Evan Hansen is decidedly a morning person. He has been a morning person since the day of his birth, and he will be one for the rest of his life. So while kids his age nod off against their parent’s shoulders on park benches and in their booster seats, he presses his nose against the window of the car and lets his breath fog it up even though he knows his father will scold him for the messiness later. As soon as they step into the park Evan’s vision tunnels into everything around him, sheer joy taking over as he pulls his hand from his mother’s and takes off towards the nearest tree.

“Evan!” she yelps, momentarily distracted from her argument with Mark. Since Evan normally never darts away from her, she’s caught off guard by his sudden energy, her heart rate skyrocketing with Mark’s words intangible in her ears. But Evan pays her no heed; he just runs, his parent’s arguing fading into the background for the first time he can remember. He stops at one of the trees, laying a palm against it and closing his eyes. Through his fingertips, it’s like he is rooted to the ground; like he himself is steady, consistent, and ready to provide comfort.

Heidi stops in her tracks once she can see that he’s safe, turning to Mark with an “are you seeing this?” expression, but he staunchly refuses to return her gaze.

Jared Kleinman is distinctly not a morning person, much to his friend’s dismay. Their parents always joked about it when they were little more than babies sharing naps in the Kleinman’s living room; Evan fussing at the first sign of light while Jared took more than a fair bit of commotion to so much as stir. So the Kleinman’s amble into the park a little after the Hansen’s, a still sleepy Jared leaning between his moms like a tiny labored soldier. He perks up on hearing Heidi’s voice, attuned to trouble as always, but his mom tightens her grip on his shoulder before he can run forward.

“Plenty of time for that,” she said in an undertone. “I don’t want you bonking your head because you’re sleepy.”

“I won’t,” Jared insists, offended at the mere notion he could mess something up.

His mother studies his eyes for a moment before relenting. “All right. Go see your friend.”

Jared takes off at once, a direct beeline to Evan - so direct that he doesn’t see the child-shaped obstacle in his path, immediately bonking heads and falling back onto his butt on the pavement, two glasses clattering noises filling his ears. “Oh my god,” he hears his other mom groan.

“You should be more careful,” a voice says, little-kid saccharine but mature beyond its years. “You’re Jared, right?”

“Alana! Are you okay?” a man calls at the same time Jared’s mom calls, “I told you!”

Jared hadn’t expected to see Alana Beck from his kindergarten class there, but he did all the same.

“Are you okay?” She says before he can respond. “My head hurts a bit. Does yours?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jared says. “A bit.” He reaches blindly for the first pair of glasses he can vaguely see, but when he puts them on his vision explodes and contorts.

“Are these yours?” they say at the same time, so Jared guesses she must have picked up his. They swap, and Jared frowns at a long scratch in his right lense before putting them back on.

“That’s why you need to look where you’re going,” Alana says, noting his frown. “My grandma says people get hurt when they’re not aware of their surroundings.”

“I guess.” Jared feels a little stunned into silence, even as their parents come over to check them. But finally, he manages to say “Do you want to come play with me and Evan?”

Alana scrunches up her nose, her glasses following. “Evan Hansen?”

“Yeah.”

She thinks on it for a moment, then throws a look to someone who must be her younger sister. “Okay,” she says, and that’s that.

The three unite by Evan’s tree, though Evan is a squirrel so he climbs nearly all the way up while Jared and Alana watch. Alana talks enough for all three of them, jabbering on about her family and what she misses from school now that they’re older, and that seems to ease Evan’s discomfort around a new person. He’s content to climb while they carry the conversation.

All three of their heads turn at the sound of a sudden splash followed by the shouts of two dismayed children. Jared laughs reflexively at the sight of horror on their nearly-identical faces, freckles elongated with their widening mouths. Evan drops down nimbly from the tree almost at once.

“Dad!” the boy calls, hands flying to his short curls to tug, and after a moment they recognize him as another classmate - Connor Murphy, in a different section, known to dominate the monkey bars at recess. “Why’d you throw it in the lake?”

“Emergency landing,” a man with graying hair replies, a little ways off from where Evan’s parents had settled. “Sorry, Con.”

While a few of their parents chuckle, neither of the kids appears sated; in fact, both look close to tears. The three by the tree exchange a look.

“Should we?” Alana says, and Evan nods, Jared already setting off towards the lake.

“What was it?” he asks loudly, once they near the two who lean over the surface of the lake longingly.

Zoe, who he only knew through Connor’s sharing time about his family, shot him a watery glare. “A airplane,” she bites out.

“An airplane,” Alana corrects, though she quiets when she’s on the receiving end of Zoe’s glare.

“We don’t have an airplane,” Evan says, looking between Alana and Jared for confirmation. “But, um…you can play with us?”

The two stare at each other for a beat, still working back tears, before they sigh.

“Not even one airplane?” Connor asks.

“Not even one.”

“My sister might have one,” Alana puts in. “I can ask?”

Connor eyes them warily for a beat before sighing again. “Fine. Zoe?”

“I guess so,” she says, voice small.

Friends acquired…apparently.

***

Most of the time, Zoe wishes she and Connor are real twins.

They feel enough like it - given that they almost always just played with each other - and even looked enough like it, if random people in the supermarket’s judgment could be trusted. People sometimes said they were Irish twins, which Zoe never quite understood, even after Cynthia sat her on the couch and explained the concept to her. Being Irish twins is fine and all, even though only their dad was even a little Irish (thanks, Murphy surname). But it isn’t as good as being a real twin, sharing the birthday she so desperately wants, sharing the grade above her own.

Instead, she’s stuck, out of the loop and behind. Alana comes over in the lunchroom on the days where she can, seemingly only willing to break the rules that keep her separated from everyone else due to grade. Zoe gets quite used to the sight of Alana beelining across the cafeteria, her star-patterned lunchbox unzipped and held to her chest as she weaves around students and faculty alike with a grace that Zoe assumes comes from dance. And she gets used to Alana parking herself right across from her, unzipping a small ziplock bag of baby carrots around the surprised looks of elementary school underclassmen, and saying something along the lines of “did Mrs. Gould teach you about magnets today?” And Zoe takes the offered baby carrot, puts away the felt-tip pen she’s been doodling with, and smiles.

She drags the other three over one day, though Connor’s lips set in annoyance over having to babysit his little sister and Evan’s set in something that looks closer to anxiety, casting anxious glances over to the faculty presiding over the lunchroom. Jared simply throws her an amused smile, squeezing between her and her friend from class and cutting Zoe off with a loud “Howdy!” before she can apologize for his behavior. Evan takes the unoccupied space on her right, his fingers messing with the clasp of his lunchbox. His eyes jump across the faculty members even as Alana and Connor sit across from her. She’s so used to seeing both of them across from her that it takes a moment for her to remember how different they usually are. Alana only ever looks like this, separated by a grainy plastic table and fluorescent lights, but normally she sees Connor under their warm kitchen lights and the honey-colored wood of their kitchen table.

“You don’t have to come over here,” she says quietly, words muffled into the collar of her sweater.

Alana just smiles and launches their normal lunch routine, this time with the added chatter from Connor and Jared, before Evan’s face shifts and Zoe lifts her eyes to see a faculty member appear just behind Alana.

“Aren’t you all at the wrong table?” They say, and the five scatter as quickly as they can, hoping to avoid docked recess as punishment. On the playground, Evan bites the corner of his nail nervously and Connor refuses to look in Zoe’s direction, staring instead towards the faculty hovering by the fences.

So much for trying to spend time together.

Out of school, though - out of school is equal for everyone, regardless of grade. No time to share, no privacy for their conversations, no good locations for their games.

“We should have a secret hiding spot,” Alana declares later that same day. Even from her position hunched under the bunk bed she shares with her younger sister, her voice carries such a sure tone that no one could even disagree.

“Should we all join you?” Jared quips. Connor responds by smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

“Not in my house,” Alana says, and for some reason, Zoe expects an eye roll or something of the sort, but she’s Alana so of course there’s only confidence and surety. “Do you really want my dads hearing everything?”

“We don’t have secrets,” Evan points out from his spot on the floor between Jared and Zoe. His sleeve brushes against Zoe’s when he fidgets, his hands moving his shoulders.

“We could,” Jared says. “How else are we going to steal all the Jell-O from the cafeteria?”

“I think you’re the only person who actually likes that Jell-o,” Zoe says, before immediately regretting it. The words slip through her teeth, liketh thad dell-o, rounded and off compared to all of her friends. Evan’s arm brushes against hers again.

“Of all the criminal plots, Jared,” Connor agrees.

“It’s gross,” Evan adds in an undertone, and Zoe is pretty sure she’s the only one who can hear it.

“But it would be a secret!”

“We’re not going to do that,” Alana says; words getting caught in a sigh. “But wouldn’t it be nice to talk without-”

As if on queue, her younger sister bursts into the room, catapulting herself onto the top bunk with a frightening speed. Evan falls into Jared as she hurtles over them, and Connor jumps practically a foot in the air.

With a comical precision, almost like something actually out of a comic in the paper that Larry loved to hand them on Sunday’s so they could “learn to read a newspaper,” they turn to look at Alana.

“Like I said,” she says, assuming her teacher voice.

“…Well, where?” Jared finally replies. “Our houses don’t work too well.”

“Outside?” Evan suggests hopefully. “Maybe the park?”

“It’s too cold, and our parents can’t always drive us there,” Alana says. “But maybe…hm…

At once, Connor and Zoe’s heads swivel towards each other.

“We have a place,” Connor says slowly, reading understanding on Zoe’s face. “Or…we will.”

Larry has passions that ebb and flow just like Cynthia, and for once Zoe is certain she and her brother are thinking of the same thing; the influx of wood he’d been purchasing recently, the power tools they heard whenever he was off work, the constant questions over whether they wanted to help.

A week later, the five stand in the Murphy’s backyard. Cynthia and Larry observe at a distance, their faces careful as they watch the kid’s reactions but obvious joy in the lines of Larry’s tiny smile.

“Oh my God,” Jared breathes. “Is it real?”

“No, dummy,” Connor says, voice filled with a pompousness that Zoe hates. “We bought a treehouse decal and spent all night getting it up there just to play tricks on you.”

“Don’t be mean, Connor,” Zoe says with the snobbiness she knows he hates. He sticks his tongue out at her in return.

Evan steps forward first, laying his palm against the tree trunk and staring up with a reverence Zoe never expected. He smiles gently, the light brushing his cheeks like burnished bronze, and Zoe looks away with a smile similar to her father’s.

“Well, let’s go,” Connor says, and Evan must take his words as invitation, because he forgoes the ladder and chooses instead to scale the tree limbs until worming his way in through the “window” of the treehouse. Zoe heard something like a fond laugh behind her, most likely her mother’s doing, before she raced off to the tree herself. She did opt for the ladder, however. Connor follows Evan’s dramatics, and Alana and Jared are close on Zoe’s heels.

“Woah,” she hears Alana breathe, and, well. Woah was right.

The treehouse isn’t very large, but to a bunch of elementary students it certainly feels like it. The smell of fresh pine assaults her nose, dust still floating around and tickling her eyelashes. The late fall light streams in through the slats and windows, leaving a gold-washed tint around the treehouse and all of her friends.

Connor wanders over to a small platform, and she follows, letting her other friends scatter about the room, chattering idly about the treehouse. Zoe leans her head on Connor’s shoulder, but just as she does Connor nudges Zoe with his elbow. Uncaring to her yelp, he asks “Do you have the thread in your room?”

“Thread?” She repeats, as it takes her brain a moment to catch up. “Ohh. Yeah. I think so.”

“Want to go grab it?”

“Why?”

He motions to his wrist and then to the group as a whole.

“Whyyyy me?” She says, the y drawing out into a whine in a true younger sibling move.

All the same, she’s on her way back up the treehouse with a tub of bracelet thread tucked under her arm five minutes later. Maneuvering up the ladder with it tucked under her arm proved to be a bit of a challenge, but nothing Zoe Murphy can’t handle. She does throw it through the window before her, though, which (by Connor’s horrified yelp) isn’t the brightest move. When she reenters, Connor is already gathering up thread and shaking dust out of it.

“Oh, yes,” Jared says, surging forward and grabbing a green and purple thread from Connor’s hands. He sits heavily on the ground, immediately beginning a complicated braid without any prompting. He looks up at their surprised faces a moment later. “What? I learned at camp this summer.”

“Did you learn, Evan?” Alana asks, likely remembering they went to the same camp.

Evan looks away, one hand reaching to pick at an imperfection in the wooden wall. He shrugs. “‘M not very good,” he says, and Zoe can’t help but remember the snatches of conversation she remembers overhearing accidentally from her parents - she had to drive down and couldn’t handle it and maybe talking to the school counselor came to mind.

She crosses to him without thinking, grabbing his hand. “I’ll teach you,” she blurts without thinking. Connor hands her her favorite colors without prompting, and Zoe begins a tri-color braid that’s probably more complicated than Evan needs, but he catches on easily enough after a few minutes, twisting the blue and purple and pink together into something beautiful.

They pass their first hours in the treehouse like that, singularly focused like only little kids can be, and when Zoe’s parents bring up pizza and Sprite they pause only to admire their fine work. Several bracelets adorn each of their wrists, each twisted by someone else and infused with why Jared jokingly called the power of love. And the sun sets on them all together, smearing grease across their faces and throwing loose bits of thread across their haven in the sky, and Zoe smiles.

***

It was nearing dinnertime, far too cold and far too quiet to be in a treehouse.

Connor and Zoe took to hanging around the treehouse even when their friends weren’t there, much preferring it to their former hiding places within the house. As the winter wore on and the days grew shorter, so did Murphy tempers, and cabin fever mixed in only made enclosed spaces more liable to combust. So, with the treehouse available, Zoe tended to grab Connor and the ukelele she’d just begun learning to play and sneaking out the sliding door into their backyard. That particular evening, the layer of fluffy snow that had just fallen masked their escape and allowed them entrance to the treehouse and cushioned any residual noise left from the kitchen. They still were bundled up, however, their parkas and hats pulled tight. Both had forgone gloves, however; Zoe felt her fingers stiffen and slip on her ukelele strings, while Connor seemed unperturbed by the cold while he sketched in his brand-new sketchbook. Save for her muffled ukelele noises and the faint rustling of small creatures in the snow and Connor’s pencil etching against paper, all was still.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to bring string instruments into the cold,” Connor said, breaking the silence. Zoe responded by strumming an e minor chord more aggressively.

They fell back into their rhythm, and Connor started to hum along to her strumming just as the pinks and purples broke through gray winter sky.

“We have a project,” a voice declared. startling both of them out of their individual reveries. Alana’s head popped up in the treehouse window, a giant pom-pom hat perched precariously over the intricate braided bun Zoe could remember seeing at school that day.

“Jesus Christ, Alana,” Connor said, sounding very much like a kid who was trying his hardest to get a handle on cussing and sounding cool. “How did you get here?”

Alana blinked, righting the large box she held in her hands. “Your parents said you were here.”

Connor stilled abruptly, while Zoe’s foot started bouncing. “You talked to them?”

“Yeah,” she said, and as if she knew their next question - likely because she did, from years of experience - “They seemed like they were calming down.”

“Good,” Zoe said quietly.

Impervious to the Murphy siblings’ shifted expressions, Alana dropped the metal box to the floor and followed it, dropping to the frosty pine boards like there was nothing else she’d rather do. “Anyway, we’re making a time capsule!”

“We are?” Zoe said, feeling amusement creeping into the edges of her voice.

“Yes. You’ll thank me in ten years.”

Zoe and Connor shared a look. Connor cut off the awkward silence that suddenly descended. “The ground is frozen. How are we going to bury it?”

Alana grinned over the lid. “My dads were talking about the thaw later this week.”

“No snow?” added a new voice. Evan popped up barely a moment later, likely having taken a wild path up the tree rather than using the ladder like anyone else, even when ice coated to every nook and cranny of the bark. “Already?”

“Apparently,” Zoe replied.

“Won’t it get all covered in mud?” Jared added, and Zoe spun her head around to look at Alana, fixing her with a sharp look.

