#wow turns out making a twelve year old commander

[kepleia]

i havent been here but know the latest ep killed me and gave me life all in the space of 40 minutes

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 17 - With Him

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, how will it go in the end?, 4.8k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16

One finger tapped on the strap of his fanny pack as Alex listened for the right bus stop to be called. If all those months since he’d seen Willie had been long, this past week had been longer. Especially since the news about Caleb had hit hard and every minute in the studio now felt like the band was precariously teetering on the edge of a cliff. He was going to try not to let any of that get in his way today, though. He’d made it to Saturday and Willie was only a few streets away, and he didn’t care what happened for the rest of the day - it was going to be good.

Finally he heard the next stop announced for where he needed to get off and he pulled the cord that told the driver to make a stop. Stepping onto the sidewalk, his heart bounced around in its chamber like the Tazmanian devil from Looney Tunes. He was glad that Willie lived in the basement of the apartment building he occupied because it would’ve been the worst if Alex forgot which room he was in and spent hours frantically knocking doors.

It was hard to tell if he was moving quickly or if his mind was just racing, but in either case, he eventually found himself at the door. For a second, he simply took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, trying to get a visual of Willie immediately pouncing on him the moment the door opened out of his head. It wouldn’t exactly be unwelcome, but Alex was realizing how desperate he was to be with him and was amazed at how it affected his imagination.

Lifting a hand, he made sure he knocked loudly. Soon after, the door opened, and Alex was greeted with shining brown eyes, silky, gorgeous brown hair styled into two braids, and a smile he could make home in. Willie.

“Hey, come on in!” Willie was saying, standing to the side and gesturing for him to enter. Crossing the threshold, Alex gazed at the humble space, taking in the details with heightened interest. “This is mi casa!” He began showing Alex around. “We’ve got the main living space, very cozy. The kitchen to your left, but no dining room so it’s all criss-cross applesauce on the floor - makes it extra chill. Bathroom through the back. The sink and shower handles will sometimes shock you, so don’t mind all the electrical tape.”

It was surprisingly accommodating for a dingy basement, and Willie had already made little additions that spoke volumes about him without words. A king size mattress sat in the corner of the ‘main living space’ on the floor with a small bookshelf beside it. The bookshelf only had a handful of cassette tapes and a Walkman lying on top, with a few sketchbooks on the middle shelf. Next to that, the dresser had a small collection of vintage soda bottles and a camera sitting on its surface. Glow-in-the-dark star stickers covered the ceiling above the bed. Even a couple cat toys could be spotted on the floor. Immediately, Alex approached the area where Willie’s desk sat surrounded by sketches hung on the wall.

“So these are your drawings?” he asked, although the answer was obvious. They were so good. Willie followed him over, the squinty smile still in his eyes.

“Yeah. Some are new. Most of them are attempts to recover what Caleb tore up.”

Alex looked at Willie apologetically, even though the loss of Willie’s previous work wasn’t his fault. Without warning, a pressure on his leg and the sound of loud purring announced Sheldon’s presence. The cat looked up at him and blinked slowly, already begging for attention. Heart melting, Alex bent down to pet him.

“Hey, Sheldon,” he said. “I forgot how cute you were!” He smiled as Sheldon rubbed his head against his hand with more affection that he’d likely seen from any other creature on the planet. Well...maybe there was one other that matched it. Alex had heard about how pets could take on the temperament of their owners, and suspected this was a clear example. “He’s gotten so big since I last saw him.”

“Yeah, he’s supposed to be almost two years old, if Escobar guessed his age right.”

Standing again as Sheldon pattered off, Alex returned his attention to the wall of art, looking at the pieces more closely.

“So which one is your dad?” he mused.

Willie untacked one of them and held it out for Alex to examine. “This one.”

Holding the edges carefully, Alex gazed in amazement at the detail Willie had caught. The edges were certainly less defined, but the scene inside the truck was so easy to visualize that Alex could almost feel the leather of the seats and the windchill from the window. He wasn’t sure what began burning in his chest as he peered down at the image, but it was profound and complex.

“I’ve thought about seeing if I could find him, but I think with my memory it’s kind of impossible,” Willie told him.

“He looks so happy here. I don’t get why you would end up as a foster kid.”

“Yeah, I wondered that too. Maybe he didn’t have a choice?”

Alex looked at Willie’s face, and he could tell half of him was lost in a world of what-ifs and other questions. He was always trying to seem so easy-going, and to an extent he truly was, but he couldn’t hide the constant sense of upheaval that rested on his shoulders. At least, Alex was picking up on it more, now that he knew the things he did. He may have been biased, but he couldn’t imagine anyone not fighting their hardest to keep Willie.

Suddenly his gaze was drawn to the unfinished work on the desk, and recognized it as a portrait of himself.

“Wow.” The word fell out of his mouth.

“Oh,” Willie started with a hint of shyness. “Obviously that one isn’t done, so…” He reached to put it away.

“You got that far off of memory, though,” Alex said. “I’m impressed. And you make me look good.” He offered an encouraging smile. “Maybe some time today I could be a model for you?”

Willie cocked his eyebrow, surprise and playfulness making an adorable combination on his face. It made Alex’s smile grow wider.

“Well, we’ve got a whole day ahead,” Willie said. “Your wish is my command.”

“Okay,” Alex said, leaning onto his back foot casually, one side of his lip curling with intrigue. “Well, I wanna see where you go around here. You seem to have a knack for finding the best spots. We can play it by ear.”

“What’s that one song with the one phrase?” Willie asked. “‘Any way the wind blows?’” He sang shyly, clearly playing down what Alex could tell was a nice voice.

“Bohemian Rhapsody,” Alex smiled. Willie’s job at the record store was at least giving him a good taste in music. “Don’t worry, you’ll know everything about the classics once you hang out with me enough.”

An emotion flashed in Willie’s eyes and after a moment Alex realized what those words were actually saying. He held his gaze, hoping he could communicate his intentions clearly, unlike the last time they’d seen each other. Willie swallowed, and his expression remained excited as he loaded his backpack and led them out the door, board in  hand. Alex followed him, deciding not to question which direction they were going.

First, they made a stop to buy a bunch of apples. In classic Willie fashion, he went to a bodega, and this time he communicated with the cashier in rough Spanish. Alex knew he was showing off, and smirked at the notion that Willie enjoyed impressing him.

“So what do we need these for?” Alex wondered as they left the bodega. “Besides a ton of apples for lunch.”

Willie’s secretive smile made Alex raise an eyebrow.

“It’s a surprise.”

A little while later, they stood before the most unlikely place in all of Los Angeles: a horse barn. Staring at the building as if it loomed fifty feet above him, hands in his pockets, Alex gulped and a lump of dread landed in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh no,” he muttered apprehensively.

“Oh yeah,” Willie said, turning to him with a thrilled grin on his face.

Alex wasn’t exactly afraid of horses...he just had no idea what to do around them and therefore was not sure what to expect from them. Also, he would’ve worn different pants if he’d known this was on the agenda.

“I promise, they’ve got some really chill horses,” Willie tried to ease his nerves. “I’ve gone on this trail enough times. Don’t worry, you’ll know everything about riding once you hang out with me enough.” He winked as he threw back Alex’s line with a sly smile.

Unable to argue, Alex shook his head and used the hand in his pocket to gesture forward, signaling to Willie he was up to the challenge. He watched him practically skip inside and he had to jog to keep up after him. They signed in and then were led to two stalls.

Willie immediately gravitated toward a tall golden-colored mustang stallion with a dark mane, apparently both already familiar and happy to see each other. Alex watched him gently greet and essentially coo at it while comfortably stroking its nose and then feeding it an apple. He longed to have that sort of talent with other creatures, and simultaneously realized that he yearned to receive that same tenderness.

Once the horses were tacked up and one of the instructors had given Alex some brief pointers on how to ride, he found himself following Willie on a trail while mounted on a painted mare. The only philosophy he could adopt out here was to be gentle and not get lost.

“Not so bad, your majesty,” Willie called over to him.

An extremely nervous laugh elicited from Alex’s throat involuntarily, only making Willie laugh in return. Alex rode a little closer so they were nearly side by side on the trail.

“I’ve been here once,” he said. “I think I was about twelve? My mom thought that it would make me change my mind about taking ballet classes. We rode for maybe fifteen minutes before I got so nervous we had to turn back around and go home. Never made it through the full trail.”

“Man, that sucks,” Willie commented. “I didn’t know you did ballet.”

“Yeah, that and a few other types of dance. I was forced to quit a little couple years ago. That’s about when we got serious as a band, so I just found something else to bother my parents with.”

He could see the gears click into place as Willie came to a few conclusions about his parents and gave an emphatic nod.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to learn how to dance. That was the one thing Caleb had promised to teach me. He’s the worst, but he definitely knows how to dance.”

Suddenly, Alex remembered watching Caleb’s movements when he’d served him and the boys at the diner. Of course he could dance; everything had been fluid and smooth. All he could say to that thought was “huh,” at first. Then after a few moments: “I’ll have to teach you one of these days then.”

Willie’s eyes crinkled at the corners, happy at the prospect.

“Yeah, okay! Add that to our to-do list.”

Alex chuckled. They had a to-do list now. He bit his lip as he continued following Willie along the trail. It was a gorgeous day and in this area the sky was so clear compared to further inside the city. Greatly contrasting his experience from years ago, Alex felt himself become much more at ease and felt confident enough to take greater control of his horse. Willie pulled out his camera and snapped a few scenic photos every once in a while.

Eventually, they stopped at an outlook and Alex had to take in an awed breath. The view was clear for miles all around them. Green hills spanned the landscape in every direction with patches of city speckled in between. Even the ocean line was visible from there. How did Willie know how to find these?

“Hey, Alex!” Willie called, lifting his camera. “Say cheese!”

Turning to face him, Alex flashed a genuine smile as Willie captured him atop his horse against the scenery. He was usually pretty camera shy, but this time he really didn’t mind. Keeping memories like this actually felt important to him, unlike the many times he’d been forced to pose with his family at functions he’d also been made to attend. Those occasions had always felt so insincere - less about enjoying the memory and more about trying to prove their status as the polished, functional family everyone aspired to.

He saw Willie dismount for a moment and stretch his legs. Gripping the reins and looking around in uncertainty, Alex realized he’d gotten on before ensuring he could properly get off. Thankfully, Willie noticed and came up to him, hands raised.

“Okay, so just...carefully lift your foot out of the stirrup and swing your leg over toward me,” he instructed. Sucking in a breath hesitantly, Alex did as he said. “Alright, then...here.” Willie offered a hand for Alex to grab so he could slide off with ease. Landing on the ground, he leaned into Willie to gain his balance, and felt a congratulatory pat on his back. It took more restraint than Alex anticipated to not simply wrap his arms around him and sit like that for an indefinite amount of time. They had all day ahead of them; he didn’t need the sudden fear of losing him to derail things out of nowhere.

“Sorry if I look like a wimp about all this,” he said, letting go of his hand.

“Nah, don’t sweat it,” Willie assured him, shaking his head. “This is...this is new.”

His eyes seemed to take Alex in from head to toe and Alex could’ve sworn the charge in the air between them would buzz if they got closer, spark if they made contact. It was almost like that moment in front of Willie’s door the week before. For a few seconds they remained locked in that trance before Willie took hold of the horse’s reins and handed them to Alex.

“Technically this trail could take hours, but I’m guessing this isn’t all you’re interested in today,” he said. “What do you say we stretch our legs a bit and then ride back?”

Looking from the reins in his hand back to Willie, Alex nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Opening his backpack, Willie handed him an apple and then bit down into one of his own. Taking a bite, it was one of the most refreshing apples Alex ever eaten. They walked the horses a little ways and tried to get good pictures of the different views around them. Alex asked to try his hand with the camera and get a few good shots of Willie. He didn’t consider himself a photographer, but he doubted when the photos got developed that they would turn out badly. The way Willie smiled made him seem like he was made of sunlight from the inside out.

As they rode back to the barn, Alex kept replaying those moments where he’d refrained from making a move over in his head. This had been strike two. If he continued on like this, he was going to hate himself for the rest of eternity, he was pretty sure. Was it some weird kind of side effect of the whole ‘Willie come back to life’ thing? Watching him affectionately say goodbye to his horse once they were ready to leave, Alex looked at his own horse and raised a tentative hand up to her nose.

The mare gazed back, patience gleaming in her eyes. He finally set his hand down on her nose and gently rubbed it up and down, smiling a little to himself. This wasn’t so bad. He could do this - it was just a matter of getting through all the barriers he made for himself in his head. Moving his hands from the horse’s nose, he stroked along her neck, and caught Willie smiling at him from the corner of his eye.

“You wanna try feeding her an apple?” he asked.

Thinking for a few seconds, Alex nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Pulling one out of his backpack, Willie placed it in Alex’s palm.

“Alright, so hold it out in front of you like this…” He positioned Alex to offer the apple. “And keep your palm flat.”

Alex uncurled his fingers and after sniffing at it a little the mare ate it out of his hand. He could ignore the sensation of her mouth touching him because Willie still had his arm around his shoulder to hold him steady. They looked at each other, and Alex wished he could get a proper shot at Willie’s face at that angle with the camera.

“Looks like you’re gonna get the hang of this,” Willie commended.

Alex looked back up at the horse, a little bit of pride swelling in his chest. “Yeah, I think I will.”

Later, they went to the beach at Alex’s suggestion. He was perched on the surface of a picnic table, posed as if he were looking off into the distance. Willie sketched with great concentration, having taken his hair out of his braids so he could run his hand through it. The late afternoon sun brought out all the best color contrasts in their surroundings - one of the things Alex loved about coming to the beach at this time of day.

“So I have a question,” Alex started, trying not to move too much. His tendency to talk with his hands kept getting him in trouble.

“Shoot,” Willie prompted him, not looking up.

“Did Caleb let you go to school or anything? Or did he provide any sort of education at all?”

Squinting, Willie looked thoughtful for a moment.

“So, after the accident, he told me that I’d had to be taken out of school,” he began, continuing to sketch. “Which makes sense, I guess, if I forgot everything. I remember some basic things, like math wasn’t hard to pick up again. Once I was recovered enough to go places, he just let me go to the public library and find whatever I wanted to read. But he always insisted on not having reminders of who I was before and said it was supposed to be helping me ‘become my own person’. He got rid of things like my school yearbooks and old journals and things. I didn’t think anything of it at first because he’d just called it useless clutter and I believed him. As soon as he decided I was fit enough to work in the diner and help out at the hotel, he told me to forget about school. Anything else I picked up was from watching TV, or listening to the radio, or something. Sometimes I’ll just remember I know something after hearing about it and it’s like it was just always there.”

Listening intently, Alex marveled at the whole thing. The fact that Caleb was not only negligent, but actively discouraging Willie from knowing anything, made him wish he could take down the man’s whole career. However, he figured Willie probably had a lot of his intelligence still untapped. If he’d been able to get away from Caleb and somehow create a life for himself in the span of a few months, Alex wondered what else he was capable of.

“What’s something you remember?” he wondered.

“I guess I used to be really obsessed with space. Just planets and stars and all that. I can spout off facts about Jupiter’s moons and stuff like that. Did you know that the moon Europa has a saltwater ocean under a layer of ice?”

Alex shook his head. “No, I didn’t. That sounds really cool though.” He thought of the stickers on Willie’s ceiling and smirked a little before reassuming his pose.

“I sort of wish I could remember being in school,” Willie was saying. “Everyone else seems to just share all of those memories and understand each other that way.”

Alex saw his brow furrow, and could tell he felt left out. He pondered on his own experience growing up in public school. There was almost no other way he would’ve met Luke, Bobby and Reggie if they hadn’t all attended the same schools. While he could easily critique and complain about it to no end, he knew it was a privilege.

“School is definitely hard,” he told Willie. “But I did get my friends out of it, and I guess that makes up for it. If it’s any consolation, you could just complain about Caleb like he was your horrible English teacher who thought he knew more about the subject of your essay, but you cited all of your sources and they proved him completely wrong.”

Willie laughed. “Why? Did that happen to you?”

Alex bobbed his head from side to side and feigned looking thoughtful . “Maybe.”

“I kind of like reducing him to a loser English teacher. He just sounds petty and sad.”

“That’s high school,” Alex confirmed.

Leaning back from his work for a minute to take it all in, Willie brushed a hand through his hair.

“Here, you wanna take a look at it?” he said. Alex hopped off the table and went to stand over Willie’s shoulder at the drawing and was immediately rendered speechless. The detail was impeccable, but Alex was more impressed by the feeling he got looking at it. Willie had managed to make him appear...handsome, and pensive, and fascinating, like anyone else could look at him and create a million unique ideas of who he was. However, it wasn’t anyone else looking at him, it was Willie, and what he’d captured felt like the truth. Alex couldn’t really explain what that meant, only that it was an honest representation.

“Okay, I know I said the one back at your place made me look good, but this is...this is unreal.”

He could see Willie trying to be modest, but the corners of his lips couldn’t stay down. Funny enough, he appeared even more unable to find words, and simply beamed as he looked back and forth between his sketch and Alex’s face.

A sudden impulse came over Alex, and he kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on top of Willie’s skateboard and backpack. Willie sat looking flustered for a moment.

“Wanna swim?” Alex nodded toward the waves, bidding Willie to follow. He didn’t wait for him to catch up as he immediately began running into the waves up to his knees. Alex knew his pants would be even more ruined the second he hit the salty water, but he didn’t care. Now the sun was beginning to set and the chill of the waves was refreshing, and he couldn’t express what he felt just then in any other way.

Willie tackled him from behind, climbing onto his back and nearly knocking him over into the shallow tide. Clambering back to his feet, Alex splashed water at him. They began a playful water fight back and forth, until they were both drenched. Eventually, Alex tried to catch hold of both Willie’s hands in an attempt to prevent being splashed anymore. He had the advantage of longer arms, but before he could get a tight hold of the second arm Willie’s leg swept under his and they both fell just as a large wave washed over them.

As the water pulled back, they sat in the sand in a tangle, laughing. All Alex could think of was how pretty Willie was in this light, hair swept back off his face with tendrils resting over his shoulders, sun gleaming in his eyes and constantly shining from the inside out. The laughter died between them and he caught a look in Willie’s eye that made him wonder if he appeared to him to be just as perfect in that moment.

This time his mind and body worked in sync as he lifted a hand and gently pulled Willie into a short, tender kiss. All the self-flagellation from earlier was washed away in one pure moment, and exhilaration moved into its place. It felt soft and sweet, just the way he expected it should. Just as quickly as he’d let go, Willie went in for another one, a little longer and a little deeper. One hand remained caressing his cheek while the other wrapped around his upper back. Alex couldn’t help smiling into another kiss; he was too happy to care about anything else. Hardly a week ago, this had been impossible.

As they let go, their hands came together and they looked into each other's eyes, both releasing a relieved chuckle. Willie looked at the rest of the beach behind them and Alex’s eyes followed, but at this hour there were too few people around and no one paying attention to them. Turning back to Alex, Willie sighed and shook his head with a smile.

“Wow,” was all he said, biting his lip.

“Yeah, I’d definitely do that again,” Alex smirked, until the joy in his chest converted it into a full grin.

A wave washed over them again and they both stood, shaking out their hair and trying to wipe off whatever sand they could. Heading back up the beach, Willie grabbed Alex’s hand so they could make their way up together. The sun was nearly set but Alex was sure it had just gone into his chest, bursting with excitement. Once they reached the picnic table, they gathered their things and Willie offered to carry Alex’s shirt inside his backpack on the way home. Thank goodness there were a few patches of grass so Alex could try to get a little more sand off his feet before putting his shoes back on.

“So how long have you been sitting on that?” Willie teased as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and they left the beach.

“Shut up,” Alex laughed, knowing he was being called out.

“No, really!” Willie bumped his side jokingly. “I want to know!”

Tilting his head back to try to remember, it didn’t take Alex long to give him the answer.

“Since day one,” he told him.

Surprise swept over Willie’s face as he looked at Alex.

“Seriously?” he asked.

Alex nodded.

“Me too.”

It was Alex’s turn to look surprised. Without saying another word, he took Willie’s hand in his and then kissed it before continuing back toward his place. The whole way they talked about all the different things they needed to do together in the future. Riding on more horse trails, dancing lessons, skating lessons, art modeling sessions, going to band practices and gigs, visiting the record store while Willie wasn’t working, etc. They both agreed that the entire day technically counted as a date, and all further plans would as well. Alex was reminded once again that he didn’t have a notebook to write things down in, and vowed to have one for the next time he saw Willie. Once they reached Willie’s door, they had already put their shirts back on and it was completely dark outside.

“Are you free any time next week?” Willie asked, still holding onto Alex’s hand.

“I wish I could say yes, but probably not. And as much as I’d love to give you my number, it’s really not the best idea.”

“Well, I could give you mine,” Willie said.

Alex shot him a confused look. Holding up a finger, Willie dug into his backpack until he found his sketchbook and tore off the corner of a page, quickly scribbling one down and handing it to Alex.

“It’s actually the one for work,” he said. “But if it’s what we can do for now, I’ll do it. Kyle won’t care.”

Looking at it for a minute and then stashing it in his now-dry pocket, Alex took hold of Willie’s chin and went to kiss him again. It was really hard to stop, but they soon broke apart.

“I gotta go,” Alex murmured.

Willie only nodded, squeezing his hand before letting go and slipping his own into his pocket.

“I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Once again heading up the short set of stairs to the sidewalk, Alex rubbed his lips together, relishing in the taste of what he and Willie had just done. He couldn’t imagine anything sweeter.

[nanoland]

new chapter (lucifer fic)

(earlier parts are here; whole thing is here) 

Ponder on the Narrow House, part 3 

Mazikeen + Eve + Michael, gen fic (for now), warning for gun violence 

0   

Along the California coastline, the cruise ship Illustrious Voyager bore four thousand three hundred and ten passengers, one thousand two hundred and ninety-six crewmembers, and two guide dogs.

Five thousand six hundred and eight souls, in total.

At around 4pm, without anyone noticing, that number became five thousand six hundred and nine.

Hands clasped behind her back, Eve strolled down the promenade, admiring the vessel’s size and beauty. This fresh new millennium’s wealth astonished her. Sickened, sometimes. Entranced, sometimes. But always astonished.

Back in the garden, they’d slept on and under rocks. When it rained, they got wet. When large animals came by, they hid. No weapons. No shelter. No blankets. The only resource they’d had in abundance was food. Good grief – so much food. God had been so proud of all the different fruits and nuts and mushrooms he’d made available to them, and Adam had been so grateful. Eve supposed she had been, too.

It hadn’t stopped her from one day approaching her husband and the plump rabbits resting in his lap – two of several dozen pets – and asking if he didn’t think the cold nights would be much more endurable if they each had a warm pair of fur slippers.

Then she’d met Lucifer. Fallen in love. Bitten the apple. Learned how powerful he and his Father truly were. That was when the real questions, the sticky, prickly questions, had come bubbling up.

If Lucifer has such a vast family, with so many siblings, why can’t I have even one? she’d asked the sky. Why is Adam all I get?

And later: If You can simply bring people into existence, why must I scream and bleed and shit myself in order to have children? Am I doing it wrong? Is there another way? If there isn’t, why not?

And later: Why is nothing fair?

And, most recently, after meeting Mazikeen: Why isn’t everything at least equally unfair? Why do humans get a world of options while Maze and her family are expected to serve angels from birth to death? Why isn’t Maze allowed into Heaven, even after an eternity of loyalty and hard work?

“Sorry,” she said, flashing white teeth at a passing crewmember. “I’m trying to find a friend of mine. Can you tell me how to get to Room 835?”

Half an hour later, there was a splash and the ship’s population dropped to five thousand six hundred and seven.

Before binding his arms and legs, Eve had secured Andrew Bismarck’s lifejacket and gagged him. Furious and helpless, he bobbed alongside her as the ship moved on and Mazikeen rowed up in her inflatable raft, wearing a sunset-orange swimsuit.

“Should I be worried about those, babe?” she asked as she gripped Bismarck’s lifejacket and hauled him out of the water.

Eve smiled at the dolphin pod swimming in playful loops around her, and patted the nearest one’s nose. “No. They’re my friends.”

The inflatable wasn’t big enough for three people, so Eve held on to a friend’s dorsal fin and let him drag her back to The Choronzon.

Michael stood on the deck, looking bored. As they climbed aboard, their prisoner slung over Mazikeen’s shoulder, he drawled, “Seriously? This sad specimen’s worth two million dollars?”

“Actually, his net worth is eight hundred million,” said Mazikeen, dumping him down. “Two million is just what his ex-wife is willing and able to pay.”

Wringing out her hair, Eve added, “She took half his money in the divorce but she gave almost all of it to a chimpanzee shelter. I really like her!”

His lip curled. “How delightfully sordid. Isn’t this all a little beneath you, Ms Mazikeen? I mean, you’re a big deal in Hell. High Commander of Lucifer’s legions, head advisor to the king himself. Aren’t you worried taking jobs like this diminishes you?”

Busy handcuffing Bismarck to the railing, Mazikeen said, “Eve, honey? Do me a favour?”

“Boop!” Eve chirped, having already snuck up behind Michael, and pushed him overboard.

“I know it’s your whole gimmick,” Mazikeen called down as he splashed and spluttered, his face red with princely indignation. “And I know you don’t have a lot else going for you. But the next time you try that on me, I will stop being nice. Kapish?”

“Kapish,” he muttered.

The Choronzon had barely travelled a mile before Eve spotted Bismarck’s henchmen coming after them.

“Someone gimme details!” shouted Mazikeen, busy putting a bulletproof vest on over her bikini and opening up the box she’d told Dan contained a fishing rod, not a halberd.

Eve peered through her binoculars. “Two speedboats. Twelve guys on jet skis. Guns everywhere.”

“Heh. Awesome. Mickey – move that tight ass to the front and make like a nice juicy target.”

“Wait, what about-…” Michael began, trailing off as Mazikeen dove gracefully into the sea.

Bouncing from foot to foot, Eve shot him a grin. “Don’t look so glum, sourpuss. This is the fun part.”

She’d never spoken to Michael in Heaven, despite the millennia they’d both resided only two miles apart, her in a lakeside cottage on the outskirts of the Silver City, him in the crystal palace in its centre.

Granted, she’d not exactly had a warm and fuzzy relationship with any of Lucifer’s siblings. They all knew what had happened in the garden. Some had been nice – Amenadiel had visited often, even though he’d never had much to say and they’d spent their time together skipping stones across the lake’s surface. But the others had kept her at a distance. She was a bad influence.

Michael, however, was the only angel she’d not ever said one word to.

She’d seen him, now and then, in the early days, when she was the only human in Heaven and, as such, grudgingly invited to divine family get-togethers. On those occasions, she’d spent too much time feeling awkward and out-of-place to pay attention to the sullen figure lurking in whatever shadows were available. The one time she’d glanced his way, it had been to marvel at the stories of people getting the twins mixed up; beyond the raw basics of bone structure, Michael couldn’t have looked less like her old lover.

Bullets sprayed across the hull. Humming, Eve stepped daintily into Michael’s shadow, seconds before they started bouncing off his shoulders and chest.

“It is beneath her,” he muttered.

She made an ambiguous noise. “How d’you figure?”

There came a shout and a splash from the nearest jet ski. The bullets stopped.

“C’mon. She’s Mazikeen. Everyone in the Silver City knows about Mazikeen. Ordinarily, we couldn’t give two dry shits about Lucifer’s minions, but her? She’s a minor celebrity. The power behind Hell’s throne. Christ, it’s no secret my beloved twin couldn’t govern his way out of a paper bag.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling fondly. “He’s kind of bad at everything. Except music. He’s a great musician.”

More shouting. More shooting. More bullets bouncing off Michael’s torso. Mazikeen rode by, one hand gripping her newly-acquired jet ski’s throttle lever, the other clutching her bloodstained halberd. Watching her circle the enemy, Eve was reminded of a sheep dog.

Michael went on: “And then there’s the fact that for a while, everyone thought Lucifer was going to marry her. It was all anyone could talk about. Jophiel was taking bets on when the proposal would happen. She’d have been High Commander and the Queen of Hell. Instead? All of a sudden, Lucifer takes an indefinite vacay to the mortal realm, drags her with him, and next thing anyone knows, she’s working behind a bar.”

The remaining jet skis and their terrified, wounded riders had been neatly rounded up, which meant it was time for Eve to open her purse.

“Um – how long have those been in there?” asked Michael, watching her take out three grenades.

“You want one?” she offered. “Don’t forget to take the pin out before you throw it. I did that my first time.”  

One thing to be said for millions of dull, dull years spent sitting next to God’s Greatest Warrior, skipping stones across a lake; your aim got good.

The first blast was a warning, not close enough to actually kill any of Bismarck’s men, though the resultant waves did knock several into the water. They tried to retreat, turning their vehicles around, only to remember Mazikeen, corralling them single-handed and now armed with machine guns she’d confiscated from those already bested.

When they saw the second and third grenade incoming, they gave up and abandoned the jet skis, jumping into the sea and swimming for their lives.

“Fuck!” Michael yelped, blocking his ears at the concomitant explosions.

Gazing past the debris and smoke, Eve saw Mazikeen head for the nearest of the two speedboats. Its occupants, preoccupied with aiming a rocket launcher at The Choronzon, saw her coming far too late.

“I get your point,” said Eve, as her girlfriend and her halberd made short work of the crew. “But that’s a really… how can I put this? It’s a really angelic way of looking at things. Maze doesn’t consider anything ‘beneath her’.”

“Wow. Sick burn. You’re basically admitting she has no pride.”

“Oh, she’s got pride. Tons of pride. Her pride’s just dependant on how well she does a job, not on the type of job she has. She wasn’t happy working at Lux, but that wasn’t because she thought bartending was ‘beneath her’; it was because she prefers doing things she’s good at. Customer service isn’t really one of her strengths.”

The second speedboat was abandoned by its crew mere seconds before Mazikeen rammed the first speedboat into it, cackling victoriously.

“Actually,” Eve said, moving from Michael’s shadow to where Mazikeen had earlier set a crate of peach soda – her favourite – out on the deck, “now that you mention it, I guess I’m the one with no pride. Haven’t really ever had anything to be proud of. Your Dad never gave me the chance. I was never meant to do things. I was just meant to be.”

Michael snorted. “Lucky you. Trust me; he may have softened in his later years, but back in the day he never, ever stopped riding our asses. You think Lucy really rebelled because he had better plans for how the universe should be run? Because he was an innovator? Nope. Lazy dick just hated being told to do his chores.”

By the time Mazikeen swam back to them, saltwater had washed off the blood and her ponytail had come loose.

“Oh, hey,” said Eve, gripping her hand and pulling her up. “A mermaid.”

After pressing a rough kiss to her cheek and taking a swig of peach soda, Mazikeen asked, “You okay? He did his job?”

Eve patted the angel’s shoulder – the one that wouldn’t hurt. “He was terrific! Awesome addition to the team.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Michael mumbled.

Ignoring him, Mazikeen snatched up a towel to dry her hair. “Glad to hear it. Alright! Let’s get Bismarck back to shore, get paid, and find a place to have dinner so we can toast Team Hellrazor’s first successful mission.”

“R-A-Z-O-R,” Eve informed Michael. “To make it cooler.”

[mintaka14]

with credit to @lineith for this stunning artwork https://lineith.tumblr.com/post/641420491909988352/smooching-the-best-friend-as-one-does-a-sketch which is what I was visualising for Marinette’s pink wrap (and how cute are those two!!)

And with thanks to the LBSC crowd.

Coryphée

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Two – Pas de Caractére

 Marinette edged the door of the studio open on Monday morning for the company class, trying not to drop the bags and parcel she was juggling. She let out a startled squeak when a whirlwind of escaping curls and intense purpose enveloped her in an exuberant hug.

“Alya,” she protested. “Can you at least wait until I’ve put everything down?”

“Way to go, girl! You got the part!” Alya gave her a squeeze, and Marinette bobbled everything in her hands. One of the bags slid free and hit the floor. She handed the parcel to a dark-haired girl near the door before she could drop that too, and Mireille ripped it open with a cry of gratitude as a pair of ballet slippers spilled out.

“Marinette, you’re a lifesaver! It always comes apart when I try to sew anything”

“Well, they should hold now. I reinforced the ribbons, and your slippers will wear out before the binding does.”

“Never mind that. You got the Florine solo and Bluebird pas de deux with Adrien!” Alya continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted, following Marinette to the low benches at the side of the huge studio. “And you’re- ooh, is that a new one you made?” she asked, noticing Marinette’s soft pink wrap and the blossoms embroidered down the sleeves. “That’s pretty.”

Behind her, an unwelcome voice chimed in, “It’s such a cute colour.” Marinette turned to face Lila Rossi, and the Italian girl reached out to touch Marinette’s sleeve before she could react. “And those little flowers are just too adorable. You can hardly tell that it’s handmade from a distance. I would have loved something like that when I was ten, and it’s a shame I’m too old for it now, or I would have asked you to make me one too,” Lila said in honeyed tones, flicking her auburn hair back over her shoulder.

“Adrien!” Alya swept on, ignoring the tension. Marinette wasn’t even sure she’d noticed it. “You’re partnering with Adrien.”

“Yes, congratulations,” Lila said, the sugar in her smile cut with acid. “I do hope it’s not going to be awkward for you, working with Adrien like that. Still, maybe he’s forgotten all about it by now.”

The room was filling up with chatter and the thwack of someone beating their pointe shoes into shape.

“It must be so hard, being partnered with the guy you have a crush on who turned you down like that,” Lila sympathised, and Marinette gritted her teeth.

“I’m over it.”

“Of course you are.” Lila patted her hand. “It’s just, there’s no shame in it if you feel like it’s too much. I know we’d all understand if you decided to step aside this season.”

Marinette took a deep, calming breath, and said, “Thank you, Lila, but I’ll be fine.”

“Of course she’ll be fine,” Alya struck in. “She’ll be better than fine. This is your chance to get Adrien to notice you,” she told Marinette in an excited stage whisper.

Marinette sighed, and slipped free to take a place at the barre. Above them, the enormous ring of lights threw shadows across the massive steel ribs of the dome that curved overhead, and the mirrors reflected dancers stretching, and stripping off thick socks and warm leggings, and pinning wayward hair back into place.

“He turned me down, remember?”

“But that was three years ago. You’ve barely dated anyone since then, and I know for a fact that none of those guys lasted beyond the third date. So if you’re not still hung up on Adrien, then what is it?”

And Marinette froze. The only thing she could think of worse than Alya thinking that she was still pining after Adrien was Alya finding out about Luka and how she felt about him. The schemes. The plots. The helping.

“I knew it!” Alya said triumphantly as Marinette remained silent. “You’re still into Adrien. So now’s your chance, girl! He’s had plenty of time to work out what he’s missing out on, and all that time rehearsing together, the rush of performing together, his hands all over you…” the other girl wiggled her eyebrows lasciviously, and Marinette groaned.

“Alya, I don’t-“

“Mlle Dupain-Cheng, Mlle Cesaire,” their instructor’s voice snapped from the door of the studio. “When you are quite finished gossiping, we are waiting on you to begin.”

“Yes, Madame,” Marinette whispered, and Alya suppressed a giggle, taking her place at the barre behind Marinette.

Fortunately, with Madame’s eyes on them and class to focus on, Alya wasn’t able to say anything more. Marinette had been friends with Alya since they’d both joined the Opera Ballet School, and Alya had been there through her searing crush on Adrien, helping her to come up with ways to get his attention. The possibility of a season and her first serious role fraught with romantic plans and schemes and plots filled Marinette with a sinking sense of dread.

As class finished, there was a general scramble for water bottles, and the occasional groan of someone peeling satin and nylon off the blisters on their feet. The floor was littered with dancers sprawled in ungainly positions of collapse as they took advantage of the brief break.

“Principals, solos,” the ballet mistress said in a commanding voice that carried over the bustle of a roomful of dancers all grabbing a quick snack and chattering like a tree full of birds. “Fifteen minutes, and then I need you in the studios downstairs. Ladies and gentlemen of the corps, I expect you back here promptly at twelve to begin choreography. We have a lot of work to do.”

Marinette got slowly to her feet, and Alya caught Marinette’s hand as she passed, giving her an unsubtle wink and a tilt of the head towards where Adrien was talking to Puss in Boots and one of the princes. He lifted his head just then, and met her eyes for a discomfited moment before he looked away quickly. Marinette just sighed and scooped up her bag, heading for the door.

As the soloists made their way into the smaller studio downstairs, Madame Viret turned a stern look on them.

“We have a lot of hard work ahead of us. Make sure you check your rehearsal schedule every morning, because it will change with little notice and I will not accept that as an excuse to not be here when we need you. Aurora, Prince Florimund, you’ll be next door today with the director,” she said, turning to the principals. “If you’re one of the soloists for the christening scene, join Master Novgorodsky. Everyone else, if you’re involved in the wedding in Act Three I want you here. Now, we begin.”

Madame gestured sharply to the fairies to take their place in the centre of the floor as she began to outline the choreography of the pas de quatre to them. Adrien made his way around the edge of the studio until he was standing next to Marinette. There was something a little hesitant about the smile he gave her.

“Hey, Marinette,” he said in a hushed voice. “It’s been a while since we … talked.”

It had been three years of awkwardly avoiding each other in an environment where you really had to go to some effort to not talk to someone.

“It’s been a while,” Marinette agreed quietly. Adrien shuffled his feet.

“I wanted to… I hope… it’s not going to be a problem, dancing with me… I mean…”

Marinette turned to face him. “It’s fine, Adrien. It was a long time ago, and all forgotten now, if you can forgive me for putting you on the spot like that.” She gave an involuntary giggle. “And look! I can actually string two sentences together now. I think that’s a sign that I’ve moved on.”

Adrien chuckled, and the tension drained out of him. “Yeah, I didn’t have any clue that you even liked me until you asked me out.” He stiffened again, as if realising that he might have put his foot in it, but Marinette just gave him a tiny smile.

“I’m looking forward to partnering with you,” she said, and then Madame turned to glare at them so they subsided into silence until she called for the Bluebird and Princess Florine.

Marinette didn’t have time for any of her doubts, or for worrying about Adrien, over the next half an hour as Madame Viret walked them through an outline of the choreography that she wanted from them.

It was exhausting, but it went easier than Marinette had expected. When Madame directed her into a passé, she found Adrien exactly where she needed him to be for the pirouette en dehors that followed, anchoring her turn, and Marinette felt some of the last remaining tension fade away. Maybe this partnership could work. He certainly seemed to be good at reading what she was going to do, and his technique was solid, she knew. They could be professional.

“Let me see the bluebird lift,” Madame commanded, and Marinette waited just long enough to make sure that Adrien was ready before she threw herself fearlessly into the lift and felt him sweep her up. Her hips landed across his shoulder, exactly where they were meant to be, and her back arched as her arms fluttered upwards with elegant precision.

She was vaguely aware of Madame’s rare and sharp “Good!” and the satisfaction of a difficult move achieved, then she felt the minute shift of Adrien’s posture, and she rolled gracefully with the movement as his hands guided her down and set her on the floor again.

“Lovely, Marinette,” Madame conceded. “An excellent beginning. Adrien, make sure you rotate and lock your arm more.”

She moved on, and Marinette gave her new partner a brilliant smile. This could really work.

Adrien was staring back at her with wide green eyes and a slightly dazed look on his face, and then he beamed back with that perfect smile that had started her crush in the first place.