“Did you invite everyone over to our house?”

Alana shrugged. “This is important. And there isn’t that much mud if you dig deep enough, Jared.”

“Again - why?” Connor interrupted.

“Because she says so, and it’s a kick-ass idea,” Jared said.

“Didn’t expect you to latch onto sentimentality, Kleinman,” Zoe muttered, startling a laugh out of him.

Alana pulled a binder free from the backpack she’d slung to the ground. “C’mon - what do you want to add?”

“Cheerios,” Jared said at once, earning a scowl out of Alana.

“If you’re not going to take this seriously, Jared-”

“He’ll shut up,” Evan rushed to cut him off. “So not food items?”

“More sentimental, I think,” Connor said.

“Exactly.”

Under Alana’s direction, they did just that. After a successful thaw later in the week Zoe took a shovel from the garage and helped them dig and re-bury dirt in the Murphy’s backyard, marked by a small stake Connor painted with acrylics from their mom’s craft supply.

“Now we wait,” Alana said.

***

Somewhere along the line, things get… tense.

Zoe reads the self-help books and watches the videos her teachers play on VHS tapes during their “health” classes. They all describe the same thing, a switch flipping with no warning once elementary school draws to a close and sixth grade begins. Admittedly, she watches them a year later than everyone else, forever cursed to be a year behind. But she knows it’s coming all the same - fault lines crackling out through the earth and darting between their feet, setting them all adrift on different paths, thunder drowning out their words where there used to be laughter.

Nothing could have prepared her for the actual occurrence, though.

The treehouse really is their de facto hangout spot, given the Murphy’s lasé-faire attitude towards where their children were and the complete privacy it afforded. With their newly-acquired Jazz Band extracurricular, Zoe and Jared always arrive late, normally to the sight of Evan and Alana reading and Connor drawing or some other combination of their group’s preferred activities. But when they climb the ladder to the treehouse that day, the air is…stilted, like Zoe has grown to expect inside the house. That kind of expectant anger, like you know something is going to go wrong but aren’t sure what it is yet.

Evan sits, his eyes darting between Alana and Connor and over to Jared and Zoe as they walk in like he can sense a disaster brewing. Jared flounces over to Connor, sprawling, earning himself a glare.

“Can I help you, Kleinman?”

He nods to the sketchbook in Connor’s hands. “Might want to clean up those lines.”

It only gets worse from there - cutting barbs thrown this way and that, all ready to strike and hit. Nothing too bad, at least not until Connor says get the fuck out of my house and Jared says at least I have other people who will take me and Alana says honestly can’t you two even try to act mature and Zoe hears herself say at least we’re not miserable all the time before she realizes that’s - patently false. And one by one, they storm away, hopping down with practiced agility they no longer have reason to use.

And there Zoe sits. Shutting down, like she always does.

***

Connor felt like he was suffocating.

Everything was aggressively there-every word spoken grating his ears, every shadow a little too dark and every light a little too bright, every glance so heavy it weighed on his chest. He felt uneven and on edge, like one loud noise would send him spiraling off of a cliff and bursting into tears.

“Zoe,” he’d said, coming up behind her as she stood at the counter. Maybe if he’d looked he would have seen how her shoulders tensed as soon as she heard his voice. Maybe if he’d listened he would’ve heard how Zoe’s breath hitched and how she quickly ran a hand over her face. Maybe if he’d paid attention he would’ve noticed how her hands clenched around her mug and she steeled herself. Maybe the glint of pain and fear and loneliness nestled deep within her eyes before she put her shields up as she turned around would’ve stood out to him. But he couldn’t even handle analyzing himself, and there was no hope for understanding Zoe.

“What?” She said, and even in his funk he noticed how her words appeared differently than normal. Maybe, if he’d taken a moment to think, he would have identified the source-fatigue, cutting through each letter. There was none of the venom they’d grown used to hurling at each other and pretending it didn’t burn once it touched skin. She sounded tired.

He rubbed the edge of his sweatshirt sleeve with us thumb, trying to pull an excuse out of nowhere. In reality, he just needed something to anchor him to Earth, but he couldn’t say that to her. “Could you paint my nails?” He bit out, risking cutting his gaze up to her face. Her eyes had widened slightly since he last looked at her, eyebrows lifted silently with them. She pulled her bottom lip between her front teeth, and she looked down and away, foot tapping some unfamiliar rhythm against the tiled floor. Silence hung between them, dark and heavy, nearly drowning out the tap tap taptap tap of her foot. He looked back up towards her, not quite meeting her eyes, perhaps a bit more expectancy in his gaze than he would have liked.

She shook her head slightly, ring finger tapping against the side of her mug. “Why?” She said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

“Why am I asking…?”

“Yeah,” She said, same fatigue in her voice. “Why are you asking me? When this is the first time you’ve talked to me in…what, four months without being forced to?”

Connor shrugged a little, taken aback by this reaction. A soft, incredulous laugh built in Zoe’s throat.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, voice choked. “I don’t understand. You’ve broken down my door twice. I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. Why would you want me to…”

“I don’t know,” Connor said, voice uneven. Zoe shook her head again.

She stared evenly at him, and maybe if he’d been paying better attention he would have noticed the thin sheen of tears in her eyes as he raised his eyes to meet hers. “What color?”

“What?”

“Nail polish. If I painted your nails. What color would it be?”

Connor resumed rubbing his sleeve. “Black.”

She bit her lip again, the edges of her mouth curling into a bitter smile, words sounding just as bitter. “Damn. I’m out of black.”

The edge of Connor’s mouth twitched even as he felt something sink inside of him. “I see,” he said, a touch harder than the previous words had been.

Zoe shrugged, hand still wrapped around her mug, as she pushed her hip against the side of the counter to launch herself away from it. “That’s that, I guess.”

“I guess so,” Connor responded, voice hollow.

Maybe, if he’d looked up instead of locking his gaze on the floor, he’d have seen the tense hold of Zoe’s shoulders, the moment of faltering before she continued walking.

“I guess so,” she repeated faintly, all edges gone form her voice and tiredness abundant.

Connor squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, she was completely gone from the kitchen. He gazed around for a moment, letting the view of the kitchen wash around him.

Oh, how the mighty fall.

***

Zoe is desperately glad she and Connor are only Irish twins.

Distance - distance is what she needs more than ever. She’d hated it, that chasm between her and everyone else, but of course she couldn’t have known just how wide that chasm could get. Would get, with time and urging and their circle falling apart under the right amount of pressure.

The right amount of pressure, she thinks, poised to flee on her kitchen chair, leg bouncing and heart coiled, for Connor to come home. He does, of course, sullen and tired, but in front of her eyes all the same. It’s only been a year since they reached critical mass in the treehouse, but the shift in all of them came quickly and without mercy. Alana buries herself in more work than Zoe had ever thought possible, always hurrying away whenever Zoe tries to get a word in edgewise. Jared just darts his eyes around like a caged animal, calculations churning behind his eyes as though searching for his best way forward. Evan she still sees somewhat regularly, making sure that her parents still drive him home and letting him crash on their couch when Heidi works too late, but she’s seen him retreat into himself too often to think he’s okay. And Connor…

“What are you doing up?” he whispers, the sound traveling across their kitchen table.

“Waiting for you,” she responds in a similar hiss, snapping her laptop shut.

“You should’ve just gone to bed, Mom’s gonna be pissed if she sees the li-”

“When she sees her son walk through the door at-” she lifts her phone dramatically, searching for the little time symbol. “1:12 in the morning?”

“Well she won’t see it if you just go to sleep-”

“What are you even doing?” she says in a normal tone, though she recoils and presses a hand over her mouth when Connor’s eyes widen in warning. She and Connor freeze with their hands stifling their breathing, trying to hear any shifts from their parents upstairs with their identical eyes wide. After a beat of nothing but the house shifting in the wind, she lowers her hands, swiping up her laptop with the one closest to the table. “You don’t need to be out this late, Con.”

His eyes flash over to her, then back up to the ceiling. “You don’t need to stay up for me.”

“Oh, sure, I’ll just stop worrying, I’ll just go to bed and dream sweet dreams when you’re doing hell knows what-”

“I didn’t ask you to fucking worry about me!” He cuts out. “I don’t need your pity, Zoe!”

She balts, shakes her head, feels her braids sliding against the material of her jazz band sweatshirt. “Pity?” she repeats.

Connor holds his jaw, looking away.

“Pity,” she says, then laughs a single time, too loud, but she’s past the point of caring. “I don’t know where you got pity from in the last fourteen years, Connor, but none of it is coming from me, that’s for sure.” She brushed past him. “Fine. You don’t deserve my worry anyway. I’ll tell mom in the morning if you’re so insistent.”

Connor’s footsteps hurry after her, until his fingers wrap around her wrist. She jerks it away as soon as he makes contact, “Don’t. Please.”

“You want me to stop worrying?” she says lowly, dangerously. “Fine. Then I’ll make sure you can’t do anything that worries me. See how you fucking like that.”

It was like a switch flipped in Connor, like as soon as their group fell apart so did he, growing more liable to shut down and ramp up at once. But he just leaves her grasping at straws always, never able to say anything right.

Middle school bleeds into high school, the chasm and pressure growing between them, small disagreements exploding into screams and something valuable shattering. Doors they’d never closed before close with racorous clangs, and Zoe grows tired of sleeping outside of them and waiting for him to open them up.

You don’t need to worry about me, he’d said, and she can’t ever stop, really, but she can ignore him until the worry clawed at her a little less urgently.

Try as she might, she couldn’t just forget all those years, especially when she saw reminders of them all around school - flashes of Jared’s shirts, an edge of Alana’s backpack, a flicker of Evan’s eyes. She still goes to the treehouse, sometimes, but mostly she keeps to her room, her guitar, the things she knows.

Her phone buzzes one night, and when she sees Evan Hansen flash across her screen she picks it up without a moment’s thought.

“Hello?”

“Zoe?” Evan says, voice breathy in her ear.

There’s a beat. “Yeah,” she finally says. “You okay?”

“I’m - yeah, um, I’m fine, it’s all - uh, my mom is pulling a night shift.”

“Oh?” She says, barely a hum.

“Yeah. She - look, this is, um, really dumb, I know, but can I - can I stay at yours? Tonight? I know it’s been, um, less than ideal, I can just-”

“Yeah,” she says, again without thinking. She squeezes her eyes shut, forces enthusiasm into her voice. “Yeah. ‘Course, Ev. I’ll - you need me to pick you up?”

“What? Um - no, I’m - I’m at the park, actually, walking is…fine.”

Her eyebrows pull closer together. “It’s late.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Really.”

Ten minutes later, Evan is on their front porch. Cynthia greets him with a warm smile, and Zoe leans against the doorway of the guest room while he sets himself up.

“Are you okay, Evan?” She hears herself ask.

His head jerks up quickly, locking eyes with her. “I-I’m fine.”

Zoe shakes her head, letting out a but of air through her nose. “What’s up, then?”

His hands still over his backpack, and he looks just past her head to the hallway. “I couldn’t be alone in that house.”

She hesitates for a moment, nods, looks to the corner of the room. “I get it.”

“Do you?”

Her eyes snap back over to him. “What?”

“Do you - have you been alone, Zoe, through all of this?”

She snorts. “Good as.”

“But never actually-”

“Loneliness isn’t always distance,” she spits out. “But if it was you’d be all set, given how much you run away from all of us.”

Time slows to a crawl; Evan lets his hands fall to his sides, eyes wide and searching on hers.

“I’m,” she begins, the word getting stuck in her throat. She looks towards her feet. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, but before he can say anything she says “I’ll drive you in tomorrow” and is gone, set off down the hallway.

The next morning she gets to her car early, knowing, somehow, he’ll climb in with enough time to get there. And he does so wordlessly.

Somewhere, on the way to school, he murmurs, “I’m sorry for pulling away.”

She taps her index finger against the wheel, looking out towards the road rather than him. The scene is desolate, still early-morning and deserted with the yellowing pools of light from streetlights that have yet to switch off. “Yeah, me too.”

Every day, he swings by her house - a long walk, making his day longer, but he’s always been an early bird - to get a ride to school. Connor joins them occasionally, but mostly he arrives by his own means that Zoe isn’t too interested in learning. He talks to Jared, little by little, and she sees Connor and Alana in the library and Jared and Alana with their heads bowed together at lunch. She finds a picture of them in the treehouse and texts it to them as a group, and things feel a little closer to okay.

After high school, things start to calm down, like an inflamed cut that needs to be soothed. She and Connor stand in each other’s doorways until they have the courage to walk inside, and their newly-reinstated group chat keeps a steady flow of bad memes and musical theater jokes. It’s easier to breathe when she’s at school, easier to move and be. She’s used to being alone in a house full of people; being alone in a city of lonely people is close enough that the transition is almost nothing.

She misses everyone, though. Evan texts her pictures of the trees back home and around the community college, and Connor snaps Jared and Alana when they’re around. She’s the only one who left, this time around. Removed by physical distance rather than a measly year.

She gets home for winter break halfway through December, and an unusually warm one at that. Connor follows her up to her room, watching her unpack likely half in an attempt to give her some privacy from their parents.

“You seen Evan yet?” He asks at some point, once he’s grown bored of watching her fold clothes.

“No, not yet,” she replies with saccharine sweetness.

“You should,” he mocks in a similar tone of voice.

“I will.”

Their ridiculous miming comes to a halt when she withdraws a rattling bag from her backpack and throws it onto her bed. Connor dives forward, grabbing at it. “Is this-did you just throw nail polish?” He demands.

She looks him dead in the eye and does the same with her other bag.

“Dishonor on you,” he mutters, already unzipping it and rifliging through the colors with a clink each time. “Want me to do your nails? They’re looking…” he trails off, eyes dipping to her unpainted and bitten nails, worn down by her guitar strings.

“I could say the same to you,” she says. “Stones and glass houses, dear brother.”

“Point taken.”

They take the time to paint each other’s nails after dinner, sitting on their living room couch. Connor opts for a dark blue instead of his gala black, and chooses gold glitter for the upcoming holidays for Zoe.

“Please don’t get nail polish on the couch, Zoe,” her mother says as she passes by to go to the kitchen, and she and Connor lock eyes. He rolls his; she smiles tightly.

“You’d think she say it to me, given that I live here,” Connor whispers.

Her phone bzzs in her pocket, and instinctively she reaches for it, noting the way the golden glitter glints against the denim of her jeans.

Evan Hansen: gonna leave mom’s for a walk, you tied up?

She feels the corners of her lips twitch involuntarily. Yes, please. Ready in 10?

“I’m gonna take a walk,” she announces loudly enough her parents should be able to hear it from the next room. “It’s just Evan,” she adds in an undertone to Connor. “Want to come along?”

“Nope. Have fun, though, I guess.”

“So enthusiastic.”

Evan is waiting outside, bundled up in a scarf and parka. His eyes pinch at the edges like they always do when he’s tired; she surges forward and slides her arms around his neck, colliding with him softly so he lets out an oomph. She feels a kiss pressed to the top of her head a moment later.

“Hey,” she says, muffled into his coat. “You’re overdressed.”

“You’re underdressed.”

“Fleece is never wrong.”

“…I suppose you’re right?” And then, with some trepidation, “oh no. Not again.”

“I’m always right,” she says lightly, throwing him a smile so he knows it’s a joke. She reaches for his hand, tugging him forward lightly. “Heidi‘s doing well?”

“Well as always, yeah. Your family?”

“All…fine,” she says. “Just, y’know…stressed.”

“Mhm,” Evan hums, and she can tell he’s trying to say something, so she just squeezes his hand lightly and falls silent.

“Dad wanted me to go h–to Colorado,” Evan blurts. “For Christmas.”

She pauses a little at that, tugging his hand closer. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He swallows gently, watching the sky with a ferocity she can barely remember him having. She sees the stars shine in his deep brown eyes, though they seem a little too starry to be reflection alone. He blinks rapidly. “Mom encouraged me,” he adds, “but I–Zoe, I couldn’t.”

“I don’t blame you,” she says, letting out a jet of breath. “I wouldn’t be able to either.” She lets her eyes drift upward and pulls him a little bit closer to her, wrapping her free hand around his arm. “Can’t,” she amends, all breath.

“He still doesn’t care,” Evan says, almost to himself. “He knows what I fucking celebrate, and he still doesn’t–care.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a dick,” Zoe says before immediately wishing she could take it back. That kind of bluntness helps her and Connor, but never Evan.

But Evan surprises her all the same. “You’re not wrong.”

A laugh bursts from her chest, and after a moment Evan joins her, albeit hesitantly. “Like I said,” she repeats, “never am.”

Evan’s ghand remains chilly in hers, despite his best attempts to keep warm with his jacket; she brings his hand over to hold it in both of hers, wincing a little as his cold fingers meet hers.

“How are you so cold all the time?” she murmurs, massaging over his knuckles with one hand.

“How is it for you?” He asks suddenly, his brain taking him in a whole new direction. Zoe isn’t phased by the topic change.

“It’s…like it always is,” she admits, her voice low. She pulls Evan’s hands closer to her heart, trying to convince herself it’s just to warm him up. “Better with Con, I guess. But it’s still…” she swallows roughly. “I feel like I can’t…breathe, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Evan says quietly. “It can be hard.” He frees his hand, only to wrap it around her shoulders. She steals his other hand as soon as they get situated in a good walking pace.

Almost nothing about Evan is calm, but he’s calming all the same. He’s all Zoe can think of as they turn in front of Ellison State Park.

Evan stills, and Zoe keeps walking forward for a moment, accidentally tugging at their conjoined hands. She looks back at him immediately, tone filling with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Is that…” he mutters, before surging forward and pulling her rather than the other way around. “Alana! Jared!” He calls, uncharacteristically loud. And sure enough, in the distance, she can see Alana and Jared leaned over something just inside the bronzed gates of Ellison Park.

“Evan!” Jared calls, only to immediately get shushed by an old couple taking a walk around the park.

They hurry across the street, waving wildly to the single car that seems perplexed by their crossing, and Alana passes something to Jared before pulling them both into a too-tight hug that reminds Zoe of her mother.

When they pull away, she ruffles Zoe’s hair like she’s a little kid again. “There’s our city girl.”

“You should’ve joined me!” Zoe protests, already moving over to Jared to hug him.

Jared looks like he might shy away for a second, but he relents only a second later, a hug almost as tight as Alana’s. Zoe’s pulled away by a pressure at her leg, something soft poking through the tears and a panting noise. When she looks down, the downy face of a dog stares back up at her, tail wagging and tongue hanging out. Without thinking, she drops to the ground, offering him a hand as she balances on one knee. He nearly knocks her over a moment later when he bounds forward to lick her cheek and request pets. She looks back up at the obvious joy on Alana’s face.

“You adopted a dog??” She asks, remembering the powerpoint Alana made in middle school trying to convince her parents.

“Yes! We just got him this weekend and he’s already the best boy.”

The golden glint of a collar tag catches her eye. “Archibald? Well, aren’t you just a joy, Archie!”

“He doesn’t like Archie” Alana says a bit curtly, mid-coaxing the dog back towards her. She flips a few braids that had escaped her ponytail over her shoulder just in time for the dog to make a grab for them. She grins down at him before looking back up towards Zoe. “Is Connor around? I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Yeah,” Zoe says. “Here, I can…” She pulls out her phone to tell Connor to join them, making a silly face when the dog makes a u-turn to lick her cheek.

Connor Murphy: are you and hansen bein gross

Zoe: alana and jared are here dork

Connor: with archibald?

Zoe: how. how did you know this

Connor: lana and i have a snap streak of 150k. keep up

Zoe: side note do you know why she named her dog after an elderly british man

Zoe: and won’t let me call him archie

Connor: says archie’s a dumb name and she “thinks its refined”

Zoe: lmao k

“Connor should be by soon,” she relays, smiling back down at the dog. He takes a particular liking to her; she can’t quite get used to it. “You’re a good baby, aren’t you?”

Something occurs to her all of the sudden, and she pulls her phone back out.

Zoe: WAIT are you still by the house

Connor: just leaving why

Zoe: …yknow that old time capsule?

Connor: are you going to ask me to dig it up in mid december while you’re hanging out with our old friends so i can bring it to the park

Zoe: yes

Connor: you were put on this earth to test me

Connor: be there in 15

“He’s bringing something,” she adds, and ignores their curious looks in favor of the dog.

When Connor’s shape finally appears, it’s carrying a bag rather than a box. “It was shot,” he explains in an undertone once he gets close enough for Zoe to hear. He reaches out a hand and lands a spare pat to Archibald’s head. “Had to improvise.”

“Hey, Connor!” Alana says, almost too cheery. Connor raises a hand, plopping the bag in the middle of their circle but out of Archibald’s reach.

“We don’t want your weird sex stuff, Connor,” Jared says, and Zoe shoots him a glare.

“It’s the time capsule, actually, but thanks for the input,” Connor says before Zoe can speak.

A beat passes, no noise but Archibald’s panting.

“Oh,” Alana says after a moment. “Your parents let you keep that?”

“They didn’t know,” Zoe and Connor deadpan at the same time. Jared stifles something that sounds like a cough but is probably closer to a laugh.

Zoe looks at Evan and reaches out to lace their fingers together again. He looks around the group, studying each person’s face. “Should we…”

Jared reaches forward and overturns the bag.

Glitter is the first thing Zoe sees; she hears Evan hiss “shit” as it explodes everywhere over the grass. It’s green, which makes that portion of grass look unnaturally healthy and shiny. Jared looks up; some had reached his glasses lenses, as he was the one to set the glitter loose.

“Alright,” he says. “Who put the glitter in?”

Alana grimaces and holds Archibald back from the pile of glitter. “I’m pretty sure that was you, Jared.”

“…Oh.”

Zoe leans forward, picking through the cacophony of items and silently handing them out. A few purple, pink, and blue friendship bracelets find their way throughout the group, and Connor even puts one on to a joke from Zoe about stealing the bi colors. Jared reclaims a few of the Connor has to make a quick grab for a few sheets of paper in the wind that turn out to be filled with his sketches. Zoe picks up a purple ukulele pick, feeling it slide between her calloused fingertips. She hands Evan an outdated pamphlet from Ellison State Park about their rangers program to Jared’s exclamation of “That’s what you put in??” and throws a few ballet ribbons and a small journal in Alana’s direction.

Jared’s makes her pause, and he takes advantage of the lull to surge forward and snatch the object from her hands. The silicone abides easily. “So that’s where I put my iPod!”

“Why did we let you do this?” Zoe says. “Why did your parents?”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Jared admits, examining it for quality. He looks up and around their assembled group. “I forgot about it immediately after burying it.”

Alana laughs first, and then she sets everyone else off, a group of college-age kids giggling over a pile of glitter and their childhood treasures in the park where everything began. Evan falls into Zoe’s side, unable to curb his laughter; she buries her own in the top of his head, his curls tickling her cheeks and making her laughs worse. And as they get dirty looks from everyone around them, the night only feels like another beginning.

#sincerely us #deh #dear evan hansen #bandtrees #evan hansen #zoe murphy #alana beck #connor murphy #jared kleinman #mine #deh fanfic

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mimssides · 4 years

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One Spade for five Hearts: Chapter 2

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Today had been supposed to be a normal Wednesday. Quite frankly it had been a perfectly normal Wednesday until Remus had not come to PE in the last period of the day.

Logan had found it a little unusual; Remus liked chaos but kæ was not someone to skip class, especially not one kæ liked so much. The teacher had asked the class if someone knew where kæ was but eventually just started the lesson.

When Logan had gone back to the changing rooms together with Virgil, he had planned to ask their friend where kæ was, only to be met with twelve very panicked messages from Patton. With a frown Logan halted and looked over the few first messages until he felt Virgil looking over his shoulder.

“Did something happen?” Virgil asked.

Logan held up his phone for him to read and commented: “Probably, but I am unsure of exactly what had happened. Can you glean anything from this?”

Virgil’s eyes darted over his phone screen for a few seconds, he was as quick in reading as he was in running, and shook his head a few moments later.

“They might be freaked out about Remus? Maybe they know something; we can meet up with them after changing?” Virgil proposed as they continued walking and finally entered the changing room.

Logan nodded and texted Pat that they could meet up after Virgil and he had changed if they desired so. Then he put his phone down to get back and change.

When Virgil and him had changed quicker than usually, Logan checked his phone again but found no new text. While exiting the building Logan sent a new message to Patton asking if everything was alright.

The answer he got came not over text.

“Logan!!!”

It was easy to startle Virgil. He sometimes jumped at the sight of a speck of dust being enlightened in the sunlight at the wrong moment. But to startle Logan one had to be truly gifted.

So, it was a rather rare sight of both Spades jumping on the spot, as Patton cried for Logan as soon as they had seen him exit the building. With a hand over his heart Logan looked over to Patton, who was running towards Virgil and him. It seemed like they had cried, eyes red, usually always present smile wiped away from their lips and Logan felt his heart sink. Something was wrong.

The thought got only stronger, when he noticed Roman and Damian following them. As far as Logan could tell, Roman seemed enraged and Damian something between annoyed and worried. This seemed to get more complicated than Logan had expected.

Patton ran quicker and only did not crash into the pair because Logan managed to catch them in time and now was holding them by their shoulders. Patton trembled under Logan’s grip and he quickly let go only for the slightly smaller boy to surge forward and tackle him in a hug, gently crying into nape of Logan’s neck.

“Okay, wow, this is bad,” Virgil commented weakly and shot Roman and Damian a terrified look as they caught up.

Damian put his hand on Roman’s shoulder, who was about to explode, as Logan finally patted Patton’s back to calm them and asked the two: “Could you please figuratively illuminate us about what is going on?”

“Sid Kent has struck yet again!” Roman growled and Logan felt his lips twitch. “And this time he’s getting Remus expelled!”

“What?!” Virgil hissed panicky while Patton’s crying got louder again.

Alerted Logan walked a few steps away from the school building, the others following and asked Roman with a pressed voice: “What has this dimwit done this time?”

“Remus or Sid?” Damian said with an eyeroll and earned two angry glares from Virgil and Roman.

“I was asking for Sid but you can tell me too what Remus did wrong.”

A wet cry came from Patton and all four others looked at them as they wailed: “Nothing! Kæ ‘idn’t do a-anything ‘rong!”

Logan and Virgil exchanged a look. Not that Patton was not reliable, but the possibility that Remus did nothing to cause kæs situation kæ was currently in was astronomically slim.

“I get the looks but,” Roman said walking up to Logan and Virgil and stemming his hands in his hips, “for once in kæs life kæ actually wasn’t at fault. Sid and his friends trapped kæm in the storeroom for plant seed in building K. Apparently one of them knocked kæm out and now kæ is stuck in there. Rem needed a minute to figure out where kæ was and only then kæ texted Pat what happened.”

“Remus is stuck in K?!” Virgil asked perplexed and Logan felt a migraine approaching.

In building K they had the conservatory and next to it the gallery with an exhibition of historical artifacts from the city. It was off limits to be in there for students without permission after 16:00 and if someone got caught, they had to expect to deal with the consequences. And Remus, who was notorious for kæs pranks or just talking out of line in the worst possible moments, would most likely be expelled for a few days after everything kæ had done in the past no matter if kæ had meant to be there or not.

“Gods be damned,” Logan mumbled under his breath.

Virgil next to him began to pace around mumbling ‘shit, shit, shit’ over and over again as Damian sighed once more and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Meanwhile Roman stepped closer to Logan and Patton and put his hand on the latter’s shoulder. They finally let go of Logan and turned to look down at the still furious redhead and sniffled their nose.

“Are we now going to break kæm out, dearest Pat?”

At once Virgil stopped in his tracks and flabbergasted stared at Roman.

Damian groaned and hid his head in his hands saying: “We cannot do that Roman! I’ve said it fourteen times and I will say it again: We cannot break Remus out of there! We’d need to get the key for this damn storeroom, which we only could obtain from one of the members of the gardening club and we all know that they are all narks and won’t give us that damn key. And even if we could get that far, after that we’d need to check if someone is inside the building to make sure kæ could get out safely. How on earth would we do that?”

“I don’t care how! I’m going to get my brother out of there!” Roman contested vigorously. “You cannot possibly think this is fair! If it was kæs own mistake, if kæ had brought this over kæmself, I wouldn’t care, but there’s no chance that the teachers would believe kæm that kæ has been pranked. They won’t take kæs side, so I will. I will make it right when the authorities fail.”

There was a beat of silence. Patton’s sniffle broke it and Roman’s eyes softened and he squeezed their shoulder gently. They smiled a little at Roman’s attempt to comfort them and Logan realized that Patton would help Roman break into the damn building.

And with that realisation followed the impact of the things Roman had just said. Remus would be treated unfairly. He knew kæ would. All the teachers were harder on kæm in every class they shared. Of course, Remus was loud and tactless but even more so kæ was brilliant and intuitive.

And kæ was Logan’s friend.

With that thought Logan looked from the two Hearts over to Virgil, whose expression changed from worried to mortified.

“Your will in all honour, but this is not going to work. I mean, even I agree that this isn’t how Remus should be treated, I would like to help kæm, but not at my own expense,” Damian objected softly trying to talk some sense into Roman.

Sadly, Damian’s efforts would be for naught as Logan took a deep breath and said reluctantly: “Actually… There might be a way to get kæm out. But that would require your help, Virgil.”

Logan looked over to Virgil and saw his apparent panic. He knew how much Virgil did not want to stand out, how much he liked disappearing in the background and how much he most certainly wouldn’t want to get involved into breaking Remus out of this building. But he knew also that Virgil was excellent at thinking quick, adjusting to new situations and that he was the most supportive and gentle friend anyone cold wish for. Which was why he had never let Logan walk into new and scary situations on his own despite being absolutely mortified.

“Fuck, L,” Virgil mumbled shakily. “You know I can’t let you do this on your own. You might get scared breaking the rules without me.”

Logan just huffed as an answer and looked over to the two Hearts beaming at him in glee and the Dimond shooting him a glare.

“You can’t be serious, Ward,” Damian said and rubbed over his blind eye.

With a shrug Logan pointed to the tie around his neck and said: “I am always serious, Lucas. Now for the plan.”

___

It was 17:58 now and their plan had worked far better than Logan could ever have expected. Just as planned Roman, Patton and Damian had caught a girl from the gardening club after leaving building K and distracted her with a conversation as Virgil silently picked the key off her. The charm of three very charming red Suits paired with Virgil’s stealth had worked outstandingly well in their favour, just as Logan had predicted.

Now it was time for the next step and Logan hoped that would work just as well. Virgil and he himself would get the key to Remus, so the boy could exit from the inside. They could do so, since the little storeroom had a slim window, which Virgil could reach if he stood on Logan’s shoulders. With a clear view Virgil could teleport the key inside the room and Remus would be able to free kæmself.

Before though Patton, Roman and Janus would go inside to silently check if someone was still on the first floor there and meet up with Remus to get kæm out of there. In case someone would see them, it was way more probable that they could talk themselves out of the situation than Logan, Virgil or Remus could.

Remus had been informed through Patton’s and Roman’s texts and after they saw the janitor leave the building the three red Suits went inside and Logan and Virgil walked to the backside of the building. Quietly they positioned themselves under the little window and Virgil climbed on Logan’s shoulder with little issue. For a moment Virgil checked the room he could see through the dirty glass and saw Remus sitting on the floor next to the door. The screen of kæs phone lit kæs face.

Inhale. Exhale. Concentrate on the spot next to Remus, Virgil reminded himself and clenched the key in his hand until it disappeared from his fist and reappeared in the spot where Virgil had envisioned it. Remus flinched and then looked up to the window suddenly a bright smile on kæs face. Eagerly kæ waved at Virgil before taking the key and unlocking the door to kæs prison.

With a sigh Virgil let Logan know to let him down. For a second they just looked at each other before Logan took his phone out to check if everything was going well with the others.