“Wow, Marinette,” he said. “I knew you were good, but that was amazing! I’ve never had a partner who mastered a lift like that first time before. We make a great team.”

~~~~~

“So, how did the first day go? Didn’t get dropped on your head?” Luka asked as the stage doors closed behind Marinette. He’d been leaning against the wall next to his violin case, a hoodie tied around his waist and his black painted nails drumming against his torn denim jeans in time to some tune in his head, but he looked up as she came towards him and smiled, and Marinette’s heart gave a familiar stutter. Luka scooped up his violin and they fell into step together, heading towards the metro.

Marinette shook her head, and grinned up at him. “Adrien was actually a pretty good partner. It was exhausting, but so far so good. On the other hand, I think Lila’s been trying to spread rumours that I must have slept with someone to get this part.”

“What?”

She laughed. “It’d be funny if it wasn’t so ridiculous. Have you met any of the people involved in the casting decisions?”

She looked up, and Luka was frowning a little, lost in some thought that didn’t seem to appeal to him. As soon as he noticed her watching him he gave a wry half-smile.

“She sounds like a real piece of work,” he said, and Marinette gave a snort of laughter.

“Is she any good?” Luka asked. “I’ve never seen her perform.”

“Ye-s,” she admitted slowly. “She wouldn’t be in the Opera Ballet Company if she wasn’t, but– “ Marinette scrunched up her nose, trying to work out how to put it into words. “There are things you need if you’re going to make it in ballet, especially if you want to become an étoile one day. You need the body for it, you need to have the heart to work at it and give your all to it, and you need to be tough enough to push on, no matter how many Lilas try to stop you.”

There was a soft snort of laughter from beside her.

“And Lila has all those things,” Marinette went on. “But something I read once said that a dancer’s mind is the thing that make the difference, and that’s why Lila’s never going to quite make it. She doesn’t have nice thoughts. There’s a hardness in her dancing that’s going to get in her way and stop her from reaching the top, no matter how much she schemes,” she summed up with an incisive sniff.

Luka was giving her that warm smile that she loved so much.

“Then you must have the most beautiful thoughts in the world,” he told her. “I always love watching you dance. There’s an absolute grace in you that can’t help but inspire the music in me. You make me think of warm blue skies and perfect mornings, and I can see that in everything you do, not just your dancing. I can see that creativity and passion and grace that you bring to everything you care about.”

Marinette suddenly felt as if he’d stolen the air from her lungs.

“Luka!” she protested faintly, and his smile grew wider.

She was almost relieved that they’d reached the bakery as the fire in her cheeks threatened to overwhelm her. At the door of the bakery, Marinette asked, “Are you coming in for dinner?” but Luka shook his head.

“I need to get home, but I’ll swing by to pick you up in the morning if you want the company. What time do you have to be at the Garnier?”

“I’ve got class at ten, but I thought you didn’t have to be there til after lunch?”

Luka just gave a shrug and leaned down to drop a friendly kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be here at quarter past nine,” he told her, and lifted his hand in a wave as he strode away.

The next morning, Marinette was still up on her balcony with the remains of her breakfast on the little table behind her when she heard a musical whistle drift up from the street below. She broke off the stretch that she had started, and leaned out between the pots of geraniums along the balcony railing as Luka waved up at her. He slung his violin case over his shoulder and gave her a warm smile.

“Ready to escape from your tower, Princess Florine?”

“Should I try and fly down?” she called back to him, and his smile grew wider.

“I’ll catch you if you want to try.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so. I’ll be down in a minute.” She hurried down through her bedroom, snatching up her bag and the lunch that her mother had left for her on the way. The cafeteria food was alright in a pinch, but it couldn’t beat her mother’s cooking.

Luka was waiting for her on the street, and they fell into step on the way to the station. For once, the commute to the Palais Garnier felt too short, and Marinette let out a faint sigh as the building loomed into view. They’d just reached the stage doors, and Luka was holding one open for her when a voice hailed her from the other side of the courtyard.

“Marinette!” Adrien called, loping towards them eagerly. He was every girl’s dream, with his charming smile and dancer’s lean body, and there was a time when Marinette would have been reduced to a babbling mess by his attention. Luka shot the blond boy an enigmatic look, but didn’t say anything.

“I was hoping to catch up with you.” He finally seemed to notice Luka. “Oh, hi. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s all good,” Luka said imperturbably, waiting until Adrien had joined them inside before he let the door swing closed. “It’s Adrien, isn’t it? Marinette’s talked about you. She said you were partnering her this season.”

Adrien’s smile was warm. “Yeah, I’m very lucky,” he said sincerely. “She’s an incredible dancer.”

Luka’s smile was a little harder to read. “She is. She also plays a mean game of Ultimate Mecha Strike.”

Adrien blinked at him in confusion. They reached the staircase leading up to the studios, and Luka stopped, tilting his head towards the corridor that ran underneath it.

“I’m heading this way. Nice to meet you, Adrien.” His gaze settled on Marinette for a moment. “See you later, Marinette.”

Before Marinette could protest, he’d already turned and was striding away, his head bent and lost in some thought or strain of music.

Adrien was watching Luka with a tiny frown that looked odd on his normally sunny features.

“Was that your boyfriend?”

There had never been much chance of that. Once upon a time, when she was barely fourteen and he was a romantic, sensitive sixteen year old, he’d sort-of confessed to her … you’re as clear as a music note, as sincere as a melody, you’re the song in my head… She’d been overwhelmed, and she’d panicked, but once she’d been ready to face Luka again he’d never said anything since to suggest that it had been anything more than a fleeting moment of poetry. He’d dated other people over the years, and she’d had her brief relationships, and he’d never changed the way he treated her. Marinette suspected that Luka had completely forgotten he’d ever said those beautiful things to her, although that was when he’d started calling her melody.

“No,” Marinette said, suppressing a small sigh. “Luka and I have been friends since we were little, Luka’s sister too. I was at school with Juleka before I got into the Opera Ballet School. Luka’s at the Conservatory, and he plays with the Company orchestra from time to time.”

Adrien’s eyebrow lifted at that. “Impressive. Maybe that’s where I know him from.”

They climbed another floor in silence, but Marinette was aware of Adrien shooting glances at her. He seemd to be almost jittering with a nervous energy now that was making her nervous in turn.

“A friend of mine is having a party on Saturday. You should come,” he said abruptly, and Marinette stumbled on the steps, catching herself on the stair rail. What was going on here? He gave her that charming, hopeful smile of his. “It’d be fun, and it’d be nice to get to spend a bit of time together away from the studio. Get to know each other, seeing we’re going to be working together.”

“I… have plans…” she said uncertainly.

“It’s at Le Grand Paris,” he coaxed, and that smile grew brighter. “Just come for a little while. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

They were at the door of the studio, and suddenly it seemed like everyone was looking at her.

“Saturday,” he repeated, as she tried to find her voice under the weight of all those stares. She made a strangled noise, her shoulders curling in embarrassment. She could see Lila glaring daggers at her, and Alya’s cheshire grin.

“I can’t,” she sputtered at his back as he walked away.

She wasn’t wasting a precious Saturday night on a party full of strangers at the Grand Paris hotel, no matter how bright Adrien’s smile was, and Saturday found her curled up on Juleka’s bed while Juleka frowned and carefully painted pink spots onto Marinette’s nails and Luka ran through a quick set of scales on his violin in the background. Marinette watched as Luka shook out his hand and resettled the chin rest.

“Soooo… Adrien, huh?” Juleka drawled.

“Hmm?” Marinette said absently.

“Adrien,” Juleka repeated, shooting a look at her brother. Luka must have told her about meeting Adrien at the Garnier, and Juleka didn’t sound thrilled about it, but then she’d endured enough gushing paeans all those years ago in praise of Adrien’s smile, his hair, his kindness, his smile, his perfect arabesque, his smile… Marinette buried her face in her hands and groaned.

“Careful!” Juleka yanked her still wet hand down. “I don’t want to have to do that all over again.”

“That was years ago,” Marinette whined. “And he turned me down.”

“Are you going to try and change his mind, now that you’re partners?” Juleka pushed.

“No!” Marinette flashed a quick glance at Luka as he frowned and adjusted one of the tuning pegs, and she glared at Juleka, holding her friend’s gaze in a silent message. “And you know why.”

Juleka rolled her eyes, but mercifully didn’t say anything further.

Marinette didn’t think that Luka had been paying attention to them, but later when Juleka left the room to answer Rose’s call he paused in the middle of the adagio he’d been playing and said quietly, “You know she’d come round if you got together with Adrien, don’t you?”

“There’s nothing to come around to,” Marinette grumbled. Luka was watching her with those too knowing blue eyes, and she wondered what he was seeing in her face. When she shifted uncomfortably, he dropped his gaze to the violin in his hands.

But he didn’t say anything further about Adrien when he walked her home much later, and he was there at the bakery door on Monday morning when she left for the Garnier, with a smile for her and a proffered earbud as they walked.

Class was gruelling that day, and Marinette didn’t have much time or energy left to worry about what Luka had seen. As soon as class finished, she stretched her aching muscles out on the wooden floor with a groan, and closed her eyes. Out in the hallway, Marinette could hear the noise of approaching voices and laughter, but she didn’t open her eyes until a familiar deep voice said just above her, “Hey there, Princess Florine. They’re working you hard, I see.”

Her eyes flew open to look up into Luka’s amused gaze and warm smile, and she sat up in a hurry, scrambling to her feet. His hands steadied her as she threw her arms around him.

“Luka! What are you doing here?”

“There’s a welcome.” He wasn’t the only musician who had found their way into the studio, and a few of the ballet dancers who were dating members of the company orchestra were busy with very public displays of affection.

“I might think you’re not happy to see me,” Luka teased.

Marinette pulled back to stick her tongue out at him, and found Alya at her elbow, eyeing Luka with interest.

“I didn’t know you knew one of the musicians. Marinette, why didn’t you tell me about your gorgeous friend here?”

Marinette closed her eyes, willing herself anywhere but there. When she opened them again, Alya was watching her with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile. And that was exactly the reason that Marinette had never really talked about her friendships outside the company. On the other side of the studio, Lila’s attention was fixed on them in a way that made Marinette uneasy. Alya held out a hand to Luka.

“I’m Alya, and you’re cute. Tell me everything.”

When Marinette dared to sneak a glance at Luka, he was looking rather startled and amused.

“There’s not a lot to tell,” he said slowly. “But I’m guessing you’re Alya.”

“Interesting. Marinette’s told you about me, but I haven’t heard a thing about you.” Alya’s expression turned speculative. “Now, why would that be?”

“Because I wanted to save him from getting grilled by you,” Marinette muttered.

“Because I know all Marinette’s secrets,” Luka said, and Marinette gasped.

“Traitor! You wouldn’t!”

His amusement became a grin as he looked down at her. “For half a dozen raspberry macarons, my lips are sealed.”

“Fine,” Marinette pouted. “You do know that Maman would have given you as many as you wanted, don’t you?”

“Sure, but blackmail macarons taste so much better.”

Alya’s gaze shifted rapidly between them, taking it all in. “So I take it you’ve known each other a while?” she inquired brightly.

“It’s been a while,” Luka admitted. He deflected the questions Alya kept firing at him with calm good nature. Her interrogation was drawing attention from some of the company, and Marinette felt her stomach sink as Lila sauntered towards them. The Italian girl hooked a hand through Marinette’s arm and her eyes ran over Luka, taking in the teal blue hair, the piercings, and the ink.

“That’s a lot of tattoos,” she said with a barely suppressed sneer at odds with her honeyed tone, and Luka’s eyebrow rose, but he stayed silent. She dismissed him to focus on Marinette. “I didn’t know you were into the bad boy type, Marinette.”

Marinette prised herself free of Lila’s grip. “What’s that supposed to mean, Lila? Are you saying that Luka’s a troublemaker because he happens to have some body art?”

“And I’ve been trying so hard to be good,” Luka sighed.

“Honey, you’re better than good,” Alya teased, eyeing him up and down. “I don’t know about Marinette, but I love a guy with tatts.”

“Oh, no! Of course, I didn’t mean anything of the sort!” Lila gasped, grabbing at Marinette’s arm again. “I’m so sorry if I’ve upset you.”

“I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo. Does it hurt?” Alya asked Luka. Her attention was on Luka’s arms. “Why an anchor? It seems a bit out of character for a musician.”

Luka glanced down at the tattoo on his left forearm of an anchor surrounded by tulips and roses. “Well, Ma’s a pirate, so it seemed appropriate,” he said composedly, but Alya had already moved on.

“Nice snake,” Alya said, poking at the teal snake coiling down around his right bicep from under the sleeve of his tshirt to his forearm. It seemed to have a glint of amused sagacity in its eye rather than menace, and her own eyes lit up with a leer that made Marinette nervous. “Is it proportional?”

“Alya,” Marinette groaned in dismay, but Luka seemed entertained rather than put out by Alya’s blatant suggestiveness, and Alya’s attention shifted to the tattoo just under the snake’s nose, where it seemed to be reaching out to touch a tiny ladybug sitting on a branch of cherry blossoms that was almost hidden by the wide leather cuff that Luka wore around his right wrist.

“The ladybug’s a bit of an odd one out,” Alya commented.

He’d got that ink at the same time that Marinette had had her birthday tattoo done.

“That one’s just for a bit of luck,” he said casually, and Lila’s eyes narrowed at the quick smile he gave Marinette.

“You two make such a cute couple,” she said, hugging Marinette’s arm tighter. “Why didn’t you tell us you were seeing someone in the orchestra?”

Luka said nothing, but his gaze slid sideways to Marinette as she said stiffly, “Because we’re not a couple.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know. I do hope I haven’t put my foot in it.” Lila pulled her hand away from Marinette’s arm in a show of hurried embarrassment, her eyes wide with distress. “You seem very close, but I’m sure he’s just a friend, if you say so.”

Luka’s eyebrows climbed at that, but Marinette didn’t grasp the significance of the vindictive little smile that Lila shot at her as she walked away until Adrien came up beside her, his brow creased as he glanced around the group and settled on Luka.

“How’s it going, Marinette?” he asked softly, and gave Luka a stiff nod. “Luka. What brings you here? Not that it’s not good to meet you again,” he trailed off awkwardly. It was not uncommon for the orchestra to socialise with the ballet, and Marinette didn’t understand why Adrien seemed to be discomfited by Luka’s appearance in the studio.

“Just checking in on my favourite dancer,” Luka said with an unreadable smile.

Alya found a new target, swivelling to fix Adrien with a stare. “You know Luka?”

“We’ve met,” Adrien said tersely. His glance fell on Lila on the other side of the studio, then it shifted from Luka to Marinette and back again, and Marinette frowned.

“Now, this is interesting,” Alya said.

“Alya,” Marinette growled, and her friend threw up her hands.

“Fine, fine, I won’t ask.”

“Director’s coming,” someone called near the door, and the musicians started to scatter. “Couffaine, you coming?”

Luka quirked a smile at Marinette.

“Looks like they’re kicking the riffraff out. See you after rehearsal?” he asked her, and Marinette nodded. He tipped his head to Alya and Adrien. “Alya, it’s been a pleasure. Adrien.”

“For a musician, he’s got some nice muscles on him,” Alya said approvingly, and Marinette cringed at Luka’s choke of laughter as he headed out of the studio. She was limply grateful that Luka was out of earshot and that Adrien had moved away before Alya added, “Girl, is that the reason you’ve been so chill around Adrien lately?”

“What? No!” Marinette stuttered, and the words I wish cut through her like a knife. She took a deep breath, and tried to smile at Alya. “We’re just friends.”

Alya’s eyebrows lifted.

“Seriously, I’m more like a younger sister to Luka,” Marinette insisted.

“If you say so,” her friend said sceptically.

When Madame Viret called her and Adrien away for their pas de deux rehearsal it didn’t go nearly as smoothly as things had gone on the first day. Adrien seemed distracted, and several times he missed Marinette’s cues until Madame called a halt.

“Adrien,” the ballet mistress snapped, “your head needs to be here with us, or one of you is going to end up injured.”

The blond muttered an apology, but he was still frowning as Marinette took his hand and rested her other hand on his shoulder for the attitude promenade.

“Is everything alright?” she whispered to him.

“You didn’t come to the party on Saturday.”

“I’d told you I wouldn’t be there,” Marinette muttered back as she executed a balance. “I had plans.”

“What about this Saturday?” Adrien asked a little too loudly, and subsided as Madame turned an icy glare on them. As soon as Madame waved a hand for a break, he dropped down beside Marinette as she collapsed and reached for her water bottle.

“Maybe we could get coffee sometime. Or dinner. I’d love to take you out to dinner, if you’re free.”

Marinette took a deep drink, playing for time, and choked a little.

“This Saturday? Or Sunday? I know a great little place not far from here that I just know you’d love.”

“Adrien, that’s sweet,” she said uneasily, “but I don’t think I can.”

His head tilted towards her as if he was trying to translate what she was saying.

“I mean, it’s probably not a good idea to date someone else from the company, is it?” she tried again. “It always just seems to cause trouble.”

“But it doesn’t have to,” Adrien said hopefully. “Just give us a try. Saturday.”

“Adrien, I can’t!”

“Is there someone else?” he asked her. “Is it that musician friend of yours, the one with the blue hair?”

Oh, how she wished she could say yes. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing ocean deep eyes that could see right through her and a slow, sweet smile, and opened them again to hopeful green eyes and a sun-bright grin.

“No,” she said reluctantly, and repeated yet again, “we’re just friends.”

Adrien’s smile grew wider in relief. “Look, just think about it. You don’t have to give me an answer now. Just… give it a chance.”

He got to his feet as Madame called for them, and held out his hand to her. Marinette took it, and put aside overthinking her complicated emotional state to let her training and the movement take over. It was a relief to let it all go for a little while.

She was half-braced for Adrien to ask her again the next morning when she arrived at the Garnier, but there was no sign of the blond dancer. She had finished pilates and had started warm up stretches for class before Adrien finally arrived, breathing a little hard as if he’d been rushing to get there. Alya was telling her something about something she’d overheard that morning.

“Cutting it close, Agreste!” someone called out, and Adrien gave a sheepish grin.

“I got held up this morning because I came in with my father. He wanted to deliver the costume designs in person.”

Marinette’s head whipped around, cutting off what Alya had been saying to her.

“The designs are here?” she asked abruptly.

“My father’s meeting with Madame Marchand right now to hand them over,” he confirmed.

Master Novgorodsky rapped on the piano for their attention, and by sheer force of will Marinette focused on the choreography. It could not have been said that she was at her best that morning, and several times, Master Novgorodsky called her wandering thoughts back to the placement of her feet and arms. The minute that class broke, she took off for the corridors that led up to the wardrobe ateliers.

Through the long windows of the millinery department rows and rows of blank heads stared down from the shelves, and sat on the work benches surrounded by tools and tufts of hair. Next to it, the decoration atelier twinkled and sparkled like Aladdin’s cave with tubs and jars of sequins and glass jewels, and streaks of paint everywhere. Another mannequin head supported the beginnings of a glittering headpiece, and a huge rat’s head wearing a crown from a past production of The Nutcracker stared down from the top of a cabinet.

A few craftspeople glanced up from their work as Marinette hurried past their ateliers and smiled at her, and Marinette waved, but didn’t stop to chat. Costume storage was just beyond, and at the door Marinette drew a deep breath as she always did, letting it out slowly. The racks of costumes and rolls of fabric, and the tutus carefully layered in snowy drifts, never failed to calm her. The head seamstress frowning over a gown spread out on the benchtop looked up to smile at Marinette as she came in.

“Marinette! What brings you up here?” the woman asked.

“I heard that the Sleeping Beauty designs from Gabriel had arrived,” Marinette said hopefully, and the seamstress laughed.

“I should have known you’d be showing up the moment you got wind of that. No one’s supposed to see them before first fittings.” But she was already heading into the back recesses of the costume storage, and Marinette followed.

She took the book that the head seamstress handed her with great reverence, and settled herself into a chair. It wasn’t long before she’d lost herself completely in the exquisite designs and the notes that Gabriel Agreste had included for them. The seamstress laughed, and left her to it.

When her feet eventually started to prickle with pins and needles, she realised with a start that she’d been sitting there, poring over the design book for far too long and that afternoon rehearsals would be starting soon. Hastily she closed the book and handed it back to the head seamstress, babbling her thanks as she hurried out the door. She made it into the studio just ahead of Madame Viret, and Adrien gave her a curious look.

“Where were you? You disappeared before I could ask you if you wanted to have lunch with me,” he whispered.

“Oh, Adrien, your father’s work is incredible,” Marinette enthused, and Adrien’s eyebrow rose.

“So that’s where you’ve been? Up in wardrobe? I thought we weren’t allowed up there without an invitation from the costume director.”

Marinette grimaced guiltily. “They don’t mind, and I really wanted to have a look.”

“Oh, you’re so into costumes and sewing, aren’t you Marinette, with all your little projects,” Lila interrupted, and gave a tinkling little laugh. “It’s so lucky your partner is the son of Gabriel Agreste. You might get to meet him, and all his contacts in the industry.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Lila?” Marinette asked angrily, and right on cue, there went the hand flutter and the wide eyes.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I never meant to imply that you were only interested in Adrien because his father is Gabriel Agreste.”

“You’re a fan of my father’s?” Adrien asked with a puckered brow, and Marinette saw Lila’s flash of triumph.

“I admire his work,” she admitted evenly. Adrien’s face lit up in a beaming smile.

“Then you should come to the Gabriel gala on Saturday,” he invited her.               Marinette was distracted from what he was saying by the look of livid fury that swept over Lila’s face.

“It’d be a lot more fun than going on my own,” he was saying, “and I’d love you to meet my father. I’ve told him a lot about my brilliant pas de deux partner.” He noticed her reluctant expression, and said, “Just as friends. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

“I’ll… think about it. Just as friends.”

She and Luka were halfway home that night, and Luka was smiling softly at her raptures about the costume designs, before she worked up the courage to mention Adrien’s invitation.

“Adrien asked me to the Gabriel fashion gala next week,” Marinette told the footpath in front of her, and there was a long silence from Luka beside her.

Then he said nonchalantly, “Are you going to go? Adrien seems like a nice guy, and you’d probably have fun.”

It shouldn’t have hurt that he was so casual about the idea of her going out with another guy.

“You really think I should say yes?” she asked him in a small voice.

“It might be fun, seeing all Gabriel’s latest designs and getting to hang out around the fashion houses. And there was a time when you would have flipped for a chance to spend time with Adrien,” he teased gently.

Why did it feel like she was paying for that now?

“Maybe,” she said, feeling her spirits sinking even lower.

When Adrien asked her again the next day, she said yes, and had to admit afterwards that she’d enjoyed herself. The new season’s couture was dazzling, and Adrien was good company, getting her laughing over his awful puns and startlingly accurate impersonations of some of the celebrities there. And if Gabriel Agreste had been seven kinds of cold and austere when Adrien had introduced her to his father, he had defrosted enough to offer a trifling compliment on the dress she’d made herself. Marinette had found it hard to martial a coherent sentence in response, and Adrien had teased her about it afterwards.

She was still a little startled, though, in company class the next morning when Adrien presented her with a rose and a flourish. What had happened to ‘just friends’?

“Adrien…” She took the rose reluctantly, very aware of the curious eyes on them, and Lila’s dagger-sharp attention.

“I just wanted to say thank you for the best time I’ve ever had at a fashion gala, milady,” Adrien said. His smile brightened like the sun. “You made the whole evening worthwhile.”

“So you two are a couple now?” Lila asked, and Marinette could hear the ominous note in her voice. Adrien obviously didn’t. He threw his arm around Marinette.

“Not yet, but I’m wearing her down,” he said, and Lila’s eyes narrowed sharply.

“How sweet.”

Marinette slipped out from under Adrien’s arm, backing away.

“I have to- I have, a thing. I’ll see you later.” She whirled around and almost ran from the studio, the rose still in her hand. Once she’d reached the outer courtyard she let out a muffled scream that drew a few startled glances.

“Very clever,” Lila’s voice said behind her, and Marinette whipped around. “You may think you’ve won, but Adrien is so out of your league it isn’t funny, and he’s going to realise that before long.”

“I’m not interested in Adrien!” Marinette cried, frustrated, and Lila gave her a pitying stare.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re not fooling anyone. We all know just how desperate you were to get Adrien all those years ago. Throwing yourself at him didn’t work, so you’re trying playing hard to get now, and it might have got you an invitation to the gala but it’s just sad. And I’m going to make sure that Adrien sees just how sad and desperate you are.”

Lila made a move towards her, and Marinette jerked back out of reach before Lila could touch her arm. Somehow, the rose that Adrien had given her ended up on the ground, and Lila crushed it under her foot with one quick step.

“Oopsie,” the Italian girl said with false regret and bright eyes, and Marinette watched her turn and strut away.

Marinette still cringed at some of the things that she’d done to try and get Adrien’s attention when she was seventeen and deep in the throes of her infatuation. Egged on by Alya she’d even committed a few minor felonies, and now she was paying the price for it. Everyone seemed to be taking it for granted that she was in love with Adrien Agreste, and the more she protested against it, the less convincing she sounded.

“For all the stupid things I did when I had that crush,” she told the sky, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay?”

[odekiisu]

Fractions of Echo - IV

First time working with their new Commander, there are a few surprises.

“Alright men, party dresses on! We’re being deployed!” Sergeant Grave shouted as Echo shook the last remnants of sleep from his eyes while putting his greaves and cuisses on and clicking them into place. Beside him, Fives did the same, a few milliseconds ahead of Echo.

“Let’s move, let’s move!” the Sergeant called to them as they fell into formation, deeces in hand, heading out and towards the hangar bays.

“This was supposed to take another few hours,” Fives grumbled on closed channel to Echo.

“Force forbid the Seps adhere to a schedule,” Echo replied as they slowed to a stop in the hangar bay, awaiting the next lot of larties to pick them up.

A movement off to the side caught Echo’s eye and he shifted to look – and stopped.

There was a very small Togruta heading their way.

Echo nudged Fives on his other side, could almost feel him turning to stare.

He’d obviously read the briefing packet they’d received upon joining the 501st thoroughly. He knew in theory who Commander Tano was, but had never set eyes on her – she’d been away on some mission or something, he didn’t know exactly. He just… didn’t expect her to be this small. This young.

“Maker, she is tiny,” Fives echoed his thoughts.

Kriff, what were the Jedi thinking, sending a Jedi cadet into war to lead troops?

“Eyes front,” the Sergeant barked. “We’re watching the Commander’s flank – standard formation, move, move, move!”

Right. They knew how to do this. Both Echo and Fives had run a lot of simulations for this very situation, and they’d also been part of a training exercise with the General. They boarded the larty – the Commander had gone with the Captain, in the previous one – and took off smoothly.

“Shinies, you good?” the Sergeant asked them when they were mid-flight.

“Yessir,” Echo and Fives replied in unison.

The Sergeant gave them a curt nod. “Hang on, the landing’s gonna be bumpy.”

“Sir,” Echo ventured. “The Commander’s…”

Sergeant Grave seemed to get his drift. “She’s young, but she’s good. A bit inexperienced in matters of strategy, but she makes up for it with sheer determination. Her job is clearing a path for us, and our job is to make sure she’s not outflanked.”

“Yessir, thank you sir,” Echo replied, his mind more at ease. The first time working with a new commanding officer was always nerve-wracking, even more so now that it was an actual battle instead of a sim or a training exercise, but he would go on with the assumption that Commander Tano would manage things more or less the same way as the jedi in the sims did – less efficient and more oblivious than General Skywalker, but helpful enough in the heat of battle.

***

She exceeded Echo’s expectations.

When they were set down on the ground, she was already there, lightsaber whirling, blocking the vast majority of the fire headed her way, with the Captain on her right and a squad of men behind them, firing off into the masses of clankers. There wasn’t much cover to be found, but that posed less of a problem than Echo had feared, what with how effectively the Commander guarded them from enemy fire.

“Oh, I could get used to this,” Fives said as he blasted droid after droid. “She’s holding her own alright."

‘Holding her own’ was an understatement – Echo set his HUD video to record so that, after the battle was over, he could study the fierceness of the Commander’s fighting style and the beautiful efficiency of her cooperation with the Captain in more detail, make sure he’s prepared to anticipate her moves and patch any holes in her defence next time, should he need to.

The factory, their target, loomed in the distance, but that would be a problem for another day and another trooper – for now, their job was to point and blast from the relative safety of the Commander’s cover, break through the lines of clankers, and keep a keen eye out for any of the nasty surprises that the Seppies had a habit of dropping on them.

***

“You boys alright?” a voice chirped and Echo turned, jaw dropping. He hadn’t expected the Commander to mingle with the men in their post-battle celebrations in a corner of the hangar, but here she was, settling down on the ground beside the rest of them, as if she was one of them.

As if she wasn’t a Jedi, cadet or otherwise. As if she wasn’t a nat-born, and an officer. As if she didn’t outrank all of them.

“Oh, we’re good,” Strike said from where she was perched on a crate. “But you were more than good, you were amazing today.”

Did Echo imagine it or did the stripes on Commander Tano’s montrals just go a deeper shade of blue.

“Just… doing my best,” she shrugged. “How’s Crisis?”

“He’s fine,” the Sarge replied, and gave her a quick run-down of the other injured troopers. Crisis had taken a shot to the chest in early on in the battle, and was recovering in the medbay. Echo marvelled at her remembering his name. “We made it through with minimum casualties. Congratulations, Commander.”

“Still, I’d have preferred no casualties,” the Commander said, curling in on herself a bit, and Echo was struck again by how young she looked. She was about the size he’d been when he was five and a half to six years old – which would make, what, twelve in nat-born human years? Perhaps a bit more, as clones bulked up fast with their training. But then, Commander Tano was not human, and Echo knew very little about Togruta development.

“Permission to speak freely, Commander?” Fives asked, and Echo turned to him in surprise.

“Permission granted,” Commander Tano said, cocking her head to the side, listening.

“Ten hours on the ground is nine hours too many,” Fives said, to chuckles all around their little circle.

“Anyone’s gonna get tired in that time, doing what we were doing, and make mistakes,” Echo added.

Commander Tano inclined her head at them both. “Thanks. You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yessir,” Echo replied, and they both introduced themselves.

“Echo, Fives,” The Commander nodded. “I’m looking forward to working with you again.”

Warmth filled Echo. He grinned at her and didn’t even have to look at Fives to know that he was sporting an identical, absolutely star-struck expression. “Thank you, sir.”

“Alright, I better get going. Skyguy’s expecting me on the bridge, and then I need to go sleep.”

“Pleasant dreams, sir,” the Sergeant said, echoed by the rest of the troopers.

“Wow,” Fives breathed. “She really is something else, isn’t she?”

“She is indeed,” Echo said.

(I - II - III - IV - V)

[starryknight09]

No longer in service

Febuwhump Day 10: “I’m sorry. I didn’t know”

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“We’re sorry.  You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”

Peter hung up and redialed.  He must’ve pushed a number wrong.

“We’re sorry.  You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”

He frowned and stared down at the phone screen as if it held the answer to why the number wasn’t working. He knew it was the correct number.  Although it’d been five years for everyone else, it’d only been a blink for him.  There was no way he’d forgotten May’s number.

He tried dialing one more time even though he knew it was pointless.

“We’re sorry.  You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”

He blew out a heavy breath and tried not to panic.  Just because May’s number was out of service didn’t mean anything bad had happened.  Maybe she’d been snapped too.  That seemed like the most likely explanation.  But even if she hadn’t, five years had passed.  There could be any number of reasons for why she’d changed her number.  Maybe it’d been a reminder of him that’d been too painful.  Although didn’t most people keep their numbers when that happened to preserve old voicemails and relisten to them?

In fact, that nudged something in the back of his mind.  A memory hit him along with a shot of adrenaline.  May had a voicemail from Ben that she’d kept, and she’d listened to it over and over when he’d first died.  As far as he knew, she still listened to it sometimes, just not everyday.  His stomach clenched.  She wouldn’t get rid of her number by choice.  Not if it meant losing that last piece of Ben.

Maybe something had happened financially and she couldn’t afford her phone anymore?  But he knew he was grasping at straws.  If anything, losing Peter would’ve relieved some financial strain.  Or maybe…  His brain wouldn’t even go there.  Wouldn’t acknowledge the other possibility.  He shook his head.  She had to have been snapped.  She had to have been.

But then what could he do?  He took another deep breath and looked out at the beautiful blue sky and lush rolling hills, the magnificence of the scenery in direct juxtaposition to his mood.  Any other time he’d be over the moon to be in Wakanda, but even before the phone call mishap, he’d barely been keeping it together.  He’d arrived there in terror along with everyone else, hoping for a miracle for Mr. Stark.  The man’s heart had stopped on the battlefield but that hadn’t phased Dr. Strange.  He’d portaled him to Wakanda along with some other girl that looked to be about Peter’s age, who he’d later found out was Princess Shuri.  

When Dr. Strange had returned to the battlefield half an hour later it was with the news that they’d managed to restart Mr. Stark’s heart but they couldn’t make any further promises yet.  Dr. Strange had transported whoever else wanted to go to Wakanda, which had been quite a few of them, but not all.  

Now, it’d been almost 24 hours since Peter had arrived.  Initially he’d gone straight to Mr. Stark’s room to see him, and eventually he’d fallen asleep for almost sixteen hours.  He’d been exhausted.  The fight in the city, on the spaceship, on the alien planet, and at the compound had all occurred in the span of less than twelve hours for him.  And he hadn’t escaped the final fight unscathed.  His concussion, broken nose and broken ribs had mostly healed, but he was still sore.  Things with Mr. Stark had improved as well, but not quite enough that the medical personnel were ready to guarantee he was going to survive.  

“Peter?”

He turned and it took him a couple seconds to acknowledge the other man.  “Hey Mr. Rogers.”  Maybe he needed some more sleep.

“It’s Steve, son.”

“Right.” He nodded.  But really, no way was he calling Captain America by his first name the day after he’d officially met him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you had a chance to shower?”

He blushed but the other man probably couldn’t tell behind all the dirt and grime on his face.  He’d accidentally seen his reflection a couple hours after he’d arrived and he’d looked a mess then, and since he hadn’t had a chance to clean up yet, he definitely didn’t look any better.

“Oh.  Uh, no.  I don’t, um, know where it is.”

“The shower?”  Captain American frowned.  Great, the man probably thought he was an idiot.  “There isn’t one in your room?”

“My room?  I don’t…I don’t have a room.” He frowned.  He’d passed out in a comfy lounge chair in Mr. Stark’s room, and even after he’d awoken, he hadn’t left the man’s room until about fifteen minutes ago when he’d suddenly remembered May and realized he should try calling her.

“I’m sorry.” Steve apologized, looking slightly chagrined.  “We must’ve missed you.  You have a room.  We all do.  T’Challa was nice enough to accommodate us.  Come on, I’ll show you.”  Mr. Rogers beckoned him forward, and Peter automatically followed.

After a short walk, Mr. Rogers stopped in front of a door.  “Here we are.  This is your room.”

At least his room wasn’t too far from the medical wing.  Not that it mattered.  He didn’t have any intention of staying in it.  As soon as he cleaned himself off, he planned to head back to Mr. Stark’s room.

When he made no move to open the door after a few long seconds, Mr. Rogers reached out and opened it for him.  

“Go shower son.” Mr. Rogers said and the suggestion came out like a gentle command.  “And then maybe take a nap.  You look a little rough.”

“I’m fine.” He denied automatically.

Captain America cocked his head to the side and studied him intently for a few seconds with a slight smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The man shook his head.  “You just remind me of someone.”

Peter frowned but didn’t care enough to ask.  Now that he was faced with the idea of a hot shower, he found it was all he could think about.  “Ok, well um, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Mr. Rogers gave him a slight nod and then turned and walked away, heading toward the medical wing.

Peter sighed and walked into his room.  It looked like something out of sci-fi movie.  Windows composed the entire back wall and light streamed in, illuminating the interior with all its sleek lines, metals combined with woods to make the space feel a mix of modern and natural.  Calming earth tones in the space set a calming mood, but Peter couldn’t take the time to appreciate it.  He headed straight toward the only other door in the room, which he assumed was the bathroom.

The bathroom décor matched the rest of the room.  He almost felt like he’d stepped into a spa.  Wow.  This place was nice.  It reminded him of Mr. Stark’s living spaces except with more of a nature twist.  Mr. Stark.  He really needed to shower so he could go back and check on the man.  Pepper had been with him when he’d left, so he hadn’t been alone, but Peter didn’t trust that something wouldn’t happen while he was gone.

He quickly undressed and stepped into the shower, scrubbing all the dried blood, dirt, and grime off his body, the water turning a dirty grey as it swirled down the drain.  Any other time he would’ve slowed down and savored the luxury, but right now he couldn’t, not with his thoughts filled with Mr. Stark and May.  As soon as he was clean, he turned the water off and stepped out, eyeing his dirty clothes warily.  He’d changed out of his suit and into a pair of scrubs when he’d initially arrived in the medical wing, but after 24 hours, he really didn’t want to get back in them.  He stepped out and searched the wardrobe in the room, not surprised to find it stocked with clothes in different sizes.  Mr. Stark did the same thing in his guest rooms.  Peter picked out a pair of black sweatpants and a grey sweatshirt in his size.  He threw them on, and was about to leave, when the desk computer in the corner of the room caught his eye.  If May was dusted or…not, there should be some record of it online.

His feet made their way over to it, and as soon as he sat down, the screen lit up.  It only took him a few seconds to find the browser icon and click on it, Google coming up as the default home page.  He settled his fingers over the keys but paused, breath quickening.  He knew what he needed to search, but he was afraid to find the answer.  The only way he managed to force his fingers to move was because he still held onto hope that everything was actually ok, and he wanted that reassurance.

‘May Parker Queens New York City obituary,’ he typed in, fingers stuttering over the last word.  He took a deep breath and clicked ‘enter’.

The results came up and his heart stopped.  The first link had a match for all his keywords.  He clicked on it, still hopeful.  It was probably just her obituary from being snapped.  

But no.  The short paragraph popped up on the screen and his eyes skimmed over it, taking in all the important information in a matter of seconds.

‘May Parker…’

‘…lost her brave battle against breast cancer on June 23, 2021 at the age of 51.’

‘Preceded in death by her husband Ben Parker and her nephew Peter Parker.’

‘A funeral service is scheduled for June 26th at…’

The words blurred in front of him.  He tore his watery eyes away from the screen and let out an anguished sob, head falling into his hands.  She was gone.  She’d been gone for two years.  He’d missed her funeral.  Thought after thought struck him like bullets, tearing his heart open.  He was alone.  He’d been resurrected from the snap just to find himself the sole survivor of his family.  He had no one left.

And he had no home.  He had nowhere to go.  That last thought hit him so hard he buckled forward, falling from the desk chair to collapse onto the soft carpeted floor.  He dug his hands into its plushness, not caring if he ripped it out, not caring about anything, as he cried and cried.  His entire being was pain.  How could one person have such bad luck?  Why did he have to live though loss like this over and over?  First his parents.  Then Ben.  And now May?  And now he might even lose Mr. Stark.  What had he done that the world saw fit to punish him this way?  Anyone that ever got close to him died.