Everything would be fine if Roman Butkus hadn’t lent Damian his yellow crayon that day in forth grade. If that hadn’t happened, they wouldn’t have become best friends, he wouldn’t be emotionally attached to this impulsive Heart and he wouldn’t be pressed against a wall together with him and Patton because they had seen a member of the gardening club and stupidly fled up the stairs to where Remus was trapped, instead of saying that they had forgot the time and were now leaving.

But Roman had lent him this crayon and now he was here and Remus could not for the life of kæm open any doors silently even if kæs life would have depended on it. Which was why the steps downstairs suddenly stopped and Damian could almost feel how the gardening guy was turning around and walking towards the stairs.

This was bad. Really bad. Suddenly he felt Roman grabbing him by the wrist and he was pulled along with Patton towards Remus. The Club wanted to speak but kept kæs mouth shut when kæ saw Patton gesturing and Roman’s serious look.

Damian looked back to the staircase and Patton typed something into their phone and showed Remus the screen. The dim light illuminated Remus’s face and made it clear that kæ expression changed from confusion to concern. Frantically kæ looked around, as kæs eyes suddenly settled on the window down the hallway. Like a flash an idea came to Remus and kæ looked towards kæs brother in the hopes that he would have come to the same conclusion. And luck was with kæm for once, as Roman nodded and took Damian by the arm and quietly walked towards the window at the end of the hallway.

Remus took Patton by the hand and blindly typed to Virgil and Logan that they needed to come to the window at the eastern side. Only a few seconds later Patton and kæ stood next to Roman and Damian. Both Pat and Damian looked a little lost until Roman opened the window and both became pale in an instant.

As quietly as Damian could he whispered towards the twins: “You can’t be serious?! I’m not getting out of here through the window!”

Just then footsteps from the stairway echoed through the halls and Remus took Patton by the hand and hopped on the windowsill. With a swift movement kæ swung the squealing Heart over kæs shoulder and looked down.

___

Remus stood on the windowsill of the second floor. It was not too high, ten feet maybe, ten and half feet at best but still Remus was not supposed to stand on the windowsill with Patton over kæs shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Logan hissed watching as Remus looked back over kæs shoulder and then looked down to the Virgil and him again.

“We’ve gotta run and you’ve gotta catch us!” kæ said stiffly smiling and just like that jumped.

Virgil was quicker than Logan. Hurriedly he had stepped in front of him and caught both Remus and Patton. Maybe he was grunting and barely capable of holding them both, but he had managed to catch them nevertheless and it was more than Logan could have hoped. Clumsily he stood to the side as Virgil toppled backwards and let both Remus and Patton down.

“What-?” Virgil was asking but broke off and stared down to his hand.

Logan didn’t get to ask what was wrong when he heard a yelp and saw how the second twin, this time with Damian in his arms, stood in the window.

Logan didn’t register how he moved forwards, nor how he stretched out his arms, as Roman took a leap and Damian screamed. The impact from both boys and the rough fall to the ground he did feel though and gasped for air.

“Oh, my gods, Logan!” Logan heard Patton say.

Someone pulled him on his legs. Logan blinked. It was Remus. Kæ looked a little weird but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He didn’t have the time to think about it any longer either as Remus asked hushed: “Can you run, specs?”

Logan blinked. He heard some one yelling from the floor above them. Right. They needed to go.

“Affirmative,” Logan mumbled and like that Remus started running, pulling Patton along.

Virgil followed suit, even overtook them and Roman took Janus by the hand and started sprinting as well. And with that Logan started too. At the rear, he saw his friends run away from the school grounds.

This operation had turned into a mess. It could have gone a lot worse and maybe it would get worse later, but as they ran further, as building K lay behind them, a loud, excited, joyful whoop from Remus cut through the air. And the tension fell apart. Roman joined, Patton laughed and Logan watched Virgil look back and give him a little grin. Even Damian looked no longer as scared or annoyed as before slightly shook his head at Remus’s whooping.

Logan’s nerves calmed and his spirits rose. It was messy, unplanned and uncoordinated. But it worked. And it was right. Somehow this felt right and Logan liked this feeling very much.

Finally, they reached the end of the school grounds and slowed down. Logan’s breathing was heavy, running was not his favourite form of exercise, but otherwise he felt fine. Silently, he watched as the others stood still, as Patton went from one to the other to ask if they felt okay eventually stopping by Remus, who somehow had managed to cut himself during the fall.

It was then when Logan noticed something. At first, he couldn’t place it, only as his running pulse slowed down and the blood rushing through his ears got quieter. Only then he realized that he heard something.

He was hearing noises. Weird noises. Noises that sounded so different from what he knew. They were nice and soft and he felt attracted to them. As if he was under a spell. But they didn’t come from anywhere. They were in his head and Logan looked to the ground and listened closer.

It was different things that made noises. One sounded a bit like loud breathing but not.

Phuu. Phu. Phu. Phuuuuuuu.

It sounded a little nervous but friendly, the noise changing the length and the pitch in some weird patterns.

Patterns. Pitch changes.

Logan looked up. Looked to Virgil. Realized how well the Phuu matched him even though he could not explain why. And then he looked around more.

There was a soft Ting sound next to energetic Bonk sounds. They fit Patton and Remus.

And lastly two more delicate sounds. Quick and swift Plings and a steady mmmmng sounds, which wavered and squeaked a little. Perfectly matching Roman and Damian respectively.

And all of them, despite being so different, the played alongside each other. Had played alongside each other, since the moment they had started running. Logan just hadn’t heard because his heart had beaten so loud and fast.

But now he heard and the sound got stronger and louder in his ears. His heart began racing again. The beat loud in his ears, but no longer louder than the –

- the music.

Logan heard music for the first time in his life.

Which meant that he and his soulmates had shared a moment of harmony for the first time.

Which meant that his five best friends were his soulmates and Logan had to deal with the fact that the strong feelings he harboured for each one of them might not be solely platonic as he had told himself for varying amounts of times.

“Lo? You good?”

The Phu got flimsier and the melody of the Ting changed just as fast. Virgil and Patton looked at him and Logan wanted to cry. His stomach was heavy and Virgil’s mismatched eyes saw far too easily through him to not notice as much. He needed to get home.

“It’s-” Logan looked down to his watch.

A different worry nestled itself in his stomach and he looked back up to Virgil.

“It’s 18:14. I should have been at home 1 hour and 14 minutes ago. I apologize, I need to go,” Logan said and didn’t wait for a response.

With a pounding heart he turned around and ran away. He tried not to hear the faint squeak from the mnnnnng, the rapid Bonks or the slanted Plings. But he did until he was finally far enough away from them.

He kept running for a bit, until his shoulder hurt from his satchel rubbing on the fabric of his shirt, after which he finally paused. He took a few breaths. He was almost home. He was clammy, sweaty and uncomfortable. Father would be home for dinner. And Logan would look like a mess, be late and emotionally compromised.

Just great, he thought, gulped and rubbed over his eyes to keep the tears from overflow from his eyes.

___

@varthandi

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

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spacewitchqueen · 4 years

Text

Guess who wrote another silly fic featuring the Immortal Husbands? That would be me.

In which they encounter a very dangerous adversary... an actual baby.

Oh, Baby!

Early morning. The first rays of sunshine have barely just started filtering through the blinds. Joe shouldn’t even be awake, it’s a crime to get up this early, it’s a crime to even think about getting up this early. He stretches an arm with the intention of wrapping himself around Nicky but all he finds is an empty space beside him. He opens his eyes and raises his head from the pillow.

“Nicky?” Joe half yawns.

A quick inspection reveals Nicky is not even in the bedroom. Joe is about to head to the kitchen when he hears voices. Nicky seems to be talking to someone at the door, he sounds happy. By the time Joe puts a shirt on, whoever came calling is gone and Nicky is standing in the living room facing a window, his back to Joe. Joe smiles and takes his chance to hug his husband from behind.

“Good morning, my love.” Joe nuzzles Nicky’s neck.

“Good morning.” Nicky turns around to give Joe a soft kiss but he doesn’t lean completely into him. Joe looks down and sees why: Nicky has something in his arms. Someone. A tiny someone.

“And who is this?”

“Someone left him at our door, so I guess he’s ours now.” Nicky smiles at Joe. Joe is speechless for a full minute before Nicky bursts out laughing. “I’m teasing you, he’s Nicole’s baby, you know, the nice woman from across the hall? She has a job interview today and couldn’t get a babysitter, so we’re taking care of him for the day.”

“We are?”

“Yeah, our neighbor needs a favor, it’s the kind thing to do.”

Joe feels a familiar warmth spreading in his chest. Yes, his Nicolò is kind, even if his memory is not the best. “We were supposed to join Nile at the museum today. Remember? The last day of that exhibition she wants to see? She is sure she can point out which sketches are mine.”

“Oh, right.” Nicky’s face falls a little.

“Well, I suppose we could take him.” Joe points at the baby and lets him grab his finger.

“Nicky.”

“Yes, you, but also him.”

“His name is Nicholas, he’s baby Nicky.”

“Of course he is.”

“And no, we cannot take him because what if his mother comes back early and we’re not here?”

“Alright. Let me call Nile then,”

“No, go with her, Joe. I’m going to be fine by myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go. I’ll be fine.” Nicky smiles. “Really, how hard can this be? He’s 1 year old, I have over 900 years on him.” Baby Nicky blew a loud raspberry.

If Joe doubts his husband's skills as it concerns childcare, he does not mention it. He goes back to the bedroom to take a quick shower and get ready to go.

When he comes back out, he finds Nicky busy in the kitchen, holding baby Nicky in one arm and mashing a banana with the other, humming a cheerful little tune.

“Nicky?” Both Nickys turn around to see Joe.

Joe raises his eyebrow and chuckles. “I’m leaving now.” He leans over the counter to kiss Nicky goodbye. Baby Nicky doesn’t take kindly to the interruption of the melody and starts crying. Joe leaves Nicky rocking the baby.

A couple of hours later, Joe gets a text “Come. Now.” Fearing the worst, he cuts the museum visit short not before apologizing profusely to Nile. Halfway home Joe wonders if he should’ve brought Nile along, maybe she has actual babysitting experience.

Nothing could have prepared Joe for the absolute disaster zone he walks into. The kitchen looks like a tiny tornado just blew by: there’s cereal scattered all over the floor, small puddles of what appears to be milk and indistinct fruit mush, a smashed bowl and a broken mug. The living room doesn’t look much better, there are baby clothes and toys on the couch and the coffee table, as if Nicky had emptied the contents of the baby’s diaper bag haphazardly and forgotten to put everything back in. There were tiny handprints on the wall and the carpet. Joe bites his lip trying his best not to laugh. “How hard can this be, indeed?”

Joe enters the bedroom, thankfully everything looks normal here. Nicky is sitting on the bed, cradling baby Nicky in his arms. The baby is fast asleep.

“What…?” Joe asks. Nicky raises his eyebrows at him menacingly. “What happened?” Joe continues in a whisper.

“He crawls.” Nicky hisses. “And walks.”

Joe looks at Nicky, not quite understanding what he means.

“I thought he would sleep all day. I’m telling you, this child is not normal.”

“He seems to be calm now.”

“Yes, he’s exhausted after he’s been wreaking havoc all morning.”

“That reminds me, is that paint on the wall?”

Nicky rolls his eyes. “I thought it would be a fun thing to do.”

“And the kitchen?”

“Let’s just say breakfast and lunch didn’t go quite as planned.”

Joe grins. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day when you’d tolerate a kitchen that is not spotless.”

“How am I supposed to do anything when I’m holding him all the time?”

“You can put him down…”

“He. Cries.” Nicky sighs. “Or crawls away and hides. I spent fifteen horrible minutes looking for him because I put him down for a second to clean up the spilt milk and he went and hid under the bed.

Joe laughs, forgetting for a second that they’re trying to be quiet. His laughter is interrupted by a loud wail, baby Nicky does not appreciate being awakened so rudely. Nicky looks mutinous.

“We need professional help.”

Thirty minutes later, Nile is knocking on their door. “So you two, immortal warriors cannot even deal with a small child? For shame.” She takes over from Nicky with the baby, feeds him and bathes him while Joe and Nicky clean the apartment. By the time Nicole comes back to collect baby Nicky, they are all sitting on the couch waiting for her and there isn’t a single thing out of place. Nicky gets up when the doorbell rings.

“I hope he didn’t give you too much trouble, he only just started walking,” Nicole says, taking baby Nicky and the diaper bag from Nicky’s arms.

“Not at all, he’s an angel.”

Joe and Nile snort in the background, oh they will make Nicky pay for this one of these days.

“Eeky,” baby Nicky babbles.

Nicky ruffles the baby’s hair and bids his mother good evening. The look on Nicky’s eyes when he closes the door makes Joe think that maybe he won’t be too harsh with the punishment. Maybe.

#the old guard #joenicky #immortal husbands #kaysanova #tog fic #fluff and crack #team baby nicky #likes and reblogs are much appreciated #swq writes #my tog fic #everyone is a nicky i don't make the rules

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lilhemmo · 5 years

Note

i..uh.. need a fix it fic for tros... if you're interested

a/n: of course i’m interested :) need i say spoilers ahead?? omitting what i don’t want from canon (what i know) and adding in whatever i feel :)

Isolation is the one thing Rey knows best, so it’s the only thing that makes sense to her when she falls back into reliance on her survival instincts.

She tries the desert planet of her mentor.

The sand is all too familiar between her toes and in her teeth. The biting wind turns her cheeks to raw skin. The heat warms her whole body to a pink color, the flush on her cheeks fabricated from a sunburn.

It isn’t long before Rey remembers...she hates the sand.

And she feels the green calling out to her, night after night, when the desert cold settles in, chilling her down to the marrow.

It takes a while, but finally, Rey answers.

It is a siren song, reminding her of Han Solo’s warm smile as she took in the sight of a new planet for the first time. She can hear his voice ringing in her ears as she drives the Falcon towards a planet that screams brightly at her through the Force. She can smell the foliage through her connection with the life force of the entire galaxy; it calls to her with a voice as soft as the petals of an Anagallis flower.

As her feet touch the ground and fresh blades of grass split between her toes, she feels a wave of nausea force her to her knees.

Find me. Please, find me.

Rey covers her ears with her hands and pushes herself back to her full height. She winces at the familiar voice, tears surfacing in her eyes immediately while his words resonate in her mind.

“You’re gone,” she spits, angry with herself for falling so quickly back into hope. Still, she searches frantically for even the muted blue glow of the Force somewhere in the distance.

She sleeps in the Falcon with her staff tucked underneath a pillow. The low hum of the kyber crystal lulls her to sleep at night, drowning the voice reverberating in her head.

Every morning she finds herself something for breakfast - either a fish from the nearby river or a little animal in the woods - and she cooks it just under the shield of the Falcon, sitting on a log and picking under her fingernails when she’s done.

She thinks of how he might critique her, how he would despise the way she’s living. He means well, of course. Or rather meant well, given he can’t mean anything anymore. Even still, Rey swears that she can feel his heart beating in the background of her soul, pushing her forward each day with it’s strong song.

He starts to come to her in her dreams.

She decides to leave the green planet and find another.

This time it is blue.

Blue like his saber. Blue like his soul. Blue like his light.

All she can remember of him is blue.

Rey swallows thickly as she steps down from the Falcon’s steps to traverse onto the new planet, trying to shed her old skin like a reptile, moving on into the next step of her life.

As soon as her feet touch solid ground, something buckles in the Force.

Her heart beats heavy in her chest and sweat beads on her forehead. Rey feels a throbbing at the back of her mind, pulsing like a heartbeat. She follows where the Force leads, beckoning her closer to the edge of the planet, closer to the blue sea.

Her toes dip in when she hears his voice echo in the wind, “Find me. I’m here.”

Tears fall down her cheeks just as they always do when she hears his voice calling out to her like a dream. She shakes her head and water falls from the sky. Rey falls to her knees, digging her hands in the sand, water up to her elbows.