“Why?” He whispered, between sobs, face pressed into the floor.  He didn’t know exactly what he was asking.  Why did they all have to die?  Why had he been brought back?  Why couldn’t he have stayed dead?  “Why?” He repeated, louder, and more desperate even though he knew it was pointless to ask.  It wasn’t like he would get an answer.

He had no idea how long he laid there, sobbing uncontrollably, but eventually he exhausted himself and his tears tapered off until all that was left were intermittent weak hiccupping cries.  He stared at the wall as the agony ebbed away and numbness crept in to take its place.

Eventually, he pushed off the floor with a sniffle, wiping the evidence of his anguish off his face.  He had to pull himself together.  For Mr. Stark.  There’d be plenty of time to fall apart later, especially if the worst happened with his mentor, although he hoped the world wouldn’t be so cruel as to take him too.

‘Please.  Please.’ He closed his eyes and begged, mouthing the words, afraid voicing the plea might jinx it, like telling someone your birthday wish.

He took a deep bolstering breath before stepping out of his room and making his way back to the medical wing.

When he entered Mr. Stark’s room, Ms. Potts graced him with a smile from where she sat in a chair next to the bed.  Or wait, he supposed her name was Mrs. Stark now.  At some point she’d told him they’d gotten married in the intervening five years.  And they had a little girl together, but she was staying back at home with Happy.

“You look better.” She commented on his clean appearance.  “Are you hungry?  The staff brought some dinner by.”

He shook his head.  No matter how hungry he was, there was no way he could stomach anything right now.

Mrs. Stark seemed to sense his mood.  She frowned, concern lining her face.  “What’s wrong honey?”

He shook his head and his gaze fell to his feet.  May used to call him that.  Honey.  Hearing the endearment come from Mrs. Stark’s mouth made his throat tighten.  He didn’t know how to form the words to explain what he’d found out.

Mrs. Stark stood and crossed the distance between them, her hands landing to rest comfortingly on his shoulders.  “What happened?”  He looked up at her as she searched his face for answers.  “Something happened.” She stated.

He nodded.

“You can tell me.” She encouraged softly.

He swallowed hard and croaked out, “May.”

“May?” Her brow furrowed.  “What about May?”

After a few quick inhales through his nose, he managed to say it.  “She…she died.”

“Oh sweetheart.” Mrs. Stark lamented, pulling him into a hug.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Faced with the comfort of her embrace, he started crying again.  She just held him tighter, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled into her blouse once he’d calmed down.

“Don’t apologize.  You’ve had a terrible couple of days.”

He snorted messily.  That was the understatement of the century.  He pulled away, wiping at his face again.

“I don’t want you to worry about anything, ok?” Mrs. Stark told him, making a point to look seriously into his eyes.

He chewed at his lip.  “I-I don’t know what to do.  I don’t…I don’t have anywhere to go.”  Admitting it almost made him break down into hysterics again.

“Of course you do.  You’ll come with us.”

Peter’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“I know he wasn’t good at showing it back then, but Tony loves you.” She explained having seen his disbelief.  “You’re not alone.  You have a home with us.”

“But what if…what if Mr. Stark…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, the possibility too terrible.

Mrs. Stark winced.  “The doctors say he’s doing a lot better, but if that happens, you’ll still have a home with me and Morgan.  As long as that’s ok with you.”

He nodded, eyes welling up again.  “That’s…thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” Mrs. Stark leaned forward to hug him again.  “I know it feels like the world’s ending right now, but it’s going to be ok.  We’ll figure it out together.”

“Ok.” He whispered.  He just hoped it was true, but even if it wasn’t, at least he had somewhere to go.  He had a home.

And he wasn’t completely alone.  

[princessofgayskull]

somehow I’ll still love you more (kitra fic sneak peak)

so this is a scene from my upcoming fic somehow I’ll still love you more, which at is core is going to be a kitra/baby fic. However, there’s a lot I want to say about this (you know me, can’t keep that word count down) so this fic will be nothing if not a full course meal.

The fic is told in a nonlinear fashion. This particular scene I wanted to share with you guys because I believe it touches on a lot of what the fic is going to be about. It’s set between the episodes White Out and Light Spinner in Season 2. Enjoy! (this has not been beta’d yet)

“Scorpia,”

“Hmm- huh?”

“Stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what?”

Pulling up the hand brake, Catra stopped the speeder in its tracks before whirling around, her left eye twitching like the movement was the only thing keeping her eyeball in place. “That- that thing you’re doing with your mouth. That noise you’re making under your breath.”

“Singing?” Scorpia raised an eyebrow. 

“You call that singing?” Catra scoffed at her inferior. Look, Catra got that growing up in the Horde meant there weren’t any private music lessons (even if that was in Shadow Weaver’s job description she’d just relegate that responsibility off to some tone deaf Force Captain so she’d have more time to make Catra’s life a living hell and dote on Adora on the side) that all those half-witted princesses definitely got growing up, but it was like Scorpia was trying for the same sound her pincers made when she dragged them down slabs of concrete. 

Catra’s hand squeezed the brake handle until the pressure hurt the bones in her hand, her left eye still twitching. It was like Scorpia was trying to tank Catra’s recent promotion as Hordak’s second in command by being as annoying as she could on purpose. But who wasn’t trying to derail all of Catra’s hard earned progress these days?

“Oh um, I could stop. If you want.” Scorpia muttered, her face falling into an expression that gave Catra the urge to both scream, puke, cry, and beg for forgiveness at the same time. And lately, every action, every word, every little breath that any took in her direct vicinity set off a domino effect of violent emotions in Catra, every single one too enormous and too consuming for her body. 

Good thing Catra didn’t have time for any of that. 

“Just-” Catra’s breath faltered when Scorpia refused to look at her (what? Now she was the bad guy just because she needed focus or Hordak would have her sent to Beast Island? Or worse?!), “- just don’t do it right now, okay?”

This earned Catra an enthusiastic nod, and she was too fucking tired to do anything but figure that was going to have to do, given the time crunch, and not mention, the insane amount of pressure she was running under. Clicking the brake, Catra pushed the handle down, fucking ecstatic to be driving the speeder the rest of the way in peace and quiet. Finally. Scorpia didn’t say another word, didn’t make another noise, until Catra was pulling up to the edge of Dawn’s Pass and activating the brake again.

That was good enough for Catra.

Just as Catra moved up to the edge to take a watchful stance of the town, Scorpia opened her big mouth. “Uh, boss? Not that I don’t love these recon missions with you lately, but I gotta ask: why are we staking out this village again? The Horde’s occupied this place for the last twelve years, and this isn’t exactly what I pictured when you said we were going to start hanging out over work? I mean, unless Dawn’s Pass has a mean bowling alley. Does- does it?”

“No,” Catra’s tail twitched in irritation. 

“Oh.” 

A cadet, waving his baton in a steady motions, stood at the broad brick wall that blocked off the town as his shift replacement approached from the west, whistling a tune through their helmet so ear shattering it put Scorpia’s new little song to shame. Keeping her eyes trained on the two of them, Catra braced herself for the metallic scent of magic to hit her nose. There was the quick swish of her claws unsheathing, and then, a pregnant silence. 

If they’re going to strike, Sparkles and Rainbow and- and Adora, or any of the other dopey Princesses- are going to strike now.

But Catra watched unfold was a typical exchange between Horde Cadets: a simple salute, a complaint about standing for ten hours, and a wish for good luck during the dull, boring night shift. No Princesses. No magic. No threats anywhere in sight.

Nothing. Just like Dawn’s Pass went from being a primary target to just another boring occupied village and Catra’s paranoia had wasted another night. Grimacing, her claws digging into her forehead, Catra actually found herself hoping Hordak would be too busy wasting pleasantry on the Princess who sat at (or on it, literally, because Entrapta just thought she was the shit and that she could waltz into any room) his throne to speak with her tonight. Her lengthy string of failures was getting harder and harder to choke her way through excusing.

“So um,” Scorpia started up again, sending Catra’s ears laying flat up against her head. She exhaled a hot and irritated sigh, but the Horde’s hostage/princess stayed true to her inability to take a fucking hint, “when you said we were going to start hanging out after we came back with all that tech from the the Northern Reach, I just- I just didn’t picture us, you know patrolling.”

An angry pulse ran up Catra’s back at the mention of their tech victory- Entrapta’s tech victory- back in that shitty winter wasteland she almost froze her tail off in. “Scorpia,” her voice was thin, “I told you a thousand times, I don’t have time. Just take what you’re given and try not to complain.”

Wow, did she just sound like Shadow Weaver right then. Whatever, Catra turned her head away from Scorpia, in no mood to deal with the fallout of seeing her sort-of-friend’s expression, maybe the Old Crone was right about some things in the end.

“Can I ask why we’re here? Like here, here? What makes a place with no bowling alley so interesting?” The second Scorpia let up, Catra let her forehead hit the rim of the speeder and didn’t even blink at the ringing pain. Ugh, Scorpia just never gave up. How many times did Catra have to ask for some damn silence so she could think? 

Running her claws down her face- again- Catra grunted, “Dawn’s Pass can’t fall into the hands’ of the Rebellion. If we lose it, or if they’re conspiring with the Princesses, we’re going to lose the Horde’s longest occupied village and we’ll be giving up the tactical advantage it gives us against that flower Princess’s kingdom.” And I will have another failure under my badge. If I lose another town, I can basically kiss my Force Captain badge goodbye. And maybe my life.

“Ohhhh…” Scorpia trailed off. At this point Catra was going to end up with a bitch of headache just from rolling her eyes at the other Force Captain. “Yeah, that makes sense. This’ll be fun! Patrolling the occupied territories with my bestie!”

Catra made a noise of disgust, but it wasn’t enough to stop Scorpia from pushing herself onto the front seat and almost pushing Catra out of it. Leaning the exoskeleton covered parts of her elbows onto the rim, Scorpia let out a contented sigh, her ditzy gaze trained on the town as Catra struggled- yipping and yelping to no end and scratching up the dinged up leather of the seat- to get her tail out from under the other woman’s butt. 

Do the words “personal space” just mean absolutely jackshit to her? Catra, gripping her freed tail, growled under her breath and turned away from Scorpia. The seat was practically hers now! Looks like kneeling on the floor would have to do! It’s like I’m wearing a sign on my forehead that reads “what’s mine is yours, including the air I breathe!” Ugh, of course Hordak doesn’t listen to me, nobody does! Not even Scorpia! Everyone is too busy with their own heads up their asses to see what I’m trying to accomplish, or to give me enough space to let me do it! And she wonders why I don’t wanna “hang out after work,” or whatever.

Maybe bringing Scorpia as her backup belonged up there with some of Catra’s worst ideas; not like she didn’t have a pretty impressive tab of those wracked up already. Whatever, the universe wasn’t exactly open to responding to any of Catra’s actions with anything other than another round of punishment, so it wasn’t like acting on her impulsive or emotional notions were really going to be her undoing. Not with Hordak out for her neck, her badge no longer wielding the protective force that came with having real authority. 

Catra was an idiot to think that power would’ve actually lasted her longer than a week, that now that she’d taken out Shadow Weaver and left her to her rotting self in a cell that there wouldn’t be another player on the board that could take her shield of Second in Command away from her. Well, that’s what she got for letting Entrapta into their vents. Helping them win the war or not, Horde or not, their resident techwhiz was still a Princess.

And princesses weren’t good for anything other than being annoyances that stood in Catra’s way.

“Are you seriously humming again, Scorpia?!” Catra yelped out, the volume of her voice loud enough to scare several birds from off the town’s wall. Her split eyes had been trained on the town as she crouched at the bottom of the speeder, the only entertainment the angry spiral echoing in her brain, tailing the action of a family and their wagon of sparse supplies as they approached the gate when the grating sound smacked her upside the head. The resulting intensity of her fury was almost enough to give Catra the strength to put her fist through the wall of the speeder.

Scorpia retreated into herself. “Sorry.”

Holding back a response, Catra just scoffed again and turned back to the previous subject of her attention. Watching one of the men of the family reach the gate and request entrance into his town was better than directing a full on meltdown at her inferior, kicking her out of the speeder, and forcing her to walk her way back to the Fright Zone. Catra wasn’t so far drowning her rage to something that idiotic, yet.

It was big yet. Catra knew that as she tried to shift her position, rolling her head on her shoulders and squeezing her fists, breathing only through her nostrils despite understanding that there was no sitting with an anger this encompassing. The feeling pushed and pushed and pushed at her physical walls until it was practically promising that Catra’s building fury would end one mesmerizing explosion, one that would take her, Scorpia, the family, the Horde Cadet, the entire town, all of it, out with a bang. 

Now if only Scorpia had the brains to know that when she started her singing up again.

Catra peeled her blue eye open. The sun was beginning to set, and it had bathed the surrounding forest in shades of soft pink and orange, a scene so painfully ordinary it meant they couldn’t be anywhere else other than reality. Underneath the shadow cast by the stone wall, Catra took in a breath as she watched the first man continue to negotiate his family’s entrance into their own town.

Okay, so she’d hadn’t blown them all to fiery simtheriens- not the speeder, not the wall, not the little girl watched over by another man stumbling barefoot in the grass, letting out happy babbles as she pulled out clumps of grass and started sticking them in her cloth diaper until her father got down on his knees just to get her to stop. Guess Catra could count that as victory that her emotions hadn’t ended in an explosion that ended a child, a baby. Catra figured that given the fact that each step the little girl took on those chubby little legs of hers was a leap of faith that she probably wasn’t even a year and a half old.

The other man, the one that had chosen to forgo the customary negotiation in favor of watching the little girl experiment with walking near their wagon, moved from his kneeling position to pick her up. Something about the way the villager held her with a grip firm enough to keep his child from falling, yet not with so much strength that he hurt left a series of psychosomatic bruises up and down Catra’s ribs. She watched as the man ran a hand bigger than his daughter’s entire head through her soft and downy mauve hair, careful to avoid the tiny stumps in her head that would eventually become long enough and pronounced enough to match the horns of her father’s head. Catra let out a breath she was holding just to suck in another.

“Dada!” Even from the faraway vantage of the speeder Catra’s ears still picked up on the sound of the little girl recognizing her father. Because the universe was both impartial and cruel. Right as Catra realized she had stuck one set of claws in her mouth and she was chewing on them- who was she?! Adora?! Out her biting her freaking nails ‘cause something had the nerve to make her uncomfortable?- the baby stuck her tiny, chubby little hand into her father’s bright orange beard and yanked without mercy.

Now that guy’s screams scared the rest of the birds away.

As the family’s head negotiator rushed away from the Horde Cadet to tend to his husband’s facial hair, their daughter laughing up a riot at their combined reactions, Scorpia leaned over to where Catra sat on the floor, her tail twitching back and forth. “Uh boss?” she started but Catra didn’t turn away, her hand clutched into the fabric that rested above her sternum and not on her Force Captain badge for once. “Should we do something about these guys?”

“Why? They’re not Princesses.” They’re just a normal family trying to get into the place they live, so they can take their daughter home and have a dinner together that’s not mush, and then tuck their daughter in, tell her bedtime stories, be there in the night in case she has nightmares and needs them.

The fathers joined in on their daughter’s laughter.

“Well, that is true.”

A new feeling crept up Catra’s spine, but this time around the discomfort didn’t bring to her the edge of explosion. Implosion, actually. It was the same heaviness that settled in her lungs and crawled up to her throat, a slow and destructive effective infection of Catra’s self, when Hordak shut down her ideas to let Entrapta speak. When the Princesses left a trail of glitter behind running, tripping over themselves to follow She Ra’s lead. When Shadow Weaver cupped Adora’s face and showed her with praise for the simplest fucking task. 

Yeah, Catra knew it made her the world’s biggest idiot to keep her eyes on the seemingly indifferent family and the happiness that radiated off them. She was aware of the damage she brought on herself by not turning away, the risk she ran by letting her emotions run her. So why couldn’t she look somewhere else, anywhere else?

“I can’t wait to be a mom.” Scorpia said out of nowhere. Ears flying straight up, Catra blinked before turning to gawk at her. 

“Wait, really?” A mom mom, as in a  person who takes care of and looks after her children? 

“Yeah, I mean, it’s something I’ve always wanted.” Scorpia shrugged, somehow rubbing her neck with those big pincers of hers. “Why, do you think that’s a bad idea?”

“Scorpia, we’re in the middle of a war,” and that was putting it bluntly, “Besides, Hordak doesn’t even allow fraternization between his soldiers, much less-” her sputtering stops, Catra’s brain still tripping over the word fraternization, “having a family!”

“Well, we’re not going to be at war for the rest of our lives, Catra. Once we get the rebellion to surrender, I kinda wanted to set down roots, do something other than be a Force Captain, not that I don’t love doing that. I’m sure Hordak will loosen up about the whole fraternization thing as soon as we win! I mean, you’ve seen how he was with Entrapta!”

At her words, Catra came close to all out hurling over the speeder’s edge. It was crappy enough of Scorpia to bring up how Entrapta and Hordak were getting closer every day and shoving Catra out of the position she worked her ass off for, but then she had to go and frame it like that? 

Look, Catra got that Entrapta wasn’t the most socially aware princess, but yikes. That didn’t mean she didn’t have some sort of standard.

“What about you, Catra?” Scorpia continued, “What do you- um, what do you see yourself doing after the war?”

Catra met Scorpia’s eyes, only to regret it. “I- I-” she stuttered, looking away and forcing her eyes closed. Pfft, after the war? After the war? How the hell was Catra supposed to picture an after when her entire life, her entire purpose, every goal she’d ever had, was only because there was a war to begin with? 

The Horde conquers the rest of the planet, sends the Princesses running, puts She Ra in the ground, and what, Catra was just supposed to have a plan for after that? What… what was Catra supposed to do when they did win, when the Horde pulled off everything she worked for?

Even though she was expecting to find an emptiness, a blank space, a new start for the after the war when she tried imagining it, all Catra could picture was blonde hair tied up in a tight ponytail, melodic laughter accented by brief snorts ringing in her, the bluest eyes cutting through the longing. The same longing that plagued Catra when she forced her eyes open and saw the two fathers talking to their daughter in gentle yet bright voices, explaining to her that the soldiers had processed their papers and they could go home now.

“I don’t know.” was Catra’s quiet response. 

There wasn’t any promise Hordak would keep her alive that long anyway, or if there would be anything left to live for by the time Catra got Adora down her knees and ended it all- by giving into that implosion that lived deep down in her core, letting it rip right through her and seeing to it that her love for Adora severed the universe in two, creating black hole that would suck them all in eventually- right then and there. Like it always promised to.

A part of Catra tried to push beyond that implosion, tried to picture the future Scorpia envisioned in her mind of setting down roots and birthing legacies. Was there a part of her, beyond the pain and the brokenness, that wanted what Scorpia wanted, too?

Watching that family tonight had been the only part of her mission that hadn’t felt the same as downing a vat of acid down her throat. And as hell bent as Catra was on obliterating any princess that dared to mess with this town’s occupation, there was no animosity in her heart towards that little girl.

She was kinda cute, in the mischievous, funny kind of way. And almost fun- for a baby, that is.

But when Catra closed her eyes once more to picture that little girl and her happy, innocent smile, all that was waiting for her was the image of a shriveled shadow, locked and rotting away back in the Fright Zone.  

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Hey! How are you? Hope you are doing well!

I read your jealous!percy fanfiction and OH MY GODS is it possible to be in love with a fanfiction because I really was!!

Can I request for a part two??

Please feel free to ignore this if you are busy or cannot do it right now!

I just wanted to say that I really do adore you and your content!!!

Thank you!!!

When I tell you I sat in my room and cried when I saw this ask?!? Thank you so much for your lovely words angel💖🥺they really do mean the world! And I’m so so so happy you enjoy the mess I put out☀️

Your wish is my command so here is Part 2 of the Jealous! Percy fic. There is no jelly Perc in this one but there's enough fluff you may have a cavity after all this sweet👀

Please enjoy!

Masterlist

Percy puts the final bauble on the Christmas tree and stands back to admire his work. The tree glitters brightly, a combination of tinsel and the soft yellow lights wrapping around the branches. The low melody of Christmas music comes from the small radio sitting on the bookshelf and the coco steaming on his coffee table looks more than inviting. He figures if he, and his band of misfit daddy and/or mommy issue group of friends, couldn't go home for Christmas he would do his best to bring the festivities here. The one person he really wants here is going to California for the holidays, something he hasn't done in years, and although Percy is disappointed he knows his friends will make the most of the time anyway.

He collapses onto his couch, staring at his hard work and takes a small sip from the steaming mug. His laptop is silently playing some Christmas movie or the other and the mountain of notebooks and pens on the table shake precariously. A small collection of weathered envelopes sits to one side; cards for his friends. They had promised no gifts, as they do every year, and instead sought to make the cheesiest, funniest, most tear worthy cards. There were different categories and if you won you got to pick the holiday games or what happens to the losers.

A single knock at his door pulls a frown onto his face. He considers ignoring it, mostly because he wasn't expecting anyone, but it starts back up a moment later and he resigns to a baseball bat and a cautious glance. He eases the door open and bursts out laughing as he sees who's behind it.

"What?" His unexpected guest gives him a wide eyed look, "Did I forget pants or something?"

"I thought you were a really polite murderer."

"What?" Confusion is etched so perfectly across that beautiful face Percy can't help but laugh again.

"Come in my love," He moves out the way and let's his boyfriend pass.

Just as he closes the door again Jason Grace pulls him by the wrist and crashes their bodies together.

"I missed you," The blonde breathes, and he has to hide the shiver that races up his spine at those husky words.

"We saw each other two days ago?"

"Maybe I'm an addict."

"Please kiss me. Right now."

And those blue eyes glitter with joy as their lips meet. It is soft and patient and full of sweet wonder. Jason threads his hands through those black curls and slants his head slightly, trying to get closer, if that were even possible. Percy swipes his tongue across the blonde's lip and his mouth parts in a little gasp. Their kiss deepens, turns to languid exploring and content passion.

When they break apart they are out of breath and the smiles taking over their faces make the sun look dim.

"Missed me that much huh?"

"More," A golden hand strokes his flushed cheek.

"What are you doing here?" He leans into the hand, looks up, into that adoring gaze, "I thought you were going to Cali to be with your father?"

"He has a last minute work trip," The blonde rolls his eyes, "I'd rather spend the holidays with you anyway."

"Well the gang is coming over tomorrow but we have tonight and every day after that all to ourselves."

"Who knew we'd be here?" Jason sighs, laying one of Percy's hands against his thundering heart.

"Not me," He giggles, "I thought I'd be spending my Christmas pretending I haven't been pining over you and maybe drinking unhealthy amounts of coco."

His boyfriend scrunches his nose, "Why do you even like the stuff? It tastes like bitter bean water."

"I think you're talking about coffee," His green eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Ugh don't even get me started on that stuff. Tea is the only valid hot beverage." The blonde huffs as they stow his stuff in the bedroom and flop down on the couch.

"You are such an old man," He shakes his head, rubbing a thumb over his palm.

"What time is everyone else coming tomorrow? And who is?"

"They'll be here between eleven and one because I told them ten. And it's Frank, Haze, Leo, and Reyna. Everyone else is with their families."

Jason snuggles into him, hair tickling his neck as he rests against his shoulders. A muffled yawn escapes him and Percy's heart clenches for the gentleness of the situation.

"You want some tea?"

"No," He yawns again, "I'll need to pee every five seconds in the night."

He laughs, and his boyfriend whips his body up, eyes wide with horror, "Sorry that was probably too much information."

"Are you kidding I’ve seen you throw up your guts because of food poisoning. That was hilarious."

"Shut up," Jason mumbles, golden cheeks heating, "We don't talk about that."

"I think it's the only time I've ever seen you look disheveled."

He shudders, laying his head back on Percy's shoulder, "I never went to feel like that again. I swear I was dying."

They settle into the quiet, the hum of the radiator and the low music still playing from the radio washing over them. Jason intertwines their fingers, tracing patterns against the back of his boyfriend's beautiful brown skin. And that's how they fall asleep, slowly and indulgent. As if they can hang up time on a hook and take it down when they need it next.

When Percy's alarm starts playing the next morning he groans loudly and stretches out. His boyfriend mumbles something and snuggles further into his side. He strokes a hand through those sunlight strands and drops a kiss on his forehead.

"I have to get everything ready, my love."

"Don't leave," He garbles, "You warm."

"I promise I'll be back. Why don't you go sleep in the room. You'll be more comfortable there"

"Want you," His voice is raspy with sleep and Percy has to stop himself from yanking his boyfriend by the hoodie and planting a passion fueled kiss on his lips.

"If I don't set up we'll never be ready by the time the gang comes."

Jason simply holds his arms up, blue eyes unfocused and gives him a lopsided smile. With a sigh that hides his amused affection he loops his arms under the blonde's, wrapping them around his back, and grabs his legs.

"You ready my love?"

A nod, and fumbling kiss into his neck is the reply. And then Percy is lifting up his boyfriend and carrying him through the apartment and into his room.

"Mhmm," Jason hums onto his skin, "Smells like you."

"You like it?"

"Smells good," He bobs his head as he snuggles into the duvet, "Like ocean and rain."

Percy just smiles and brushes his lips across the blonde's gently, "Sleep."

As he turns to walk away Jason catches his wrist and tugs him back.

"Stay," His blue eyes are wide with pleading, "Please."

"But i—" He starts, and then he's falling onto the bed and wrapping his arm around his boyfriend, "We are going to be so late."

Jason kisses his cheek, his nose, his other cheek, before finally reaching his lips.

"Iss okay," He's already falling back asleep.

Their breathing slows, and they find each other once more, in a land as perfect as this one.

***

"Well good morning lover boys," A delighted voice squeals.

Percy moans, muttering something unintelligible and buries himself into the sheets.

"I take it nobody has ordered our Christmas feast or started on the Eggnog Nogfest?" Another voice giggles.

"Go, sleep, warm." He tries to form a coherent thought.

"If y'all don't get your asses up right now I'm pouring ice water on both of you." A husky growl comes from right over them.

Ocean eyes blink open as he struggles to bring the room into focus.

A scary, bright-eyed Reyna is glaring at them and Leo is leaning against the door frame, mirth swimming in his expression.

"Finally," Hazel laughs, "So can we get this party started?"

"Ugh," Percy groans, "What time is it?"

"Half twelve. We let ourselves in after knocking at your door so long your neighbor came to tell you off for having sex in the kitchen."

"What?" He isn't awake enough for Leo's explanations.

"Cause you know banging against the wall?" His friend prompts but Percy just waves him off and rubs at his eyes, nudging Jason to get up.

"So when's lunch?"

Frank steps into the room with a reassuring smile, "On the way. I just ordered."

"Are we having Christmas in here then?" He asks.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Reyna shrugs.

And before Percy can protest Leo is catapulting onto the bed and Hazel is flopping over their legs.

"Wow Jase," She pokes at the blonde, "You bony shins are really comfortable against my spine."

"Who asked you to collapse onto my bones?" He grumbles, trying to wake himself up.

"Who asked you to be sleeping on Christmas morning?" She shoots back cheekily.

"Touchè." He grins, moving over to make her comfortable.

"Well," Percy looks at his friends, eyes shining, "What are you two waiting for? Get on here!"

Reyna and Frank shake their heads, like the parents they were so rightfully labeled, but happiness sparks in their eyes and they dive under the covers.

"So who wants to play Go Fish or Forfeit?" Leo smiles gleefully.

A shout of excitement goes up and they all shuffle into a circle, the blue-threaded black silk duvet being tucked around them. He grabs the double pack of cards he keeps at his nightstand and distributes seven per person.

"Everyone know the rules?" He asks.

They all nod. So the Christmas festivities begin.

And there in that room, on that bed, Percy and his friends know what warmth feels like, and the glittering in their eyes can only mean love.

[shawtygonemad]

What Is This Feeling: Chapter 5

Fem!9th Doctor x Male!Rose Tyler

WITF Masterlist

In the TARDIS there is no sense of time. Ross, however, was still accustomed to Earth Time. He needed to go bed at Earth's night, and got up at Earth's morning. It's been quite some time these two have been traveling together. One year, according to the last time they went to Earth. That was quite an adventure. Jackie nailed the Doctor in the face after she found out that some alien stole her son away for an entire twelve months.

On top of that, Earth was invaded be the Slitheen family from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorius. The Doctor, Ross, and the help of Harriet Jones, blew up Downing Street. The Slitheen were destroyed and the world was saved, again.

Being through so much together you'd figure the Doctor would be used to Ross's human schedule by now. Yet, she was not. It annoyed her that this human needed so much sleep.

She was tinkering away below the grating in the console room to pass the time. Her eyes would keep wandering down to her wrist watch. Time Lords don't need as much sleep as humans do. She spent most of her time bored while Ross was in dreamland.

Finally losing her concentration, the Doctor decided to go make some tea. This seemed to be their routine. The Doctor would waste time during the night to fill her boredom. When she got frustrated she'd leave to make some tea, and a little breakfast. Ross usually awakens are this time.

By the time Ross woke up the Doctor had a fresh batch of Banana-Nut muffins and a warm cup of tea waiting at his usual spot. The Doctor glanced up from her book as the human entered the kitchen. A smile grew on her face. His blonde hair was a class 'A' bed head. His eyes were half lidded and still matted with sleep sand. He looked adorable.

"Good morning," she greeted as she went back to her book.

"Morning," he replied before sitting down and beginning his muffin graze.

Comfortable silence fell between them. Ross ate and drank while the Doctor continued to read The Hobbit. Once he was fully awake, Ross spoke up.

"You know, for someone who hates being 'domestic' you sure like to make breakfast every morning."

"It's not being domestic," she protested. "It's called being bored while you sleep your life away."

"Mhmm," he smiled as he continued to eat.

More silence ensued. That was, until the ringing of a phone echoed out. It wasn't Ross's mobile. It was an old fashioned one. That was either one of two people. Winston Churchill or… She quickly made her way to the console room. Ross followed behind her. She quickly approached the old fashioned phone attached to the console along with many other things. She picked the phone up and answered.

"'Ello?"

"Is this the Doctor," a clear, proper, American accent came through.

"This is she. Might I ask who's speaking," she knew who it was. She just enjoyed getting a rouse out of the man.

"It's Gatsby."

"Gatsby," she smiled. "What Gatsby?"

"It's Jay Gatsby, from New-"

"I'm just mucking about," the Doctor smiled

A soft laugh was heard from the other side.

"Right."

"It's been a while," she commented.

"To long in my opinion. In fact, that's why I called. I wanted to personally invite you to my party," Jay spoke confidentially.

"Tonight?" she asked.

"If you could make it," he said.

"I always make it whenever you invite me," her eyes wandered over to Ross who was patiently sitting on the jumper. "Do you mind if I bring a plus one?"

"Of course. Although the last time you were here you I don't remember you being committed," the Doctor was about to interrupt, but Jay quickly went on. "None of the less, I'd be happy to meet the old sport."

Jay went silent.

"Is there something you're not telling me," she questioned.

"Yes. There is something I need to speak with you about. However, I'd much rather do it in person rather than over the telephone."

"Okay," She said slowly.

"I'll see you tonight, then."

"Tra."

They hung up. She turned toward her companion, and grinned.

"So, Ross Tyler, how's about a trip to the 1920's sound?"

"Sounds amazing, but who was on the phone?"

"We were just invited to one of the biggest parties New York has seen. It just so happens to be in the wonderful roaring '20's."

"Tonight?" he asked excited.

"Yup! So you best get dressed. You remember where the wardrobe room is, yeah?"

"Yeah," he began to leave the room when he noticed the Doctor wasn't going to follow. "Aren't you going to change?"

"I wasn't planning on it," She informed him.

"Well you can't go like that. You look like a… biker girl."

"Oi!"

The TARDIS hummed, agreeing with Ross.

"Whose side are you on?!"

The ship hummed once more, encouraging her to change.

"Fine," she sighed, giving in.

The Doctor walked with Ross in the direction of the wardrobe. She kept moving forward once Ross entered the public costume room. She, however, had her own personal room for this. It's where she decides her signature outfit for each regeneration.

She stepped inside the Time Lord sized closet. It was massive. Most females would kill for a closet this size. The Doctor walked forward onto the platform in the center of the wardrobe. Spiral racks of many different clothes reached from the ground to ceiling.

A dress was already selected and placed on the lounge couch. The TARDIS must have picked it out for her. Trusting in her old friend's decision, she put the dress on. It was a spaghetti strapped, mid-thigh dress. The tassels on the dress hung down to her knees. The top of the dress was silver. It faded to gold at her mid-section. That then faded down to a brown shade. The best part of the dress was that it had hidden pockets for her to hold her sonic screwdriver and other various items.

She put on a pair of short heeled silver shoes. They were perfect for dancing, even though she would refuse to. Nothing could really be done with her hair, so she just put a diamond headband across her forehead. And much to her dismay, she ended up putting some make-up on.

Once the TARDIS was satisfied with her friend, she released the Time Lord back into the halls. The Doctor made her way back to the console room. She was met by an incredibly handsome Ross wearing a tuxedo. His eyes widened at the sight of her.

"Wow, you look… stunning," Ross said breathless.

The Doctor flushed red. "You look very handsome. Well, considering…" She trailed off.

"Considering what?"

"That you're human."

She stepped down and started to command the controls. They were in the '20's in no time. She parked the TARDIS in the gardens, and turned to Ross.

"Ready to go," she asked.

"As I'll ever be," he smiled and offered her his arm.

She gladly took it. They stepped out together. The music was surprisingly very loud. They walked together out of the garden, past the pool and bar and entered the mansion. People were everywhere. It was the height of the party. Glitter and confetti rained down on top of them. The Doctor grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter. She past a glass to Ross, who was staring at everything in awe.

"This is incredible," he spoke.

She smiled and sipped on her drink.

"Care for a dance," he asked.

"Oh no. I don't dance," she informed him.

"Who doesn't know how to dance," he accused.

"I never said I didn't know how to. I said that I 'DON'T' dance."

She then noticed a brunette girl smiling at Ross. A pang of jealousy hit her. She hid it though.

"Besides, it seems that you might have a volunteer," she gestured to the girl.

"But-"

"Go have fun," she encouraged. "I have something's that need to be taken care of."

"If you're sure..."

"I am. Go on," she smiled.

Ross gave her a sad look before turning towards the girl. The Doctor stepped away and began up a staircase. She tried to weave through the people, but ended up bumping into a man.

"I'm sorry," he began. "This may seem like an odd question, but have you seen the host, Mr. Gatsby?"

"I have not, but I'll be sure to send him your way…?" she trailed off.

"Nick Carraway," he smiled and shook her hand.

"I'm the Doctor."

"A female doctor. You don't see too many of those," he commented.

"Well it was a pleasure, Mr. Carraway."

She continued up the stairs. She walked over to the railing and searched the crowd below. Ross was instantly spotted. He looked like he was having a blast with the girl. She had the urge to do down and butt in.

Why was she feeling this way? He was just her companion. Nothing more. But what is this feeling? She wasn't starting to develop feelings for him, was she? No, they were simply friends.

The Doctor felt hot breath against her ear. "A lady should never be at a party alone."

"I brought my plus one, Mr. Gatsby," She smirked.

"Where is the old sport?"

"He's down enjoying your party," She took another sip of her champagne. "So, what was it you wanted to talk with me about?"

"Let's speak about this in private," he said and guided her away from the party.

He led her to his study. It was a cluttered mess. Books and papers were everywhere. She took a seat in the vinyl chair and set her drink down on the desk.

"Tell me your troubles," she leaned back, and got comfortable.

Gatsby began to pace.

"This may sound a bit mad," he began.

'Believe me, I've probably heard worse,' she thought.

"Over the last few months I have been slowly losing my memories. The oldest things I can remember were about a few weeks before the war. Right around the time I met Daisy Fay. I can't seem to recall my childhood at all."

She let this fact roll around in her head for a moment.

"I thought it would be appropriate to contact you. The last time we met you said that you were a doctor who specialized in odd situations."

"I am," she said absentmindedly.

What could this be? Possibly Alzheimer's? No, this had to be something else.

"Has anything else seemed not quite right?" she asked.

"Well," he started. "I've been feeling drained both physically and mentally."

"Hmm," the Doctor continued to think.

These symptoms seemed like any normal human disease. However, something still seemed off. It was like she could feel a burst of energy coming from somewhere in the mansion. Ross and she will have to check it out.

"Do you mind if I have a look around," she asked while standing up.

"Be my guest. If you'll excuse me, I have to meeting to get to," he took her hand and placed a kiss on it before exiting the room.

The Doctor noticed a dial phone on the desk. She picked up the receiver of the phone and dialed Ross's number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. The music was blaring in the background, which caused Ross to yell into the phone.

"'Ello," he said loudly.

"Ross, I need you to meet me at the balcony overlooking the dance floor," she informed him.

"Okay. Did you find something," he asked.

"Not yet," she said while taking out her screwdriver from her secret pocket. "We're going to have a look around though."

Once they hung up the phone the two met by the balcony. The Doctor began to change the setting on her sonic. It was now set to scan.

"What did you find out?" Ross asked.

"Mr. Gatsby is beginning to have some memory loss. He didn't mention having any head trauma."

She began to scan the area. She paused. That's strange. She was getting a reading of high energy from deep within the mansion. The Doctor followed the signal with Ross following beside her. They were led into a very large bedroom.

"The signal is coming from over here," she scanned a wall behind the bed.

She placed the sonic back into her pocket. How does this thing open? She ran her hands over the wall, only to find nothing. She then spied a painting on the wall and got an idea. The Time Lord grinned.

'Fantastic!'

"Ross, how good is your American history," she asked.

"Okay, I guess," he said awkwardly.

"If you lived in America in 1922, where would you hide the switch to open the door to your speakeasy?" she grinned, waiting for him to figure it out.

He was quiet for a second while he thought. His eyes searched the wall. He began to smile when his eyes fell upon the painting.

"Behind a painting," he exclaimed.

The Doctor grabbed the painting and placed it on the floor. On the wall was a switch. The Doctor flipped it up, and the wall slid to the side. Her eyes widened when she saw what was behind it.

"This must be what was giving off the energy reading."

"What is it," Ross asked curiously.

"It's a transmatt beam," she stepped inside along with Ross. "But where does it go?"

She pressed the red button. She could never resist. The pair was suddenly beamed up into a ship. The Doctor stepped out. They were in, what seemed to be, a lab. She began to look around. It was like a classic mad scientist's laboratory.

"Doctor, you might want to see this," Ross called her over.

She walked over to find an entire wall full of what looked like crystal balls. Something light blue was swirling in each one. Below every crystal was a name.

Furrowing her brows, she took out her sonic and scanned one. When the readings were finished she was shocked with what she found. She placed the sonic back in her pocket.

"These are memories. Whoever these people are, they're stealing memories," she paused.

What if they were caught while they were here? She could easily block an intruder even if she was in a regenerative sleep. But Ross couldn't, and the Doctor doesn't want to have the hassle of restoring his memories.

"Ross, if they are stealing memories, then we are both at risk. I know how to keep people out of my mind. So I'm going to give you a quick lesson on how to do the same. It's easy."

"How do you do that," Ross frowned.

"It's a part of your mind that most humans can't get to. I'll have to guide you to it, if you'll let me," she spoke that last part softly.

"Of course I'll let you," Ross said quickly.

"This is a very intimate action. I'll be inside your mind," she warned him.

"Let's do it. I don't want to lose my memories," Ross spoke, determined.

The Doctor nodded, and placed her finger tips on the connecting points on his face.

"It's like a mind-meld that Mr. Spock does in Star Trek," she tried to explain.

She concentrated as she expanded her mind into her companion's. She was suddenly hit with confusion and… comfort? Those weren't her emotions. Those were Ross's.

'Ross, can you hear me?'

'Yes. What's going on?'

'I'm in your mind. Just follow my consciousness. I'll lead you towards the hippocampus.'

She began to guide him through his mind. She tried not to look at things that were personal. She moved slowly so her pink and yellow human could keep up. They finally made their way to the heart of the memory storage.

'Okay. I'm going to choose a memory at random. I want you to try and push me out. Completely out of your mind. Just imagine a door slamming shut and locking.'

As she informed him she stepped into one of his memories. The scene was set outside of Ross's apartment building. It was snowing out. Ross was returning home. She noticed a short woman with long brown hair. She was wearing a dress that was brown and pinstriped. She had a tan overcoat on as well. Her shoes were cream colored converse. She looked as if she was in pain. The Doctor instantly spotted the TARDIS in the distance.

"Are you alright, love?" she heard younger Ross ask the woman.

"Yeah."

"To much to drink?" he smiled.

"Something like that."

"Maybe it's time you went home," he suggested.

"Yeah."

"Anyway, Happy New Year," he told her with a grin.

"And you. What year is this," she asked.

"Blimey, how much have you had? 2005, January the first."

"2005. Tell you what. I bet you're going to have a really great year," she told him.

"Yeah? See-"

She was suddenly pushed out of Ross's mind. She was so engrossed in the memory that this took her by surprise. She dropped her hands from his face, and opened her eyes. She grinned at him.

"Brilliant! A little slow, but that's to be expected of a first timer."

"It wasn't as hard as I thought," Ross grinned.

The Doctor noticed something off to the side of the lab. She walked over to investigate. One of the crystals was placed on a pedestal-like machine. The computer next to the machine had a bunch of data and information on it.

Name: James (Jay) Gatz (Gatsby)

Age: 32

Species: Human

Breeding Notes: Body is healthy. Fully capable. Good gene pool.

Drainage: 26%

The Doctor stared at the screen reading through the information. The 'drainage' must be the memory. But what does 'breeding notes' have to do with anything?

"Oh," the Doctor grinned. "I get it now."

"Get what?" Ross asked.

"These, whoever they are, are erasing people's memories leaving the body mindless. An empty hard drive. The body will then be used for some type of breeding. But why?"

"Doctor!" Ross cried out.

The Doctor turned around only to get a needle driven into her neck. Her eyelids began to droop as she was hit with drowsiness. Everything went to black.

[dato-potato]

The Lost Son pt. 2

Who’s ready for part two?! I am absolutely floored at the reaction from the first part, I was not expecting that. Anyway, this is part two, hope you guys enjoy it as much as the first. Be warned, this is not the end.

Part One

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

——————————

Janet adjusted the bowtie around Damian’s neck, “Janet,” he choked, “You’re killing me.”

“Oh, hush, it’s not that bad,” she swatted his arm as she made some final adjustments, “You look absolutely charming!” she gushed as she stepped back.

“Wow, Dami! You look so fancy!” the now six-year-old Aurora squealed.

Damian ruffled her hair and smiled, “Thanks, Rory. Too bad you can’t come with me.”

Aurora pouted, “Yeah, why’d they only invite you?”

“Because I’m smarter and prettier,” Damian said matter-of-factly with a shrug of his shoulders.

Janet swatted his arm again and turned to Aurora, “They invited Damian because of his stupid brain,” she told her.

Aurora nodded, “’Cause of his stupid brain,” she repeated.

Damian scoffed, “I’ll have you know, my brain is very smart. I have three degrees, and--”

Janet rolled her eyes at him and Aurora giggled, “Yes, you’re unemployed at the tender age of twelve, how impressive. Off with you now, no doubt your ride’ll be here any second.”

Damian nodded and huffed out a breath before heading out the door where a limousine was waiting.

The event was being held in Gotham Academy, courtesy of Gotham’s resident big shot, Bruce Wayne. A bunch of smart people were invited, including some of Damian’s previous professors, but Damian himself was hardly interested. It wasn’t until Janet threatened to kick him out of the home that he accepted the invitation.

When he arrived, reporters were already swarming and Damian immediately regretted his decision. He could survive on the streets. Perhaps he could still turn back? Once some of the professors noticed him, he was crowded by them all, questions and theories being thrown about.

After Damian had finally managed to escape the gaggle of people, he stayed on the sidelines of the party, simply waiting until enough time had passed so he was able to leave without drawing too much attention.

Damian observed the other people at the party, his attention being drawn to the large form of Bruce Wayne. Damian had heard a lot about Wayne, but that was his first time seeing him in person and he had to say, he couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Every move he made seemed so forced and faked, he didn’t understand how no one else saw it. There were two young men who lingered close to the billionaire who Damian assumed must be the two, living, adopted sons. One of them, the younger one was looking around the room until his eyes met Damian’s and the boy smiled before heading over to him.

Damian sighed and readied himself as the boy came within greeting distance, “Hi there, Damian Alistair,” he introduced himself.

The other boy met Damian’s hand halfway, “Timothy Drake-Wayne,” he told him. Damian froze, “These things can get so boring, huh? Especially when there’s no one your age,” the other boy chuckled.

Damian turned his face to him, “Yeah, I suppose so,” he answered, still in a daze. Was this kid serious? Damian knew he seemed kinda familiar but he had assumed it was because the Wayne’s were always in the papers and on TV so of course, this kid would seem familiar, but no. Timothy Drake-Wayne also happened to be Robin. Could he have not at least attempted to alter his voice? Damian shook his head as he looked to the other two Wayne members present with the sinking realization.

Bruce Wayne is Batman. You have got to be joking. Damian took a deep breath. He had never made any type of effort to try and discover the true identity of Batman and friends because it didn’t matter to him a whole lot, but they had made it so completely obvious to anyone with half a brain. The only thing they could’ve done more would be to simply announce it.

“You ok?” Timothy asked Damian after he hadn’t responded for a while.

Damian nodded finally, “Yeah, just absorbing some new information.”

“It can definitely get a bit much at these things,” Timothy agreed and chuckled again.

——————————

“Pleeeeeeeeease?” Aurora begged Damian one late summer afternoon.

Damian sighed dramatically, “Why?”

Aurora looked at him with the most pitiful eyes she could manage, “Just ‘cause?”

Damian rolled his eyes and stared at her for a long moment.

“Fine,” he caved and Aurora danced around the room, “Aren’t you getting a little old for this though, Rory?”

Aurora gasped and held a hand to her chest, offended, “I’m seven, I’m still a kid.”

“Right, until you want to stay up past bedtime, and then you’re not a child, right?”

Aurora nodded her head, “Exactly!”

Damian huffed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, “Janet, Rory’s dragging me out for ice cream,” he called into the room.

Janet stood by the counter stirring a bowl, “Alright, her treat?” she smirked and raised an eyebrow.

Damian chuckled, “Better be.”

They made it to the ice cream parlour and Aurora dragged him into one store and then the next. Before either of them realized, the sun had begun to set and Damian didn’t want to risk having Aurora out that late.

“Let’s head back now, ok?” Damian said, gently tugging on Aurora’s hand.

“No, please? We rarely get to go out to play,” she whined.

Damian shook his head, “Sorry, little one. Can’t have you staying out too late.”

Aurora sighed but nodded her head.

“We’ll come back another day. We can even bring Janet and the other kids, how's that sou--”

Before Damian could finish consoling the small child, she was ripped from his hand. Aurora was snatched from his grasp, two larger men with most of their faces obscured, carrying her off.

Damian lunged to grab Aurora who was reaching and probably screaming for Damian, but he couldn’t hear anything. Just ringing in his ears.

Someone threw a punch to Damian’s head, knocking him off balance. He had gotten a bit rusty, but now was not the time for this. He had to get to Aurora.

Damian fought off the guys who came at him, losing count of how many there were. Something cold and heavy came down on his head and then he was lying face down on the ground. Heavy footsteps retreated and the fading screams from Aurora were the last things he heard before everything went black.

——————————

A mumbled voice, deep and gravelly and authoritative.

“--a mild concussion, but he should be fine. He seems to have a lot of old trauma and wounds,” the voice continued. Damian made no move to get up, allowing whoever was there to believe he was still unconscious. When he felt his strength returning to him, he swung his arm out. Whoever had been by his side, examining him, was no longer there.

“Calm down, boy.” the voice commanded.

Damian’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, though everything was a bit blurry, most likely due to the mild concussion.

In front of him stood the fabled Batman, Robin and Nightwing at his side.

Robin bent down to calm Damian, “Hey, Damian, it’s cool. It’s me, Robin.”

Damian jumped up to his feet and surveyed his surroundings, he had been dragged to an alley but he wasn’t too far from where he was with Aurora.

“Damian, talk to me, what’s wrong? Why were you so beat up? What happened?” Robin bombarded him with questions as he placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder. Much like their first meeting, Damian hauled the older boy over his head and slammed him to the ground.

The next moment, Batman was restraining Damian while Nightwing helped Robin catch his breath and off the ground.

“Release me!” Demian hissed, struggling in the Bat’s grip.

“Calm down,” the Bat growled behind him.

Damian kicked his leg back into Batman’s shin. The Bat grunted and his hold on Damian loosened, if only slightly, but it was enough for him to break free.

As Damian took off down the alley, the Bat and friends calling after him, his phone in his pocket reminded him.

Damian flipped the phone open to answer, “Hello?”

Janet had insisted when he had started school at the Academy that he had a cell phone for emergency purposes and Damian was adamant that he didn’t need anything fancy, a phone that could make and receive calls was more than enough, so he ended up with an old flip phone.

“Oh, thank goodness, Damian, where are you?” Janet’s voice was thick with panic as she spoke.

Damian thought for a moment, “Janet.”

“Damian, what’s wrong?”

“Someone took Aurora.”

The line was silent for a long moment, he wasn’t sure she was still there.

“You get her back.”

Damian nodded, though Janet couldn’t see him, and hung up. With that, it was clear she knew of his activities, and he’d surely have some explaining to do later.

He turned back to the vigilantes who were still on guard. Damian took a step toward Robin, sending a glare to Nightwing who stuck an arm out to stop Damian.

“Someone took Aurora,” he told Robin mostly.

Robin moved Nightwing’s arm away, “Who’s Aurora?”

Damian sighed, “My little sister, but that’s not important. What is important, is that someone kidnapped a child off the streets,” he looked pointedly at each vigilante, “Now, are you going to step up, or am I doing this alone?”

That seemed to stun the others. Robin was the first to move toward Damian, “We’ll get her back.”

Batman spoke with Nightwing in hushed voices as they seemed to be receiving information from earpieces they undoubtedly had on. Damian eyed them suspiciously as Robin attempted to speak to him in a calming voice as if he wasn’t already perfectly composed, courtesy of his training in the League.

“Don’t worry, Damian, we’ll get her back. You head home and we’ll--”

Damian’s head whipped in Robin’s direction as he stepped threateningly toward the boy, “I am not going anywhere, but getting my little sister back.”

At this point, Batman and Nightwing had stopped talking and were watching in case Damian attacked Robin, “Damian, I know that you have--”

Damian took another step towards the older boy who took a step back, “You have no idea what I can do,” he told Robin in a low voice. He looked to the other two vigilantes, “I will be coming with you, whether you like it or not.”

Nightwing sighed and shook his head while Batman simply stared.

“Fine,” The man conceded, “But you do exactly as I tell you.”

Damian scoffed, “You are not my father.”

Batman moved towards the young boy when Robin stepped in between them, “Spoiler said there’s suspicious movement in a warehouse by the docks, a kid was spotted with some of the goons.”

“Let’s head there then,” Batman nodded and started toward the back of the alley.

“You got a vehicle?” Damian called from the other end.

“Oh, you’re gonna love this,” Robin chuckled as headlights lit up the alleyway and the roar of an engine echoed off the buildings.

After the boys were seated and strapped in, the Batmobile sped off through the streets of Gotham.

Damian had a firm grip on the straps, he didn’t like the flashbacks he was getting from the masks and the general air in the vehicle. He couldn’t help his thoughts from wandering to his time with his mother and the League of Shadows and he did not appreciate those memories. He didn’t realize how glad he was that he wouldn’t have to go back there and be forced to do things he never even knew were wrong.

“Damian, you ok?” Robin asked from the seat next to him.

Damian realized how he must have looked, sweating buckets and white-knuckled as he clenched the straps.

“Yeah,” he managed, “Just car sick.”

“Right,” Robin nodded, clearly not convinced, but Damian had other things to focus on rather than convincing this boy that being in moving vehicles made him sick.

After what felt like hours, they made it to the docks and got out of the Batmobile.

Damian had to admit, he felt more than a little naked, going in without any sort of protection or weapons but he doubted that even if he asked, Batman would simply hand over a baton or two.

Damian watched the masked vigilantes huddle together as Damian grew more impatient with each passing minute. He turned to the warehouse and then back to the group of, now four, vigilantes.

Robin nodded and headed over to Damian, “So, Batman and Nightwing are gonna head in first, get the drop on ‘em, and then Spoiler and I will go in, make sure the coast is clear, once we give the signal, that’s when you can come in.”

Damian looked at the vigilantes incredulously, “You expect me to sit back while my little sister could be in danger?”

“Yes,” the Bat said simply.

Damian scoffed, “Unbelievable.”

Batman took a step toward the young boy, “Believe it or you can wait in the Batmobile. As far as I’m concerned, you’re lucky you’ve come this far.”

Damian was already on edge with Aurora being taken, and this old man was seriously pushing him, “You wanna test how far my luck can get me?” Damian spat back.

Nightwing stepped in between them, “Alright, let’s all take a second and focus.”

Damian scoffed at the supposed adults and waited for them to get in the warehouse and give the signal. The Bat and Nightwing entered first, Robin and Spoiler waiting and watching until it was their turn. After the other two entered, it was near torture for Damian to wait.

Although he did fully intended on waiting for the signal, Aurora’s screams came first.

Damian sprinted into the warehouse, swiping a tire iron from an unconscious goon as he passed, and into the battle. He did his best to make sure he used nonlethal attacks only even if these assholes deserved death for attempting to kidnap Aurora.

Damian fought his way through the goons, focusing only on the familiar squeaks he could hear coming from a side room. He stalked towards the last guy who stood guarding the door as he crumpled to his knees, whimpering before he even laid a hand on him. Damian shoved him out of the way before kicking the door down. There was a chorus of cries as the door fell to the ground with a loud crash. Damian could see the silhouettes of at least two dozen kids, but as he moved to enter the room, he was stopped by Robin.

“Damian, I know you wanna see your sister, but with the way you look right now...” he trailed off. Damian looked down at his clothes and hands, noticing for the first time just how bloodstained he was. Maybe he didn’t go as easy on them as he had meant to.

“Why’re there so many of them?” Damian pointed into the room of children.

Robin put his hands in front of him in an attempt to calm Damian down, “This is a case we’ve been working on for a little while now.”

Damian scoffed, “And you’d have let them suffer if I hadn’t insisted on acting?”

Robin opened his mouth but closed it again, “We didn’t have a solid lead on their location,” Spoiler spoke up, “Not until I was patrolling this area and saw some guys chasing one of the kids who managed to break free. They got her before I could though.”

Damian sighed and nodded, he knew he was just looking for reasons to get mad at the vigilantes. They had their ways of doing this and Damian was not included in that. He turned around as he attempted to wipe the blood off his hands at the very least.

“That kid’s insane,” Spoiler whispered to Robin as they began guiding the kids out of the warehouse.

As Damian headed out into the fresh night air, he could hear one of the kids whining and struggling.

“No, I want Dami, he’ll come, I know he will,” Damian turned around to see Spoiler trying to console a very upset Aurora as she protested to the vigilante.

Aurora looked up and saw Damian before he could move out of her line of sight and she sprinted towards him.

“Dami!” she cried as she latched on to him, “I knew you’d come!”

Damian was a little stunned but eventually, he hugged her back, “Yeah, of course I would, little one.”

Spoiler walked over to the two of them, “That’s your little sister?” she asked pointing to Aurora.

Damian nodded and Aurora nuzzled her face on his shoulder as he carried her.

Spoiler nodded, “She’s got a lot of fight in her. She’s the one who almost made it free,” she told Damian, not that he was surprised. Out of all the kids in the orphanage, Damian and Aurora had become nearly inseparable so he had made sure she knew how to defend herself.

Robin offered to take Damian’s bloody sweater as the GCPD arrived to avoid unnecessary questions. After giving Damian’s story and what Aurora could contribute, one of the officers offered to give the two a ride back as it was quite a ways to the orphanage.

Aurora slept in the car but as soon as they got back and were embraced/nearly strangled by Janet, she was wide awake.

They entered the house after thanking the officer and Damian’s already wired senses were screaming as confetti fell lazily on him and the kids all screamed together, “Happy birthday, Damian!”

He looked to Janet, “You didn’t think I’d have forgotten?” she smirked.

Damian chuckled and thanked the kids who were all up past their bedtime, but persevered for Damian, or rather, the cake.

“Thanks, Janet,” Damian smiled at her, feeling the tension in his body released as he watched the kids run around the kitchen. He felt at ease watching them, watching his family.

Janet gave him a side-hug, “It’s the least I could do. You remember the first birthday you had here?” she asked with an amused smile.

Damian laughed, “Yeah, that was definitely a disaster,” he mumbled as he remembered. He had been so stubborn and refused to tell her when his birthday was and when she found out it had already passed, she panicked. Janet had tried to throw a surprise party, only for the young Damian to obliterate the cake because he thought he was being attacked, “And yet you still insist on surprising me.”

Janet shook her head, “Well you still insist on forgetting your birthday, young man.”

Damian rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the counter to fight off the other children for some cake.

——————————

“So,” Tim started after they had finished the debrief from the child abduction case, “What’d you think?”

Bruce grunted as he removed his boots.

Dick leaned over to Tim, “I think that means he liked him.”

Tim chuckled and nodded.

Bruce sighed and turned to Alfred who stood by with tea for them, “I think it’s time we paid a visit to Happy Home Orphanage.”

Alfred nodded, “The one that you fund?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“The one on the outskirts of the city?”

“Alfred,” Bruce sighed as he started.

“The one that the Alistair boy just so happens to be at?”

There was a long pause as the billionaire and butler were engaged in a heated staring contest before Bruce broke and sighed.

“Yes, Alfred. That one.”

Alfred smiled, “Very good, sir. I’ll call in the morning.”

——————————

End of Part Two

[ddaenggtan]

from eden | myg + jhs

you've been in the dark a long time, overworked and exhausted. the only bright point is your gatekeeper, hoseok, your closest friend and the man you love but can't have. you've accepted that loneliness is inevitable for you. when a voice calls to you, though, and moves you so deeply that you rip open the earth to help them, you meet a mint-haired boy that changes everything you thought you knew about your prison. | monsters and gods pt 1 (masterlist)

pairing | yoongi x reader x hoseok

genre/warnings | greek god au, hades!reader, thanatos!hoseok, persephone!yoongi, fluff, angst, smut, mild depictions of violence, mentions of blood (well, blood equivalent, bc gods), pining, depictions of abusive parenting, v v brief panic attack (seriously, I don’t go into a ton of detail, but it’s enough, pls don’t read this if that triggers you at all), love triangle (kind of), polyamory, , mutual masturbation, oral (female receiving), face-sitting, fingering, dick-riding, double penetration, unprotected sex (gods can't get sti's but u can! Wrap it b4 u tap it!), creampie, everyone hates Zeus but what's new, demeter sucks and is the literal worst

word count | 15.6k | cross posted to ao3  monsters and gods masterlis

a/n | hello! i’ve renamed this fic at least ten times, but it’s here!! the first part of monsters and gods!!! i keep seeing hades!yoongi (who i LOVE, don’t get me wrong, seriously you should check out @/seokoloqy’s hades yoongi fics because they’re PHENOM) and while I love hades yoongs, I also keep seeing him in flower crowns and being soft and sweet and, as we know by now, I am ultimately a slut for soft bangtan. so this happened. and then i thought ‘wow this mc is dark af i need some contrast here’ and that’s how thanatos hobi happened, also i couldn’t stop thinking of his Judgement Face, which is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and how fast he switches between that and his smile, plus.....sope, I mean. c’mon. sope. and then it all kinda spiraled into a whole series of fics, only one other of which is even started tho its close to being finished whoops lmao so yeah!!!! pls tell me what u think, i’m not used to writing angst at all, so it may not be suuuuuuper prevalent in this, but i tried!!! also i really recommend listening to hozier while you read it bc i had his first album on repeat while writing it and from eden fits this pretty well imo!!!

It's dark when you open your eyes. You've spent so long down here, you're used to it, but the shadows always seem to make the air colder than it should be. Though you suppose the land of the dead isn't supposed to be warm.

You stretch and wince at the crick in your spine. Another night sitting at your desk, greek fire burning through the hours so that you can scratch away at the papers in front of you. Your siblings always enjoy doing whatever they want, using mortals and throwing them away however they please, cleaning up after each other whenever they can spare the time.

No one ever seems to think about you, nor do they remember the chaos up top only worsens your constant migraines.

No, instead they start their wars and slaughter their enemies and are absolutely oblivious about the fact that the Meadow is at 80% capacity as it is, with more souls arriving each day. Thanatos did well at his job, as did Charon, and you were always sure to be thankful to them, but you wish, not for the first time, that there was someone - anyone - to help with your work.

Your brothers have the naiads, the winds, and the lesser gods to help them with their oceans and skies. Gods of vengeance and retribution help with war, while the fertility goddesses and the muses aid the lovelorn.

And yet here you are, still alone after all these years. Millenia, you've been stuck down here, forced to live out your days in the cold darkness and manage the dead mortals. You've always been introverted, even before you drew lots with your siblings, but never like this. You've tried to leave, of course; at first making short visits to Olympus or the mortal realm, just to speak to another living soul again, someone else who understands what it's like to be trapped in your own life. It seems like every time you came back, though, the underworld had gotten smaller and smaller, nearly suffocating you in an attempt to keep its claws in your skin. And then, of course, came the curse.

You haven't felt the sun on your skin in nearly a thousand years, and while you've always been one for the shade, you miss it. You miss the smell of the flowers in the temples, you miss the sound of the river as it babbles past, you want to feel the warm summer breeze ruffle your hair as you stand in the middle of a marketplace. You're tired of the Fields, you're bored of walking the streets of Elysium with the weight of their stares at your back, sick of standing at the steps to the Isles and wondering if it is, truly, euphoric and if any mortal would ever find out. You don't wear your sandals around the palace anymore; you don't want to hear the footsteps echo. It's just a reminder that you are, truly, alone.

Even the other deities in the Underworld have stopped calling on you. The aura that surrounds you is enough to wilt most any plant, unnerve most every animal, and the gods are no exception. The only exceptions are Hecate, who makes it her personal mission to bribe you into visiting the Meadow if only for a moment, and Thanatos when he can slip away for longer than a moment to distract you from your work. They rarely succeed, but it's the thought that counts, you suppose.

You muse on this as you walk, bare feet skimming lightly over the soil of the Meadow as you make your way to the Gates. You could probably just shadow-walk, if you wanted, you do enjoy giving your Thanatos a fright, but you figure the walk would do you good. There’s no one to bother you as go, thankfully. The dead wander aimlessly around you. There's no acknowledgment as you pass; there's never any recognition of anything in the Meadow, the price mortals pay for being so utterly inconsequential and mundane.

You smile when you see that your friend is busy, and you give a silent command to Cerberus not to alert the man to your presence. The dog whines a little, but sits back on his haunches, shaking the ground as he does so. You're silent as you move up behind the judge.

"You wanted me to tell you my judgment and I have," Hoseok says firmly. "You could have gone straight to the Asphodel Meadow and existed in relative peace for eternity, and instead you request a hearing, and then have the gall to question my decision?" You grimace slightly; perhaps putting Hoseok in charge of judging the souls was not the best idea, but he has yet to be wrong about someone.

"Please, sir," The mortal whimpers. He's on his knees, suit crumpled and dirty where he sits. "I was only doing what I thought was best, please, surely that matters."

"You used children!" Hoseok says in shock. "As slaves! It's 2019 and you had nearly a hundred seven-year-olds sewing clothes together in a cramped warehouse with one bathroom. You seriously expect me to give you leniency because you thought that was best?"

"Their families would have starved without that money," The mortal says. He's on the verge of tears, which has always made you uncomfortable, so you stay hidden for now. "I kept them all fed and safe, didn't I? What would they have done without me? Gone to work in some factory, with dangerous machines and cruel managers, whipped every time they needed to eat?"

"You used children as nearly free labor, barely allowed them time to piss, fed them once every twelve hours, and you expect that to be okay because they could’ve had it worse," Hoseok says. Disgust drips from his voice and you’re inclined to agree with the sentiment. "I respect your opinion, but you are to be punished for your deeds fittingly." Hoseok snaps and two of the Bones come over. These two are in desert camo, one barely tall enough to be an adult judging by the skeletal build, but their grip is unforgiving as they cart the mortal off to the Fields. You don’t even need to mold together a punishment for him; the warehouse you sent others who’d done the same wasn’t quite crowded enough yet.

"Well, that was fun," You call, and delight at the way Hoseok jumps nearly a foot in the air. He glares at you as he turns and you don't bother to hide the smirk on your face. "Child slavery, huh? In this day and age?"

Hoseok tsks. "I know we used to allow some crazy shit back in the old days, but you'd think that people would know better by now. Using children like that, kids…” He trails off, still fuming, and you nod.

“I know.” You pull a piece of lint off his suit with a wrinkle of your nose. “You made the right decision if it helps.”

“I know I did,” He says with a smirk. “I always do.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, watching the lines of souls head through the gates to their eternal blandness. It's the best way to hide the flush he brings to your cheeks. “What brings you out here, though? Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important?”

“Don’t I wish,” You mutter. “All I’ve got to do is figure out how to expand the realm again without Zeus’ approval.”

“Wait, he didn’t approve the expansion?” You shake your head and step closer to where Cerberus is laying, all three heads focused entirely on you as you rub his middle nose. “Where does he think we’re going to put all of the souls, up your ass?”

“Clearly,” You spit.

“I know it’s not exactly great down here and that they would all rather be thrown into the Pit than visit, but they need to sometimes. If only to see what it’s like. I mean, honestly, what do they expect us to do, just toss everyone in the Meadow and call it a day until there are so many that they’re tripping into Elysium? What the f-”

“Thanatos,” You say quietly, and Hoseok stops. It’s not often that you call him by his title rather than his name, preferring the familiarity of his friendship over the detachment of your positions. “Even here, the gods have ears. You know better than to criticize them like that.”

He huffs but nods his head. You press a kiss to Cerb’s middle nose and coo at him until he starts wagging his tail. When you turn back around, Hoseok is stumbling to keep his balance on the shaking ground. You laugh, which he does not appreciate, but before he can say anything in his defense, another soul is escorted to him by a Bones. The guy is already pleading with Hoseok, who’s returned to the stony mask he usually wears. The silver aura that surrounds him always brings you comfort, reminding you of the moonlight that bathes the surface world, but it has turned colder and is as deadly as mercury. You envy the way he can switch back and forth between his professional mask and the bright, loving man you know; if only it were that easy for you. Without so much as a wave, you weave the shadows around you once more, ignoring the soul's cries to you for mercy, and let yourself disappear into the darkness.

When you emerge from the shadows, you settle at the base of your garden tree. The only living thing that would grow down here, the sole reminder of the world above. Its branches show that it should be close to the harvest soon, maybe a month away at the most. You reach up, weaving through the darkness to pluck a pomegranate from the tree. You don't even like pomegranates anymore, you think as you inspect it. Ripe, juicy, and utterly disgusting; the gods' idea of a joke. The thing that brought about your isolation, your solitude, yet it continues to be the only thing that grows in this wasteland.

You laugh bitterly before tossing the fruit up in the air, letting it fly through the shadows to land beside Hoseok, whatever he's doing. He always appreciates your little gifts, the only real thing you can do to show that you aren't cross with him and are glad for the work he does. He's long been stuck here with you, but the fruit doesn't turn to bile on his tongue the way it does yours. Perhaps the willingness he had that first time made a difference.

Please.

You glance around, looking for the voice that suddenly echoes around you. It's soft, a memory of a whisper. It's not rare for you to hear the voices of the dead in your realm, but this is different. This one strikes you to your core, for this…

This one sounds hopeful.

The prayers that make their way to you are never hopeful. They are sad or angry or scared, always filled with tears and regret and more than a little hesitancy, but never do they have any shred of hope in them.

You stand, eyes narrowed as you look through the darkness for whatever soul may be calling to you.

Please. I don't want to go back. Don't let her take me.

Without thinking, you reach into the shadows. The blackness swirls around your fingers, unsure where you're trying to go. You don't know yourself, and you wish you did. You aren't sure why you're doing this; you rarely answer prayers, least of all the ones that don't mention you specifically, but something in this voice calls to you. It resonates in your chest, shakes your very being because you remember that feeling. You remember the way it felt to be free, standing in the sun and clawing at the earth as Gaia dragged you back down to your post, tears mixing with the dirt as you pleaded, begged her not to take you back down there.

With a jerk, you pull the shadows apart, and the ground quakes above you. You watch, anxiety pooling in your gut, and it's only the intensity of your focus that lets you see it: a figure, falling limply through the earth that you've opened. The string of curses you let out would make even Ares blush, and it's with a rush you haven't felt in millennia that you weave the shadows together into a net and toss it upwards. The figure falls into it with ease, shadows wrapping around the body to glide gently downwards until they can deposit the person with ease at the roots of your tree.

Your breath catches in your throat as the darkness recedes, revealing soft mint hair with flowers woven into it, pale green robes that are sliced nearly in half at the back and caked with mud. The man is beautiful and soft and bright, every inch the antithesis to your own black and grey clothes. You hesitate to even look at him, too afraid of dulling that sun-kissed skin with the death you carry on your fingertips.

His brow furrows and he winces, though his eyes remain closed. You blink owlishly before guiding the shadows around him once more; when you're sure he's secure, you pull him along behind you until you reach the only spare room you have in the palace. You situate him on the bed there, fluffing pillows and smoothing blankets until you can almost pretend he fell asleep there of his own accord. With pursed lips, you assign three of your Bones to watch him; one just inside the door and two outside of it, just in case whatever he was running from attempts to come for him.

You don't want to leave him, but you have work to do, and the land of the dead cannot rule itself.

It's dark when he opens his eyes. There is Greek fire in the corner, and shadows dancing on the walls around it, but he cannot make out much else. When he sits up and slides his feet off what feels like a bed, he hisses. The marble is cold and unforgiving against the bare skin of his feet and he doesn't know of any feeling like it. He's too accustomed to the dirt and grass from his mother's domain, and even the white marble of Olympus was warm to the touch. This is different. Alarming. New.

He eventually works up the nerve to stand fully. Looking around, he doesn't see any kind of light sources other than the brazier in the corner, so he grips one of the coals in his palm and uses that bit of light to find the door. The fire tingles against his skin, but he's long since grown used to holding fire in his palms for his mother. The warmth is comforting for a brief moment before the image of his mother flashes through his mind. He flinches at the memory of her face, twisted with wrath, and the stone drops out of his grip before he can catch it.

The marble of the wall is cool against his back as he slides to the ground, knees brought up to his chest and his eyes screwed shut against the darkness. There's a vice around his chest and he can't breathe and he can't see and he doesn't have any idea where he is or if he's even alive or if she's stuffed him somewhere he'll never be able to escape and the thought makes his head spin as the air catches in his throat and gods don't even truly need to breathe and yet he can feel the cold claws of death tighten around his throat and all he can see in his final moments is the horrifying face of his mother's anger and he can feel the vines and roots around his ankles once more and-

"Who the hell are you?"

He looks up, pushing the sweat-covered hair out of his eyes. There's a man, in the darkness, who exudes a faint silver light around him that illuminates the walls and black marble floor. The man doesn't seem angry that he's there, or even all that surprised; just curiously resigned. There are so many questions on the tip of his tongue, so much he wants - needs - to know but only one makes it past the rock lodged in his windpipe.

"Am I dead?"

The man frowns and shakes his head. "I seriously doubt it, since you didn't cross the river." The man looks him over, taking in the flushed skin and sweat beads and the purple robes he donned the moment he decided to run and seems to decide something. He crouches down so he's eye level, poised on the balls of his feet with his elbows on his knees, and even in a full suit, he looks impeccably put-together. "I'm Thanatos. You can call me Hoseok. If you'll let me, I'd like to take you to someone who probably has a better idea of what you're doing here." All he can do is nod, and Hoseok extends a hand, which he uses to bring himself to a shaky stand.

"I'm Yoongi," He says, hesitant and quiet. "Um, I'm Kore. Or, Persephone. Either one."

"I think I'll stick with Yoongi," Hoseok says. His smile lights the hallway that Yoongi stands in, and it eases something inside him, though he isn't sure what. Hoseok doesn't let go of his hand as he guides Yoongi through the corridors, and talks to him the entire time. He speaks of his duties there, souls he's judged that day, ones he wished he could do more for, comforts Yoongi when a walking skeleton in Roman armor passes him and explains that those are the security force of the palace. By the time they make it to a large room, lit on each side with braziers of Greek fire that give the room an eerie glow, Yoongi has a fairly good idea of where he is, and who Hoseok is taking him to see.

The large ebony throne at the end of the room and the black-robed figure sitting atop it only confirms his fears.

When Hoseok enters the throne room, you're only slightly surprised. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to take a break from his judicial duties, and so long as there were plenty of Bones to watch the gates, you had no issues. Years would sometimes pass before Hoseok needed to return, relieving the judgment council once more and returning them to their own afterlives.

To see him shadowed by the mint-haired boy you pulled through the earth, however, is a shock.

You set the papers you'd been writing at to the side. Your robes, woven from shadows and dipped in the Styx, swirl around your bare feet as you move to sit correctly with your back straight instead of lounging as you'd been doing before. The darkness you’d brought forth to cushion your chair, plump and fat and soft underneath you, shifts as well, keeping the hard edge of the marble from digging into your skin. Hoseok stifles a smile at the sight and you narrow your eyes at him. You wish he'd say something about it, the punk.

"What can I do for you, Hoseok?" You eventually ask as he and his companion reach the steps just below your throne. Even now, you can barely bring your eyes away from the boy behind him; he's radiant, the light in the room seemingly drawn to him despite the way he's slouched into himself.

"I was just wondering if you knew how this young man came to be in the underworld, my lady," Hoseok says. Your eyes dart back to him and you can't help the way your heart softens at the soft silver shine around him. You look to the mint-haired god again; his eyes dart around nervously as if he expects something to jump out at him, and he's close enough to Hoseok that if the other were to step back, they'd both likely fall to the floor.

You lean forward in your throne, doing your best to project a calm and friendly air to the shorter of the two gods. "Do you not remember?" You ask quietly. Your eyes don't leave his big brown ones, and you can see the moment the panic sets in. "It's fine, you don't need to answer me. Just know that you're safe here."

"Yoongi?" Hoseok says quietly, drawing the boy's attention. "Hey, it's alright. We're not gonna let anything happen." It takes several minutes but eventually the boy - Yoongi, apparently - nods. He hasn't relaxed at all, but he doesn't seem like he's about to bolt out of your throne room, so you consider it a success.

"You were praying," You tell him softly. "You asked for my help, so I gave it, as best I could. I don't think you meant for your words to reach me, but they did." Yoongi frowns ever so slightly as he takes in the knowledge. There's a hint of anxiety in his face, his brow furrowed adorably, but he doesn't startle when Hoseok rests a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, though, and the two of them seem to have a silent conversation. Something settles in your stomach, seeing the ease with which Hoseok interacts with him, and you swallow down the lump in your throat. It's ridiculous to feel anything like this; Hoseok is your subordinate and friend, and you've hardly known Yoongi for five minutes.

"He can stay here, right?" Hoseok asks. You look to Yoongi, wondering if he even wants to stay, if he even wants to be here at all or if he wished someone else had answered his prayers. Hoseok calls your name softly and your gaze flicks to him. "Can he stay?"

You find that you're debating with yourself. Yoongi clearly doesn't belong here; he is soft and sweet and gentle and completely at odds with the harsh, depressive atmosphere that lingers in your palace. He looks terrified even now as he takes in the room, eyes lingering on the bones that were fused together to make your throne. And yet...you cannot escape the fear and hope that had echoed in his prayer, the sheer desperation that someone would help him. He had been running and terrified, which could only mean that he was being chased by something or someone, and you couldn't force him out if he was in danger.

"If you would like to stay," You say after a moment too long, "Then you are, of course, more than welcome to do so." You rise from your throne, shadows dissipating as you do, and take a couple of tentative steps toward the pair. He doesn't shrink back in fear, which you take as a good sign. "The guest quarters will be yours to do with as you please. Hoseok can show you around the palace and grounds, so you don't get lost, and the Bones can bring you anything you require." You move to press a hand to Hoseok's arm, and you level him with a careful look.