“I can’t fool myself any longer,” she cries out to the ocean. Her eyes burn with saltwater, “No more tricks, no more lies. Please. I’m tired.”

And then it’s no longer blue, but black.

Hollow, cold blackness.

Rey has felt this before - on Ahch-To, when the deep called to her then. Master Luke admonished her for her flailing towards the sadness that ironically gave her hope. She should feel scared, frightened even, but all she can taste is the honeyed thought of home just against the tip of her tongue. It begs for her to swallow, to allow the warmth to seep into her bones.

Instead, she meets the chill of the ocean. The tide rises and steam billows from the difference in temperature. Her heart hammers in her chest, eyes fluttering behind thin lids. Rey stands back to her feet, trousers soaked to her knees.

She remembers how she is supposed to be afraid of the dark, to scamper from it. Her limbs should be shuddering and her heart should be a block of ice in her ribs but all she feels is temptation and heat.

Rey swallows drily, her mouth turned to sandpaper, and then she dives.

She isn’t sure how she can breathe under the water. Maybe that’s the Force too.

Either way, Rey pushes herself until she gets to the part of the water that numbs her body. It brings her closer to the pulsing until her mind cannot focus, cannot feel anything but the Force overwhelming her, begging her to dive deeper.

Rey is afraid that if she dives too far, she may never come up for air.

Was this what Master Luke warned her about?

She does not have time to think because her fingertips brush over the hilt of a saber in the murky sand below. Rey’s fingertips wrap around the base of the saber and it is one she knows all too well - the cross-guard is unmistakable.

As both hands touch the hilt of the lightsaber, Rey is thrown backward against a jagged rock somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. The base of her neck cracks against the rock and her body falls limp into the sand.

A few bubbles part from her lips and then everything goes black.

“Foolish Jedi,” a voice murmurs, warm and gentle. “I suppose you’re not really a Jedi though now, are you?”

Rey feels her hair brushed away from her face and she wants to force her eyes open because she’s afraid she may be in danger, but her body won’t listen.

The voice is deep, rough from disuse, “I’m not sure how you found me. I’ve been calling to you.”

The voice is one from her dreams.

“Ben?” her voice cracks.

Rey wills her eyelids to open and she swears he is a dream. Or a nightmare.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he speaks, and she realizes his hands are against her neck and waist, just like the day he died. Tears spring to her eyes and Rey lurches forward, ducking her head into his neck. She will not take for granted their time, even if he is a figment instead of reality.

His arms wrap around her and he feels solid, but she won’t be tricked. He has been an imaginary thing in her mind for far too long for her to start trusting herself now.

“I’m here,” his voice echoes as if he were reading her mind.

Which, if she were to think too hard about it, he probably is. He’s been in her mind since the day he removed his mask and bared his soul to her. She grits her teeth and forces herself to look him in the eyes.

He is dark, but he is also light.

His clothes are all varying shades of black, and his eyes are deep, ebony to match his hair. However, the light in his irises, the hope in his voice - it all balances.

“I can’t take this,” her voice wobbles, but her hands find solid skin when she touches his torso. “This sick dream has turned into a nightmare and you haunt me. Can’t I be free of this pain?”

Rey’s words echo his from all those years ago - words he wailed to Han Solo before the flash of red and singed flesh filled the desolate air.

Ben looks over her frantically, as if trying to put together a puzzle she can’t quite see. He brushes the back of his palm over her cheek and she is reminded of the feel of his own skin under the pads of her fingers as he flashed her his final smile.

“Please, Ben,” her voice breaks. Rey sniffles and her shoulders shake.

He shakes his head, “I don’t know what to tell you, Rey. You found me. I thought you would be free of the pain that has clouded you since Exegol.”

“F-Found?” Rey echoes.

Her big, brown eyes look up at him like a confused animal and he has to fight back the desire to chuckle between his lips.

Instead, he nods, “Yes. I’ve been stuck in this, uh, this world between worlds of sorts. I can’t get out - at least not alone.”

Once she understands, it’s as if her whole world has turned back right-side up. Rey’s beaming smile returns and Ben feels his heart expand in his chest so much so that he fears his ribs may hurt, but he doesn’t care.

“I found you,” she repeats, her hands on his cheeks now.

All she can think about is his mouth, his touch. She wants to drown in it, like she did the ocean. Her hand flexes, remembering the lightsaber.

“Your saber.” Rey turns frantically, searching for the weapon. She swallows before turning back to him, “When I touched it, that is what brought me here.”

Ben blinks one time too many before focusing back on her face again. He shakes his head, “No matter. It’s a relic of a dead man, passed away when you healed me.”

As if seeing him for the first time, Rey draws the tip of her index finger down where his scar used to be - where Kylo used to be. The splitting of his soul in two.

“I didn’t even notice,” she murmurs, eyelids threatening to close with the nearness of him intoxicating her. She sighs and he chuckles just loud enough for her to hear him.

Ben is quiet for a moment, drinking her in slowly like she might disappear any second now. Rey does not break his eye contact, her soul unwilling to be apart from him again.

“I’m not sure how to get out,” he tells her, tone heady.

She watches as his lower lip trembles and she wonders what it would feel like against her own mouth. Rey looks around, breaking eye contact with him for a mere moment.

When her gaze returns to his, he’s instilled with a confidence he’s not sure he’s ever possessed.

“We’ll figure it out - together.”

It has been a long time since Ben Solo knew he could count on anyone other than Kylo Ren.

He’s not quite sure when this scavenger dug her own hole in his heart, but he knows better than to push her away. Instead, he tucks her further into his arms, heart beating wildly against the fabric of his shirt.

“I like the sound of that,” he mumbles, eyes flitting closed as his lips find hers for the first time in too long.

Rey loses herself in the taste of his lips, the feel of his body. His arms are around her like a cage, securing her so she won’t fall apart again.

She’s not quite sure when trusting him became second nature, but she knows better than to push him away. Instead, she grips him by the collar and the jaw and bruises his mouth with her own.

And for the third time, Ben Solo and Rey work together to fight a common enemy.

a/n: i actually really like this???? not real worried about how it works plot wise or lore wise, i’m just having a good time

#reylo #ben solo #rey #reylo fic #benrey #benrey fic #rey x kylo #rey x ben #rey x ben solo #ben solo x rey #kylo x rey #kylo ren x rey #my songs #star wars

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sunday-school-lessons · 3 years

Text

The Church is United in the Essentials

(Note to readers: “If” you would rather watch a video of this lesson, you can find it here: https://youtu.be/jB7BcEjS2mQ ).

Today we're going to begin a new series of lessons under the general heading of:

Don't Forget.

We will be drawing Scriptures from the 15th chapter of the Book of Acts.

We're going to be discussing the nature of salvation with a focus on the subject of "justification."

Now, even though we have discussed this subject of justification before, I think it would be a good idea to revisit the theological definition of the word again.

In Christian theology,

justification is God's righteous act of removing the condemnation,

the guilt,

and the penalty of sin,

by grace, while, at the same time,

declaring the ungodly to be righteous,

through faith in Christ's atoning sacrifice.

Lots of words get thrown around by the "religious" crowd.

Sometimes, when we get all in to it and use words like justification, sanctification, glorification, and others, and without realizing it, we’re talking over the heads of lots of people.

But before we get into the lesson, I'd like to talk briefly about something that often happens among groups of people who are "trying" to get something..... spiritual to happen.

We’ve all heard the word, "ritual"

casually used in conversation.

And, all of us perform rituals without giving them a second thought.

When you habitually do the same things every morning preparing for your day, it's said to be a ritual; you’re “routine.”

Yet, there are lots of rituals people perform in an effort to experience something......supernatural.

If you're watching this video, more than likely, you do believe in the supernatural.

And it's a good thing to believe in the supernatural.

In 1st Corinthians chapter 1 and verse 18 Paul writes:

"For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God."

But it's not "just" the message of the cross that the church is projecting to the rest of the world.

Thanks to modern technology, people from every culture can watch as Christians perform a variety of rituals throughout the year.

Rituals, defined, are solemn ceremonies that incorporate a series of actions that are performed according to a prescribed order.

It's kind of like following a recipe to end up with a dish you want.

I mean, you don't use tuna to make a strawberry cake.

It wouldn't be fair to single out any particular group here.

However, to the world at large, religious folks do some pretty strange things at times.

Here's a few of them.

This video that’s playing in the background here shows the holy fire ceremony of Easter in Jerusalem, …. Jewish people at the wailing wall, also in Jerusalem,… and a baptismal ceremony in the Jordan River.

I'm not condemning any celebration that lifts up our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

But at the same time, there's a big difference between commemorating a holy day and trying to perform something........ well..... magical.

There are tons of people in this world that know full well that magic, real magic, exists.

Magic is where you apply beliefs, rituals, or certain actions so that you can control and manipulate natural or supernatural beings or forces.

Magic's something that's not really science or religion.

But, the most important thing to remember about magic is that God hates it!

In Deuteronomy 18:10-12, Moses is inspired by God to write:

"Let no one be found among you who sacrifices their son or daughter in the fire, who practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens,

engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the LORD;

because of these same detestable practices the LORD your God will drive out those nations before you."

(people really did offer their babies to Baal...through the fire; and they really did, and still do practice all of the things I just read to you...... and God hates it!)

On the surface, it would appear that God detests these sorts of things because they lure people away from Him.

And, I’m sure that’s part of it. But it goes much deeper than that.

Where do you think the power behind magical abilities comes from?

Right!

It comes from the ultimate liar!

It comes from Lucifer himself.

And, just in case you didn't already know it; Lucifer hates you!

On the other hand, God created man to ultimately be His companions far beyond time itself.

Lucifer is not invited to that party!

He had already been thrown out of heaven long before God created man.

And it's because of Satin's work to sully the purity that Adam and Eve lived in, that sin, ….. that rebellion entered the world of humans.

Now, God has made the way for individuals to make their way back to Him.

He has made a way to justify us.

So, once again,

justification is God's righteous act of removing the condemnation,

the guilt,

and the penalty of sin,

by grace, while, at the same time,

declaring the ungodly to be righteous,

through faith in Christ's atoning sacrifice.

Section 1:

The Church Debates the Nature of Salvation

Acts 15:1-5;

Some men came down from Judea and began to teach the brothers,

"Unless you are circumcised according to the custom prescribed by Moses,

you cannot be saved."

After Paul and Barnabas had engaged them in serious argument and debate,

Paul and Barnabas and some others were appointed to go up to the apostles and elders in Jerusalem about this issue.

When they had been sent on their way by the church,

they passed through both Phoenicia and Samaria,

describing in detail the conversion of the Gentiles,

and they brought great joy to all the brothers and sisters.

When they arrived at Jerusalem, they were welcomed by the church,

the apostles, and the elders, and they reported all that God had done with them.

But some of the believers who belonged to the party of the Pharisees stood up and said,

"It is necessary to circumcise them and to command them to keep the law of Moses."

From the very beginning, different people had different understandings about salvation. It’s important that we be constantly vigilant of the things we accept as truth. We just can’t afford to allow things like legalism to creep into the church. So, what’s legalism look like? The 1st verse I just read to you: Some men came down from Judea and began to teach the brothers,

"Unless you are circumcised according to the custom prescribed by Moses,

you cannot be saved."

At the very heart of legalism, is the idea that ’unless you add so-and-so to your faith, you cannot be saved. The Bible teaches us that we are graciously accepted by God as righteous by faith alone in Christ alone; nothing else. I have attended churches over the years who preached and believed that unless you…… well, they were hanging

customs, rituals, and “procedures” onto this simple salvation that the Lord offers us. So, always remember, salvation comes ”by faith alone in Christ alone.” Nothing else. Seriously, adding any other means of seeking God’s acceptance is misguided, wrong, and, quiet frankly, it’s downright dangerous. That group of Jewish Christians that spoke up were insisting that the Gentile converts had to become Jews through the rite of circumcision in order to become Christians. These Jews who resisted the idea that Gentiles were converting to Christianity without becoming Jewish believed that salvation was something that had been offered to the Jews alone. These very same people believed Jesus was the Messiah, and that salvation was in Jesus alone. Yet, they were trying to add ritual or custom to salvation in demanding the converts become Jewish as well. We just studied the subject of “unity.” Legalism is a device of the devil. When people among the congregation go down that road of legalism, their words and actions rob the members of their joy and unity. In adding their demands to the gospel of grace, these legalists begin to pass judgment on everyone who does not meet the new demands. Then, the legalists criticize the leadership for not imposing their standard on the rest of the body. Then, division begins as the legalist tries to gain support for their position. Now you have two sides. The demands and judgments of the legalists continue to tear the church apart. Never let your guard down. It’s so easy to be drawn in, and the truth is still as simple as I’ve already stated. Salvation is in faith alone, in Christ alone.

Legalism distorts our Biblical view of God. The root of legalism is our own distorted view of God. When we have a wrong view of God, we WILL have a wrong view of salvation. A wrong view of God is why sinners are still sinners. The world does not see our God as we do. This is why it is so very important that we live our lives in a way that others can Jesus in us.

Section 2:

The Church Affirms Justification by Faith Alone

Acts 15:11, 14-18;

The apostles and the elders gathered to consider this matter.

After there had been much debate, Peter stood up and said to them,

"Brothers, you are aware that in the early days God made a choice among you,

that by my mouth the Gentiles would hear the gospel message and believe.

And God, who knows the heart, bore witness to them by giving them the Holy Spirit,

just as he also did to us.

He made no distinction between us and them,

cleansing their hearts by faith.

Now then, why are you testing God by putting a yoke on the disciples' necks that neither our ancestors nor we have been able to bear?

On the contrary, we believe that we are saved thorough the grace of the Lord Jesus in the same way they are."

..................................

Simeon has reported how God first intervened to take from the Gentiles a people for his name.

And the words of the prophets agree with this, as it is written:

After these things I will return and rebuild David's fallen tent.

I will rebuild its ruins and set it up again,

so that the rest of humanity may seek the Lord..... even all the Gentiles who are called by my name.....

declares the Lord who makes these things

known from long ago.

What’s being described in these verses was the 1st church council; the Council of Jerusalem. The Apostles and the church elders convened together for the purpose of making an important decision concerning a matter of salvation through justification. In all, there have been 22 councils held. By the year 325, the year the Council of Nicaea was called by the Roman Emperor Constantine, the church was already calling itself “Catholic” (a word that means all-encompassing, universal, or all-embracing). The Council of Nicaea, and the following 20 councils were convened primarily because of, you guessed it, legalism that had entered the church. There was great division within the body of Christ on a variety of subjects that the church “fathers” felt they had to over and over again to settle the matters. By 1517 the German monk, Martin Luther, nailed his proclamations onto the church doors and started the Protestant movement. Today, there are those who claim that as many as 38,000 different denominations of the church exist. Churches have split over things as simple as whether to use the word, “is” or “as.”

One that I’ve toyed around with for years, is often quoted from the pulpit. It’s: 2 CORINTHIANS 5:8 KJV "We are confident, [I say], and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord."

Preachers will misquote the Scripture and say something along the lines of: ”To be absent from the body IS to be present with the Lord.” The words “is” and “and” are not equal and they do not mean the same thing. But I’m not telling y’all this to divide us; it’s just an example. An example that illustrates how easily you can be drawn in to a “legalistic” argument. But, before moving on, I would like to point out that the example I just used has absolutely nothing at all to do with salvation. The important thing to always remember is that salvation comes by grace alone, in faith alone, in Christ….ALONE! This is not double-speak; it follows a very logical progression of thought.

This message of salvation is for everyone; whether Jew or Gentile.

Section 3:

The Church Advocates Freedom in Love

Acts 15:19-21;

Therefore, in my judgment, we should not cause difficulties for those among the Gentiles, who turn to God,

but instead we should write to them to abstain from things polluted by idols,

from sexual immorality,

from eating anything that has been strangled, and from blood.

For since ancient times, Moses has had those who proclaim him in every city, and every Sabbath day

he is read aloud in the synagogues."

If memory serves me right, Moses issued a total of 613 laws.

There was a reason God gave these to Moses. It was to show the children of Israel that no matter how hard they tried, they could not save themselves, because they could not keep the law in its entirety. So why did the Jerusalem Council tack on four of the Mosaic laws? (abstaining from things offered to idols, from sexual immorality, from eating things that have been strangled, and from blood?) For one thing, these four things were tied to the pagan temple practices of their day. This was certainly the case for the people of Corinth at that time. It was there that some in the church believed that since they were saved by faith, it freed them to actually continue to sin. And, there are folks out there today who believe that justification by faith frees them to continue to sin. The Apostles mentioned these things because they understood that the gospel still has expectations for holiness and for love in the lives of believers. There’s a section of Scripture in the 1st chapter of 1st Peter entitled:

Living Before God Our Father.

In it, Peter quotes from the Law of Moses by saying, As Christians, we’re to seek, to strive to live our lives in love and holiness; not because we’re attempting to gain God’s favor, but because He has clearly told us to be holy because He is. Paragraph from lesson: …………………………………………… The apostles and the elders, with the help of the Holy Spirit, maintained the unity of the church by not adding anything to the gospel of grace. But with their four commands, for the sake of the Jews, they did ask the Gentiles to obey the “law of Christ”, or ”the royal law”…… ”Love your neighbor as yourself.” Our obedience to God and His Son, Jesus, is out of love. If we love God, we will obey Him.

If we love Jesus, we will keep His commandments. The doctrine of justification by faith does not free us to sin; it empowers us to love….. to love God and to love others. ……………………………………….

The thing is, the Jews had been dispersed throughout the known world of their time. These people, God’s chosen people, though scattered, continued to take part in their traditions and their law-keeping in their synagogues. So, to maintain a faithful witness to the Jews and to maintain loving fellowship with their Jewish-Christian brothers, the apostles asked the Gentiles to abstain from those things that most offended the Jews. So, out of love, Gentiles were

To pursue holiness and leave off their old pagan ways. The gospel of grace frees us to love one another. We are no longer under the Old Testament and it’s myriad of laws. However, the Mosaic Law still has implications for believers because it’s God’s Word. The 10 Commandments were given under the law. Just because Christ came and fulfilled the law, does that mean it would be okay to murder, to steal, or to lie on your neighbors? Of course not! The Scriptures are an infallible guide to salvation. The Bible does use round numbers here and there, and varying perspectives of different events, but it is still completely truthful. As for Christianity, until Christ returns, there will always be disagreement over issues; both small and great. We really do have the freedom to disagree with one another over some things in our faith and understanding. But I like to think these are things that, in no way, affect our salvation. Our understanding of God and of the gospel of Jesus Christ just can’t be a point of divisiveness. Eternity lies in the balance. We should all be determined to contend vigorously for the foundational doctrines, like justification by faith alone. From Jesus to the apostles to us, the Holy Spirit has safeguarded the Christian faith over many, many generations. That’s how the Spirit keeps us united in faith and united for our mission to take the gospel to the ends of the earth. Let’s pray….

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sheliesshattered · 4 years

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This Isn’t A Ghost Story extras for Chapter 7: The Museum

The penultimate chapter of This Isn’t A Ghost Story has been posted! It’s here on Tumblr and here on AO3. Lots of pictures, explanations, and a few spoilers below the cut. The extras follow the flow of the chapter, so it’s safe to follow along with this post as you read, if you like.

Chapter 7 is named for and takes place in the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities in Cairo. This is the same location where Clara and the Doctor first met in 1921, as detailed in the journal entries in chapter 3 and some of Clara’s recovered memories in chapter 4. The museum was originally built in 1901, and besides a few modernizing improvements over the years, it hasn’t changed much since then. Here’s a postcard depicting the museum while it was being built:

And the museum as it appears today in modern Cairo:

The interior of the museum hasn’t changed much either, and a few of the larger artifacts haven’t even been moved since they were originally put in place for the opening in 1902.

Here’s a short walk-through video of both the entrance and the interior of the museum, showing what it looked like in 2017. The new Grand Egyptian Museum was supposed to open in the spring of 2020, but has been pushed back to at least 2021 because of the Covid-19 pandemic. For Ghost Story I decided to skip right over 2020 and assume that by May 2021, the original Cairo Museum will still be open to the public, whether or not GEM has finally opened.

Clara asks the Doctor if he remembers what she wore to that black-tie party in 1921, and I have to imagine it was something like her dress from Mummy On The Orient Express:

This amazing dress from 1925 is also a strong contender.

While the Cairo Museum doesn’t have a reproduction of the tomb of Thutmose III like I described in this chapter (and, in fact, until the new museum opens, the Cairo Museum is far too crowded with artifacts to be able to devote an entire room to Thutmose III), that specific burial chamber has been recreated at a museum in England, with stunning attention to detail:

Comparing it to the original tomb in the Valley of the Kings, you can see how accurately they’ve reproduced it:

Clara comments on the star ceiling, photographed in the original tomb here:

Which, as the Doctor notes, is a common feature in a lot of 18th dynasty and other New Kingdom architecture, and in This Isn’t A Ghost Story connects directly with Clara’s star sapphire wedding ring:

Those of you who have followed me here on Tumblr the last few months may have heard me yell about the tomb of Thutmose III before, and in particular the art depicting the Amduat aka The Twelve Hours of the Night. What Clara describes as “stylised stick figures” is in fact what the walls of the burial chamber are absolutely covered in, and I cannot overstate my love for it. I mean:

I love this art style, possibly more than anything else in all of ancient Egyptian art. I love how stylized and timeless it is, I love that it’s used to tell a complex story that is part of an even more complex funerary tradition. I love the sweeping lines and tiny bits of shading, I love the little upturned toes of their shoes and the tiniest hint of hand shapes. I love their skinny little arms and skinny little legs, oh my god. The fact that this is a real 3500 year old work of art constantly boggles my mind.

The reproduction of the tomb of Thutmose III at Bolton’s museum in England also has a short video that retells the story of the Amduat in gorgeous stylized animation, following the recently deceased pharaoh as he joins Ra on his journey through the underworld to rebirth, if you would like a more complete idea of what the wall art is depicting.

The Twelve Hours of the Night poem Clara quotes is credited to the poet William Ashbless, the less about whom is said the better. But if your curiosity compels you (and I certainly hope it does), I do highly recommend Tim Powers’ excellent novel The Anubis Gates. Tim Powers is possibly my all-time favorite author, and a huge influence on all of my writing. This Isn’t A Ghost Story is quite definitely the most Powers-esque thing I’ve ever written, and was probably influenced most specifically by The Anubis Gates, Declare, and The Stress of Her Regard. Finding a way to work in a subtle nod to both Ashbless and The Anubis Gates felt fitting and highly amusing to me.

My long-standing love for the Amduat was an early part of the development of this story, coming right on the heels of deciding to give the Doctor a background in Egyptology. I spent a fair part of mid-June digging into research on the Amduat, reading every little scrap about it that I could wring out of the internet. On June 19th -- three months ago this weekend -- all of that research quite suddenly solidified into this chapter, which at the time I figured would be chapter 6, before chapter 5 up and decided to split into two chapters.

Using the twelve hours of the night as the linchpin for the happy ending I wanted for these two really helped solidify and clarify my ideas about how the Doctor functioned as a ghost with regard to sunlight. The sunlight/darkness and day/night theme is really the backbone to the whole story, and is also echoed by the dichotomy of Clara’s wedding ring, which looks like a star in the night sky, but only when viewed in direct sunlight. All of that, from chapter 1 onward and even the story’s title, was leading to this moment, the twist at the end of this chapter.

I wrote the first draft of this chapter in basically one go, beginning to end, which is super unusual for me for any scene, much less an entire chapter. The first version was about 400 words shorter than the final version, and almost all of that growth was in the moment right after the Doctor starts feeling lightheaded. I wanted that sequence to have enough emotional weight, without tipping over into feeling like I was milking it for melodrama. While editing this chapter, Jack said that he thinks there will be a lot of wailing in the comments this week, and I’m very curious to see how that moment will go over for all of you.

Clara and the Doctor have so many exquisite moments of heartbreak in canon that I couldn’t help but borrow from them all heavily here. And as a writer who really enjoys eliciting emotion from the reader as well as communicating the emotions of the characters, I couldn’t resist the urge to make you, my lovely readers, think that I just might take this down the path of tragedy, even if only for a couple of paragraphs. I would say I’m sorry except that I’m really, really not. :D

We’re down to just one chapter to go now, an even shorter epilogue that grew out of some of the research I did for this chapter. I’ll be back next week with the behind the scenes details for that chapter, as well as a few things about the story as a whole, including the full timeline for Clara and the Doctor.

Do you have any questions for me heading into the final chapter? Any behind the scenes details you’d like me to cover? Let me know! ❤️

Extras for Chapter 8: The Temple

#This Isn't A Ghost Story #This Isn't A Ghost Story extras #process thoughts #my writing #Doctor Who #Doctor Who fanfic #Clara and the Doctor

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years

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It’s The Avengers (03x01)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 01: Noobs Everywhere

Season Premier

Warnings: it is teary floofy

Word Count: life happens. Sometimes it caresess you sometimes it smack you right in the cheek. Other times it brings you together with old friends other times it makes you cry for realising how much you missed writing this stupid and adorable fanfic after days and days of nothing productive. Life happens and Gods I wish it picks me up and throws me on another continent

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

An effective silence eroded through the Avengers Compound. The entrance, all glass with flowers on the centre table that you and Scott had arranged- to add some colour- stood eerily quiet. The hall fit for balls and Stark's famous parties only reverberated with the single beep when Friday made her 'rounds' in there. The library did smell of old books but the silence was not one that was comfortable. The lounge, where everything happened in the Avengers' daily life, was disturbingly still, your favourite mug with tea now ran cold, the kitchenette seemed to have been left in a hurry. The hallway to the Dorms didn't have anyone. Room after room seemed empty. Loki's door was half-open, showing everything in place, neatly arranged. Next was yours, unkempt, disordered, but with every bead of the essence of you. It was empty too. Except for a very scared and whining Zuko coming out of under a blanket while sniffing it, looking around, searching for something before walking out, sniffing his way across the lounge. He whined as he walked past the rooms towards Banner's lab, his cries increasing twofold on seeing a familiar face.

"Hey, little guy."

The camera shifted to show Natasha carefully tuck something inside a brown paper bag and pick up the little chocolate boy, stroking his fur to calm the agitated soul down as she went back to watching Bruce contain the Pandora's box with Scott's help while Clint scanned the lab, Sam and Bucky watched the lab's recording and Steve sat next to Tony on the floor in one corner.

"You okay?" The captain whispered at Tony, who sat with his head supported on his knuckles, his eyes shut, his breaths long and heavy.

When Steve didn't get an answer from him, he turned to Bruce. "Got anything?"

A hiss marked the shutting down of the containment chamber, allowing Bruce and Scott to remove their safety goggles. "I'm not able to get any readings on this thing. It's like it blew it's own fuse when these guys were sucked in."

The camera caught tension ripple through the exposed muscles on Tony's arm at Bruce's words. Maybe Steve noticed it too because he turned back towards Tony and kept his hand on his shoulder, trying to make him feel alright in his way.

Familiar footsteps approached from outside the lab, forcing the camera to turn and face the door, capturing Wanda and Vision's entrance in time; both of them breathless.

"I tried picking up their essence," Wanda announced breathless, her eyes searching the room till they landed on those hopeful brown eyes in the corner, her face crumbling into an apology, "I'm sorry. I couldn't find anything."

"Me neither," Vision added softly, visibly disappointed in himself. "Wherever they were sent, it's not in this galaxy."

A broken sigh left Tony's lungs, his eyes closing way too tightly. Everyone in the room could feel the restraint through the helplessness Tony was feeling right now. But no one knew how to help him. The only way was to find out how to bring her back. But the one person who knew how was also the one lost with her.

"Loki knew how to work that-that...thing," Bruce declared softly into the cold air.

"I'm sure we can work it too," Steve asserted, getting up to address everyone, "we don't have any other choice right now. And even if we do, leaving them stranded in space is not one of them. Come on, Tony."

He brought forward his hand for his friend to help him get up.

"No."

Silence.

"Tony," Steve pressed his name as a question.

"I can't. Let Bruce do it."

"Wh-"

"She's stranded somewhere because of me, Steve. I cannot risk putting her in any more danger."

"Tony, what are you talking about? We need you. Your daughter needs you."

"Friday, give Dr Banner all the assistance he needs."

"Tony wha-"

"She called me 'Dad'!"

His words seemed to vibrate throughout the building, silencing everything all at once.

"The first time she called me dad and I was opening a f****ng door to some unknown hell for her!"

Steve wanted to shake Tony to his senses but all he could do was rub his hands on his face.

"You're right, you sent her through a freaking portal."

Everyone turned to look at the audacity of Scott Lang to be speaking Tony's language right now. "But that was only because she tried to save your stubborn ass from being swallowed by it. So, stop being such a dick, get up and find your daughter and thank her for saving your life."

Natasha looked at the camera with a slight shake of her head, as confused as everyone else in the room.

Tony too had his brows furrowed for a second before he got up and turned to look at Scott- who had not budged from where he stood, behind the worktable.

"I'm only tolerating this crap from you because you are her favourite," Tony stated, "otherwise I would've punched the lights out of you by now."

Scott shrugged. "Mm...no, you wouldn't. Because you know I'm not lying. And you're just scared of hearing her call you 'dad' all of a sudden. Not to mention I already have my hand on my suit so that I can run away before you can think about stepping towards me."

Tony: *twists his lips in an unwanted thought* I hate that I like this guy.

Tony sighed. "I can't even imagine what she must be going through right now."

On a Planet in some Galaxy far far Away...

"So, let me get this straight-"

The camera tried to bring back its focus, the big blurry spot reducing to a sharp image of you standing with your arms crossed- one hand out in the air, trying to make sense of something- confusion filling up till your forehead as you tried to close your eyes and gather your thoughts.

"-you guys, all three thousand and forty-eight of you, planned on invading earth?"

There was a questionable nod from the leader- who looked at the army for confirmation.

"And you were trying to do so because you heard my friend...this guy? Loki? Saying that? Well, declaring that?"

The leader- who had seemed very intimidating fifteen minutes ago- mumbled something under his breath. "Yeah, we thought so."

"Uh-huh, and that happened on a gaming server on which you all were playing a couple of weeks ago. Am I right?"

The leader nodded again.

"So..." You took your time, breathing in, trying to form a question that would deliver that very final blow, "you wanted to invade planet X-78 knowing full well that the game had a planet by the same name, never ever confirming it with this guy over here?"

The army, blank for a moment, now looked at each other in combined confusion.

It started as a snicker, which turned into a giggle that was followed by a cackle that could be heard for miles.

Through the shrill thunder of laughter fit, the camera panned out to focus on Loki standing just two steps away from the device, working on borrowed equipment from the wolf army. He couldn't help but roll his eyes and look straight into the camera when the volume of your laughter did not go down even a single digit.

"She's never going to let me forget this, is she?" Loki asked the camera, sighing with just a hint of fear before looking at the endless expanse of desert around him.

The cackle still continued behind him.

"Oh-oh my Gods," you tried to catch hold of your hurting stomach as you took the support of the nearest rock, "I never realised I was playing with such noobs!"

There was a murmur in the army at the word 'noob', like a little gossip gasp going around before the leader feared the rumour and made an effort to stand straight in front of you.

"Noob? Who are you calling a noob, WarriorZ94? Last I checked you were still learning to use the Goliath Weapons!" He thundered.

You tilted your head at him, still not leaving the support of that one hide sturdy rock by your side. "Last I checked you were trying to run away screaming from a glitter bomb?"

An 'oh snap' wave passed through the army, earning you various nods.

Soldier 1: Isn't she the same girl who kicked our boss' ass when we were in opposite teams?

Soldier 2: *nods* yup! She's the one!

Both soldiers: *raising their index finger and making it touch the other's while facing the camera*

*camera turns to capture your unpleasant emotions over your face while Loki stands next to you with his arms crossed, a little tired but nothing near to the emotional outbreak you're feeling*

You: *whisper* What the fu-

Loki: *inhales* that's their...fistbump

You: *raise your brows* *whisper* oh...*raises voice to normal* Ohh!!