"Of course, my lady," Hoseok says. He turns to Yoongi with a radiant smile. "And you can leave whenever you'd like."

"Of course," You agree quickly. "Hoseok can take you back and forth across the river as you wish. Charon can be quite fussy about it." Several times, your guests have been stuck on the wrong side of the river until someone brought your ferryman his payment. Yoongi looks slightly less terrified, and in the emerald glow of the fires, you notice how wide his eyes are. "Oh! You're from the surface, of course, I forgot."

With a snap of your fingers, the sconces along the walls light themselves, and the candles ringing the large chandelier in the center of your throne room surge to life as well. Yoongi startles a little, stepping closer to Hoseok.

"Ah, I forget you surfacers can't see as well down here," Hoseok mutters. "We'll get you a candlestick as well, just in case." He nods to you, Yoongi copying him in a most adorable way. They're halfway out of the room when a thought occurs to you.

"Yoongi?" You call after him. He turns, and the green halo around him makes your heart falter. "Don't eat the pomegranates. Not even the seeds." His brow furrows in confusion but he gives a hesitant nod before he turns and hurries after Hoseok.

As much as your chest aches for him, you won't subject him to this life. You watch him go and wonder how long he'll last in this hellscape.

When their shadows have long disappeared from the walls, you turn and retake your seat on the throne. With a wave, a small team of Bones appears in front of you - the same uniforms, with the same unit numbers, stamped on their dog tags, and the same haunted look where their eyes once were - and you do a quick count. Ten should do fine for what you need.

"Scour the earth. Do not speak to anyone. Find out what he was running from, and if it still searches for him. Don't let anyone see you, and don't let anyone know why you're looking. Return if you're in danger. Report to me immediately." They salute, and you watch their forms slowly disappear, becoming more and more transparent until they glide upwards and through the cracks in the ceiling.

You sit back and wonder how long it will take for you to get answers, and if it will be before or after Yoongi realizes he's too good for this place.

Yoongi is quiet. That's the first thing Hoseok notices about him. He doesn't initiate conversation, really, instead content to listen to Hoseok talk about the various souls he's judged and the occasional escape attempts someone has made. At first, when Yoongi speaks, he's quiet, like he doesn't really want - or expect - to be heard, and he always looks pleasantly surprised when Hoseok answers his question or responds to his comments.

It makes his heart ache, and he wonders what exactly Yoongi has gone through to make him so shocked that anyone would actually listen to what he has to say. It takes weeks for him to warm enough to Hoseok to start speaking more often, to ask questions about his day, to actually request specific things. The day Yoongi asked Hoseok, soft and hesitant, if he could show him the Meadow and the tree, Hoseok almost cried. Yoongi was so obviously ready to be told no, fully expectant for Hoseok to decline such a simple request, and it only reinforced Hoseok's need to give the god everything he could ever want.

"What are you doing, Yoongi?" Hoseok asks when he looks up. They're at the gates, Hoseok in the usual position, eyes roving over the lines of souls slowly shuffling forward, and Yoongi sitting nearby. Cerberus is curled up behind him, dwarfing the god with his massive body, all three heads snoring and slobbering as they sleep haphazardly on top of each other. Yoongi glances up at Hoseok as he grabs another flower from the basket beside him.

"I'm making Cerb some flower crowns," Yoongi answers as if it was obvious. Hoseok frowns.

"Flower crowns?" He echoes. "What's a flower crown?"

Yoongi gives him a disbelieving stare. "It's a bath salt. What the fuck do you think it is, Hobi? It's a crown made of flowers." Hoseok is caught off guard by the sarcasm, as he has been every time Yoongi has spouted off some kind of sass to him. He strides over and crouches beside the mint god to watch him.

Yoongi's fingers are sure and steady as he weaves the stems of the flowers together. It's already half-dozen, Hoseok thinks, the crocus blossoms blending together prettily and not straying in the slightest from where he places them. Hoseok hasn't ever seen anything like it, and he's entranced by the way Yoongi's fingers move and the way the flowers seem to just do whatever he wants without much coaxing on his part.

"I had the Bones bring me back a basket from their last excursion," Yoongi says. "Since none grow here." He stops with one last crocus and eyes it critically before apparently deciding it was good enough. Hoseok can't take his eyes off the thing, enraptured even as Yoongi sets it gently on his head. Hoseok can feel his eyes widen and his cheeks flush red.

"Thanks," He says after a second, one hand darting up to steady the crown as he shifts his weight. He smiles, unable to help himself and poses. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

"Ugh, you wish," Yoongi says. Hoseok can see the smile in his eyes and is satisfied with the mirth threatening to bubble past Yoongi's lips.

"Y'know," Hoseok says after a while, hands in his pockets as he watches Yoongi make the second crown for Cerb. "I bet if you planted some seeds near the pomegranate tree, they'd grow." Yoongi's hands stop moving, his eyes drifting up to look past Hoseok. Something similar to excitement hides behind his eyes, and Hoseok wants nothing more than to bring it out to shine. Yoongi cocks a brow as if to say 'really' and Hoseok nods.

The gummy smile he gets in return, full of hope and light that the underworld hasn't ever seen before, is well worth the potential scolding you may give him for suggesting Yoongi fiddle with the tree's courtyard. And the way he keeps the flower crown nearby, hanging off a hook on the gates long after the blossoms have wilted and died, is worth the shy smile Yoongi gets every time he sees it.

You don't see Yoongi for the first few weeks he's there. Not really. You catch glimpses when he passes through the palace halls with Hoseok, and he sits with Cerberus while you visit Hoseok at the gates, but he makes no effort to seek you out, and you respect that distance. You can't bring yourself to force your company on him. You're an acquired taste; Hoseok has been in this realm for so long that he's accustomed to the darkness that follows you, the aura of death and despair that usually surrounds you. He's been surrounded by the dead almost as long as you have, so you know he can't be affected by it. Yoongi, though…

Yoongi is life. He's the springtime blossoms in a summer breeze, he's the sound of birds chirping in the treetops, he's vibrant and fresh and lovely and you cannot ruin that. You can't watch him wither away like a winter garden, you can't watch the color drain from his skin until he's just as much a ghost as the souls that wander the Meadow, you can't let him become just as dead as everything else in this cursed place.

So you leave him be. You offer curt nods when you see him with Hoseok and polite waves because giving any more of yourself to him without letting yourself get closer would be too dangerous. Even with the distance you keep, your chest tightens with every smile that graces his lips, you ache to hear his voice even just once, and it's too much. It's too much for someone you haven't even had a real conversation with. Someone who looks at you with apprehension and anxiety, yet brings undeniable joy to the man you've always held in your heart.

It's too much for you to feel like this for someone who makes Hoseok smile as if he's seeing sunlight for the first time in thousands of years. You love Hoseok too much to stand anywhere near them.

You've been avoiding both of them for days. You can't bear to see Yoongi's gummy smile and Hoseok's adorable dimples as they gaze at each other, and you're busy enough to make a decent excuse for it. Expansion isn't difficult, but keeping it quiet is. Plus you've been on the hunt to figure out what had been after Yoongi with such ferocity that it sliced right through his robes and had him praying to anyone who would listen.

You had a few helpful leads, but nothing concrete, and it was more than a little frustrating. Which is why you find yourself stepping out of the shadows of the pomegranate tree, hopeful that it could help to ease even just part of the emotions rolling in your gut.

The sight of Yoongi surprises you, even more so when you see that he's on his knees beside the tree with dirt covering his hands and a smidge of something on his cheek. He looks absolutely wondrous, like everything you've been missing from the world above, and it would bring tears to your eyes if you let it because he's so far out of your reach.

"Hi," You say after a long debate with yourself. Yoongi's head shoots up and he fixes wide eyes on you. He reminds you of the ones who come to you with no memory of what's happened to them, scared and alone and about to get the worst news of their lives. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," He says immediately. "I didn't mean to, not really. You just said not to eat them, and I'm not, so I thought it would be okay. Hobi suggested it and you two are so close that I figured he'd know if you'd be upset."

"I'm not upset." Your voice is as gentle as you can make it. "I'm just curious. Hoseok didn't mention anything to me, and no one really comes here."

"Oh." The relief is palpable as it courses through him, and he looks back down at the ground in front of him. "I'm just planting some flowers so I can make more crowns for Hobi and Cerb. The others died so fast, and I don't want to keep sending the Bones out to get more if I don't have to."

"Oh, you made the flower crown for Hoseok?" You'd figured as much. No one else in the underworld knew how to make them, and Yoongi was the only consistently around him. "He showed me that, it was gorgeous."

"Obviously, it was made by me, after all," Yoongi spouts. You gape at him, and he gives you a contrite grimace. "I'm sorry, my lady Hades, I forgot who I was with for a moment. It won't happen again."

"It should," You say before you can stop yourself. He glances at you curiously. "I don't mind if you're relaxed and casual around me. I've never been one to enforce the rules that Olympus has. Hoseok is proof enough of that. And you can use my name, I don't mind."

The way he whispers your name, almost as if he's practicing it to himself, makes your heart flutter in your chest. It's so dangerous to be around him like this, relaxed and casual; it's so easy to forget that it's Hoseok that gets this, that deserves this small piece of sunshine.

"Well," Yoongi eventually says. "In that case, you can get to work. I've got an entire basket of seeds left to plant around this thing, and I can only work so fast. Plus I'm getting hungry."

"Oh. Okay, show me what to do." You don't hesitate to mirror his position, robes bunching under your knees in the dirt as he points at the small holes he's carved out of the dirt with the trowel and rake the Bones nabbed for him.

Yoongi is patient, you learn. Not extremely so, but he walks you through what you need to do with clear directions. The seeds are small in your hands, which amuses you to no end, and there's an odd delight in packing the soil around them and dripping water down onto them after. You're smiling for the first time in...you don't know how long, and the feeling of Yoongi's hands around yours as he shows you how to use the trowel is something akin to paradise.

His hands are rough; calloused and weathered and wonderful against the softness of your own. You start to talk freely to him, asking him about each seed you plant and what they are and how they look. He tells you about each one, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. He rolls his eyes at every joke you make, despite the way he smiles, and hits back with several quips of his own. He listens as you tell him, voice shaking, about the pomegranate tree, and how it curses anyone who eats its fruit to stay trapped in the underworld forevermore. He talks and listens and jokes and laughs and it's only after you've made a particularly ridiculous joke that you realize your mistake.

"You've spent too much time around Hobi," Yoongi says. "He made the same joke yesterday." He's looking down at the last few seeds, plotting where in the courtyard to put them, and doesn't see the way the smile dies on your face. You'd forgotten. For a brief time, you'd forgotten that this is just pretending.

You don't get to keep this. You don't get to stay here, in this courtyard, with Yoongi and his rough hands and the mint hair that falls in his eyes and his gummy smile. This isn't yours. You don't get flower crowns and jokes and soft kisses, no matter how much you want them, just like you don't get Hoseok's bright grin or his dimples or his long fingers intertwined with yours. Your heart aches for these two beautiful boys, both of them everything you could ever want in so many different ways. And yet you have neither of them, you don't get either of them. They are each other's, and there is no room there for the death you bring in your wake. You kill everything you touch; the mortals whisper about the cold grip of your hands on their neck as they pass over.

You look back over the seeds you've helped Yoongi plant and wonder how many you've killed before they even lived.

You stand and brush the dirt off your robes. "Well," You say, careful to keep your voice level. "I've got some things to do. I trust you'll be alright on your own." You can't bring yourself to look at Yoongi, can't bear to see the dirt that smudged along his cheek, can't stand to see the way the orange robes drape along him and remind you of the way the autumn leaves looked coating the grass in the meadows.

He doesn't even get a response out before you flee, but you feel his eyes on your back long after you've hidden in the shadows and sunk down onto your bed.

It's astounding, you think as you rinse the dirt off your hands later, how a single afternoon planting seeds with someone can be so detrimental to the walls you'd put around your heart. Tears blur your vision and your fingers are trembling, but you keep scrubbing until the phantom slide of his hands against yours is gone and there is no more evidence of the planting you'd done. When you finally stop, your skin is raw and throbbing, and there are tears running down your face.

You had long accepted that Hoseok could never be yours. You were in two different positions, and he was much too bright to want to be with someone like you. Your shadows would have suffocated him, so you resigned yourself to being his friend. Friend is safe. Friend is good.  

You’d known the same when you met Yoongi. Bright and colorful amidst the darkness of the underworld, you wouldn’t dare to get any closer to him, too familiar with the fluttering of your chest and the jumping in your stomach every time you saw him. Just being friendly was enough, ensuring he is safe and happy is fine with you.

But this? Watching the two of them grow closer and closer, able to love each other so wholly while you stand alone in your darkness, watching their bright smiles and soft looks, all directed only at each other, for eternity? This was too much for you to bear. Being hopelessly in love with one man you can’t have is bad enough, but two of them…

You wish for the first time that you were not immortal, but a meager human upon the surface, unaware and blissful in your ignorance.

He never expected this. Not from the moment he woke up, not when he was sprinting through a forest to escape his mother, not for a single heartbeat could he ever imagined everything that has happened to him since he arrived in this cold land.

He’s been alone for so long, hidden away in his mother’s garden with only the rare visit from Artemis or Hestia as he learned how to do anything and everything his mother wished. He’s never had friends before, he’s never had the subtle inside jokes that he shares with Hoseok, familiar enough that even just a quick glance can have them both bursting with laughter. He’s never known a goddess like you, able to weave together the darkness into something tangible, something useful, something real. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen, and Hoseok’s uncanny ability to bend the environment around him and use his silvery aura to turn almost invisible to the naked eye never ceases to amaze him. The two of you are so powerful, so utterly awe-inspiring, and every single thing his mother had told him is so far from the truth that it almost hurts.

Neither you nor Hoseok is standoffish, really; he can see the hesitant friendship in every smile you send his way, and Hoseok’s primary concern at any moment is making sure he’s happy and safe. It warms Yoongi in a way he could never explain, not even in a million years, simply because he’s never felt this way. In all the books he’s read, the plays he’s seen, every mortal he’s watched, he’s seen this.

He’s seen how they turn red with just a look, how their hearts stutter when hands brush, how they smile, soft and private when they think no one is looking at them. He’s seen this feeling, the bubbling in his chest that he gets every time Hoseok laces their fingers together while walking and the moment you step into the courtyard and see the kaleidoscope of colors that you helped plant. He never would have guessed that he would feel it, though, too isolated from the rest of the world until he came here. Until you pulled apart the earth itself to help him escape, without even knowing why or who he was.

The feeling grows inside of him, thorns pricking into his every breath because he knows it can’t last. He’s seen how you and Hoseok look at each other when you think no one is watching, can feel the pull between you and the years upon years of familiarity that lie between you. The two of you are closer than he could ever get, two sides of the same coin, and more suited to each other than he would ever be.

And he can’t stay.

That’s the worst part. He knows it, knows that she will find him before long and wrap her claws around his throat and drag him back into that gilded cage she calls a greenhouse just to leave him. It’s for the best, my dear, she’ll say, it’s to keep you safe.

Yoongi doesn’t want to be safe, though. He wants to be happy and free, and he’s found that place here, surrounded by death even as he carves out his own little area of life. With Hoseok’s warm grin across from him and your own cool fondness beside him. With flower crowns atop his head and Hoseok’s, and the small buds are woven into your own crown of bones and grief as a small reminder that even in death, there is life.

But she will find him. She always does. And though he cannot bear the thought of leaving you, he will, if only to keep you safe.

Yoongi's been there almost a year when you summon Hoseok to dine with you. By the time he gets to your office - a very understated term for the sprawling library - you're already sitting at your usual desk, food pushed aside and forgotten in lieu of the papers stacked in front of you.  Even with your head bent low and bags under your eyes, you're the most beautiful person Hoseok has ever seen.

He remembers the first time he met you when Zeus had assigned him to be the gatekeeper for the underworld. You were so young, so skittish and worried that you were going to be a terrible ruler as if the dead could be disappointed in you. You'd been beautiful then, too, but not in the same way. You've grown into yourself since then; you're no longer afraid of being a bad queen. You know that you're competent and capable, you know you can do this, and you frequently prove wrong any Olympian who says otherwise. You're mature now; strong and confident and brilliant, and even with the bags under your eyes and the shadows that lick lovingly against your skin, you are absolutely radiant.

Hoseok is so in love with you that it physically hurts him, and every time he looks at you, he is reminded of how you are just out of his reach.

He clears his throat and you look up. The tired smile that graces your face warms him, and he settles into a chair on your left with practiced ease. This isn't the first time you've asked him to dine with you, and it won't be the last.

"What's the occasion?" He teases, delighting in the way you roll your eyes and gesture to the food and nectar that sits in front of him.

"How is Yoongi?" You ask. It doesn't escape him that you don't answer, but you always have your reasons, so he doesn't call you on it.

"Well. He wanders around on his own and doesn't seem to jump at the slightest sound anymore. He came with me the other day when I judged and managed to pick fifteen people for Elysium in a row." An expression passes over your face that he can't decipher. He continues anyway. "He still won't talk much about what happened, but he also doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry to leave. I imagine he'll get bored eventually, and we'll need to give Cerb extra treats when he does, but I'm not concerned just yet."

You nod and Hoseok starts to eat as you rifle through a few more papers. "You know he's Persephone?" You ask, and Hoseok nods. He'd forgotten to share that knowledge with you, but clearly, you had your own way of finding things out. "So then you're aware that his mother is Demeter."

Hoseok pauses for a minute. He swallows the food in his mouth and really looks at you for the first time since he sat down. The bags under your eyes are more prominent, and you're wearing your Hades expression. The one that stays professional and controlled and tells people nothing of your true thoughts. Well, people that haven't known you for more than a thousand years.

"Hoseok, he can't stay here forever," You eventually say. "She's been looking for him everywhere. The humans' crops are ruined, ice and snow have covered the earth, more people are dying than we can hold right now. She won't stop."

"And that means we kick him out?" Hoseok hisses. You close your eyes and he can feel the sigh you're holding back. "You said yourself that he could stay as long as he wants. You can't just rescind that because some wheat goddess is going on a rampage. We still don't know what he was running from, or if it's still out there, and I won't watch him-" He stops, frozen by the way you're pressing your tongue into the side of your cheek. It's the only tell you have and he rarely sees it, because you rarely keep things from him. "What do you know?"

You don't answer, and he repeats the question, louder this time, as he surges out of his chair.

"I was running from her," Yoongi's voice echoes through the library. You and Hoseok both turn to see him standing in the door, and Hoseok's heart swells at the sight. He's in soft, muted pink robes that Hoseok knows he made himself. His cheeks are rounder, and he's no longer curled in on himself. He looks stronger. Confident. Unafraid. "I was running from my mother. That's what you found out, right?" Hoseok looks to you, and the regret in your eyes just confirms it.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi, I was only trying to make sure you were safe, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," Yoongi says as he moves to run his hand along your cheek. "I know." He smiles at you. Hoseok looks between the two of you - Yoongi's hand resting lightly on your cheek and a soft smile on his lips while his eyes crinkle with rare happiness, your own eyes wide and full of what can only be described as pure, unadulterated love - and his stomach rolls violently. Even after all the time Hoseok has spent with you, and with Yoongi, and the times he's entered a room to find the two of you in comfortable silence, he never expected this. He should've, he realizes; the two of you are a perfect match, complementing each other to near perfection, each fault being smoothed over by the other's strengths.

How could he have thought you wouldn't fall in love with Yoongi? Soft, kind Yoongi, who had just enough snark inside of him to make every word out of his mouth an unexpected joy. Yoongi who braids flower crowns with the flowers he's started to grow in the courtyard, surrounding the pomegranate tree with the beautiful blooms. Yoongi, who encourages Hoseok to judge more and more souls, ones that don't request it, who can somehow pick the good people from the bad just by looking.

And how could he have ever expected Yoongi not to fall for you? Strong and intelligent, determined and kind. You who opened your home to him in his most vulnerable moment and never expected anything in return. You who did everything in your power to find what was chasing him, and find a way to stop it. You, with your lonely smile and your bare feet. You, who Hoseok himself has been in love with for tens of thousands of years.

How could he have expected either of you not to fall in love in the months that you have known each other when Hoseok couldn't even stop himself?

“I’ll go back to her,” Yoongi says softly, finally dropping his hand from your cheek and turning the radiant smile on Hoseok. “She’ll have no reason to continue this if I return.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Yoongi,” You say immediately. ““You were desperate to get away from her, and...what she almost did to you, that’s unacceptable.”

“Let her rage,” Hoseok agrees. “You’re safe here, no one can get to you without getting through the two of us first, not to mention Cerberus and the Bones. No nature goddess will last in this place, not with our full force around you.”

“Thank you, Hobi, but no. I can’t ask you both to do that, not when it could end so badly for you. You don’t know what she can do, it’s not-”

“You aren’t asking us,” You say. Your voice is as quiet as always, but there’s a firmness there that Hoseok recognizes. It’s usually saved for the throne room when some mortal has been particularly annoying or stubborn, and it’s a shock to see it directed at Yoongi. “We are offering. Let us protect you, Yoongi. At least let me speak with Zeus about this. I may be able to convince him to intervene.”

Yoongi hesitates, the indecision is written all over his face, and Hoseok leans to lace their fingers together. It’s a familiar gesture, done so often to prevent Yoongi from getting lost that it’s second nature at this point.

“Please,” Hoseok pleads when Yoongi looks at him. “Please, Yoongi.”

The reluctant nod is all the confirmation needed. You’re already scribbling out a summons for Hermes to carry to the lord of the gods, and Hoseok is halfway through the halls to reinforce the gates and ensure Cerberus knows his task. He tries not to think about the way Yoongi lingered behind, one hand on your shoulder as he watched you write and the other caressing the flower-riddled braids he’d made earlier that day.

He doesn’t think about it, because in the end, it doesn’t matter. Hoseok is so deeply in love with the two of you, so grossly enamored, that he would go to the end of time itself if it meant keeping the two of you safe and happy. Even if that meant watching you love each other and not him.

“What do you mean, he won’t help?”

You massage your temples without looking up from the letter Zeus had sent back with Hermes. He was, unsurprisingly, not helpful. Hoseok had appeared not long after the messenger had left, and is, also unsurprisingly, irate.

“According to him, he has no dog in this fight, because Yoongi isn’t his son, he’s Demeter’s, and if he were to get involved, he’d side with her since the humans are dying so quickly, which isn’t exactly good for worship numbers.”

“Are you kidding me? He seriously said he’d take her side in this?”

“Not in so many words, but yes. And I get it, Hobi. His job is to keep the peace between everyone in Olympus, and without actually coming here to give me an audience, all he has is Demeter’s side of the story.”

“Which is?”

“That I kidnapped her son and am currently holding him captive in a dungeon down here.”

“That’s absurd. He’s not captive at all, he’s happier here than he ever was up there, and you didn’t kidnap him!” You give a slight nod to show that yes, Hoseok, you’re aware of the truth. “Does he know what she does to him? How she treats him?”

“Hoseok, please,” You mutter. The weight of Zeus’ words is like a blade against your throat and you want nothing more than to help Yoongi. Clearly, the Fates have decided against that. “You know how he is. Do you honestly think he’d care? She has a claim to him, despite what he wants, and unless we find a way to get Zeus down here or go there ourselves, our lord won’t be able to hear any other side of this story.”

“Then we’ll...we’ll go there! We’ll make them listen! You could talk sense into him, make him see that he needs to help.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hobi.” Hoseok flinches, as if just remembering that you are as captive here as the souls you keep. You’re glad, not for the first time, that Death Itself cannot be contained, so that Hoseok, at least, is free to come and go as he pleases. “And before you say it, no, we can’t ask him to go. It isn’t safe. The second he sets foot outside this realm, she’ll pull him back. We’re lucky that he hasn’t already told her where Yoongi is.”

Your statement is punctuated with a muffled thud, and the anxiety that runs through you is mirrored in the look Hoseok gives you. Another thud echoes through the palace, the ground rumbling under your feet, and you stand.

“Where is he?” You ask, already pulling the shadows around you.

“Just past the gate, walking through the Meadow. If we hurry-”

“Go.” You disappear into the blackness, never more glad that Hoseok can sense the living in your land. When you step away from the shadows, Yoongi is there, confusion written across his face and fear in his eyes. “You have to run.”

“No,” He says. “I’m not going to keep running from her. I’m staying here, she can’t take me back.”

“Yoongi, please,” You beg. He’s too vulnerable here, too open, too easily seen with his spring green robes billowing around his feet and flowers woven into a crown atop his head. He takes your hands in his and pulls you close, and you’ve never seen a fire like this in him. It burns hot and strong and it makes your chest ache for what could have been.

“I won’t let her hurt you while I hide away like a coward,” He whispers. His thumb wipes away tears you didn’t know were there, and determination floods through you.

"Please, Yoongi. Let us help you. Let me help you. I-" The words choke in your throat, but Yoongi nods as if they made it out.

"I love you, too." His voice is soft, barely audible over the shaking ground and the deafening sound of hooves slamming into your gates. You feel more than see Hoseok land beside you, and his hand rests on the small of your back without hesitation.

"Take him," You tell Hoseok. "Go to the palace. You'll be safe there. Don't let him leave."

Hoseok's eyes are fire-bright as he wraps an arm around Yoongi's waist. The god's protests fall on dead ears, even as you let your hands brush over the softness of Hoseok's ink black wings. Just one moment, that is all you want, just one single second to pretend.

"I'll see you after, my lady," Hoseok says firmly. You don't have the heart to correct him, nor the time, so you just nod. Yoongi's screams echo in your ears even as you turn, the blackness that lingers at every corner of your realm swirling around your feet and ready to be whatever you need. You let one last year fall from your eyes as the gates crumple, and the furious eyes of Demeter fixate on you and the black-winged figure carrying her son away.

Hoseok flies faster than he ever has, determined to get Yoongi into the palace and relative safety. The god sobs in his arms, still struggling to get back to where you stand in the Meadow, the massive form of Demeter towering above you, but Hoseok doesn't relax his grip. You gave him an order; he hadn't disappointed you yet, and he isn't about to start now. Not with Yoongi caught in the middle.

He doesn't hesitate when he touches down in the palace, wings retracted and brushing ever so slightly against the black marble floor. He turns to the nearby Bones and orders them to the doors, summoning as many others as he can spare from the gates and Fields to help barricade the palace from the goddess.

"Hobi, you have to go, you have to help her," Yoongi sobs. "She's gonna...I can't, Hobi, please, you have to keep her safe."

"I have to keep you safe," Hoseok replies. He's got a vice grip around Yoongi's arm as he pulls him deeper into the palace, doing his level best to avoid any window or door to the outside. "That was the order she gave and that's the order I shall obey."

"How can you say that?! Don't you care that she could-"

"Of course I care!" Hoseok spits, rounding on the shorter god the second the words leave his lips. "Do you think this is easy for me, Yoongi? Do you think I enjoy choosing between the two of you like this? Because I don't. I want nothing more than to be helping her right now, but I can't...I can't leave you alone here. It's too dangerous."

Hoseok isn't stupid; he knows exactly how he feels about you, and Yoongi, and he's not oblivious to the way the both of you look at him. Still, the two of you are powerful deities, worshipped and loved, feared and prayed to. He's just a guardian, content to sit in the background and watch for threats. Yes, he loves you, with every fiber of his immortal soul, but he also loves Yoongi, and he knows you love Yoongi, and you gave him an order.

"Hobi," Yoongi whispers, eyes wet and red and beautiful. "Hobi, please, you have to help her. She needs you. I can manage, I can hide, but she needs you. No one else can help her."

The fact that he's even considering this shows just how easy it is for Yoongi to manipulate him. Hoseok understands now, what you meant all that time ago. Yoongi's voice is rough and lingering and fearful but it carries so much hope that it digs into Hoseok's skin like a hook. He curses and bundles Yoongi into the corner.

"Stay hidden. Don't make a noise. You can't let her find you." Hoseok hesitates for a split second before pressing a quick kiss to Yoongi's forehead. "I will see you after this."

"I know."

It's never been harder for him to turn his back on someone, but Hoseok manages, with only one last look back before he takes to the air and surges forwards to where you stand, keeping Demeter back with every piece of your power.

Yoongi runs. He runs and runs and runs, the bare skin of his feet silent on the cool marble. The braziers have long since gone out, but he stopped needing them months ago. He knows where he is, even as he tucks himself into a small, nearly invisible niche in a corner. He hardly dares to breathe, too scared that the sound will alert his mother of his location. The palace is silent, not a single sound in the entire thing, and it's deafening in the aftermath of the rumbling screams that signaled your battle with her.

He isn't sure how he managed to convince Hoseok to leave him, whether it was the obvious love the god felt for you or the sheer desperation in his own eyes, but he could only pray the two of you made it out. As gods, you're all difficult to kill, but it's not impossible. Not for other deities.

Come out, little flower.

Yoongi stifles a whimper, panic coloring his vision white for a long while before he can breathe again. Memories flash behind his eyelids and he pried them open just to stare into the darkness.

You can't hide forever, little flower. You know that.

Her voice echoes against the marble. It makes her sound like she's everywhere and nowhere at once, able to find him even as he hides. He clenches his teeth and reminds himself that you and Hoseok are the only ones that know this palace better than him.

You're making me very angry, little flower. Why do you run? I only want the best for you, and you insist on causing such a fuss.

The sound of her sandals reaches him, reverberating off the walls and telling him that she's far too close. He slips silently out of the niche and pads across the floor on the balls of his feet. He doesn't make a sound, something he perfected in his time with her, and just as she slips around the corner, he's darting down another hallway.

Look at what you've done, little flower. All this mess, and for what? Do you like it when I'm angry? Do you enjoy this game of ours?

He slips into another hall just in time. Exhaustion has made him slow. The marble of the wall is cool against his heated skin, and he wonders where you are. Where Hoseok is. If you're alright or if you're laying in the Meadow, golden ocher pooling around you. The thought enrages him, and for the first time, he can feel power at his fingertips; real power, not the simple gardening magic she taught him as a child. He's ready to use it, he thinks. He's so tired of running, so tired of being afraid, and he's so fucking angry that the people he loves have had to fight his battles for him.

Found you, little flower.

Warmth circles his ankle and pulls before he can jerk away. Her nails are sharp than before, like sickles at the end of each long finger, and he scrabbles uselessly at the smooth stone floor. She's speaking but the sound of her voice - wind whispering through a field of wheat, a brook babbling in the summer - is drowned out by the blood pumping in his ears.

"No, I won't go back, you can't make me," He hisses, kicking at her hand with his free leg. He doesn't feel the cuts on his soles, doesn't register them at all until he sees the gold dropping onto the floor; the adrenaline masks the pain. She says something else and he stops kicking, though he doesn't know what she's said. He isn't listening, too busy thinking of a way out of this.

It comes to him, all at once, and he relaxes in her grip. His chest heaves in a sob, because he knows exactly what he has to do, and you will never forgive him for it.

"Alright," He says flatly. Demeter stops in her monologue. "I'll go with you. Just leave them alone." The smile that splits her face is more grotesque than any corpse he's seen in the Styx, but the way she releases his ankle is a blessing. He keeps himself hunched and downtrodden as he pushes himself up, into her waiting arms. The hug is bruising and brings vile to his throat, but it is necessary.

It's with a flash of green as he pulls away from her that he makes his move. The flower crown previously atop his head has morphed, grown into thick, thorny vines around her arms and keeping her in place.

Yoongi is gone before she can so much as screech, sprinting as fast he can through the halls to the one thing that can help him. He feels it when she rips through his flowers, his very soul shaking at the pain that rips through him, but he's determined. He's made good ground, he only had a little further to go.

The vibrant colors of the courtyard have never felt so welcome. He's halfway through, blossoms crushed under his feet as he tears through the carefully tended flowers, when she catches up. The blade of her scythe rips through his back, but the adrenaline masks the pain. He's bleeding, he knows, but he can't bring himself to focus on anything but the way the bark feels under his grip, branches reaching down to help him reach his goal.

She tears him out of the tree violently, no longer wearing the carefully sculpted mask of love. The scream that she unleashes when she sees him shakes the entire realm, soft pebbles falling from the ceiling of the cavern miles above his head, but he doesn't care.

The pomegranate is ripe against his tongue, juice tinting his lips pink, and the weight of it against his chest has never been more welcome. Demeter screams for what could be centuries, but Yoongi does not care, because he has won, and he has never tasted anything so sweet in his entire life.

"Come to bed," Hoseok pleads, not for the first time. You look at him with a sigh. His wings are gone, hidden away until he needs them again, and his arm is free of the bandages he's been wearing. It has taken so long for him to heal, and you still aren't sure he should be up and about. There's a small, barely perceptible scar along his forearm, the faintest reminder of what the two of you survived.

"I have to finish this before he returns, Hobi," You tell him, also not for the first time. Hoseok scoffs and comes around the desk to stand behind you, eyes roving over the documents in front of you.

"It's been over six months," He whispers in your ear. "Zeus has approved your expansion requests. I'm fine. You're fine. Yoongi will be back from Olympus soon."

"Hoseok," Your tone is warning despite the way he whispers your name. You deflate, falling back in your chair and letting him rub your shoulders. "I just miss him."

"I know. I do too." You're both quiet for a while. It has been six months since Demeter crashed into your world and rampaged through the Meadow to find Yoongi. You remember it so vividly, the way you struggled against the unbridled fury she had, the way Hoseok screamed as she broke his wing, the pain in your chest as you'd crawled to him and just held him in your arms until the Bones had made it to the two of you and carried him to the palace.

You had been, and still are, vastly proud of him and Yoongi for fighting back, but that didn't change the fact that they had both put themselves in immense danger by doing so. Even with the - admittedly brilliant, if stupid - plan that Yoongi had come up with, things never really worked out for you. Hoseok had been bedridden for weeks, unable to even more because of the pain in his wing. Hermes has helped with the healing process, which you were unendingly thankful for, but Yoongi had been carted off to Olympus almost immediately for negotiations.

Zeus, benevolent leader and incompetent moron that he is, had decided on a compromise: Yoongi would stay with you in the underworld after the harvest was finished, free to do whatever he liked, but until then he had to stay in Olympus. The letter had mentioned something about reparations to the mortals for the utterly obscene amount of crops they had lost - which was ridiculous really, they were doing their level best to kill the planet and you are gods, since when do gods pay reparations to mortals? - that Yoongi was required to use his abilities to help with.

You'd sent Hermes back with several colorful threats of what exactly would happen to the billions of dead you kept here should Yoongi return in any way other than utter perfection, and you've been anxious for days to find out whether you get to follow through on them. It only worsens when you remember that you have a decision to make when Yoongi returns. You remember the way he looked when he said he loved you, returning words you couldn't bring yourself to say, and you remember the elation and subsequent depression that came after the battle at the realization that you could have had him, were he not gone for half the year.

And yet you also distinctly remember the way Hoseok looked, wings splayed over several tables to hold them in place as they healed, vulnerable and shy as he told you that he was sorry for disobeying you. You won't ever forget his face as he explained, the way his lips formed around your name when he told you he couldn't beat to see you hurt, not after so many years spent loving you. The feel of his lips against your skin is like a phantom even now; Hoseok had waited until he was healed to do anything more than press chaste kisses against your knuckles, and even still you've not felt him the way you want, but it hasn't stopped him from trying.

"Come on, my lady," Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Just for a while." You grumble under your breath - you really do have work to finish before Yoongi arrives - but you allow Hoseok to pull you from your chair and lead you down the hall to your bedroom.

So lost in your own musings, you don't notice the figure lounging on your bed until he speaks.

"Six months and I don't get even so much as a hello?"

Your eyes shoot up and your breath hitches in your throat. Pale green robes lined in the most beautiful black and silver embroidery pool around him, matching the braided crown that rests atop his head. You didn't know flowers like that existed, let alone that they could look so wonderful on someone.

"I didn't know you were back," You breathe.

"That's the point of a surprise, my love," Hoseok says from behind you, hand tightening around yours. Guilt begins to grow in your chest and Yoongi tsks at you. He rises and comes to stand in front of you, brow furrowed.

"That's no way for a queen to look, is it? What has you thinking so hard?" His thumb smooths the space between your brows and you can't help the glance to Hoseok.

"I can't...I don't want to hurt you." Your voice is barely a whisper, and the familiar sting encircles your heart once more. You couldn't choose between the two of them, not if you tried, not even if it meant getting out of this place.

"You won't," Hoseok tells you with a familiar grin. "Yoongi and I have already talked about what we feel for each other, and for you. The only question now is if you'll have us. Both of us."

Months ago, you would have called them crazy and had them exiled for fear they'd gone mad. You never imagined you could have one of them, let alone both; you had been ready to tell them both that you had been mistaken because having one by your side while your heart still yearned for the other was far more cruel than anything you could put in the Fields of Punishment.

Now? Now you know what the Isles must feel like. It is Yoongi in front of you, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek while Hoseok's warmth is steady behind you, one arm encircling your waist and keeping you steady.

"Both of you?" You echo. Yoongi nods.

"You don't have to," Hoseok says from behind you. "But we know how you feel about us, and we're sure in how we feel for each other. There are stranger pairings in the world, aren't there?"

"Only one of you could be king." You aren't sure why you say that, can't remember why it even matters when Hoseok trails his lips over the shell of your ear.

"I never have looked good on a throne," He says. Yoongi's chest rumbles in a laugh, and you could cry at the sight of that familiar gummy smile.

"Please," Yoongi eventually says. "Please say yes." You search his eyes for any hint of indecision or regret, and when you find none, you turn to Hoseok. He has a soft, encouraging smile on his face, and he holds your crown in his free hand. The cool black metal is harsh against his tanned skin, but what draws your eye isn't the way the bones are fused together or the etchings of historical scenes across each. No, it's the soft pale green blossoms woven in among the metal, a stark contrast to the harshness of the bones, and the silver thread twined around all of it, dipping in and out in various places but clearly noticeable in the light. It's a perfect representation of the three of you and it makes your chest swell.

"Yes," You breathe. They don't move, and your eyes dart between them. "Yes, absolutely. I can think of nothing I have ever wanted more."

Yoongi surges forward, capturing you in a long-awaited kiss. His lips are soft as blossoms against yours, warm and gentle as the hands that cup your jaw and draw you closer. You're aware, distantly, of the soft clink of metal on stone as Hoseok sets your crown to the side, though his arm never leaves your waist.

Hours could have passed with Yoongi kissing you. You aren't sure. Time runs together and blends, a dizzying whirlwind of slow drags of his lips across yours followed by quick, messy bursts of his tongue. You can barely focus on what is happening, mind split between the absolute euphoria of kissing him and the heat that comes from Hoseok's fingers dancing along your waist and shoulders, his breath ghosting over your neck as he watches. When Yoongi finally detaches from your lips, he ducks down to suck at the exposed skin of your collarbone, and Hoseok turns your chin so you face him.

"May I, my lady?" He asks. His voice is rough and deeper than you're used to, affected by the sight of you and Yoongi. His fingers twine with the strings holding your robes together and you give him a nod. It doesn't even take a full breath before the black material is pooling at your feet. Hoseok stifles something that sounds suspiciously like a moan behind you, and you think Yoongi actually purrs. They both run their hands along your skin, basking in the goosebumps that they raise and the shivers that crawl up your spine.

"Absolutely ethereal," Yoongi mutters. You pull him into another kiss, one hand coming up to rest against his shoulder while your other tangles in Hoseok's hair where he's doing his level-best to leave his mark on your neck.

"Please," You murmur. "I want to make you happy."

"You've already done that, my queen," He says. His smile is soft and the glint in his eye is sharp. You huff a little and tap twice at Hoseok's neck; when he pulls away, pouting but compliant, you push Yoongi until he's falling back onto your bed. He goes with no objections, one hand twining his fingers with yours and you crawl up to straddle his hips. "Let me please you, my queen. I've been waiting six months to taste you, and I don't want to waste another moment if I don't have to."

Your breath hitches as Hoseok steps up behind you. The bare skin of his chest is a shock as it presses against your back, and he slides his hands along your sides before beginning to tease your nipples. You stifle the moan, emitting more of a whine than anything, and you think you nod. All you know is the heat between your legs and the knee-deep ache to make them happy.

Yoongi's between your legs in a flash. You can't be sure how exactly he moved so quickly without jostling you, but the thought is all but shoved out of your mind as he swipes his tongue against you for the first time. You're glad Hoseok is behind you because your legs are already trembling where they're curled under you and your head drops back to rest against his shoulder. As merciless as Hoseok is in his torment of your chest, Yoongi is doubly so.

You imagine a man starving and dehydrated in a desert wouldn't be this invested in a sudden banquet laid in front of him; Yoongi worships you, circling your clit several times before dipping down to dart teasingly in and out of your hole. He laps up every single drop of your arousal, dutiful in his mission even as Hoseok begins to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. The heat of his breath has you closer to the edge than you want to admit, but the sheer love that radiates from his words at the same time Yoongi rumbles out a heavenly moan straight into your folds, tongue buried inside of you, is what drives you over the edge.

You aren't surprised when neither of them stop; you get the sense Yoongi is thoroughly enjoying himself between your thighs, based on the growing tent in his robes. Hoseok grinds against your ass, and his own hardness presses against you with every painless thrust of his hips. A pang of guilt shoots through you and your hands drop. It's a bit of an awkward angle, but you make it work as you glide your hands over him. He's thick, that's for sure, and nearly as long as your forearm. How you're supposed to take that inside of you is anyone's guess, but as Yoongi brings you to yet another orgasm with his mouth, you realize that's exactly what they're preparing you for.

The whimper comes unbidden, walls clenching around nothing at the thought of them filling you, and they both shudder. "Please," You gasp, "Please, I need you. Both of you."

Yoongi graciously lets you rise off of him, and when you settle on your back, he sits up to smile at you. His lips and chin are absolutely coating in your slick, the sight erotic and exciting. The feeling is doubled as Hoseok grips Yoongi's chin, turning the mint-haired god to face him.

"How does she taste, my flower?" He purrs. You don't hear Yoongi's response, just the deep thrum of his voice, but you see the way Hoseok runs his thumb across Yoongi's lips, collecting your juices, before sliding it into his own mouth. You moan at the sight, Hoseok's eyes falling closed as he relishes in the taste of you. Yoongi strips out of his robes while he can, and he doesn't seem to miss the way your and Hoseok's eyes watch hungrily.

"Tell me what you want," Hoseok says, pulling you closer as Yoongi settles behind you. "We're here for you, my queen."

"I…" You falter. You aren't even sure what you want now; you've spent six months trying to figure out how to tell both of the men you love that you can't be with either of them and now you have both of them naked in your bed, waiting to please you. You can hardly think, can't focus beyond the feel of their skin against yours and the heat of their gaze, but you know one thing.

You need them to know how desperately you love them, and with the fire burning between your thighs, there is exactly one way you can do that.

"I need you inside me, Hobi," You tell him. "I need to feel you inside of me. Yoongi, too. Both of you." Hoseok's cock twitches and something in his jaw clicks. You don't wait for more of a response, choosing instead to slide across the sheets to straddle Hoseok's hips. His hands rest lightly on your hips, tentative now, and you smile at him. His hands are gentle now, soft as the smile he gives you in return. His cock is dripping and red, a warm heat in your palm as you guide him to your entrance.

The look in his eyes, the small moan he releases, the hitch in Yoongi's breath behind you as you slowly sink down onto Hoseok will forever be etched into your memory. You're so full that you could cry; he feels absolutely perfect inside of you, and it only gets better as he guides you carefully up and then back down onto him. Your moan is felt more than heard and it only gets louder as he speeds up. His fingers are marble against your his, unmoving and firm as he slides in and out. He doesn't look away for a second and neither do you; all the years you've spent thinking about him, the millennia you've ached to love and be loved by him, it has all led to this. Your hips moving against his, connected in a way you've never been before; if it were possible to read his thoughts, you think you could at this moment, because they must be a mirror of your own.

"I love you," You whisper. Yoongi's warmth presses against your spine as he slides a finger between the two of you to rub slow circles into your clit, and you gasp. "I love you, Hobi, so much." The words are a mantra on your lips, and you think there may be tears in his eyes but you can't be sure because you're coming again, shuddering on top of him, and Yoongi is gently pulling you off.

Hands turn you, and now it's Yoongi between your legs, cock red and throbbing where it sits against his stomach. He isn't as long as Hoseok, but he's wider, and you clench again at the sight.

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him with a soft kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth. You slide down onto him, welcoming the slight burn that comes with the stretch. It takes two breaths for you to become impatient and begin to move, grinding your hips down against his. Yoongi isn't as loud as Hoseok, soft pants and whines where Hobi is echoing moans and groans, but it's just as attractive. He moves his hips in tandem with yours, and the muses themselves couldn't have created a better rhythm. The words fall from your lips again; it's easier, now that you've said them to someone, to let them go. They don't ball in your throat, aren't a lump to swallow down anymore, and you revel in the feeling.

"I love you," Yoongi returns, thumbs ghosting over the skin of your thighs. "So much, both of you. Saved me, can't fucking...fuck, can't tell you enough." You nod and loose another moan when Hoseok slides a finger in alongside Yoongi's cock.

"Do you think she can take us both, my flower?" Hoseok asks. His voice is raspy in your ear and you shudder as you orgasm again. There's a moment when you wonder just how many times you can come from the two of them, but it's gone the second Yoongi speaks.

"I think she could," Yoongi responds. "She's certainly wet enough. Absolutely soaked, aren't you, my queen? Do you want that? Both of us in here, filling you up?" He punctuates every word with another thrust of his hips and you nod. You don't think you've ever wanted anything more.

Hoseok is careful as he fingers you, working you open with one, then two, then three fingers as Yoongi slides in and out. You'd commend them both on their stamina if you could spare a single thought to anything but the feeling of them. Yoongi looks wrecked, covered in sweat with swollen lips, panting and desperate as he writhes beneath you.

When Hoseok finally decides you're ready, he slides his fingers out and asks you again if you're sure. You barely have the presence of mind to nod, too close to coming again, but it's enough for him. He slides in, and all three of you are moaning. You can't be sure what it feels like for them, but you're in absolute bliss. Hoseok peppers your shoulder with chaste kisses, murmuring encouragement as he sinks deeper inside. His cock drags against your walls and Yoongi's dick, and the thought makes you clench around them both. You're so full, you may explode, but it's perfection. When Hoseok bottoms out inside of you, you're all still for a while, just getting used to it.

"You're perfect," Hoseok whispers into your skin. "Both of you, you're both fucking perfect. Fuck, can I-?"

"Yes," You interrupt. You're already grinding down onto them, desperate for any kind of friction. "Please, Hobi." He grunts as he starts to move, and Yoongi does the same. They get a steady rhythm after a while, one sinking in as deep as he could get as the other drags outward, only to slam back in at the last second.

A sob builds in your throat, the sheer pleasure rolling through your body too much to handle as orgasm after orgasm slammed into you. There are hands everywhere, two on your hips keeping you steady, two roaming your body and teasing your nipples, on one Hoseok's neck to keep him close as another rests lightly against Yoongi's throat. You aren't sure which are yours, can't tell where you end and they begin, too fucked out to be able to think beyond the drag of their cocks against your walls and the growing ache inside you.

"Please," You gasp. "Please, need it. Fill me, please, need you both to fill me, make me yours, forever. Mark me. I'm yours, always, please, fill me with you." They both groan at that, and their pace speeds up. They're hitting harder and deeper and brushing against the spot inside of you that makes your vision turn white. Something gushes down your thighs as you spasm around them wildly, hips jerking of their own accord, and you feel it as they come together, hot seed spilling inside of you as you ride out your highs together.

You're panting and sweaty and hot and still, you don't think you'd trade this for even a moment of sunlight. They slide out of you and their cum seeps down your legs before you can stop it. You fall to the bed beside Yoongi, chest heaving even as he wraps you in his arms. A wave of your hand creates a small fan near the bed, shadows churning out cool air that feels like ambrosia on your skin.

Hoseok reappears with water for you both, and you thank him. Your voice is nearly gone, but it's worth it, you think. You pat the space beside you and Hoseok climbs in. His skin is hot against yours; the three of you are essentially a furnace at the moment, but you can't bring yourself to care. You can't count how many orgasms you had or how long you spent with them; it could have been minutes or hours or even days. It doesn't matter to you, really. Sprawled between an already-sleeping Yoongi and a Hoseok that's tracing invisible designs onto your skin, you have everything you could ever want.

Later you sit atop the shadows near your bed, chin in your hand as you admire the card between your fingers. Yoongi and Hoseok are wrapped around each other in your bed, lightly snoring as the sheets rise and fall against their naked chests. As you watch them, Hoseok’s brow furrows and he lazily stretches his arm to pat against the bed in search of you. He snuffles a little, and Yoongi nuzzles deeper into the crook of his neck until they’re both quiet again.

Silver foil glints in the light and you look back at the card in your hand. There’s a stack a hundred high beside you, all of them identical to the next save for the curling letters that make up the recipients, but this one is special. This one is your favorite. If you didn’t absolutely have to send it off, you would frame it and hang it above your throne; ultimately, though, you’d rather bask in the aftermath that’s sure to come.

With a small smile, you set it atop the others and wrap the bit of twine around them all. It’s gone with a wave of your hand, no doubt appearing wherever Hermes is. You wish you could see the look on his face when he realizes what they are, but he’s not the one that you really wish you could watch.

The raspy call of your name brings you back to the present, and you look up to find Yoongi watching you, lids heavy with sleep and eyes dark. “What are you doing?” He asks.

“Nothing.” You grin and stand, letting the shadows underneath you fall away. “Just sending out a quick notice.” You slide in beside him and Hobi, the latter still asleep but turning to wrap his arms around you nonetheless. Yoongi presses kisses to your knuckles and you pull a stray flower petal from his hair.

“You’re gloating, aren’t you?” He mutters. There’s a smile behind his eyes, and it warms you.

“Maybe a bit.” You lean over and kiss him, gentle and tender and you hope that it conveys everything you can’t put into words. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No,” Yoongi answers after a long pause in which he moves to straddle Hoseok’s hips in order to get close enough to suck marks into your neck. His lips are slow against your skin, tired and lazy from sleep. “I think I enjoy this side of you, actually.” “I, for one, am very much enjoying this side of you.” You grin at Hoseok’s words, smiling down at him. He’s half-hard again, hands resting lightly on Yoongi’s hips and eyes fixed on the bruises that bloom on your neck. “I thought we were sleeping.”

“We were,” You tell him. “You can always go back to sleep if you want.”

“You wish,” He mutters. Yoongi groans against your neck and you look down to see Hoseok palming him, working him up to fullness as Yoongi fucks into his hand. You wrap one of your own around Hoseok and return the favor; the way his moan echoes through the room is better than anything the nine muses could have created.

It’s slow and tired, each of you already spent from your earlier activities, but when you eventually drop between them, chests heaving from your orgasms and already half-asleep again, you think it’s worth it.

When you wake later and find a card sitting on the flower-woven throne - a new addition to the hall, one most welcome - crumpled and half-torn with a thorn sticking out of it, you know it’s worth it.

[mimiplaysgames]

A Powerful Enough Dream (Ch. 6)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua (eventually) Rating: T Word Count: 6,014

Summary: Riku and Sora drag Aqua to Yen Sid’s in order to hash out a plan to save Ven. But Aqua is having none of it.

Read on AO3

A/N: Hi!!!! It’s been a long, long time, I know. I’m sorry for not updating this more often. My other WIPs take up so so much of my time, and I don’t have enough to spare this collection. I’m nervous about continuing this, I mean: it’s no longer relevant because of KH3, and sometimes I think the Terqua fandom has died??? I’ll have to see what people think of it. I know there’s readers for this piece and I HEARD YOU. I HEARD YOU. I have the next two chapters lined up already, so we’ll see!

~*~*~*~*~

Betrayal

Riku shows her to her room: a small thing held together by enormous stones, with a bed at the center, a wobbly nightstand, and a door leading to the bathroom. A thin window sits high on the wall, through which Aqua can see this tiny, dark world that Yen Sid calls home. 

In the corner of the bedroom is a dusty outline on the floor where something once stood. A mirror, most likely. She peeks into the bathroom to find that the mirror screwed to the wall above the sink has been removed as well, leaving a rectangle of slime-free tile.

What she appreciates the most is how Riku doesn’t make a big show of what he does for her. 

“I’ll come get you when Yen Sid’s ready to see you,” Riku says, reaching for the door knob. “Hope it’s comfy enough.”

Nothing about this trip is comfortable. 

The Mysterious Tower is just as she left it: a speck far in the distance, too far for darkness to do any real damage. Protected by a sky of stars and magic that bubbles deep into its earth, this place breathes light. Aqua braces her fingers against the stone wall - instead of something cold built by man, she feels sparks of magic scatter across the surface, from memories of mischief and self-discovery.

She lets go and prepares herself to wash up, maybe find some food in one of the tower’s quirky rooms, when Riku knocks on her door.

“That was fast.”

Riku looks at her questioning face and shrugs. “I figured… considering how Terra’s visit went, we should probably get this over with.”

~*~*~*~*~

Yen Sid lounges in his office at the top of the tower. Everything is the same - maybe the notes on his board are different, but the pile of books, most with dust that gathered over years, still sit where they live. The candles burn as though they will never run out of wax. Yen Sid himself doesn’t seem to age. 

Riku and Sora flank Aqua, and she stares at the tremendous wooden desk in front of her. Twelve years ago, she slammed her hands against it, adamant that Terra would never do anything to hurt the Master. Something in her gut questions whether Yen Sid has even left his damn chair since.

“I am delighted to see you safe, Master Aqua,” Yen Sid starts, his voice polite, which is the basic minimum for anything professional: solemn, well-mannered, detached.

Initially, she says nothing in return. Eraqus would not have approved of such rudeness, so she swallows her pride. “Thank you, it is good to see you again, too.”

“I assure you will get a decent amount of rest in time.” He folds his hand neatly over each other. “For now, we must eagerly discuss the state of affairs.”

Eagerly, he says, but he talks too slow to understand the meaning of the word.

“Well,” Riku starts.

Aqua feels him taking side glances at her but she keeps her mouth in a firm, straight line. 

“We lost Terra,” he says when she doesn’t volunteer, “to the Realm of Darkness.”

Yen Sid grumbles, “With the King.”

“Yeah.” Riku sighs. “I like to think they’re taking care of each other.”

Yen Sid doesn’t seem pleased or agreeable to this. A sick thought crosses Aqua’s mind: He doesn’t think Mickey is safe with Terra. Which isn’t fair.

“We must hurry to the King,” Yen Sid says, and Aqua’s stomach churns that Terra is an afterthought. “Now that we are aware intent to enter the Realm of Darkness is certainly true to statement, we must act swiftly to find another Door to Darkness, as long as we do not sacrifice a world to it.

“Sora,” he commands, “have you made arrangements with the sky pirates to do this?”

Sora fiddles with two of his fingers, staring hard at them. They won’t give him the courage to speak, so there’s no reason to find it there. 

“Balthier won’t take my munny.” He frowns. “He demands more from me if I’m going to waste his time searching for something without any direction.”

“What does he call direction?”

“If Fran can track something, then he’ll only do it if the plunder’s good enough for the job.” He shrugs his shoulders and throws his hands in the air.

“Pirates,” Riku mutters.

“Balthier saves people, too!”

“When a world is falling. He takes their riches along with their medicine, food, and weapons… but Traverse Town doesn’t need that anymore.” 

Aqua scoffs. Her impatience bubbles, and it takes all her effort to swallow it down.

Sora steps away from her. He’s shocked to see her terrible mood.

“We shan’t wait too long for a world to deteriorate to that state,” Yen Sid says. “Sora, I will pay the pirate more if that is necessary to find an entryway sooner.”

Such quick and decisive action for Mickey. 

“Now that we have discussed one path forward, let us continue on to other matters.” If he hasn’t noticed her attitude, he will soon. “Master Aqua, I understand there is trouble getting to Ventus. Anything I can do to aid your efforts?”

Aid, he says.

She creases her lips. 

“How long have you known?” she asks quietly.

“Pardon?”

“How long has it been since Mickey found me?” She raises her voice. 

Sora shifts with a whimper. Riku crosses his arms, not surprised and not even totally into the conversation. Best to get it over with.

Yen Sid takes his time to study her first before he answers: “Two years.”

Aqua grips her hands into fists, hiding them neatly in her sashes so that the old man doesn’t notice. “Why-”

“Mickey was not yet a Master,” Yen Sid says, his brittle voice finding strength. “Sora and Riku were brand new to the Keyblade, and needed friends, guidance, and training. We did not have the power yet to pursue such a dangerous task.”

What he said should have insulted her, but strangely, she feels serene, empowered by something knowing, something cynical, something that gloats in how tense he’s becoming under her scrutinizing gaze. Yen Sid doesn’t deserve anything she has to offer. 

“And what did you do all this time?” she asks with bitter sweetness. “Twiddle your thumbs and eat out of your chair?”

Riku rubs his chin. She’s impressed with how quiet he could stay in a scene like this. Sora stammers like he’s been kissed by a frog.

“Master Aqua…” Yen Sid tries softer this time. “I understand the disappointment. Please, let me offer what I can to help-”

“I don’t need your help to find Ven.” With that, Aqua gives a mock curtsy before turning on her heels and briskly leaving the room.

Behind her, she hears Riku tell Sora to Let her go, each word fading as she runs down the long steps to the bottom. 

The audacity of that old, stuffy man. 

Aqua is fuming, replaying sentences in her mind again and again: things she could have said to make him really sorry, what he might be saying now to those two young boys. She’s descending so fast that her ankle twists, and she grabs the railing to stop herself from toppling all the way down. 

It snaps her out of her stupor.

Riku is so well-mannered for his age, not blinking at the signs of her episode; he’s someone a good Master ought to behave like. Sora doesn’t judge, completely motivated with the need to make everyone comfortable and easy-feeling. 

And Aqua embarrassed herself in front of them. 

Leaning on the wall behind her, she breathes deeply. The stone is freezing against her skin, too much for her to be at a normal temperature. She palms her forehead to check for a fever; she has none. But her mind is in a hot fury, willing to climb back up and roast Yen Sid with all the insults she still has blurring in her brain - starting with how crusty that beard is.

“You can’t just say whatever you want, Aqua,” she says out loud, hugging herself. “This isn’t like you.”

It’s unbecoming of a Keyblade Master, is what Eraqus would have said. 

Aqua decides to descend the rest of the way slowly. Getting mad won’t do anything for Ven, and while she doesn’t have a good lead in creating a pathway back home, she’ll find a way to do it without giving Yen Sid the honor of listening to his advice. She has to. 

The last time she was here, she never got a good chance to explore this world. While the front entrance only leads to an outcrop overlooking deep space, the back entrance leads to a garden, awnings making way over the shrubbery until it circles a pool. 

Aqua stiffens. It’s not long enough to swim in, so it couldn’t be deep enough to get up to her thighs.

But it’s big enough to drown in, and that’s the worst part. 

The water is as still as glass, but it doesn’t mean it’s peaceful or safe. If she’s careful enough, Aqua would be able to see her reflection if she stood over it. 

She doesn’t dare try. Instead, she sits on a stone bench far enough away that the pool couldn’t get to her. There isn’t a good reason to sit here, really, except for the fact that she misses the idea of enjoying water: of being at the beach, of swimming against Ven in a race, of splashing it on Terra’s face when he isn’t looking. Showering in a bathtub doesn’t compare… a dark voice in her mind tells her that she’ll never experience water the same way anymore.

“Are you Aqua?” 

That voice belongs to a girl in a short pink dress, who helps herself to the stone bench even when Aqua doesn’t immediately reply. 

“I am.”

The girl stares up in awe. “You were the one Terra was looking for? Wow, I didn’t think you’d be the same person…”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’m Kairi.” She holds her hand to her chest. 

Aqua gasps. “Kairi?” It’s true. There’s the same necklace she charmed years ago, draped around her neck. Aqua almost brushes it with her fingers, but thought better of it. At least it kept Kairi safe. At least this is one success she could account for. 

Kairi is so unrecognizable now, but it makes sense: the cropped auburn hair, the round violet eyes, a curious smile. And a heart that is unmistakably brighter than anyone’s here. 

“You were so little,” Aqua says quietly. “I can’t believe you remember me.”

“Um, not really.” Kairi sheepishly rubs the back of her head, then waves her hand in the air as if imagining something. “All I remember is something really tall… and blue.”

Aqua has to laugh. Kairi is quite small. Still.

“But when I heard that Aqua was here, I had to see - never in my life would I have made the connection that Blue and Aqua were one in the same.” Kairi smirks, leaning forward to study Aqua in the face. “No wonder Terra was so obsessed with finding you. You’re really pretty.”

“Uh-” Nothing useful comes out of her mouth. That can’t be the reason. Aqua hides the heat in her cheeks with one dignified hand as though she isn’t affected by it. 

“Terra acted the same when he talked about you,” Kairi grins, patting Aqua on the knee.

But her excitement deteriorates soon after, her hands finding each other at her stomach as though she’s swallowing something rotten. “I heard about what happened to him…” To Aqua’s surprise, tears develop in Kairi’s eyes, trailing down without much effort on her part to produce them. 

They even surprise Kairi. “I’m sorry.” She wipes them off her face, sniffling. “I don’t know where that came from. I didn’t know him long.”

Aqua more than understands, she’s just much more practiced at roping it in.

“He makes a strong impression on anyone he meets,” Aqua says, brushing her hand lightly over Kairi’s head. 

A small smile curls at Kairi’s lips despite the onslaught out of her eyes. Kairi hangs all of her expressions at the edge of her nose. Her sincerity is something to be admired. 

“He’s a lot kinder than what he gives himself credit for.”

“Yes.”

“He was really helpful and sweet when he trained me.” Reality strikes her, and the tears dry up. “Would you mind teaching me a bit?” Then shame makes its way, as though she asked for too much. “I- I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”

A Princess of Heart fighting? A brilliant idea. “Of course, it’s not a bother at all.”

Kairi takes her inside to a large ballroom equipped with destroyed furniture: hollow sofas, the shells of cupboards, the foundations of bookshelves, dilapidated bedposts. Pots and pans. Chipped plastic. From what Aqua can tell, they were used for target practice. 

“Terra was really particular about my posture,” Kairi says, summoning her Keyblade - frilly, like the heart of someone who carries the joy of life with her. She sinks low into her knees. “But we focused mostly on my ability to block attacks. The rest is basic stuff.”

By the looks of her stance, he’s done good work.

“Then let’s talk about what you really want out of your fighting ability.” Aqua summons the Master’s Defender. 

Kairi flashes an embarrassed frown. “To catch up with Sora and Riku.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes.” Forgetting about her posture, Kairi throws her passion out in a flurry. “It’s not about being as good as them - I want to make them see that when they need me, I can be there. They don’t have to worry or doubt me for a second.”

“That sounds a lot like comparing yourself.”

Kairi ponders for a moment. “Sora and Riku are patient with my training, but for years they’ve left me behind.”

Aqua has to think about it before responding… listen to the words Kairi is finding difficulty in expressing. So much of it stems from an insecurity and a drive to level with her more experienced friends, and a needle pricks right into Aqua’s ribs when she thinks of how Ven has been treated in the past. 

If they never held themselves back when training with Ven, or treated him like a puppy needing to stay home, then he wouldn’t be unconscious now. 

Sora and Riku work full steam ahead, and Kairi needs to match their speeds without the burden of mastering technique before she’s ready. What she wants is to feel useful to them. What she needs is to be equipped with something that could get her out of trouble in a pinch.

Aqua thinks of Noctis, and how he uses his weapons as points of destination. 

“I have a unique idea.”

Instructing Kairi to stand by the farthest wall, Aqua does the opposite to create the most distance between them.

“From there,” Aqua says, “I want you to take a hit on me before I’m able to block - without doing a far-range attack.”

Kairi gapes. “H- How am I supposed to do that?”

“You’ll adapt to the circumstances.” At Kairi’s agony, Aqua shrugs. “I’m more strict than Terra. We won’t stop until your heart makes the connection.”

Kairi shivers and settles herself. “I’ll try.”

She does a dash - which is the expected choice and Aqua easily blocks it. 

“Again,” Aqua says. “Use your magic.”

Another dash - this time propelled. Blocked.

“Again.”

Three more times, all blocked, and by now, Kairi is panting for breath.

“You’re exerting too much on your physical body. Remember your magic. Your Keyblade is your heart in physical form: all its desires, life goals, and insecurities are embedded into your weapon. If you want to come at me faster than I can block, then will it.” 

“Magic,” Kairi rasps. “Right.”

Now she’s getting it. Instead of dashing across the room this time, she blends with the air, teleporting to Aqua’s position. But it’s still not fast enough.

“On the right track. Try again.”

“But Aqua-”

“Your Keyblade needs to get here before you do.” Aqua winks. 

“Isn’t that kind of like a Strike Raid?” An attack that utilizes the Keyblade like a boomerang. 

“Not quite.”

Kairi is exhausted and probably doesn’t have the energy to think too much, but it’s necessary to let her heart define it for itself. That’s the only way to communicate with your own Keyblade. 

But she’s the type of student that is eager to please, and as her eyes drift away with her imagination, it dawns on her. “That’s genius,” she whispers. 

With new resolve, Kairi properly stands. 

“Let’s start for real,” Aqua says. 

Kairi throws her Keyblade. Aqua feels in the air Kairi’s energy not to aim, but to be where the Keyblade goes, and she blurs through the room, letting her heart guide her to where. 

She doubts herself, though, and drops her Keyblade halfway across. 

“I’ll try again!” Scrambling back to her spot across the room, Kairi throws, warping as though both wielder and weapon are chasing each other, knocking past unsuspecting pieces of couch legs.

Aqua cannot block the strike but manages to move - not the most grateful dodge she’s ever done, but it does the job even if it lands her flat on her stomach. 

“We did it,” Kairi says shakily the moment she realizes all she’s done without using her feet. 

Aqua snorts and picks herself up. “You did it.”

“I did it!” With squeals and claps, Kairi jumps in place, throwing an embrace over Aqua’s way, triumphantly parading with her Keyblade.

It’s worth the effort to see. Aqua has needed something pleasant today, and maybe giving someone else hope will satiate some kind of karmic hunger out there and return the favor.

“No one invited me to the celebration,” Sora’s voice strides into the room, his giant toothy grin followed by a very solemn Riku. 

“You guys will never guess what I can do now,” Kairi says. Realizing she sounds like she’s preparing a show for them, she backtracks. “I- I’ll polish it first, then show you.”

“Kairi has a lot of promise,” Aqua says, drawing the hilt of her Keyblade in and resting its tip on the floor, standing straighter. Riku’s presence, though totally lost in his own head, makes her nervous. She wills the image of her episode away.

“You’re not going to show us?” Sora asks, casually standing with them like he’s inviting himself over to their inside joke. Aqua wonders if he’s ever been rejected before, but Kairi’s more than happy to keep a small success to herself. 

Riku takes a more respectful distance and sits on a chair with a missing armrest. “Of course she won’t. Destiny Islanders have spunk.”

“Except Riku,” Kairi retorts. “He only knows grouchy.”

“Says who?”

“Your face. You look like you spent an hour reading obituaries.”

A muscle twitches in Sora’s jaw, and he takes himself to Riku’s side. 

It reminds Aqua all too much of herself and Ven: how she and Terra would share a rare distaste with training when it doesn’t go their way, or worries about the future, cutting Ven out of certain bits. Aqua wouldn’t count that Ven never noticed. 

She hopes that Kairi doesn’t take it personally. It never is. 

“Sorry,” Riku says, willing a more natural smile to come. “I am happy for you. Maybe you’ll get to join us on missions next time.”

“She already should be,” Aqua says. 

Kairi sighs in relief. “I’m ready to share the work. What’s the plan now? I can handle it.”

This is where Riku and Sora stare at Aqua. 

“Must have been an interesting meeting,” Kairi says, cutting the silence. 

“It was the same level of cringe as Terra’s,” Sora says, snickering. It doesn’t improve the atmosphere, so he switches gears. “You can come with us wherever you’d like, Kairi,” he offers, like it’s supposed to be a consolation but Aqua suspects there are limitations to such a contract. “Except the Realm of Darkness.”

“You’re going to the Realm of Darkness?”

Again, they glance over at Aqua. Are they expecting her to lead an expedition? To have a differing opinion?

“Is there something you want from me?” Aqua asks when they won’t budge. 

Sora hangs his head but Riku is the one to speak: “I don’t want to bet on a world falling for us to enter. There’s no way to predict when it would happen or how long it would take. Estimated guesses are just that, and if we waited a day too long, we could have lost Traverse Town.”

“Or not. It could have stood for another week,” Sora quips in. 

“Exactly. It’s a very unstable plan and it could take forever.”

When Sora’s eyes meet Aqua’s, he warms up. Aqua has to wonder how his parents raised him to be this open and loving to everyone he meets. 

“How did you do it?” he asks.

Next to her, Kairi tenses. Riku seems unfazed - it was probably his question, but Sora is the better mediator. 

It’s the worst memory in Aqua’s disposal, but the most important. Aqua has to be professional, cast away the way her heart rages at the thought. 

“A world didn’t fall, if that’s what you’re really asking,” she starts. “I was fighting… Xehanort, and he…struck himself with his Keyblade. To the heart.”

Sora steps back, a giggle worming its way out. “That’s an intense experience.”

Riku scoffs, amused. “It makes sense now.”

“And out came a horned monster,” Aqua continues. “You could say it resembles a Heartless, large and angry. Its teeth were bound by bindings… or bandages. It had an empty hole in its chest-”

She stops. The looks she’s getting - they recognize it.

Sora turns to Riku, his eyes wide. “Is she talking about-?”

Riku faces him. “Ansem’s Guardian?”

At Aqua’s stunned expression, Sora waves her confusion away. “No, no, not the Ansem you know. That’s the real Ansem. There’s a fake Ansem, and he’s the one who controls the Guardian.”

That doesn’t clear anything up.

Riku holds his hand up. “What matters is what happened when the Guardian appeared.”

“Well, he commanded it to come after me,” Aqua says.

“As he does.” Riku shrugs.

“But when I defeated him, it fell into a black pit. It was the force that created the Door to Darkness, and…”

Terra fell. 

“I went after him.”

The room buckles under the weight of her words, a little too quiet for her liking but it’s better than anyone apologizing to her. Kairi holds a hand to Aqua’s shoulder, but it doesn’t help much. 

“Maybe that’s the answer,” Sora says slowly. “It probably created a force of darkness so strong, it just warped reality.” 

Kairi glares at him as though he’s said the wrong thing. 

But Riku nods like he’s reading the same mind. “We could sacrifice it. Not a bad idea.”

“It sounds like you’re talking about hunting him down,” Kairi says. “Isn’t that a little risky, trying to draw out his attention?”

“Yeah, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” The way Riku says it leaves everyone else out of the equation.

“If you can find him.”

Aqua has to ask: “Is that difficult?”

Riku strains a smile; he’s remembering something unpleasant, something he still hasn’t made peace with. “Not really. But admittedly he is more trouble than he’s worth.”

Aqua bites her cheek. Everyone makes it sound like rescuing Terra is the biggest hassle. 

“Then I’ll do it.”

Sora grimaces, and Riku waves his hands in surrender. “That’s not what I meant. Not at all. But I do think that getting to Ventus may be an easier goal to reach right now. Once we have greater numbers, and we don’t have our attention scattered as much, provoking Ansem shouldn’t be an issue. We can do it together.”

Aqua stops herself from drawing a long scoff, holding her hand to her hip to prevent herself from flailing it around in frustration. Professional is the key word here. 

“Except I don’t really know where to begin,” Aqua says quietly. “I know where Ven is, but I don’t have a way of getting to him without my Keyblade.”

“Oh that’s easy!” Sora says. “Terra had it with him.”

“What?”

“He carried it around at Destiny Islands, when he was with us,” Kairi says. 

“But I don’t recall seeing him with it in Traverse Town,” Riku says. “It’s possible he put it away somewhere.”

The question hangs over their heads. 

Riku inhales as he thinks about a place to start. “He spent the majority of his time in Radiant Garden.”

Right where she broke her tether to it. It’s a possibility that Terra took it back there. Not likely, but plausible. 

“We should go tomorrow, first thing,” Sora says, slamming a fist into his palm. “There’s got to be a trail of clues we could follow. Maybe Terra left a sign saying Here’s her Keyblade.” He motions with his hand, bracketing invisible words in the air. 

“If there’s nowhere else…” Aqua hushes. 

“If not there,” Riku says, “then we’ll go back to Traverse Town and search his room. If it’s not there either, we’ll think of something. I can’t imagine that he’d leave you hanging.”

He’d never; Terra has always been the worst at hiding anyway. As children, he’d giggle too loudly that playing hide and seek with him was always futile. As teens, he never withstood the feeling of being lonely for too long, so if he needed time to himself, he’d leave notes with suggestions of when he’s ready for company. 

Hiding a Keyblade to protect it is something he wouldn’t commit recklessly, but just like she was able to track him down a long journey through multiple worlds when he disappeared, he’d leave the smallest crumbs. 

“Then it’s a solid plan,” Kairi says, stepping her foot down. “I’m coming with.”

They’re much more optimistic about it than Aqua is (honestly, it sounds like they’re leading themselves blind).

Either way, she bids them sweet dreams, a knife forged of the worst anticipation gutting at her. Maybe her mood will improve in the morning. 

When she leaves the ballroom, the knife twisting at her side digs deeper the moment she overhears Riku saying over the other side of the door: “That was something.”

Aqua peeks through the crack. Riku has lost his composure he had in her presence, slouching over and smothering his face in his palm. Sora looks tired, his usual joy giving way to reflection. 

Kairi shifts uncomfortably. “She’s been through a lot.”

“She’s like a boiling teapot about to explode.”

“Except teapots don’t explode.”

“But you’d rather have your hand cut off than have it melt from the steam.”

“Come on,” Sora says, “this won’t be the same situation as it was with Terra… At least, I hope not.”

Riku throws Sora a hard glance. “I’m only saying that something’s not entirely right. I can’t tell how she’s going to react to things. Sometimes, I get the impression that I’m not talking to the same person.”

Silence.

“Honestly, I’ve felt the same,” Sora murmurs, “but I can’t blame her.”

“No one is.”

Kairi starts sniffling, bringing her wrist to wipe her face.

Sora asks, “Why are you crying?” 

“I don’t know. Isn’t that weird?”

Next, Sora’s the one to shed a tear. “I guess I don’t know either.”

Riku looks at his friends not with concern, but with horror. He sighs into his hand, rubs his face, and thinks better than to let them cry alone. Joining them, he pulls them both into an embrace, roughing their hair enough to leave frizz.

“Knock it off, you two.” 

He ignores their protests, squeezing them in his elbows. Sora can’t wrestle his way out, so he says to Kairi, “He’s still ticklish in the same spots.”

The last sight Aqua sees is a heap of three best friends on the floor, the tallest one begging the others to stop. 

~*~*~*~*~

Aqua treks back to her room with ferocity. They think she’s crazy. Maybe she is. Maybe she’s lost a part of herself to the Realm of Darkness forever, chewed up and spit out in a lumpy blob that she can’t bring herself to swallow. 

That thought should terrify her, but it doesn’t. Aqua’s more concerned with how hopeless she let them feel. What’s the point of being a Keyblade Master if she can’t inspire those around her? Or make them feel protected and listened to? She doesn’t know how to make it up to them. 

She should apologize - and yet, there’s a small voice inside that loathes to do so. It’s not her fault for acting up; she’s earned the right. They’ll be patient with her and see she’s not all bad.

Or maybe she’s just as bad as they say. The moment she sees Yen Sid standing in her way will test that.

“Master Aqua,” he calls, his pointy hat looking all the longer because of the way the torches that line the stone walls illuminate it.

She wants to ignore him. She doesn’t - wouldn’t Eraqus be proud? She waits for him to continue, hands laced in front of her, posture straight, expression neutral. Professional. 

“I had hoped,” he starts, then stops himself. Ah, so he knows there’s nothing he could say that would be a proper apology to what happened. “I completely understand where you are coming from.”

Aqua doesn’t respond. 

“I mean to ask forgiveness.”

Silence.

“Cast away this unpleasant business between us. I have no expectation that you’d lend a hand of friendship towards me, but we can still benefit from an alliance.” He extends his hand out, not as a gesture to hold hers, but as a symbol. 