Loki: *looking at you with judgy eyes* you and your rotten mind

"Fine!" The boss finally admitted. "So you mean to tell us there was no real invasion taking place?!!!"

You placed your fingers on your lips, trying to contain that unexplainable rage inside you, taking your time to breathe through the catastrophe before opening your mouth to answer him. "H-how were you planning on invading earth, if I may ask?"

Silence.

Complete, unexplainable, eerie silence.

"I...I uhh...I was counting on our leader, Master Loki to guide us there."

Loki: *still working on borrowed equipment to help him get Stark's cuffs off*

*In his background you cackled once again, this time trying to hold on to your stomach as you lay with your back on the ground*

*The camera periodically catching your cries and wails of 'Master Loki!! Save them!!', 'Maaaaster Loki!!! Your army's waiting, Maaaaster Loki!!!!' while Loki eventually closes his eyes and sighs in defeat*

Soldiers standing next to him: *stand muted in shocked horror*

Loki came back to you wiping away your tears of hilarity as you sat in the warm sand. "I can't get these cursed cuffs off."

You looked at the cuffs and then at Loki. "Okay?"

The God raised his good brow at you. "You do realise we cannot transport back to earth because I can't use magic."

You scrunched up your nose while looking at him, a warm breeze blowing between you and the army patiently watching everything unfold. "Oh...okay."

Loki blinked. He opened his mouth to say something before finding himself scrunching his nose, less of words and much less of the sanity leaving him slowly on this new planet. "Wha-what do you mean 'okay'? We are stranded here with no possible means of getting back. Unless your father and Banner figure something out!"

Loki watched you lean back on your elbows, closing your eyes as if soaking up the nearest star. "Tsk. Relax. Hey wolf-gang! You guys have something to eat? Drink? Some form of transport?"

The boss stepped forward and came to sit next to you. "We only have rations for the army. Desert lizards and sand roaches. To drink we have the juices extracted from the finest rattlesnakes. What would you like to have first?"

"Pass," you and Loki announced in unison, your faces giving away nausea you were feeling on hearing the menu.

"There is a town just a few hog-steps from here. You will find some sort of transport to other planets. But I must warn you, there are all types of creatures that roam in that town. If I were you, I would be extra careful about your waifu here. Some creatures like to play with exotic things just for the sake of it."

A thwack echoed through the air before the camera captured you hitting the chief with his own stick. "Call me waifu one more time and it'll be this stick and your balls next," you hissed through your teeth. "Anyone else interested in calling me by that name!" You shouted to the rest of the army, getting scared head shakes. Loki turned towards the camera.

Loki: Sometimes she is quite annoying. And other times she becomes a feisty animal who would rip your throat out if you give her one excuse. *smirks and then tries to hide it* what? I'm not excited! What makes you think that. *smirks slightly* *gulps*

"Come on," you stated in Loki's direction while getting up and patting the sand off your jeans, "let's go find that town."

The Cursed Lab

"The frequencies?"

"No."

"Okay, how about those wavelengths that-"

"Already calculated. Nothing. We need a signal from their end to lock in. Otherwise, it's all for nothing."

"Someone contact Danvers!"

"Already did. Give it another hour or two and she'll respond."

"Anything else we can do right now?!"

"How about we breathe."

Everyone turned to watch Pepper stand at the entrance of the lab with a power pose, looking directly at Tony.

The camera recorded a slight change in energy as everyone seemed to slowly and quietly step back as she walked towards her husband all the while caressing her baby bump.

"Pepper, not now," Tony whined as he slumped into the chair and rubbed his tired eyes. "I need to find her."

"I know," she interjected, stopping beside him to run her fingers through his hair, "but you need your full strength to do that. And right now you need to sleep. Nothing will happen to her for a few hours. She's got Loki by her side."

Tony mocked a laugh, leaning back in his chair. "You think that's something to be relieved about?"

"Tony," Pepper sweetly scolded him, "my gut says he'll keep her safe. Just like it says she is fine right now. Come on. You get some rest."

Tony sighed, looked around at the faces urging him to go get some shut-eye.

"Fine," he agreed, "don't touch my things. I'll be out on the lounge sofa. I'll know if you do."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

The moment Tony walked out the door, Pepper clasped her hands together. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's find her."

Bruce blinked. Natasha smiled. Clint groaned. Sam and Bucky sat in one corner looking at Pandora's box with a glowering gaze.

"You think we can break it just by looking at it?"

Sam absorbed Bucky's words before inhaling a lungful. "I think cursing at it might do some extra damage."

Bucky silently agreed before both of them slid their chairs across the floor towards the glass that was keeping the box away from any human contact. As they went out of frame, a very concerned Scott's face came into view, who seemed concerned about those two.

"We've tried everything Pepper. There isn't much left to do," Bruce politely explained the situation to Tony's better half.

Pepper raised her brows. "Oh, yes. I know. That's why I called him in and I think he has something that might help."

The camera- along with everyone else- turned to watch a breathless, bloodshot-eyes Peter entering the lab. "I came as soon as I found out," he declared through his short breaths. "I think I may have something."

Without another word, he slow jogged towards Bruce's worktable to throw the contents of his bag on it. Out of all the electronics, he picked out three thin black boxes in different sizes and handed them over to Bruce. "All the cameras have these."

"What's that?" Steve asked, looking over Peter's shoulder.

"Wait, is that-"

"Yeah," Peter answered to Scott's half-sentence.

"Holy crap! HOLY CRAP!" Scott couldn't contain it.

"Who did th-did you do this, Peter?" Bruce looked up from his glasses.

"Me and Scott. We were worried the last time this had happened. Scott was terrified of losing Cassie again like that. So, we came up with a way to make the cameras wireless."

Suddenly the confusion resting on Steve's face eroded as knowledge dawned upon him. "So, you made special emitters for the cameras. They'll be sending live feed on a particular frequency logged in the memory and you'll try to catch it from here. Provided the transmitters survived the jump and there aren't any jumpers in space that might try to damage or hinder with the original signal. We should be able to get live footage if Javier is recording that is, but it would be with a few hours of delay depending on how much time it takes to travel from their jump point to earth."

Silence.

Steve looked around at the shocked faces, a little confused. "What."

One Hour Later

A crackling sound gave way to distorted colours before there was a clear image of desert running for miles with the weirdest shaped at non-periodic distances.

"Friday," Natasha called for the AI, her eyes never once wavering from what she was seeing, "run the feed in the lounge."

Everyone rushed out of the lab to the lounge, finding Tony and Thor already standing away from his sofa as he watched an unsteady recording of two people walking through that very desert.

"Something's wrong," the taller of the two suggested.

"What? What's wrong?" The smaller one asked.

"You," he said.

The smaller one turned and the camera showed your side profile, bringing with your face reveal and sigh of relief in the lounge- the biggest one coming from Tony's lungs.

"Nothing's wrong with me," you stressed with a shrug and kept walking.

Loki, on the other hand, stopped. "By the Norns," he observed, not taking his eyes off you, "you don't want to go back."

Now this made you stop walking. "Whaaat? Of, course I want to go back."

"..."

"Like you said, we don't have a way to get back. So, let's find one. At a... moderate pace."

Loki crossed his arms and looked down at you. You too stood there with a determined face.

For the next ten seconds.

"Alright. FINE! I want to go back! Of course, I want to! It's just that I'm-I'm-"

"Scared." Loki completed your sentence for you.

Everyone watching the feed shifted their weight on their legs but no one dare spoke.

Zuko- still in Natasha's arms- whined when he saw you on the big screen.

"Yes," you muttered, your shoulders loosening a little while your hands tried to rub the embarrassment off your face.

"You do realise that it was your own father whom you called 'dad'," Loki was kind enough to remind you, making you groan inside your hands. Over here, Tony grabbed his shirt by the fabric on his chest, not knowing what else to do.

"I knowww," you groaned again. "That's what I'm scared of. I was trying to get him out of harm's way and accidentally called him 'dad'. And once I did I felt it in my bones to keep calling him dad, Loki. Do you understand that?"

"Then what's the problem?"

"What if he's not ready?! I know he was the one who brought me here. By here I mean home. Our home. What if he thinks he made a mistake?! What if I'm just a burden that he has to hide in some corner so that the world doesn't know his shame? I am scared of the fact that I finally have a father that I love to pieces and I would lose him the moment I try to walk towards that reality."

You were in tears by now. What your worried heart didn't know was that so was Tony. And nearly everyone else.

"What if I never was supposed to be part of their li-"

Tiny gasps and clasped mouths tried to contain the unexplainable jump they felt as Loki grabbed you and brought you to his chest, enclosing you in his arms, almost absorbing you into him with the intensity of a thousand glowing stars. "You really are an idiot."

"Loki-" you muffled in his chest.

"Tony loves you more than you can imagine. Every one of them does. You would truly be an insolent fool to doubt that for even one second. Do you hear me, woman? They are your home because they are the warmth you need in your life. You are scared because you have not known this kind of love before. Hold on to it. Okay?"

You nodded into his chest.

"Loki?"

"Hmm?"

"I think I ruined your shirt."

"Don't worry. Your father will get me new ones."

Tony chuckled, pursing his lips before sniffing. "She's fine," he declared to the room. "She's okay." Cleaning his throat, he walked towards the lab.

Everyone watched him go and just when they were glad that everything was okay there was a loud sniffling sound that interrupted the mushy feelings of the room.

Thor stood there inhaling and exhaling while trying his best to paste a smile on that disturbed face. "I'm fine," he said more for himself than for others before his voice broke, "I'm completely fine."

When everyone dispersed, Scott found himself hugging Peter and telling him how proud he was of him for having found a way to watch over you and Loki.

“Oh, by the way, Y/N.” Scott and Loki heard in the background as they each grabbed a bottle of water to quench their dehydrated souls.

“Hm?”

“What’s a waifu?”

Scott choked on his water while Peter spat his out.

Later That Night

"Yeah, you hear that? He's going to find your babies and make them pay for what you did to our friend."

"And he's going to break down your good for nothing body and mould them into tiny pellets to use for target practice."

"Hell yeah."

Crack.

Bucky and Sam bent a little towards the glass to watch the little crack that just appeared on the Pandora's box.

"Did...did we just do that?" Bucky asked in a whisper.

"I think so," Sam whispered back.

Both of them fist-bumped.

"Yeah, ya see that? That's what you get for messin' up with our fam."

"Try this again and I'll burn you in the worst fire you've ever felt."

"Which one?"

"Your farts after you have tacos."

"Oooh yes! That's true. My boy knows. He knows."

"You better watch out."

Silence.

"I'm hungry," Sam finally blurted.

"Wanna get tacos?"

"You know I do."

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windermeresimblr · 4 years

Text

A Quick “Tutorial” On Faking Stormy Weather For Fun And Photoshoots

I’m very bad at photoshop still, and I also don’t trust my ability to replicate the same editing twice. So, when I decided that my screenshot of Highlanders charging needed some extra oomph, I realized that I could fake editing in a rainy, moody background with a few pieces of C.C. Here’s how I did it.

Step 1: Shopping

Fake fog and fake rain can be found here: fog and rain. They are decorative objects; you can’t tell in the picture, as it’s posed and--by its nature--a still item--but the rain actually “falls.” Which I think is pretty neat, and even though you can’t really tell it’s changed in still pictures unless you stick your nose super close to the screen, it helps to convey a sense of time.

Step 2: Background Colors

I chose “Moonstone” from CuriousB’s Any Color You Like set, because it’s a purply grey that suits a blustery, rainy day. (Moonstone is also a kickass name.) Of course, your scene’s weather depends on what story you want to tell; I’d advise not using white or very light colors, because this will blend in with the rain and you won’t see a great deal.

What I did was paint the soundstage with the plain flat white color in “Misc.” in Create-a-Style, then entered my hex code of choice. Voila! A nice flat, neutral background. You can also use the weather objects outside, in which case you can ignore this step and move straight to step three.

Step 3: Positioning and Lighting

These fog and rain objects are layered; the further you put your item or Sim, the more obscured they will be by the weather. Therefore, if you want your Sims to be reasonably visible, put them in the first two layers or in front of the weather object.

(I wanted the three Sims in the background to look more obscured, and then positioned the other two closer to the “weather” but still far away. Alasdair, of course, cannot be hidden behind the fog since this is his own imagine spot :P.)

I realized that too-bright lighting will wash out the rain! Set your lights on dim. After all, if it’s raining and pouring, visibility will be...not so good, and we all know how fog impacts visibility. And it’s also probably not going to be super sunny and bright. (I like using flame lighting because I think it mimics sunlight, but that’s my opinion. You, of course, can use whatever lighting you like.)

Finally, take your pictures!

ETA

@treason-and-plot reminded me of the existence of fog emitters! No C.C. (just a fully patched game and knowing how to operate the Buy Debug menu, as well as the list of fog emitter codes) is needed in that case.

However, the same caveats hold: don’t match the background color to your choice of weather effect; be careful where you place your weather effect so you don’t block a key element of the shot; and, of course, watch the lighting!

(Also--have a notepad or other item handy so you can remember which fog emitter code you’re using, because eventually you’ll forget and you’ll have one fog emitter standing out and you’ll wail and gnash your teeth.)

#sims 3 tutorial

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owlespresso · 5 years

Text

A Time Before

When Hades and the 14th knew each other, fell in love, and most importantly, had time. Tip Jar / Headcanon Requests are 2 ko-fis. Spicy content below the read more.

The sun peers around the belfry just in time for Hades to round the corner. He squints and turns his gaze away, nose wrinkling at the vile brightness. His books rest in the crook of his arm, and for a moment he must resist the urge to bring them in front of his face as a shield.

He had seen you do that, once, and immediately wondered what it must be like to be unbothered by public opinion, so carefree and dissolute. He’s lost count of how many times he’s scolded you for your filipancy and devout aversion to deadlines.

“Hades!” yet when you call to him from across the vibrant courtyard, voice carried like petals on the breeze, he still goes to you. The florets and emerald leaves fill the air with a delightful, abet stifling aroma.

There’s a quick in his brow and the barest of smiles on his lips as he approaches, watching you rock back and forth in a swing that was most certainly not here yesterday.

“Making the most of our god-given creativity, are you?” he drawls.

“I’m having fun with it, so I think so,” you reply. When you smile smugly, you do it with your eyes, cheeks pulled upwards in an expression both insufferable and adorable all the same. Besides, none of the professors have called me on it, so it’s probably fine.”

It probably is, Hades admits inwardly. It’s a pretty, ivory swing. Vines dotted with flowering blooms twine up the rope on either side. It’s aesthetically pleasing and practical, like your work always is.

Brilliant, blue energy sparks from your palm and spreads to your fingers, before it ventures to the surface below you. Its form changes and warps before his very eyes, growing longer and wider.

“There!” you exclaim, proud as he’s ever seen you.

You tilt your head to the side and pat the newly formed space next to you. The coquettish little grin you treat him to makes him want to squish your cheeks.

“Shouldn’t you be hard at work on your thesis?” he asks dryly, taking a seat regardless. His books now rest in his lap, hands placed neatly atop them.

“I have more than enough time,” you assure him.

Any stinging retort he could have delivered dies on his tongue as you settle yourself into his side. His entire body goes rigid, jaw clamped shut as one of your arms sneaks around his own, tugging the limb into your chest. Your face presses to his shoulder, and he can’t imagine it’s very comfortable with your mask in the way. For once in his life, he’s at a loss for words. Your boldness has never been a secret, but to think you’d show such affection in public.

Even in private, you’d never exchanged anything more than brief brushes up against each other, through thick, black robes.

How do you look underneath those layers, he suddenly wonders? How would you react if he unwrapped you, pressed you to his sheets and ran his needy hands up and down your body? Would you arch into him? What noises would you make? Would you still tease him, or melt into a puddle underneath him? Would your lips part around and smooth over his greedy fingers?

“I wish it would always be like this,” your voice is muffled against his sleeve.