She could forgive him, and she would have before falling to darkness, before Eraqus had ever sent them on an insane journey without giving them any of the crucial details, before hearing anything insulting about Terra. She could have. 

“I’ll consider it when I have the time,” she says, her voice flat but strong.

Yen Sid draws his hand back. There’s a slight offense to his eyes before he wavers it away. 

“This road you have chosen to follow may be dangerous.”

“Excuse me?”

“Following Terra.”

“I’m so tired of defending Terra,” she spits.

“You have mistaken me,” Yen Sid says. The quality of his voice dips deep, like a growl. “Just as I have warned Terra about his limitations when it came to you, I sense the same desperate recklessness within you.”

“His life is worthy enough to save.”

“So is yours.” He stares at her, a hand teasing the length of his beard. “Will you not trust him to fend for himself in the darkness?”

Her lips quiver and she zips them up. Professional. “Won’t you?”

Yen Sid sighs, disappointed. “I hope our next meeting is more amicable. Please look out for yourself, Master Aqua.”

“Likewise.”

She storms into her room and slams the door. She’s burning up, the heat from her body creating perspiration that denses through her hair, but not enough to let the sweat fall. No, she doesn’t have a fever.

There’s nothing here for her to throw around, so she paces back and forth. Back and forth, again and again, until one last huff expires out of her. 

“Terra,” she calls out softly as though he is right by her side. Who knows, maybe he can hear her from somewhere deep in the darkness if she focuses enough. 

Pulling out his orange Wayfinder, Aqua massages her fingers over the borders. Maybe her magic on it would have worked better if she had his essence embedded into the glass, instead of her intention to keep him close by. 

When she made it, she never once thought that the sight of it would bring regret. 

“I’m so angry,” she says to it, shaking her leg. She’s exhausted, but nowhere near the fits of depletion from earlier nights that easily pulled her under. She’d be an idiot to expect sleep to come any time soon. “None of them understand.”

Except they do; they have been separated before, forgotten, then weaved back together. 

Yet they don’t; they never had to pay such an expensive price such as twelve years.

“Please come back,” she whispers. She could cry, but she’s all dried up. Begging only makes her feel worse. 

“I’ll bring you back,” she demands of the quiet when nothing responds to her. 

She could scream, but she doesn’t. She’s a knot of weeded thorns, something that yearns to slice to numb the pain and grow out to breathe, choking at the same time.

The bed creaks and moans under her weight, but it’s not comfortable. The sheets are cold. The stone walls are apathetic to her mood, gray and bored. 

Aqua holds the Wayfinder close, but it does nothing to soothe her. She opts to stare at the ceiling in a contest she can’t win. 

~*~*~*~*~

Her hair reached her ribcage in tousled waves that coiled at the tips. Ven called it a flag of water that rippled whenever she moved, but it rippled too much; she certainly resented it when it whipped her in the face during training.

Her mother would have called it stunning, just like hers. 

A sepia-toned portrait sat on Aqua’s vanity table of a woman with the same hair and a man with a thick handle-bar moustache, wearing a bowler’s hat. 

“I’m sorry, mama,” sixteen-year-old Aqua said, scissors in hand, mirror smudge-free, hair ready to be tamed.

The first snip came at the point right above her ear, and Aqua winced from watching it all fall to the ground. A panic shot through her, and she wondered if there was magic to reverse the damage just in case. But Aqua was brave and Aqua was relentless.

Cutting the rest of her hair came easier, a waterfall having its last hurrah. She went shorter, and then much more. She might have done too much, but keeping it layered should justify the work. Now it was a pixie cut: clean, prissy, and above all, out of her face.

Aqua presented herself during breakfast. Ven still wasn’t up and the Master was busy in his office, so Terra, who sat at the table with a mug of coffee, was the first to see. 

The mug stopped before it reached his lips while he gaped. She sat in front of him. He didn’t say a word. 

Suddenly, she regretted it.

“It was always getting in the way,” she said, surprised by how assured she sounded.

He blinked. “It’s cute.”

“It’s what?” Warriors were supposed to be practical. Not cute. Never cute, damn it all.

“Nothing. I didn’t actually say anything.” He sipped his coffee, avoiding her gaze. If he caught it, she’d have words to throw at him. 

She still did. “I’ll dump that coffee on you the next time I hear you say that.”

Terra stole glances at her, mainly toward the top of her head, and his eyes almost sparkled. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. “It is pretty, though.”

… What was she supposed to say to that? All she had was vacant stammering.

“Well, you know,” he set back, “I don’t want you to feel bad about it.”

Part of her wanted to kill him. Part of her wanted to find the spell to make it grow.

He blundered for more words, set his coffee mug down, and pressed his index finger onto the surface of the table to make a poignant argument. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She grimaced. “I’m not going to play nice with you during training today.”

“I probably deserve it,” he chuckled.

“You definitely deserve it.”

He smiled, and stared more at her hair. Not with disgust, not with shock, but with admiration. 

It hit her then - he meant what he said. Which left one question to nag at her for the rest of breakfast:

She was pretty to him?

[rebelsofshield]

Star Wars: The Clone Wars: “ The Bad Batch”-Review

Seven years since its cancellation and six since the final episodes aired, Star Wars: The Clone Wars makes its final triumphant return on Disney+. Beginning this twelve episode conclusion is a familiar story to fans of the series that has been brought to thrilling new life. It may not be a series best, but The Clone Wars fans will be more than pleased with “The Bad Batch.”

(Review Contains Episode Spoilers)

The Republic defense of the shipyards of Anaxes have taken a turn for the worse. Separatist forces led by Admiral Trench have updated their tactics and are outpacing clone forces before they can react. Captain Rex has a theory, that Trench’s forces have somehow gotten hold of his battle playbook developed alongside deceased ARC trooper Echo. In the hopes of proving this theory and potentially changing the tide of the campaign, Commander Cody and Rex propose a behind enemy lines stealth mission, which will be assisted by experimental clone force 99, aka “The Bad Batch.”

Wow. On just a purely personal level, watching and reviewing a new episode of The Clone Wars is a surreal experience. Reviewing episodes of the series is how I became a Star Wars blogger and even when we first heard the series was returning in 2018, I still didn’t fully believe that we would be getting new episodes. Yet here I am, in 2020, watching a brand new (sort of) episode of The Clone Wars and the show doesn’t even seem to acknowledge that it’s been gone for over half a decade. Tom Kane voice over, fortune cookie, triumphant ending credits fanfare, it’s all there. In all its goofy, beautiful, and wonderfully strange glory. The Clone Wars is back for one last time. Just wow.

I’ll admit I was initially a little disappointed that one of the three arcs we would be receiving in the final Clone Wars season would be “The Bad Batch.” The unfinished story reels were a fun experience, but as a whole, even with some of the plot twists that will come in later episodes, this arc was never really a favorite of mine. Yes, I love clones and getting to see more clone episodes is always a joy, but I was hungry for new stories and it was hard not to see a redeveloped “Bad Batch” as taking away from any number of other Clone Wars plots that never saw the light of day such as the ever elusive Cad Bane/Boba Fett arc.  

Boy was I underestimating just how much this animated glow up would add to this story though. In its final seasons, The Clone Wars was undeniably some of the best looking television on the airwaves and now with production assets that are helped by a robust and experienced studio and seven years of technological advancement, the result is truly stunning. However, it’s not just that the show looks prettier, The Clone Wars is now a more confident and stylistically directed show then it’s ever been.

“The Bad Batch” ends up having two real stars. The obvious one is Dee Bradley Baker who once again gets to flex his voice acting muscles. Baker proved early on into the series’ run that he was more than able to carry entire episodes on his own by voicing ensemble casts of almost a dozen near vocally identical characters and giving them unique personalities and traits. Baker does more heavy lifting here since season four’s classic Umbara story arc and the results are no less impressive.

The second star is director Kyle Dunlevy. Dunlevy worked on many classic episodes of The Clone Wars and “The Bad Batch” may be his most assured stylistically. In addition to the improvement in animation quality, The Clone Wars in its final seasons was really beginning to experiment with creative shot composition and cinematography. I think most often of the stellar sequence in “The Unknown” which follows a single clone officer cowering from a droid invasion. Dunlevy takes this and ups it, delivering outstandingly shot action sequences and even some outstanding tracking sequences that feel more intimate and cinematic than almost anything the series has ever pulled off, or any Star Wars animated show for that matter.

I may be talking a lot about the technical aspects of “The Bad Batch” and that may be that at the end of the day, they prove to be the most impressive parts. As a narrative, “The Bad Batch” is pretty standard Clone Wars fare. Undeniably fun and explosive at times, but there isn’t quite anything here that massively strays outside some of the shows traditional formula.

In a way, it’s interesting to see that many of The Clone Wars’ old storytelling shortcomings are very much on display. The anthologized seasonal structure allowed for many things in the series’ original run such as a sprawling cast and freedom to tell stories of widely different tones and genres. However, The Clone Wars always struggled as a result in being a serialized story. Sure, events from some arcs would undoubtedly influence others, but the sort of stop and start nature of the show lead to many moments where character and story arcs disappear or burst into existence with surprising frequency.

This is very much the case with “The Bad Batch.” At its heart, “The Bad Batch” is two clone related stories. One, a narrative of clones coming to accept diversity within their own community and another in Rex having to grapple with the loss of so many brothers over the war. The second is the most emotionally interesting and engaging as Rex is easily the most war weary character the show has at this point and in a way has always functioned as something of a mouthpiece for the clones as a whole. However, Brent Friedman and Matt Michnnovetz’s script makes some logical swerves here that end up feeling surprisingly hollow. Having Rex mourn his clone brothers makes sense and its direction at some specific clones such as Fives, whom he worked closely with in multiple episodes, feels emotionally appropriate. It’s the focus on Echo and even more oddly, Hevy, that feels odd. Echo and Rex certainly appeared in tandem in multiple episodes but the only time the two really appeared as equals was in the Citadel arc where the character perished. We don’t understand Rex’s emotional connection to Echo because it was never really established in past episodes and we have no cues to fall back upon. The work done here to build context for their relationship, both professionally and emotionally, can’t help but feel a little stilted. Regardless, Baker is still able to sell Rex’s hurt and longing for hope with the right resonance and it helps carry us through these rough patches.

Also, on a very basic level, The Bad Batch are just a really fun bunch of characters. At the moment they fit a little too cleanly into various archetypes: the brutish dumb clone, the cool and badass tracker, the silent sniper, the nerdy tech, but they are fun archetypes. Their designs are creative and vivid. Baker has a hell of a time voicing them. The action with these characters is, as mentioned before, enjoyably creative and visceral. Having classic clones like Jesse and Kix get to butt heads and also grow to appreciate these new clones is a fun and upbeat little story beat for a story that’s otherwise about the lingering trauma of war. Also, Jesse got a promotion and Kix let his hair grow out! Good for them. I hope nothing bad happens to them and their futures remain Sith free.

It’s overall just a joy to have The Clone Wars back, hiccups and all. It’s a special piece of the Star Wars franchise and it’s going to be great to have it in our lives again for a few months. I can’t wait to blast more clankers alongside you all.

Score: B+

[orwocolor]

twelve days of christmas with gwil: day three

“Mummy! Daddy! Look, look!”

You woke up with a jolt as the excited squeals of your children carried down the hall.

“No,” Gwil softly groaned and buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in and squeezing his eyes in anticipation of what, or rather who, was to come any second.

“What time is it?” you mumbled sleepily and wrapped your arms around him, ready to use him as your shield.

“Way too early for this,” he replied, not moving an inch to check the alarm clock.

“Mummy!” your son screamed, the door flying open as he stormed into your bedroom, promptly jumping on the bed.

“Ouch!” Gwil scowled when Owen kneed him in the stomach.

“Sorry,” he grinned, not sounding sorry at all. “Mum, Dad, come on, look outside!”

He started shaking your shoulders.

“Okay, I give up,” you huffed after a while, opening your eyes and releasing Gwil from your tight embrace.

“Loser,” Gwil mumbled. You gave him a playful shove and stuck your tongue at him.

“Come, Mummy, come,” Owen excitedly yelled, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the bed, which was quite an achievement, considering he was barely 5 years old.

“Gwil, you’ve gotta see that!” you gasped and did not believe your eyes, rubbing them to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

“Fine,” he groaned, defeated, and slid out of the covers, hiding a yawn behind the back of his hand and scratching his head.

“Good morning, young lady,” Gwil greeted your daughter since she suddenly made an entrance, her legs too small to catch up with her brother and his sprints, her gait still wobbly and uncertain as she moved from side to side, giving the impression of a drunken sailor. He bent over and lifted Alys, pressing her gently to his chest. “Let’s see what the fuss is about, hm?” he smiled and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

Your heart soared at the look of them together. Parenthood suited Gwilym so much and one would think you would get used to it after so many years, but no; you would never grow tired of it.

“Wow,” Gwil breathed out and your daughter’s strikingly blue eyes turned into huge saucers filled with wonder.

The whole backyard was covered in a thick layer of snow.

“Can we go out and play? Please, please!” Owen pressed his palms against each other in a plea and turned at you with the best puppy eyes you had ever seen.

Gwil raised his eyebrows, partly mimicking his son’s expression.

“You’re looking at me as if I would ever say ‘no’. Of course, we can! Let’s get dressed!” you commanded and the delighted squeal and the hug that Owen rewarded you with caused your breath to hitch with happiness.

Once you’d been all properly dressed and ready, the whole family dashed outside. The cold winter air was biting your skin and soon Gwil’s nose turned red. Alys, whom you were cradling in your arms, was watching the dancing snowflakes that were gracefully descending to the ground, her little mouth slightly open.

“Snow angels!” Gwilym screamed and fell back-first down, Owen immediately imitating him and bursting in laughter.

“What do you say, Alys, wanna make a snow angel, too?” you asked your little girl and she nodded her head.

Carefully lying down next to Gwil, you placed Alys on your chest and stretched your arms and legs, cautious and ready to catch her the moment she would lose the balance.

“Mama!” she squealed and spluttered, her face scrunching up in the most adorable way as she giggled.

After a few minutes, you sent your children back home to get ready for breakfast. It would take them a while to shed the clothes and brush their teeth. Owen grabbed a hold of Alys, carrying her like a sack of potatoes but she seemed to be enjoying it.

“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” Gwil craned his neck to look at you, both of you still lying in the snow, angel wings emphasising the feeling of being in heaven.

“They are,” you smiled.

His gaze dropped to your lips.

“You’re pretty amazing, too,” he added, bending down to kiss you.  

At no time were you out of breath and Gwilym pushed his hands beneath your jacket, grabbed a hold of your hips and rolled onto his back with you on top, his lips never leaving yours.

“Ah!” you suddenly yelped, almost biting down on Gwil’s tongue in the process.

“Mummy!”

Owen jumped on your back, and Alys in an attempt to do everything her brother had done, made a move to follow suit, but hadn’t had enough strength to jump so far and just plopped on the ground next to you.

“I thought we said you should have gone back inside,” Gwilym shook his head disapprovingly. Sharing a quick look with you, he placed a kiss on the tip of your nose. “Okay, munchkins, let’s head back inside and have hot chocolate.”

__________

TAGLIST: @lv7867​, @spacedustmazzello​, @queenwouldyourathers​, @backoftheroomandnotbelonging​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @fairestkillerqueenofall​, @live-at-the-rainbow​, @supernaturalee

Gwilym x Reader TL: @gwilsmainhoe​, @timeandpixiedust​

[glassprism]

Since you're also in other fandoms, are there any ships/pairings you like? Who's your favourite pairing in POTO? Who are your favourite characters (from POTO to all your other fandoms) and why? Ooh, here's a rather unusual one: who's your favourite side character (name one for all your fandoms!) and why?

Yeah, definitely! Though whether some can be counted as actual “ships” is debatable, as you’ll see in a bit.

For Phantom, my favorite “ship” is the love triangle - E/C/R. Not in a polyamorous, threesome way, but one where I love the dynamics of the characters, the way they affect one another, the ways Erik and Raoul are similar and different. So it’s not quite a “ship” in a traditional sense where I want characters to end up with each other, but more in the sense that I like to explore and analyze them.

As for other “ships” or pairings, I’m just going to list, like, every fandom or random-ass thing I’ve ever loved in semi-chronological order (time to go back to my middle school fandoms!). Under the cut for length.

Harry Potter: Sirius Black and Harry Potter. I adored the godfather-godson bond between the two (absolutely no romance; I clicked on an mpreg fic of the two when I was but a wee lass of twelve and it scarred me): how Harry was the last living reminder of Sirius’s best friend, whose death he still feels responsible for; how Sirius is the parental figure Harry wanted, how they were never able to be happy god damn it Rowling. (You can imagine how much my eleven year old self cried when I read the fifth book. Oh boy, the tears.)

Star Wars: Vader and Luke. Again, totally familial, father-son relationship only. (Speaking of scarring experiences, I once stumbled on a romance fic between the two, where yes, both of them were still father and son, and I have that summary etched into my brain permanently.) The way Vader obsessively hunts down Luke, the first emotional connection he has had with a person in literal decades! The way Luke has just ached all his life for a father figure, to the point where he will take a homicidal Sith lord if that’s who he is! How he never gives up on trying to redeem him! How Luke is right. Loud screeching.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Will Turner and Bootstrap Bill and Will Turner and Henry Turner. More sad father-son dynamics (you may be noticing a pattern here). Repeat what I said with the Star Wars relationships, only with more pirates and less homicide. (And way more parental abandonment guilt.)

Halloween: Michael Myers and Laurie Strode,  remake universe. Yet again, no romance, just a severely messed-up brother-sister relationship. I can’t begin to tell you why I like the horrific relationship between a serial killer and the little sister he was so obsessed with he ruined her life, completely traumatized her, and ended up leading to her death, but I do. Maybe it’s the dark obsession aspect of it, that in the midst of all his murders, there’s still one person Michael Myers longs to have a connection with, the baby sister who represented total innocence in his mind. Maybe it’s the “what could have been” aspect too, as Laurie never recognizes him or realizes their connection until it’s far too late. Maybe I need to re-examine my life choices. I’ll figure it out someday.

Bat Boy The Musical: Bat Boy/Shelley. Yes, this is a romance; yes, they are half-brother and half-sister, yes, you can get on me about this, but in my defense how about you watch the musical and NOT come out of it shipping these two against all your better instincts.

POTO: E/C/R, as stated above and for all those reasons. Oh, and you know what - The Phantom and Gustave from Love Never Dies. Can’t get away from those father-son ships. I actually care about that relationship than E/C or R/C in LND (maybe because both E/C and R/C suck in the sequel so what else am I going to latch onto).

Batman: Listed here, but my heart really lies with three ships. Jaytim is the first: it’s the whole “angry woobie destroyer of worlds who hates everyone meets seemingly well-adjusted and cheerful individual who is secretly hiding their own issues” dynamic. Bane/Talia from The Dark Knight Rises is the second. Doesn’t matter if it’s familial, friendship, protector and protectee, or romantic, I eat it up, and to be fair, it’s never explicitly stated what the relationship is in the movie. All we know is that the two grew up together in a hellhole prison, probably dependent on and solely trusting only one another, and that bond continues even after they leave, and not even death will make them leave one another. Finally, we have Jason Todd/therapy from the Arkham games. Because the poor guy needs it.

MCU: STEVE/BUCKY (aka Stucky). This ship (again, could be friendship or romantic) dominated my thoughts for four years. Steve’s fish-out-of-water status! Bucky’s horrific imprisonment under Hydra. The way the two find each other after and the angst. The fact that Steve refuses to kill Bucky and, even after seventy years, succeeds in breakthing through to him because their connection runs that deep. The fact that Marvel just ruined this relationship so now I have to rely on fanfic. Oh yes, and I also slowly fell into the Kastle ship (Frank Castle aka The Punisher and Karen Page). Another “hardened killer with sad backstory who connects to idealistic young woman with hidden darkness” dynamic.

Terminator: T-800 aka “Uncle Bob” and John Connor. Returning to sad father-son dynamics, I have this from Terminator 2. A robot learning emotions! A boy learning to take his place as a leader and all-loving hero. The bond they form, partially because the T-800 will do nothing else but protect John and partially because John has no father-figure of his own, so his robot bodyguard will do. THE ENDING.

ASOIAF/GOT: I actually have very few ships from here other than Arya/Gendry (and only when they’re older) and, weirdly, Theon/Sansa from the show. The Gendrya ship is just cute, it may well be the most wholesome ship on here, while Theonsa has shades of Stucky in it, I suppose, given that Theon has been tortured so badly he can barely remember his own name, until Sansa turns up and reminds him enough that he breaks out of it to help her.

Favorite characters from each of those:

Harry Potter: My favorite characters from here are probably more side characters, so I’ll just say Hermione Granger. Her focus on academics, fear of failure, and conviction that the library holds all the answers, felt all too reminiscent of myself.

Star Wars: Darth Vader,  no contest whatsoever. Cool mask, cool cape, cool lightsaber, and the absolute worst life one can imagine.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Interestingly, Will Turner. Yeah, I guess Jack Sparrow is cool and Elizabeth is absolutely awesome to watch and has the greatest change in the series, but oh-so-serious Will, with his deep loyalties and slow slide into moral ambiguity because of those loyalties, fascinates me.

Halloween: Laurie Strode, all versions. My favorite final girl, my survivor of trauma (except in the remake, where, well, she doesn’t survive). Also, her daughter in the Thorn trilogy, Jamie Lloyd, the most tragic little girl to walk across a horror movie screen.

Bat Boy The Musical: Ah, wow, haven’t thought about this. I guess Bat Boy and Shelley, more by default than anything.

POTO: Christine Daae, no contest. Love her character, love her arc, love her songs, love her costumes.

Batman: Listed here.

MCU: Bucky Barnes (unless he counts as a side character), but I also love Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Karen Page, Elektra Natchios... and I’ll leave it at that.

Terminator: John Connor. (There’s a reason I haven’t watched Dark Fate yet... or ever.)

ASOIAF/GOT: Three of them! Daenerys Targaryen, who I love because she tries so hard to rule well, who is so observant and cognizant of the things going on around her. Then Sansa Stark, who makes such astounding growth, who retains her empathy and compassion throughout, who is capable of startling perception and insight which most others underestimate. And finally, Cersei Lannister. She’s terrible. I love her.

And favorite side characters from each of those:

Harry Potter: Sirius Black may well have been my first fictional crush. But Remus Lupin is the kind of person (and teacher) I aspire to be.

Batman: I swear, depending on the comic series or movie, everyone is a side character. I’ll just link to my old ask again.

Star Wars: Batman syndrome all over again; every character in Star Wars might be a side character elsewhere, and every side character gets to be the main character of their own comic, book, movie, etc. Erm... I really liked Rose from the sequel trilogy and Chirrut Imwe from Rogue One. I find Mara Jade from the Legends universe fun to read. WAIT I GOT IT - Queen Amidala’s handmaidens from Episode I (Sabe, Rabe, Eirtae, Yane, Sache). Highly trained in both politics, decorum, and weaponry, able to be utterly nondescript or the Queen’s decoy at the drop of a hat? I love.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Hmm... you know what, I thought Syrena the mermaid was pretty cute.

Halloween: Rachel Carruthers! Your typical girl-next-door but well done and with a touching relationship with her foster sister. I will die mad about her death in the fifth movie.

Bat Boy The Musical: Uh.... I’ll get back to you on this...

POTO: Carlotta is super fun.

MCU: Oh heck, Dottie Underwood. (My taste in female characters goes like this: a) intelligent and observant, 2) sweet and compassionate, 3) batsh*t insane. She’s the third.)

Terminator: Not sure how much of a side character she is, but Kate Connor. Wife and second-in-command to John Connor, able to heal wounds and kick butt depending on what the movie requires.

ASOIAF/GOT: I’ll probably think of someone else, but you know what? Queen Rhaenys Targaryen, younger sister and wife to Aegon the Conqueror, whom he wed out of desire. Playful, spirited, loved to fly, sponsored musicians, initiated reforms for the smallfolk, what’s not to love? (Apart from one possibility of her death... but we don’t talk about that.)

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 12

the waves to catch your fall

summary:  what if riza never went to war?  riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

chapter 11 | read on ao3

1913

i can't fill the emptiness

but i will find a way (to be the)

the water beneath you

the waves to catch your fall

“Uh, I have a surprise,” Roy called from the hallway. A surprise was supposed to be a good thing, but from his tone, Riza wasn’t sure if she was going to like it or not.

Curious, but also dread forming in her stomach, Riza poked her head around the doorway to the hall and stopped dead. Roy’s version of a surprise could have been anything – good or bad for them or their house – but a dog certainly wasn’t what she was expecting to see.

“Um… What?” Riza asked. Why was there a dog in her house?

Roy grinned sheepishly. “Fuery found him and –”

“Doggy!” Mia squealed, running up to her father and staring at the little Shiba in his arms, her eyes full of wonder. “Oh, Daddy, can we keep it?” she begged.

Riza glared at him. Now they had to keep it. Riza wasn’t opposed to dogs, but she certainly didn’t expect to have it land on her lap so unprepared.

“That’s up to Mummy,” Roy stated, his nervous smile falling when her glare intensified. Of course, make her the bad guy if she said no. Now, she had to say yes. Mia’s eyes matched the dog’s – wide and pleading that they could keep the pup.

“Of course, we can, sweetie,” Riza smiled. “Daddy can go out right now and get a bed and some food,” she added with a sweet smile, shooting her husband a pointed look. He was just in from work and expected to get changed and get something to eat, but if he was going to force a dog upon their household, the least he could do was go out and buy the supplies for it. She wouldn’t leave the poor thing all night without something to eat.

“Oh, uh –” Roy stuttered.

“Yay!” Mia cried. The pup jumped and looked down at Mia, probably in fear.

“Not so loud, honey. We don’t want to scare the poor thing. Why don’t you go and get some blankets out of the cupboard next to the bathroom and we can set it up with a little bed until Daddy comes back?”

Roy’s smile faltered again.

“Okay Mummy!” She took off down the hall at a sprint.

“A dog?” Riza questioned him, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought it would be good for us to have a dog.”

“Uh huh. For “us”?”

“Yes.” Roy fidgeted and averted his gaze quickly, before turning it back to her again. He smiled to try and appease her, but it didn’t work.

“Yes, “us”,” Riza repeated. “For “us” to walk and clean up after during the day.” Catching onto her meaning, Roy faltered. Clearly, he didn’t think about that. It would be Riza who would have to walk and clean up after it all day while he was at work, not him. There was no “us”. It was all her.

Riza sighed, gesturing for him to hand the small dog over. The poor little thing looked slightly malnourished and was shivering.

“That food isn’t going to buy itself,” Riza reminded him.

Nodding quickly, Roy opened the door in a rush and left. Petting the Shiba’s fur, Riza smiled down at him. She checked to see if their new addition was male or female. She didn’t feel like calling the little pup “it” forever.

She’d always wanted a pet dog and was more than happy to take this little guy in, but she liked to be prepared for situations. This was unprecedented.

After dinner, the pair were watching Mia interact with the Shiba. She would carefully reach out to pet him, then the dog would cower away. Riza expected their five-year-old to keep reaching, pressing the pup into being petted, but Mia just sat back on her heels and grinned at him.

“Don’t worry, boy,” she reassured him. “We’ll work on it.”

They were both surprised at how gentle and caring she was with him. After an hour, Mia was petting him quite happily.

“Where did you find him?” Riza asked once Roy had returned with dog food and a dog bed.

“Fuery found him on the street,” he revealed. “There was nowhere else for him to go, and I thought bringing him here would be good. You’ve always wanted a dog. I was sure Mia would love him, and she does,” Roy chuckled. “Plus, it would be nice to have some more company for our family.”

Riza was surprised he even remembered her voicing her opinion on having a pet. She’d mentioned it in an offhand comment years ago, shortly after they were married. It was unexpected and sweet that he’d remembered. Plus, Riza was completely open to expanding her family. A dog would be a good place to start.

*          *          *

“I’m really regretting recruiting that kid,” Roy announced as he sat at their dinner table. Riza placed the plate of food in front of him with a knowing smile. She’d heard stories about Edward Elric’s antics around the office. Havoc was very upfront with information about how Edward riled up Roy. Havoc thought it was thoroughly amusing that a twelve-year-old could get under Roy’s skin so easily and was convinced it was because before Ed, Roy had been the youngest State Alchemist in the military. Someone was jealous they were no longer the wonder boy, Havoc had laughed heartily. Roy denied it immediately, and Riza didn’t think he would be jealous, but it was still fun to tease him about it.

“Give him a break. He’s only fourteen,” she sighed, trying to hide her smile.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you had to deal with him all day,” he muttered.

“He’s working with you already?” Riza questioned. “It’s not been that long since his automail procedure.”

Roy shook his head. “Yeah. Can you believe it?”

“But…” Riza paused and did the math in her head. “It’s only been about... two years since he had his automail surgery. I thought that took years to adjust to.”

“It does,” Roy nodded. “He’s been with us a year already. 

“Wow. Has it really been that long?”

Roy nodded. “The kid is determined.”

“How’s the brother doing.”

“As well as can be expected. He hasn’t mentioned anything, but something tells me Alphonse is the kind of person to keep it to himself, or it will only be something they share with each other.”

“It makes sense, I suppose. They went through a very traumatic thing together.”

Roy sighed. “It makes my job as their commanding officer hard though. I don’t need details. I just need to know if they’re all right and fit to work.”

Riza smiled. “You sound like such a father.”

“Well, it’s true,” he pouted, defending himself.

“It could always be worse,” she reminded him.

“You’re right.” Roy leaned back and groaned. “Luckily he has the freedom to roam the country. I couldn’t imagine having Ed in the office all the time.”

“You’d manage, I’m sure. Plus, this will be good practice for when Mia is older.” 

Their child looked up at the mention of her name.

“Our little girl will never be that difficult, will you darling?” Roy cooed

Mia looked at them, confused. Her small brow had furrowed, and it was incredibly adorable. It obviously didn’t hold too much of her interest, because she turned to her father a moment later.

“Daddy?” Mia asked, her eyes wide and bright. She knew exactly how to wrap Roy around her little finger. He would do anything for that child, and while Riza was happy that was the case, she didn’t want her to be a spoiled brat.

“Yes, Mia?”

“Can we play?”

“After dinner, okay?”

“Daddy’s been working all day. He needs to eat first,” Riza explained, always the bad guy.

Mia pouted in her chair, but it quickly disappeared when Riza placed her sticker book in front of her. Mia’s face lit up. “Stickers!” she cried happily, flipping open the pages.

“Why don’t you start, then I’ll help you after dinner?” Roy offered.

“Yay!”

“So, how was your day?” Roy enquired, digging into his food. He always ate like he’d been starved all day, and Riza knew that wasn’t the case. The man was a serial grazer – always eating snacks throughout the day – and Riza constantly wondered where he put it all.

“Today was great, in fact,” Riza stated after a pause. Nerves stirred in her stomach. She had some news to share but wasn’t sure what Roy would think about it. It’s a brilliant opportunity starting in the new year, but it meant moving to Central. 

“Oh yeah?” Roy asked, leaning forward in his chair. He was always incredibly interested in her personal and academic life, listening to her gripes and moans without complaint. “What happened?”

“Well,” Riza began, taking a deep breath. “My professor thinks I’ll be ready to teach in a school by the end of the year.”

Roy dropped his fork and clapped once loudly. Poor Mia got a fright and she jumped in her chair at the sudden noise. “That’s great!” he cried, mouth full of food.

“It’s in Central.”

That was the dream crusher, right there. She’d be happy teaching here in the East, but a position probably wouldn’t open until late next year, and Riza would finish her studies come Christmas this year. That was a long time to wait. Roy was stationed in East City, so it wasn’t like he could up and leave at a moment’s notice. Riza would have nothing in the meantime, and she didn’t want it to come to that. However, they’d work it out together and find some solution, she was sure.

“Central?” he asked, but his face didn’t drop. His expression became thoughtful. “Interesting,” he mused to himself.

“What’s so interesting?” she asked.

“I’ve also heard on the down-low that I may be transferred to Central at some point.”

Riza felt butterflies flutter in her stomach. “Really?” This would work out perfectly for them.

Roy nodded, picking up his fork again. “Hughes told me. It’s all very hush hush, but I’ve been making big leaps with this new case, and they’re interested in moving me across there with a promotion.”

“That’s great, Roy. I’m proud of you,” she smiled.

They were moving in the right direction. Riza was thrilled that it would mean she’d be able to pursue her teaching career further. After discovering it was in Central, she was sure it would never happen. Now, it was a possibility, and it did wonders for her motivation and her mood. Things were finally moving forward for her and she was progressing.

For too long she’d felt stuck in the same place. Roy had gone off to war and he was now working his way up the ranks of the military. Mia was growing up so fast, coming on leaps and bounds with everything they tried to teach her. Riza had felt stagnant, still at school and learning how to become a teacher. It felt like it was taking her years to progress while everyone else in her life was speeding past her, achieving things left and right. Riza was not one to compare her achievements to other people’s but it was hard when she felt that way. She’d been concerned they’d be in the East for another year, and she’d fall behind again. It was early days - there was no confirmation of Roy’s promotion yet - however it felt like she was already on the path to taking the next step. And, she’d be taking it with her whole family. No one would be left behind.

It was a wonderful feeling.

*          *          *

Roy silently returned from work one evening. The door of their apartment clicked closed behind him and he never said a word. Normally he called out a hello and made his way straight to Riza to greet her with a kiss. Mia would be next. After they’d taken Black Hayate in, Roy would scratch him behind the ears with a grin before he was on his way to get changed out of his uniform. It was almost a ritual of his.

Mia had named the dog after a character in her favourite book, and Riza was more than happy with it. Roy had rolled his eyes, whispering that it was a silly name for a dog, but after a quick elbow from Riza, he shut up. It made Mia happy and Riza wasn’t going to take that away from her.

Today, however, he entered the living room without saying a word. He glanced around as Riza smiled and said hello, but he ignored her. As soon as he spotted Mia, he marched over and lifted her off the ground. She squealed at the sudden movement, and Roy hugged her close to his body. Riza’s smile fell as she watched the exchange. Mia was laughing, trying to wriggle away from her father, however Riza saw his brief pained expression before he pulled away and set her down with a forced grin.

What had happened at work?

Riza’s own news died on her lips when he shot her a quick strained smile before heading for the stairs up to their bedroom.

“Mia?”

“Yes, Mummy?”

“I need to go and speak to Daddy for a little while. Can you be good and stay here for me?”

“Yeah!” she beamed. She gathered up her dolls and placed herself on the rug in front of their fireplace, chatting away to them, already lost in her own make-believe world.

Riza headed straight for their bedroom. The room was in darkness when she approached. Peeking in, she saw him leaning against their dresser, his head hung in between arms, which rested on either side of the furniture.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

As soon as he lifted his head, Riza knew Roy wasn’t right. In the light of the hallway, she could just make out a sheen on his eyes. Closing the door behind her, Riza approached in the darkness. Her hand brushed his arm and Roy’s arms locked around her like a vice. Riza clutched at the work shirt on his back, rubbing his hands against it soothingly as his body shook.

“What happened,” she whispered.

“There was a case today…” he began, stopping himself to take a deep breath. “I took the Elric brothers to see an alchemist who could hopefully help them with their cause.”

“And?” Riza prompted when he fell silent.

“The man had a daughter and –” Roy’s grip on her tightened after he cut himself off.

“It’s okay,” she soothed. Something must’ve happened. Something bad. It made a lead weight appear in Riza’s stomach, weighing it down painfully. She just knew she wouldn’t like where this was going.

“The girl… She –”

“Roy, it’s okay. You don’t need to tell me –”

“She... died,” he choked out with some hesitancy.

Riza stilled as she absorbed that information. Fear gripped her heart, blossoming over her skin and lifting the hair off her arms. Oh god.

“I’m so sorry, Roy.”

“I didn’t even know,” he mumbled, more to himself. He didn’t elaborate, but something told Riza she wouldn’t want him to. She already felt slightly ill. What if that had been her own daughter? The overwhelming urge to go downstairs and hug her little girl almost sent her walking out the room, but Roy needed her. “If I had,” he continued. “I might have been able to save her.” The last sentence was choked. He was obviously thinking of his own daughter. Riza just held him tighter.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. That was all she could say. She was horrified. That poor child. Now she understood his reaction when he entered their home. Riza would have done the same.

Roy held her tightly for a little while longer before finally pulling away.

“I’ll get changed,” he mumbled.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I will be. I just… All I could think about was her.” Mia. “I couldn’t bear it if…”

“I know,” Riza nodded. “I’m the same.”

Taking a deep breath, Roy stood tall and gently pulled away. “Sorry for dropping that on you,” he murmured softly.

“It’s okay. That’s what I’m here for.” She smiled sadly, unable to get the image of a poor innocent child meeting their end –

She had to go downstairs and give Mia a big cuddle.

“Let’s go downstairs and see Mia.” Riza let go of him, but grasped his hand in the darkness to give it a squeeze.

He squeezed her hand back in reassurance. “I’ll be five minutes.”

True to his word, Roy descended the stairs and lifted Mia into his arms again. He appeared to be the same man as who had entered, but every so often, she saw his face drop and watched as he swallowed thickly. In front of Mia, though, he was the ever-doting father. Roy even took her up to bed. He lay in her tiny single bed beside her, his feet sticking out the end and almost falling out of it so Mia could have enough room, but he lay beside her and read her favourite story to get her to fall asleep.

When Riza peeked in, Mia was fast asleep, her favourite bear tucked underneath her arm while Roy ran his hand through her unruly hair, stoking her forehead. She smiled to herself. That was a sure-fire way to get Mia to sleep. It relaxed her instantly. She must be like her mother, Roy had said, because Riza loved it when Roy did it to her too.

“Are you coming to bed?” Riza whispered from the doorway.

“In a minute,” he replied distractedly. His attention was solely on their daughter. After what Roy had told her about his case today, she didn’t blame him. It must have been a lot worse than what her brain could concoct because he hadn’t left Mia’s side all evening. Riza was sure he’d be there all night with her.

“Okay. Night, Roy.”

“Goodnight.” 

She didn’t remember hearing him climb into bed, but he was there when Riza awoke in the morning. She rolled over and watched him sleep for a few minutes. He was so peaceful. His muscles were relaxed as he breathed deeply and evenly, sleeping soundly. She smiled to herself, glad he’d found some semblance of peace after how upset he’d been the night before. Riza herself still felt slightly ill after what had happened with the case, so couldn’t imagine how Roy was feeling. It was probably ten times worse. 

Loath to wake him and disrupt that peace, Riza cuddled in close to her husband, holding the hand that had been resting on his stomach tightly. He stirred in his sleep, but after a deep sigh he was still once more. Laying her head on his chest, Riza listened to his heartbeat and let it calm her. It washed away all her worries and her fears for a moment as she lay still and emptied her mind, focussing on the sound of his heart.