“Like what?” he humors you, even if he has a good idea of what you mean.

“Everything being quiet. Us not being committed to actual jobs, yet. We won’t have this much free time forever, you know. What if he never get to see each other anymore?”

Hades can’t recall the last time he’s heard you sound upset, and can’t control how alarmed he gets. He can feel the writhe and twist of your soul, see how genuinely repulsed at the idea of being apart from him. It’s equal parts touching and flustering, but he has little time to deal with his own, turbulent emotions. Because you are upset, and somehow, he’s come to think of it as his duty to soothe you.

There is explicit value in your happiness and your smile.

What if we work in the same establishment? He wants to ask, but doesn’t, because that’s not a complete plan and might only wind up giving you false hope. He runs through various possible solutions in his head and his hand itches for a utensil to write them down with. He’ll write them like he writes his theories, each and every one meticulously thought out, stewed over for days, drawn up with… love.

“We should get married,” you say, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue. The distress that wailed within you has calmed, “That way, we’ll always come home to each other!”

It’s not a bad idea. In fact, he gets carried away and thinks of it as a very good idea for a moment, before he remembers practicality.

“That’s a bit of a leap from where our relationship currently stands,” he says, bidding the desperate thumping in his chest to calm.

“Maybe,” you say, nonchalant. It awe and frustrates him all at once. He’s never met someone like you, before, and he never wants to be a part from you, either, “But I know for certain that I’m very fond of you. And if we never see each other anymore, who will correct your work?” you tease, and he does his best to ignore the thrill your voice sends up his spine.

“Critiquing isn’t equivalent to correcting!” he snaps, thoroughly offended. You laugh into his shoulder and the sound settles his ruffled feathers. His eyes shut. He exhales the hot air he’d been holding, “Regardless, your feelings are returned. The idea of being separated from you is just as unsettling to me as it is to you.”

He leans over, cheek nestled to the top of your head. The hubbub of the university fades into meager background noise. The decadent, floral scents swell around the both of you, the shade proving a cool blanket, a shelter from the violent light of the sun.

“Are we gonna get married, then?” you feel him stiffen, giving a laugh and oh, it’s so terribly difficult to be cross with you while you’re so blastedly content, “Or maybe we could just find an apartment together?”

“That would be a more amenable solution,” he admits with a small sigh.

“Good,” you say with a certain level of finality to your voice. He feels as though he’s just signed a contract, “Good. We can start looking next weekend.”

“You mean after you get at least halfway done with that thesis,” he pulls back to level you with a stern look, prepared for the pout you give in return, “Don’t look at me like that, you stubborn little thing,” he reaches out and pinches your cheek, expression furrowing into a fond smirk, “You know just as well as I how crucial this is. I’ve gone easy on you before, but this is more important than the rest combined. It’s a requirement for graduation. And if you cannot graduate, you cannot move in with me.”

His hand reaches for your chin, tilting your head up.

“Promise me you’ll get to work, hm?”

You don’t want to give into his demands out of sheer stubbornness. You’re always been pointlessly obstinate, willing to challenge him for the sake of it. There’s no one else who keeps him on his toes, no one who can spur him into improving himself.

His other rivals pale in comparison. He is wowed by your thoughts and clever machinations to levels he never thought possible. Usually, he revels whenever you challenge him, but for once he’s delighted when you sigh, nod and agree.

--------

“If we live together, people are going to think we’re romantically involved,” you clarify, whilst looking over the balcony. This is the third apartment you’ve looked over together, by far the nicest. Hades brushes his fingers over the cool counter and scoffs.

“Have you just realized that?” he drawls and walks to your side, his gaze roaming over their proud city. He’ll never tire of the grand vista, the extravagant spires which stretch towards the sky.

“No,” you scoff right back and nudge him with your elbow, “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Whatever you say,” he replies, entirely unconvinced. Y

A hand reaches for one of your own. You intertwine your fingers together near instantly, leaning your head against his solder.

“You want this one, right?” you inquire softly.

“Of course I do. It’s the nicest one we’ve been shown thus far,” newly done counters, a wine rack in the kitchen, even a fireplace. He briefly pictures the crackling flames, quickly fantasizes about being nestled underneath a sea of blankets with you tucked to his side, just like you are right now.

“Mhm,” you hum and nod your assent, turning your head, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. The two of you linger in the otherwise empty apartment for another fifteen minutes before the real estate agent comes fluttering back in, enthusiastically asking you what you think and when you’ll buy.

The thought of living at your side and waking up to you each and every morning keeps him patient and warm, even throughout all of the obnoxious paperwork, which he finalizes mere days later.

Begins the process of packing up his belongings, readying for the massive changes in his life that loom on the horizon. He puts his life into large, cardboard boxes and watches them get taken down the road and out of sight by the moving vans. He’ll see them again in a matter of hours, but he can’t suppress the nostalgia and perhaps grief he feels.

He’s a proud academic, one of the university’s most lauded scholars, a man undoubtedly head and shoulders above his peers.

So why does his stomach toss and turn? Why does he feel so antsy? The bothersome butterflies flutter in his stomach. His nerves jump even as he rides the elevator up to the apartment, where all his belongings already reside.

He’s taken more difficult leaps than this, he tells himself. The hallway stretches before him after the doors open with an abrupt ding. Ornate paintings are fastened to the walls, lined by frames of gold and bronze. Something as small as a change in scenery should hardly startle him.

The battle with his own emotional state rages on even as he twists the key into the doorknob, fiddling with it for a mere moment before he throws it open. Much to his surprise, the fireplace is already crackling away, cozy warmth sweeping through the living room. Some of the furniture has already been set up—a plush, comfortable couch sat in front of a coffee table which you meticulously picked out from a selection of five.

Your combined belongings rest in boxes scattered around on the floor. He hears the sound of cardboard being tossed about from behind one of the incredible towers.

“Hades!” your face pops into view. Sweat gleams on your brow, but the vibrancy of your smile outshines that by miles. His heart near aches in his chest and he longs to pull you into his arms. The anxiety rumbling in his stomach calms at the sight of you and for the first time in a long while, he feels perfectly at home.

---------

“I still think the sheets could have been purple,” you remark idly, sorting through your bedroom closet. Hades watches from his lounged position, gaze running across your shoulders, down your back, over your hips and thighs. You’ve both discarded the usual robes for lighter fare, allowing him to see more of you than he ever had.

It’s been two weeks since you’ve moved in together, and you’ve settled into a lovely, steady rhythm. There have been no heartfelt, dramatic confessions, but he assumes you’re in a relationship now.

No, he knows it. He knows it from the way you kiss his cheeks or lips whenever he gets home, knows it from the way you lean into him when he wraps his arms around your waist. There’s a domestic bliss that blankets your apartment, a warm feeling he’s never experienced before and does not want to let go.

Even petty little arguments like these have their place in that feeling. How delightful it is to negotiate who’ll do what chores or who will pick out the lamps for the study. Never had he thought that sharing his space with someone else could be so rewarding.

“It would have been obnoxious,” Hades corrects, lips quirking into a smug little grin, “Black is the most fashionable color, my dear. I can think of no one who looks bad in it.”

“Debatable,” you snort, “Being colorful is more adventurous. And history always rewards the brave, Hades,” your organizing gets faster and perhaps a little more aggressive, and once you’re done, you whirl around to face him, crossing your arms.

“I wouldn’t call picking out a pair of gaudy sheets to be brave in any way, shape or form,” Hades raises an eyebrow and you huff, striding over to him. You just about jump onto the bed, the mattress bouncing underneath the sudden weight.

“You just don’t know anything about art,” you tease, crawling over the comforter to rest beside him. He readies another keen retort, but chokes on his words when your face presses into the side of his neck, lips brushing against his skin, “And you’re so cold!” you exclaim, absolutely shocked. One of your hands slides over his chest and wraps around his throat—not to squeeze, merely to feel. It’s an inquisitive touch, but he can’t stop himself from sighing shakily, “What’s wrong?”

Blast it, you’d noticed, you keen little thing.

“Nothing. I was simply rendered speechless by your lack of aesthetic taste,” he snips, but his bottom lip wobbles when your teeth scrape over his skin. The hand on his throat slowly slides down to his robes, beginning to unfasten them, exposing his chest inch-by-inch.

Your lips follow, blazing a trail down his neck. A second hand joins the mix, tugging his sleeves to reveal his shoulders. Your fingers brush over them appreciatively before clamping down, delighting in the broad muscle there. Hades’s hands reach for your hips, giving them a hesitant squeeze. You’re still much too clothed for his liking.

He’d like to remedy that problem, but you have him stunned and motionless, willing to do little besides bask in the attention you’re so generously giving him.

He remains still and pliant for you, shockingly silent as you disrobe him. You carve your marks into his skin, bite at his shoulder. The gentle caress of your fingers intermingle with harsh scratches that make his back arch off the mattress, lips parting around succulent moans and other, hardly dignified noises.

Hades’s wide eyes stare up at the ceiling, the mark you’d so carelessly carved onto his shoulder beginning to throb and ache. It’s a carnivorous feeling that rushes straight to his groin, where your mouth is wrapped so generously around his cock.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how he’d imagined it would go.

But your tongue swirls around his tip and he finally shuts his eyes, presses his shoulders into the mattress and curls his toes. The noise he lets out is one he won’t admit to later. Your firm hands hold him to the sheets and he does his best to stay in place, just for you. Because what would he be without you, you delightful little thing?

You, who insists on making him feel good, who doesn’t give a damn about your own pleasure until he is thoroughly sated.

You’re still in your robes. He hasn’t gotten the joy of unwrapping you, yet, but your palms are hot against his cold skin. His teeth dig into a bottom lip, wiry fingers curling into the ungodly soft sheets as you treat him better than anyone else ever has. His cock twitches in your mouth, mind melting into dull heat, numb to everything but your hot mouth as he nears his release.

It’s never gone this fast, before. He can feel himself tumbling closer to that beautiful, pristine edge—

Your mouth slides off his cock and he gasps, eyes flying open, mind screeching to a complete halt.

“Come back,” he tries to demand, but his voice is too desperate, pathetic and breathy for it. His face is flushed the prettiest shade of red you’ve ever seen, and he hates it. His cock throbs needily between his legs even as you smile up at him, you goddamn tease. Precum beads at the tip, spreads over your skin as you nuzzle your cheek against it, worshipping his length, making him feel the most frayed he’s ever felt. Like an egg sizzling in a pan.

Like… like… he can’t even think! What a pathetic little mess you’ve made of him! The least you could do is take responsibility!

And you do, abet several moments later than he thinks appropriate. Your lips seal around his cock and your mouth takes him in deep, making him throw his head back and scream. Your aether swims around him richly and encompasses his every part, swaddling him in you, you, you, pushing him beyond what he can take.

His orgasm hits and he doesn’t even realize you’ve swallowed it all until he stops shaking. His eyes are blurry, tears streaming down his cheeks, lips parted around balmy breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you’re not, but that’s alright. Hades can hardly fault him when you’ve given so much to him already. You press your palm to his cheek and he leans into it, eyes shut, “I didn’t mean to tease. You’re just so cute! I can’t help myself.”

“That’s probably the worst excuse you’ve ever come up with,” Hades grumbles, pressing his hands to the mattress, pushing himself to sit up. You scoot back with the motion, giving him space. He misses your weight on top of him, but it’s a sacrifice worth making, “And you’ve come up with a more awful excuses than I can count on both hands,” nonetheless, he leans forward to kiss you, tongue running over your lips. You laugh into it and open your mouth for him, amused noises turning into moans as he finally, finally gets the opportunity to ravish you.

It’s better than he’d imagined it would be. Your cocksure attitude softens as his greedy hands all but tear the fabric from your body. Every inch of flesh revealed to him is another place for him to kiss and worship. You squeak when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, shiver when his tongue wraps around a nipple. He coaxes the bud to stiffen by licking around it in circles, the other pinched and pulled lightly by nimble fingers.

“Hades,” you sigh, fingers running over his shoulders, rubbing some of the already bruising marks you’ve left, “Hades,” you say again, eyes shut, legs spreading as he makes his long-awaited descent down your body, throwing your robes open to reach the precious crux of your inner thighs.

It is there where he sings his song and makes his home, where he grows utterly enamored with the taste of you. The blue wisps of your soul twine around him and tremble. His hands press your hips to the mattress, keeping you in place as you withstand the full brunt of his love.

You squeal as your orgasm creeps up on you, the once steady ebb and flow of molten pleasure erupting along your nerves, making your legs shake and tighten around his head. Your honey on his tongue is a pure and rapturous benediction.

Your release gleams tantalizingly on his lips as he rises from his (rightful) place in between your legs. His eyes glint dark, face like a tiger slinking through the reeds as he straddles you. His hand presses to the mattress, besides your head whilst his other wraps around his cock. Moisture that had not been there before suddenly covers his erection. You raise your eyebrows.

“Making good use of your god-given creativity?” you jibe, and he hushes you by pressing his tip snuggly against your entrance. You cut yourself off with a whimper, eyes shutting, hips raising ever so slightly.

“Well, I’m having a grand old time with it, so I’d say so,” he purrs in reply, voice husky with arousal. You’re given not a moment to formulate a reply before his hips cant forward, cock sliding inside you with little to no preamble. Your eyes shut tight and your head falls to the pillow, hands running up his lithe arms to perch on his shoulders.

Your fingers scratch feebly, raising red lines along his pale skin. He’ll tease you about them later, he knows, but for now, he’s rendered speechless by the way your walls hug him so nicely.

“I can’t believe it,” he utters quietly, beginning an agonizingly slow pace. He resists the temptation to shut his eyes, desperate to watch your face contorted in pleasure. Your lips open around squeals and moans, hips rolling to meet each pointed thrust. The hand not at the side of your head wanders down to the space between the two of you, toying with your most intimate place.

“Can’t believe what?” you sound clearly incredulous even when in the throes of pleasure. Your thighs strike against his hips, and it’s not long until you’re writhing desperately against him, encouraging him to go faster.

“That I get to bed someone so miraculous and brilliant,” he praises, nosing over your collarbone, pressing his lips so gently to your skin even as he drives you breathless.

“Hah!” you give a laugh that twists into a high-pitched squeal, “Flattery will get you nowhere!”

“It seems to have landed me in your bed. I would count that as ‘somewhere’,” he manages to keep his voice steady against the mounting pleasure that takes down his spine and through his nerves, striking him to his very core.

He’s merciful enough to remain silent until you cum underneath his gentle coaxing, your eyes shut and expression twisted into divine pleasure. He’s so grateful to have given this to you, he realizes, struck by your ethereal beauty. The blue of your soul twists and twines and flares, full of creativity and light that he wants to reach out and grab, and hold.

Only then does he allow himself to orgasm, pulling out to spill over your stomach. You whine and twitch, lips opening around a final sigh. Quiet lapses over the room, the sound of your soft breathing helping him down from the high.

His arm drapes over your chest, abdomen to your side, still desperate to feel your warmth in any way he can. The afterglow settled around you, aether a second layer of blankets.

“That was great,” you murmur once you’ve regained your bearings.

“I’m glad to have met your standards,” he replies with an amused little huff. His thumb rubs idle circles into your shoulder. He manages to keep his eyes open for another few, precious moments before they close, exhaustion beginning to tug at the back of his mind.

“You always meet my standards,” you press a kiss to his chin, the blankets shifting as you turn onto your side, “I just like to tease you, sometimes.”

“All the red marks on my latest blueprint don’t seem like teasing to me, but I’ll let you have it,” he says, and you don’t reply. A quick glance at your face tells him you’ve already fallen asleep.

He should get up. He should fetch a warm cloth to clean you both off with. But sleep, like a fiend, bogs down his mind and makes his limbs sluggish. The warmth of you pressed to him is impossible to give up. He’ll wake up in ten minutes, he tells himself, but doesn’t bother reaching over to the night stand to set an alarm.

Warmth seeps throughout his entire body and he allows it to weigh him down, sluggishly lull him to sleep.

#emet selch #hades #solas zos galvus #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv

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